#something something going from wanting to die to wanting to live something something the LOVE IS THE POINT DO YOU SE???E???

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel finds you in the cold.

Azriel x Reader (780 words, based on a request!, warnings: hypothermia, angst)

Masterlist here

~~

You were used to the cold. You grew up in its unforgiving teeth and clawed past winters when the bite felt almost too strong. There were methods to survive it, tactics to overcome the painful numbness that crept along your skin, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern to this cold. You were alone and this chill was with you. 

You should have listened to Azriel. 

It’s not a normal snow, he had warned, you should wait for me. But everyone seemed to forget that you were new to being fae, and when you were new, you felt invincible. You could live through the winters of your mortal years without a second thought. You couldn’t die from snow or ice or sleet. 

Or, so you thought. 

You huddled against the tree trunk, your fingers stinging and burning—but that didn’t make sense because the only substance that surrounded you was the blizzard. You could feel your body begin to slow, movements becoming labored when they shouldn’t. You hadn’t felt this kind of weakness since before becoming fae. 

Azriel was going to kill you; he’d be so furious to find your body here, surrounded by nothing on the outskirts of the winter court. Each soft whisper he’d pressed to your skin was loaded with adoration and praise for you being his mate above all else. He’d waited for you, he would tell you, and now you were going to die a meaningless death. 

Your grip on your cloak was concrete and rigid, but it was pointless. The snow had already seeped into the material and chilled you to the bone. 

You were tired. 

Closing your eyes seemed like the right decision. Sleep would help you gain the strength to sift through the white haze and find the border to these lands. 

Your lashes brushed your cheek and darkness felt warm. 

Until the incessant tug at your ribs became unbearable. Until a voice was calling you home and the concept of home ticked your heart rate up a beat. 

“Open your eyes. Please,” the voice stressed. Your body was numb and nothing was coherent over the whistling wind. 

There was pressure on your face and the air felt more stagnant, but everything else remained unchanged. 

Going against every muscle and desire in your being, you fought the weight of your eyelids and were met with the image of Azriel in the blistering cold. He was wrapped up to his neck as you were, but he was taking all of it off. 

“No,” you mumbled, the word barely a sound in the wind. 

Azriel’s gaze snapped up to you, his hands still clutching the scarf he was prying from his shoulders. His hands, with no gloves to cover his skin, cupped your cheeks. You couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, but you could feel the quivering of his fingers. 

“Good,” he seemed to mumble to himself. “Good, you’re awake. Okay, okay…” 

It was nonsensical and your brain was far too muddled to make sense of it. You only raised the dead weight of your arm to wrap stiff fingers around the material of his cloak. 

“Keep… it on,” you whispered. 

A spark of something shot across Azriel’s face. His lips parted as snow settled on his brow. “I need to take it off. I need to get you warm.” 

You let out a shuddering breath. Azriel, with his brows painfully furrowed, watched you for only a second more before he continued his motion to get you pressed to more of his skin and wrap the remaining area of his winter wear around you. 

“I love you, do you hear me?” Azriel spoke by your ear, the tone of his voice unwavering despite how his body shook. As if he wanted the strength to seep into your bones and warm you. As if that would work. 

He stood with you in his arms, your body now jarred by the change in temperature. He was moving quickly but not flying. Through a bleary blink, you saw the ice forming on the juncture of his wings.

“Answer me, y/n,” Azriel demanded.

“I’m tired,” you replied. 

“I know. I need to get past the border and then we’ll be home. You can sleep then, but not before.” 

You hummed a response. 

Azriel seemed to tense beneath you. “I love you,” he repeated. “Please don’t do this.” 

You wanted to tell him that you weren’t doing anything—that it was too cold for him to be here. But in the comfort of his arms, you let the darkness of his shadows lull you to sleep. In your dreams, you heard your name, over and over. 

[angelltheninth]

When Arcane Men Get Jealous

Pairing: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Finn, Marcus, Loris, Steb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, jealousy, possessive behavior, being protective, kissing in public, biting, holding hands, public display of affection, canon typical violence, suggestive

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would die if they were jealous over me. Melt into a puddle. Gone.

When Viktor gets jealous he gets a bit more withdrawn than he usually is. Not that he was ever a social butterfly, however he was always more open and happy to talk when it was with you. So his behavior is odd, he even seems to get quieter whenever you walk into the room. Like he's trying to remove himself from you with silence.

"I am not avoiding you. Look, there has been a lot to do for the past week, I'm sorry if you got a bad impression but I was simply busy. If you want more company, go ask Jayce, or Skye, I'm sure they will be more than happy to entertain you, darling."

Viktor is short with his answers, saying as little as possible to minimize the amount of time he spends talking to you. Not because he doesn't want to talk to you, he loves talking to you, but if he keeps talking there's a chance he might say something he's going to regret. And end up hurting you.

"There you go again with these ridiculous accusations. You won't leave it alone will you? So now it's my fault that your project is running late? I would have been happy to help but someone was too busy talking with... you know what, nevermind. You're right, we both have a lot to do, so let's just drop this conversation and focus on work."

If you keep getting in the way of his work, Viktor will eventually come to a breaking point. Him not being able to work is only adding to his emotions, and he's never been the best at dealing with them. While he doesn't exactly yell at you, it's very rare that he ever raises his voice there's a notable frustration in his words, and pain, fear that you'd leave.

"If I'm being so unreasonable then leave. Go. Have fun. I know it's not idea to be cooped up in the lab all the time. There are so many more things to do out there. if you... want to go with other people I suppose I can't stop you, nor can I stop my own jealousy. How am I being even more unreasonable? I know you wouldn't leave me without talking about it. Look... I do not... want you to leave, working is more fun with you. But am I truly all that you want? Me? This lab? Because you're all I want. All that I can think of."

When Jayce gets jealous he keeps invading your personal space when you're around the person or people he's jealous of. His behavior is nothing innapropriate or pushy. It's just his arm around your waist, just him bringing you that drink you wanted, just him bragging about you a bit too loud and saying how much he loves you.

"You really are great, babe. How in Runterra did I ever find a beauty like you huh? What's that bashfulness for now, I always praise you, and I'm never gonna stop. You're my girl right? I can be a proud boyfriend and talk you up every once in a while."

Physical affection a big deal to Jayce and a way he shows he cares but also a giveaway to his jealousy. He holds your hand longer, his eyes flicker between you and the one he's jealous off, his smile is a bit more nervous when he has to leave you alone. Then there are his kisses, not as gentle, not a little, quick peck on the edge of your lips but a real kiss, lips pressed against yours until you let him know you need air.

"Got a bit carried away there. Ah, sorry, I can't resist you sometimes. All the time. Do you expect me to when you wear lipstick like that? Makes your lips look like they're made to be kissed. By me specifically. I'd kiss you all night long, for the rest of our lives and never get tired of it."

Jayce keeps denying that he's jealous when you bring it up in a teasing way. Logically there's no reason to get jealous, everyone knows your relationship is doing great, in fact you're hardly ever fighting and even when you are it doesn't last too long. How does he turn that part of his brain off? How can he not get jealous when all those people look at you the way he looks at you?

"They're always looking at you. How can you not notice? It's so obvious. You don't notice because... you're only looking at me? That doesn't even make sense! Of course they're looking, you're breathtaking everywhere you go. I just hope that wherever you go, you'll always take me with you, because I want to be by your side forever."

Ekko often jokes about being jealous so you don't pick up on him actually being jealous. A little jealousy is fine but not when it's getting in the way of his missions and operations with his team. He'd been a bit distracted in the past, by one of the Firelights flying too close to you, so he pushed his way between you two.

"It was the formation! Which you would have remembered if you weren't too busy chatting. Come on, Firefly, get your head in this. Otherwise you're gonna make your leader jealous. Wouldn't want that right? What if... what if you get demoted for it? Hey! Ow! I wouldn't demote you, who would listen to all my plans?"

When you have free time together Ekko makes sure to spend as much time with you as possible. If you're together all the time there's less chance that someone else will swoop in and flirt with you. He would never describe his behavior as being clingy, all he wants is to spend free time with his girlfriend. That is perfectly normal behavior.

"What do you say we go out to get some food? We don't have to spend all our time here. Not like the tree is gonna burn down if we're away for a couple of hours right? Besides it's been a while since it was just you and me all alone. Miss being alone with you. Don't you miss it too?"

If the person he's jealous of ever puts you in danger in any way Ekko will go off on them. Harder than he scolded others in the past. He might let some of his jealousy show then, but he storms off, well flies off before you can talk to him. As much as he wants to be alone he also makes room for you on his hoverboard when you float down next to him.

"Shouldn't have went off on them like that. I know, you don't gotta say it, I'll say I'm sorry. Let cool off a bit. You'd think that if they were flirting with you that much they could have been looking out a bit better. I'm always looking out for you. Maybe a bit too much. Sorry if I've been weird about it lately. Would you forgive me if I took you on a romantic hoverboard ride?"

No one wants to piss off a big man like Vander by flirting with his wife. Everyone values their life and their bones too much. But... they stare at you. Quite openly actually. You see it, and you bet he sees it too. He sees everything that's happening at his bar and he won't stand for someone ogling his wife, even if he has to get aggressive about it.

"It's my damn bar, I've got the right to break the table with their heads when they're looking at ya like that. Tell ya what, a lot more people would avoid this place if I started beating up every asshole that looks at ya wrong. Only reason I don't is cause I don't want ya to be mad at me after."

He hasn't banned anyone from his bar in a very long time. Vander knows he tolerates a lot, this is Zaun, and some people don't have the best manners, that's not exactly their fault. But on the other hand if they start something with him then he will finish it. When he tells them to stop looking at you like you like you were one of Babette's workers and they get in his face he will pick them up and throw them out.

"Bastards had it coming. I tried to be nice, then they had to go and call ya names. Ain't no way in hell I'm gonna let anyone insult my wife. Not here, not on the streets, not anywhere. I went there and I wanted to talk to them, tell them to fuck the hell off, they were the ones who started getting violent. So I responded in kind."

Vander calls you over to the bar a bit more often if he sees a particular table is trying to monopolize you. He carries some of the drinks over, the food plates too, or he simply walks up behind you when one of the guys is getting flirty. Seeing his imposing, huge frame behind you, his muscles bulging, is enough to get most to back off you.

"See, darlin', I can talk things out just fine. When people are being smart about it that is. Might have to stop selling so much booze in this place, then they won't be so bold with ya. Ya are a pretty sight, I can't say otherwise. But ya are a pretty sight for me, not them, ain't that right? Mhm. I know, I'm all yer's too."

Silco never ever says he's jealous of anyone. He is the most powerful man in all of Zaun, everyone is scared of him and with good reason. As the Eye of Zaun he knows when people are looking, talking too, and might even try to touch you. Those people are often payed a not so nice visit by his men.

"I did hear about that gang, yes. It's very unfortunate that they don't know how to keep their noses where they don't belong. It's not that big of a loss on our end. There are a hundred people who can do their work, and better. All that matters is that they won't even have to think about not touching you again."

He rarely has to get his own hands dirty when he gets jealous. All it takes is him saying who the target or targets are and he makes them dissapear from Zaun. That doesn't always have to be deadly, but if they're really dumb it is. If Silco feels that you're in some kind of danger then he will keep you close by. He tries to distract you from seeing he's jealous.

"All I'm saying is that we could take a break from work. Sevika and Jinx can handle a week of it. And you and me can lock ourselves up in our home and not come out. The bedroom works perfectly fine too, if you'd rather spend our time in there. And what is it that I'm doing, darling? Jealous? You are an observant one. I wouldn't want you any other way."

The only time Silco will threaten someone in person is if that someone is bold enough to flirt with you in front of them. He can scare people within an inch of their life just by talking to them, he's not just a good businessman, and some people tend to forget that. He has Zaun in the palm of his hand, and everyone in it.

"He did not actually piss himself. Did he actually. Hm, I wasn't look at him anymore to be honest. He was spineless, surprising given he talked to you like he did. Guess he was thinking with his other head a bit too much for his own good. Why are you looking at me that way? Ah, I see. Looks like someone enjoyed watching me put a scumbag into his place a bit too much."

Since Finn isn't someone who would take anything lying down he will be damned before he sees someone coming onto his woman and not do anything about it. He might have a certain charm about him but that doesn't mean he's not ready to makes heads roll the moment when someone crosses any kind of line with you. Imaginary or otherwise.

"Hah, did you see that doll? As soon as I threw one punch he went down. All his buddies ran like rats. Left him all alone there. After all that tough talk and he couldn't even defend himself. Serves him right. He's lucky all I did was break his nose when he flirted with you. I wasn't even that far away."

Finn will make out with you in front of who ever he is jealous of just to prove a point to them. And while he has you moaning, has your head buried against his neck and your body running hot he will look at the other person and stick his tongue out at them, right before making a V with his fingers and putting his tongue between them. He's vulgar but it gets the point across very well.

"All these people looking at what's mine. Now, I can't have that right? I love that you're showing off your body, it's a great body, you know how much I love it. But sometimes I want to keep you away from prying eyes. And if I can't the least I can do is give them a show. Make them know I'm the only one who can touch you."

His jacket is a signature part of his outfit, but Finn will let you wear it. Hell, he will walk over and drape it over your shoulders while not even looking at whoever you're talking to. Sometimes they're not worth looking at when he can look at the pretty way you blush as you touch his hand that's lingering on your shoulder.

"Thought you looked a bit cold there. Keep this on all night. Later on I'll help you warm up my way, a much more fun way. Don't even worry about your perfume getting all into this, love having your scent all over me. And by tomorrow you're gonna be wearing all of my marks."

There are a lot of people in the Enforcers who tease Marcus about having such a pretty wife. He knows you're pretty, but he doesn't like that the department is noticing it so much as well. Not that there's any way for him to hide it, or that he wants you to hide it, that would be a real crime.

"I was not pouting. That is so childish. I was glaring at them. Well, they were the ones who stared first. You visit me at work, like that's such a big deal. We're married, honey, I pick you up from work too. Why is it such a big deal here? I think they're just trying to get a rise out of me."

Won't deny that he's feeling jealous or shy away from showing it. When Marcus notices any of his men flirting with you he makes them work extra hard that day, he gives them more paperwork, something that everyone hates there, or assigns them to the toughest jobs that he knows will take them days to complete. He can't help but chuckle when you visit again and they're too tired to flirt with you, they just say hello.

"What do you mean I'm picking on them? Of course not. You know how hard it is to deal with all these extra cases. Someone has to take on a few more. No, the fact that it's the same Enforcers who gave you flowers that one time has nothing to do with it. You think it does? And do you have evidence of this accusation?"

Marcus isn't shy about kissing you in front of the whole department. If that's what it takes to send them all a clear message to back off. It's always perfectly chaste kisses, but he does make sure that everyone hears him say he loves you when you leave. He smirks when eyes turn to him and he wishes them all a good rest of their day.

"Now you call me petty. All of these accusations and you still don't have any evidence. That's not a very good way to have a case. You've been keeping count have you? Oh. You... actually have been keeping count? I'm guilty? Fine, you got me, you got me. Maybe... that was a little petty of me, but I'm not sorry."

Every time Loris is jealous it's almost impossible for him to hide that fact. He's a big guy, nothing about him is easy to his, not even his emotions. And he's loud, so every time he huffs, mumbles something, or grunts you hear it. Your eyes meet and he looks away, his hand grasping yours and running his thumb over the back of your hand.

'They were staring at you a bit too much for my liking, pretty girl. If they were as tough as they pretend they were they should have held their ground more. Proves they were all bark and no bite. People like that really get on my nerves, and then they talk to my girl like she's single."

Loris invites you to have lunch with him quite often, even more often when he gets jealous of someone who works with him. Dealing with them in any other way would be unprofessional of him, and might get him in trouble. This way he gets to avoid that, avoid them, and spend a nice lunch date with you. No matter how you look at it he's the real winner here.

"Looks so good. But if you keep looking at me like that I might get hungry for something else besides the food. Just try shifting the blame on me when you know exactly how you're looking at me right now. I wouldn't risk it at work, but... if you showed up with a few hickeys on your neck it might get the rest of the department to stop flirting with you."

As much as he tries to make his jealousy go away it's not easy. Loris knows he should be an example for others, after all he had been an Enforcer for a long time, he can't just let his emotions get the better of him. Hard to keep those emotions down when they concern you. If nothing else works he will intimidate people. Easy enough for him. But he would rather that be a last resort.

"If he wasn't ready to throw fists and words at me then he shouldn't have thrown flirty words at you. He should be able to back himself up if he's gonna be saying stuff like that. All I did was pick him up and throw him outside. Hey, I might get in a bit of trouble for it, but at least he'll leave you alone from now on. I'd risk my badge for you if I have to, you know that."

Since he is the quiet type Steb shows his emotions and jealousy is one that he works hard to surpress. Every time he notices that someone is standing a little too close to you he walks over and looks at you, lovingly, then he looks at the other person with a glare, a deadly one. All the while he's standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Come now, angelfish, they weren't even worth your time. We both know they only had one thing in mind when they were talking to you. I could see it in their eyes. I don't appreciate that they looked at you like that. And I know you don't either. So I felt like I had to step in."

He is very physical with his jealousy. Steb lets his eyes and touches linger a few moments longer when he wants to make a point to someone. While he knows you don't hate it he also doesn't want to come off as too jealous or too possessive over you. You can take care of yourself and he loves that about you, he's watched you put people in their place often, but there are times where he can't hold himself back.

"I could feel your fingers interlocking with mine. You wanted me to stand close to you when they weren't leaving you alone. Would you have raised your voice if I hadn't walked over? It would be amusing to see it. But I think those kisses we shared also sent an equally powerful message. You didn't have to bit me though."

Steb nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck when he's feeling really, really jealous of someone. He makes it look less possessive than it is, pretending like he's overhearing something you have to say, and then pushing himself just a little bit closer. His cold lips make contact with your neck, sending shivers down your body before he brushes your lips with his thumb and leaves with a smirk.

"That ought to be enough. I could have done more but marking you in public might have been a step too far. We can enjoy things like that in private however. I enjoy being close to you in any context, and if it makes others realize you're not looking for anyone because you've already got a man then I enjoy it even more."

[wendichester]

⭒˚.⋆ sacrifice,

summary. you make a deal to save dean's life but he's not having it

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 558

The second Dean walks into the room, you know you’re screwed.

His eyes are wild, shoulders tight with rage, jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack. He storms toward you, fists balled at his sides, and for a second, you think he might actually punch the wall.

“What the hell did you do?” His voice is raw, shaking.

You swallow hard, but there’s no point in pretending. He knows. He must’ve found out. Maybe from Sam, maybe from the demon itself—doesn’t matter. The secret’s out.

“I did what I had to,” you say, keeping your voice steady even as your heart hammers in your chest.

Dean laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just something broken, something desperate. “What you had to?” he echoes, stepping closer, eyes burning into you. “You made a deal for me.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep your ground. “You were dying, Dean. There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way!” His voice rises, shaking the walls of the motel room. His breathing is heavy, uneven. “Damn it, you think I’d let you sacrifice yourself for me? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Like you haven’t done the same?” you snap, voice sharp. “How many times have you thrown yourself in the line of fire for me? How many times have you died for Sam? For everyone? But the second I try to save you, suddenly it’s a problem?”

Dean’s nostrils flare. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I can’t—” His voice breaks, and he stops, squeezing his eyes shut like he can force the emotion out of his body. His hands are trembling. When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy, rimmed red with something too painful to name. “Because I can’t lose you,” he says, voice quieter now, rough and raw and full of a kind of desperation that shatters you.

Your chest tightens, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” you whisper.

Dean exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really thought I wouldn’t? You think I wouldn’t tear apart the whole goddamn world trying to figure out why you were acting off?” He runs a hand down his face, and when he looks at you again, he’s a mess of anger and devastation. “How long do you have?”

You hesitate, and that alone is enough of an answer.

“Goddammit,” he chokes, turning away from you like he can’t bear to look. He presses his hands to his knees, breathing heavy.

“I didn’t do this for you to waste time feeling guilty,” you say, stepping closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I did this because I love you. Because you deserve to live.”

Dean turns back to you, and before you can say another word, his hands are on your face, cupping your cheeks like you might disappear if he lets go. His forehead presses against yours, and his breath is shaky, uneven.

“I’m getting you out of this,” he swears, voice trembling with determination. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I have to burn Hell to the ground. You’re not going to die for me.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t fight him.

Because if there’s one thing you know about Dean Winchester—it’s that when he makes a promise, he damn well keeps it.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf

[supernatural-ate-my-face]

Dean's love for Castiel is literally something you can chart the growth of with data points. Just using Dean's reactions after each time Castiel dies.

Season 4: oh wow he died doing the hottest thing ever ('making it up as we go.') Nice.

Season 5: (no time to react before he's back) Are you literal god??

Season 7(first time) denial, then cursing cas out for his choices (ie, choosing crowley instead of dean... Big Feelings on display)

Season 7 (about 3 seconds after the first time in season 7): I'm going to be upset about this the rest of the year, have full on nightmare ptsd from it, and project it onto every relationship and interaction in my life from now on.

Season 8: I will be so traumatized by this that the memories won't even form properly and I won't even be able to SPEAK ABOUT IT AT ALL. Period.

Season 9: only about 6 seconds before he's back, but still a significant amount of wailing his name.

Season 12: depression, rage, eventual suicide

Season 15: Sobbing hysterically. Not even caring that Sam is calling because everyone is dead. Not giving a fuck about any other actual thing in the rest of the world no matter the stakes. Followed by:

'Castiel wants me to live, and I suppose I've internalized the message that I am not a terrible, unworthy person, so I will live and not kill myself so that his sacrifice means something. J/k thank god a fucking rebar. Don't call an ambulance. Don't bring me back. Please let me die.'

We need a chart. I need a chart.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Yandere Alphabet | The Salesman Version

Warnings: Obsessive!Salesman - Possessive!Salesman - Mention of his past - NSFW - Violent parts -

Notes: Can be read as reader being his wife already. - I can finally use that gif!! -

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Oh its really intense. The Salesman has no shame on showing you how much he loves you. He will get you lots of gifts. Will be over you all the time when he is at his home with you.

He likes to leave marks on you that last for days. And when these starts to fade he gives you new ones. He just loves knowing that he owns you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

VERY MUCH. He is a jealous Man and a controling one.He has no problem on punish the ones who threat your relationship. He has a special place that you dont know about where he play games with these people. He does not mind the blood on himself but does not want you to see him like that. So he cleans himself after it.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

The Salesman does not abduct you. He prepares a way that makes you think you two were mean to be from the start. He Plays the perfect boyfriend role and gets everybody to like him.

Only if you start to get distant or he feels like you are having second thoughts on your relationship with him its when he becomes violent. He will ruin your life and yourself till you have no options but him.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Unless you are being difficult...he wont ever try anything against your will. He wants you to love him and to depend on him.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He is a complicated Man when it comes to feelings. Most times he only shows that he loves you and that he would die if you ever left him. But its not vulnerability what it comes from it but rather a feeling of control and dread.

He loves you, he wants you on his life forever. He gets sad when you ignore him, but he never lets you see how real and deep hurt would he be if you were not part of his life.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh...Well he can get creative. He does not want to hit you. Unless it comes to sex. He would use other methods, that would make you fear him. Maybe he would say he will go after your family or after something/someone you care for.

He likes games. So he may prepare one for you. So you will end scared for days killing your will to fight him back.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No. He loves you. A lot. Its not a game. He may have his share of flints but no one of them ever sparked this...obesession he has.

Would hate to see you trying to escape or leave him. Thats why he makes sure you are enamored by the time you two start to live together. He cant go back to an empy house after having you with him.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

First, you will have to do something really bad that ends with his patience and makes him see over his obsession. He loves you and would move heaven for you. But does not mean he cant be cruel as well. The worse experience he would put you throw would probably make you face your worse fear in a twisted way that ends leaving him as a hero.

Do you hate talking in public and feel like your chest its closing on itself ? He would be the one who did put you on that position and would be the one who is there to encourage you. To tell you can do it.

Fear of the dark ? A classic. He will mess up the lights of the house and come home late to find you crying on the bed. Will tell you his phone died and he had to work late. Then will pull you on his lap to whisper calming things to you.

Something more extreme ? We know he is a sadistic at heart. But he does not want you to see that part of him. BUT lets say you fuck up bad. And he loses it. He is going to make you play a game of live and death (of course he will let you live but you dont know that) maybe he will blind you and tell you to walk around a room that has lots of sharp objects. Maybe he will make you play russian roulette with him (there is no Rea bullet but you dont know that). Its going to be something that lets you with nightmares for days but also with the lesson that you cant escape him and that you must obey him.

Ideals: What kind of future does they want with their darling?

MARRIAGE.

The Salesman has lived a lonely life and he was fine with it till he met you. Now all he wants its to see you in a beautiful dress and call you his wife. Even better when others know about it since part of him feels like he won a price with you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He is quiet the cold head. He will get jealous yes but first will try to calm himself down. Does not mean he is not imagining killing the person who is taking much of your time.

Maybe a friend of yours has been getting close and close to you the last days and keeps sending you messages. That friend ends dead or so scared of him that they never approach you again and never talk about what he did to them.

When it comes to strangers he is more wild. If its someone flirting with you, that person is dead. Being bad with you ? Dead too. He feels like you deserve so much respect that the minum thing someone does that he feels like its not worth of you, yeah he wants them dead.

Does not mean he goes killing half Seoul. Will only target the ones that either have made you feel so uncomfortable that you told him about them or the ones who are really mean to you.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

LOVESICK PUPPY !!

No really!! This Man does a change in personality that is hella scary. With you he is not cold or calculated. But rather soft, he still holds that playful look in his eyes but these are less...well violent. His smile is sincere and he loves to have you by his side all the time.

Pouts when you tell him that you need to finish some work and cant be with him (once he finally gets a free day). Its going to make you sit you on his lap so you can work and he can hold you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

REALLY WELL PLANNED.

He sees you for the first time and the game starts. He will stalk you, know your schendelure, Friends, family, even the school that you went (and if someone bullied you during that time well that person is going to have a very very bad time). He learns the things you like and dislike.

The first time you two actually do talk its a situation he made. You two just happen to go for the same drink and your hands touched themselfs. He is going to give you that charming smile of his and tell you to go ahead. He will also make a comment about something you are passionate about so you two engage in a conversation.

Will "casually" keep meeting you and talking to you till you two finally exchange numbers (not like he did not have it already).

His text are so planned too. Wishes you good morning and good night. Asks if you have ate today and drink enough water. He wants you to see that he cares for your well being.

If by any chance (most likely made by him) you tell him you forgot something for work/or that you must stay till too late and you are scared then he is going to be a gentlemen and offer to go and pick you up. Or help you with whatever you forgot.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

HELL YES.

With others he is emotionless, cold, sharp. All of him its a fake image to trick people into the games and to keep his bosses happy with his performance at work. Hell sometimes he forgets who he is after so many times living like that.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He hates punish you. If he has to it depends on what you did. Some may be really agressive if you crossed the line. And others well...are a mix of fear and arousment.

He does not like to make you suffer, he actually hates seeing you in pain but he wants you to understand that you cant just not obey him.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Honestly? Almost nothing. He will ask you to left your work, but under the idea that he can provied for you. Really ? He wants you to be at his house 24/7. He will allow you to go out to take air and do whatever you want (with limits of course). You want to meet up with a friend ? Oh he is there because he was passing by. He has a tracker on your phone and knows where you are all the time. If he feels like something is odd then he will go where you are.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

VERY

This Man has made a perfect image of you, and its ready to shape you like it. He knows its a slow process and that he cant Force you (too much) into what he wants.

Its going to be a slow process full of Manipulation under the disguise of love and affection.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

NO.

First if you die for whatever reason he will go into a down spiral of rage and sadness. If he knows someone was responsible behind your death then you can trust that person (or persons) will suffer a cruel end. A slow death with lots lots of physocological torment.

If you escape him (congrats!!) He wont give up. He will go after you, threath your family and Friends. In fact you may never really escape him. If you went off from him then you better start to hide very well becuase once he catches you back there is not limit on how he would act.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no.

He does not abduct you but makes the idea that you two were mean to be. In his head it makes perfect sense. Or course he wont ever let you go, he wants you by his side for the rest of his life.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He has been a twisted one since he was a young one. Working at the island did not help at all. He thought he got detached from feelings but when it comes to you he loves you and cant avoid the idea of you with him.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Unless its under the act of sex he hates seeing you sad. Its a hit of reality that he is not doing his work well. Like he cant provide you with the happiness he promised he would give you. He wants you to be happy with him not sad or see that you insolate yourself.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Mhm I would say he is a classic one when it comes to manipulation and obsession but he is not that out from the classic Yandere.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh lovely you....while you are his weak point im afraid there is nothing you can do to make him lose control and let you go or give you a free lose.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes. If he feels like you did something very bad then he will do it. Not something that will leave marks on you at least not physically ones but mental ones ? Its another story, he will leave you marks on your mind that will make you think twice over trying something.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He would kiss the floor where you just walked. This Man is smitten with you. He is obsess truly, all he wants its you and only you.

He would worship you so much. With endearing words and actions. He loves kissing your hand, these kisses helps him ground himself. He is always telling you how beautiful you look, how stunning you are. If you have a hobbie like music or art he is your first fan. And he also likes to get the best quality food for you, not only remind you of eating but it to be delicious and help your health.

He would go as far as necesary. Does not know limits when it comes to it.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If this means for how long would he stalks you and then goes to you like "snaps" well its a lot of time. He may get different twisted ideas when he is alone but he shows them only once he believes you are ready for them. If you mean it like when does he shows himself as obsessive well he never really shows himself as that. He crafted your relationship with him to make you think you two are mean to be so most likely you wont ever know how truly obsess he is.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Only mentally and only if you do something to piss him off really bad. He will make you depend on him so much...you wont be able to even think for yourself or take the minum decision without him.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Template Credit

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of poor mental health, death, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 1: digging dirt

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Jason's having one of those days, his hands ache a little too much, his scars pulling a little too tight, the ringing of metal as someone worked on their car grit in his ears a little too loudly, It's overstimulating. he doesn't even feel Like…..a person right now, he feels more like a body caring for itself. So he did what he usually does when he's not quite all there, he walks. Wanders around until he finds somewhere quiet enough to stuff himself back into his own head, until his body feels like him again. And that's how he found himself here of all places, a graveyard, the graveyard. Someone's still taking care of it, it seems. The grass is neatly manicured and the stone is moss free, he hates that in a way. The stupid gravestone looks like it's been shown more care than he has. He hates that he can still clearly read it.

“What a dreadful graveyard, you must be very proud of it.” A mystery voice chimes from behind him, who the fuck snuck up on him?

Spinning around with a snarl on his lip, Jason's greeted by the sight of a….Goth witch? That doesn't bode well on Bruce's property.

“Who the ever loving fuck are you?” his hand rests on the grip of his gun, warning enough to not try anything too hasty. Damn what if they're a meta-

“oh excuse my manners, I'm your new neighbor.” The mystery goth steps closer without any hesitation and holds out their hand, their other hand holding a…casserole dish? Oh right, Alfred mentioned something about a neighbor…They introduce themselves as an Addams like they're not standing in a graveyard and he's armed, alright then…

“Okay…I'm Jason Todd...? I'm not your neighbor though, i don't live here.” He glances back down at the gravestone, his gravestone-

“Oh? Then i suppose you'll just be my new friend then instead of my new neighbor.” They glance down at the stone as well, noticing the obvious. “Oh is that yours? You have one already picked out and placed? How macabre!” They smile, Jason's gut twists at the sight.

“No it's not-that's just uhh…don't worry about it alright? I used it and then.. Got better?” Jason wants to bury himself Alive right now, what kind of an answer is that? They just had to catch him on one of his bad days.

“you know, my dear grandmama has done that quite a few times. The lady just can't seem to stay buried for more than a few weeks at a time. One of these days…” The goth sighs wistfully at that, seeming unbothered. Are they mocking him?

“I'm not on the mood for jokes.” He grunts out, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to step around them. He'd prefer to wallow in his fucked up mental state without an audience.

“Grandmama’s perchance for breaking the barriers between the living and the dead is no laughing matter my new-not-neighbor-friend, say do you know the man living here? I'd like to return this to it's rightful owner before the poltergeists smash it.”

Jason stares at them for a long, silent moment. They said all that with a straight face. Must be committed to their aesthetic to the nth. The thought of seeing Bruce right now sounds about as enjoyable as crawling on broken glass on his hands and knees, but they seem to expect something from him. God he hates social obligations…

“I'm not even gonna ask, give me the dishes and I'll get em back to Bruce.”

“Who is ‘Bruce’? I was under the impression the resident here was named Alfred.”

“No that's the butler- wait, you don't know who your neighbor is? How can you move in beside one of the wealthiest man in the country without knowing?”

“oh is Gomez here? That sneaky devil already bought property in this wonderful city without telling me? Oh I could die of jealousy!"

The goth seems…happy? Jason doesn't want to snap them out of it just yet. They're obviously crazy and he's not ready to deal with the fallout. He's ready to just say fuck it and leave, but he doesn't want to leave Alfred to deal with them…

“Gomez? No this is Bruce Wayne's house. You know, billionaire philanthropist?” he turns towards the back of the mansion and starts walking, ready to go drink until he can't see his reflection straight on. Who cares that it's only four in the afternoon.

“Wayne? Was he the one in Jersey shore?” They say with curiosity, stepping after him with casserole dish in hand.

that actually gets a startled laugh out of Jason, picturing Bruce on Jersey shore with Nikki and big Mike. “No, God no. That'd be a sight to see though…. You don't seem the type to watch that show, i bet supernatural is more your thing, what with the whole….goth thing.” Is he making conversation? Wow, go Jason i guess.

“i enjoy the chaos and violence.” Is all they say, following him to the manor.

“…alright fair enough.” He falls silent again, the only sound being the crunching of leaves underfoot. God he's not good at this, this feels awkward very quickly. At least to him, they seem intrigued with the sights of the graveyard.

“so how did you die, I'm assuming you used the gravestone in death. Yes? Not unless you enjoy a little being buried alive action, i dabble in it time to time myself so don't feel awkward. Do tell.”

Do they have to press on about that? What kind of freaky shit are they into- “you're fucking demented.” he hisses out before he can catch himself, wow way to make a nice impression on Bruce's new, probably rich if they're buying up land in this neighborhood, neighbor.

“Oh? Aren't you a romantic one, My new-not-my-neighbor-friend.”

“…that wasn't-can we drop this? You're driving me nuts.”

“You're very sweet, perhaps we can explore this another time then. Please tell Alfred the casserole was positively horrible! Toodles!”

And just like that they turn on their heel and leave, disappearing into the- wait why is it suddenly foggy? Jason shakes his head and briefly ponders whether any of that was even real, or if he's gone off the deep end this time. The weight of the casserole dish on his arm the only thing assuring him he's not full blown hallucinating like certain people he knows.

He gets a few steps closer to the manor when he pauses again, he feels…. Okay. Not great but…he feels like a human instead of a ghost occupying a body. Huh. Guess meeting someone crazier than you'll fix you.

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A/n: ngl I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, Jason's fun to write! Any feedback is appreciated as I figure out how to write other ppls POV TYYYYY 🖤💜🖤💜

[cryingpariah]

I know that we (Usopp Nation) love to discuss the multiple different ways the eventual meeting between Usopp and Yassop could go but today I wanted to discuss how I think the Strawhats would react to Usopp having/wanting/feeling like he needs to meet his father but hesitating for [Insert reason here].

Luffy: Likes Yassop obviously and would be excited to see him again! But our emotionally intelligent king would pick up on Usopp's vibes and just outright ask him what’s wrong. Would respect his decision to go or not go. If it’s a no though, he'd go and break the news but do it much too bluntly (“Yeah, Usopp didn’t want to come!”). Honestly the whole time there he’s unintentionally making Yassop feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Zoro: Pretends to not care/not have an opinion when he in fact has plenty of both. Zoro's just not the kind of person to care about blood connections, not his own anyway, so he'd probably veer on the side of not going but acts neutral. Regardless of Usopp's decision though Zoro is there to make sure he sticks to it, no wussing out! If he says he’s going he’s going, even if he’s got to hide behind Zoro the whole walk there.

Nami: Usopp's BFFL. She’s there to hype him up! No shitty absent father is allowed to make him feel like shit! She’s helping him get ready, picking a killer outfit and hairstyle for him, everyone knows looking good is the best social armour! If he decides not to go she’s still dressing up him but this time to go and paint the town red! If he does want to go she’s heading there right alongside him! Even if it looks like she’s engaged with something else best believe she’s keeping a hawk eye on Usopp.

Sanji: Guy who is so anti biological father. Is staunchly against Usopp going but tries to hide it behind neutrality and fails miserably. Ultimately though having had some emotional catharsis with facing his own father he’ll accept Usopp's decision no matter what. Absolutely tags along and brings a dish because he was raised a proper chef. (“Oh this? It’s Usopp’s favourite. Not that you had any way of knowing.” *faux polite customer service smile*)

Chopper: Little fella is CONFLICTED. On one hand he’s literally only heard good things about Yassop from both Usopp and Luffy so obviously this guy must be great! But if that was true why did Ussop look so..scared? He decides to approach this from a doctor perspective first by sitting Ussop for a checkup and letting him ramble all his thoughts out. If Usopp decides not to go Chopper's making an official announcement that Usopp's got ‘can’t-leave-the-boat-disease and has to stay for his own good.

Robin: Notices Usopp's discomfort immediately and whisks him away. Sits him down with a cup of her secret stash of soothing tea and lays down all the facts for him. Yes, he has no obligation to go see his father just cause he’s here. No it doesn’t make him a bad person if he doesn’t want to. Despite how wildly different they are, she’s the best at understanding his feelings right now and all that come with it. If he decides to not go, she’ll go in his stead to explain (and also to make sure Yassop doesn’t try to go himself).

Franky: He’s about as emotional as you’d expect. He’d probably be encouraging Usopp to go, not for his dad but for himself. His dreams of being a ‘proper man’ and ‘brave warrior of the sea’ means he shouldn’t live or die with regrets or what ifs. Regardless of Usopp's decision, Franky just wants to make he won’t regret for one reason or another. Will tag along and hype up Ussop to anyone and everyone.

Brook: Like Robin he’s taking Usopp somewhere else to calm down and think. He’s also playing him some soft violin to relax to. They don’t talk much, just let the music guide them for a bit. In a moment of violin driven vulnerability, Brook would tell Usopp that regardless of what does or does not happen, he has a place and a family right here, and that won’t ever change. Places neutral but would prefer if Usopp stayed and didn’t risk getting hurt.

Jinbei: Probably knows Yassop on a semi-causal level and therefore knew of Usopp long before FMI. Was really stunned upon hearing this would be Usopp's first proper meeting with his father. Jinbei's got plenty of sage of advice and can wash away Usopp's parental insecurities by reminding him of who he is and how any man worth a damn would be proud to call him his son. Stays behind if Usopp goes but only because he’s worried of overstepping if he does.

BONUS! (Argue with your mama, your daddy and your congressman Vivi will be the final Strawhat!!)

Vivi ft Karoo: They’re absolutely gobsmacked. Vivi's the one that brings out some latent anger Usopp doesn’t even realize he’s been holding in. I can definitely see Vivi wanting to go even if Usopp's not, she’s very confrontational after all but she defect to what Usopp wants ultimately. If he does want to go she’s right there with him and is totally throwing some shade Yassop's way. Karoo is there as a supportive friend and a quick exit strategy if Usopp needs it.

[indecisiveavocado]

Warning: This contains images that are distressing. I'm sorry. The world is distressing sometimes.

To be clear:

One of the first photos of Emily Damari we have is of her missing two fingers

They were dressed up like that by Hamas, and the Red Cross did literally nothing to stop this performance.

Once we're playing that game:

These are photographs from Gaza recently.

(All images from the Guardian except the last one, from the Middle East Monitor.)

Given those photos, why can't I say something like

Shouldn't they be starving? Suffering? Hungry? Geez, I thought this was a war, not a party!

By the way, here are some photos from other parts of the world, also recently, I could use if I really wanted to hammer in that point--mind you, it's easy to find photos from Haiti or Yemen or what-have-you also.

Congo:

Sudan:

(This is an X-ray scan of a 20-month-old's brain. That's shrapnel in there.)

Anyway.

You have the fucking chutzpah to say Zionism is an illness? No. Zionism is a reasonable response to people like you, who we all know perfectly well would cheer as I go to the gas chambers and take my things. I need a country I know will accept me, because I can't trust you.

If you had the weapons and were in the right part of the world, you'd be the terrorist.

I wonder how you sleep at night. How can you consider yourself moral? How can you be anything?

I'd say whatever antisemitic cult you've fallen into is an illness, but no; you don't choose to get ill. It's a monstrous ideology, and it boggles my mind how anyone can consider themselves to be Right and Just when it consists of glorifying murder and torture of the Wrong People.

You say your posts are fact checked.

I have to believe you are either a liar or fucking insane.

I love how you say you don't look at any sources that debunk your claims. (That was yesterday.)

Or how you tell Jews pointing out, validly, that there is plenty of aid coming into Gaza, it's foolish to expect for a Jew to be safe there and that Hamas takes a fair amount of aid to kill themselves. You call Zionists fascists and tell us to kill ourselves.

You tell something like 95 PERCENT of American Jews to kill ourselves. You refuse to engage with other views, refuse to engage with anything.

Your antisemitic death cult is grotesque and disgusting and I am ashamed to live on the same planet as you.

Judaism doesn't normally have a hell. And usually I'm glad. I'm glad my religion doesn't think people need eternal damnation to be good. I'm glad I don't need to worry about that.

But some days...

Anyway.

You are what you claim to despise.

And I don't hope you die.

No.

I hope you suffer precisely what Emily Damari suffered, since, according to you, it won't be so bad.

I hope you suffer what Pongsak Thenna suffered, and Amit Sousanna, and Shiri Bibas, and Kfir Bibas, and all of the other ones.

When Hamas return hostages they look fine.

Whe israel returns hostages they need extensive health care or burial. Israel has sent trucks of bodies, hundreds of deceased "prisoners" back to Gaza with no explanation.

Israel is a terrorist occupation. Zionism is an illness.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Lost In The Woods (And Feelings) - William Eklund

Summary: Y/n and her best friend, hockey player William, go on a week-long camping trip despite having zero experience. As the days go by, Y/n realizes she’s in love with William but believes nothing can happen between.

Words: 849

Y/n had no idea what made her to agree to this.

Camping. A full week of camping.

She and William had been best friends for years, ever since they met back in Sweden. And even after he moved to San Jose for his hockey career, they had managed to keep their friendship intact. FaceTiming at odd hours, sending each other stupid reels, meeting during any kinds of holidays. All that became a new part of their daily routine. And somehow, in between their late-night calls and playful teasing, they convinced themselves that going on a camping trip together was a brilliant idea.

It was not.

“Are you sure you know how to set up a tent?” Y/n asked, arms crossed as she watched William struggle.

“Of course,” he said confidently, before glancing at the tent bag. “I mean… how hard can it be?”

It turned out to be very hard.

“William, that’s not where the pole goes.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Are you a camping expert all of a sudden or what?”

“I don’t have to be an expert to know that the tent is not supposed to be collapsing,” Y/n protested, stepping back just in time to avoid being caught under the falling mess.

William groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to her with his best innocent smile. “Okay, well, time for a different plan.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You’re cute,” she muttered under her breath, not realizing she had said it out loud until William shot her a smirk.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning away to hide the blushing.

After what felt like hours and with the help of YouTube tutorials, they got the tent set up. It still leaned to one side more than the other, which made Y/n secretly question its stability.

That night, they sat by the fire, eating burnt marshmallows because neither of them had the patience to cook them properly. The air was cool, stars lit up the sky above them, and for a moment, Y/n let herself pretend that this was just their life.

Just the two of them, away from everything, no worries about distance or careers or the inevitable goodbye waiting for them at the end of this trip.

“This is nice,” William said, stretching his legs out and tilting his head back to look at the stars.

Y/n hummed in agreement. “Even though we are world’s worst campers in history?”

“Especially because of that.”

She smiled, leaning her head against her knees. “I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.”

William turned his head to look at her, his expression softer than usual. “Me neither.”

The way he was looking at her made Y/n’s stomach flip, but she forced herself to push the feeling away.

As the days went by, Y/n found herself slipping into a dangerous kind of comfort.

They got lost on a hike. Twice.

"Are you sure we’re going the right way?" she asked.

"Of course I am," William said, though his eyes were filled with uncertainty.

"That’s what you said twenty minutes ago, and we ended up in the same place," Y/n pointed out.

"Fine. I’ll check the GPS - oh."

"What?"

"There’s no service."

Y/n groaned. "Great. We’re going to die out here. With no water and food."

"Relax," William said, placing his arm around her shoulder. "Worst case scenario, we have to eat berries and live in the woods forever."

"Oh, fantastic. That was totally my life plan."

He grinned. "Could be worse. At least you’re stuck with me."

And that was the problem.

The more time they spent together, the more Y/n realized she didn’t want to be stuck with anyone else.

But she also knew nothing could ever happen between them. He lived in San Jose. His life was there, his career, his future. She was in Sweden, and as much as she wanted to believe in something more, reality was much different.

On their last night, as they sat by the fire, Y/n found herself staring at the flames, lost in thoughts.

William nudged her gently. “You okay?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitated before answering. “How things are going to go back to normal after this. You’ll go back to San Jose, I’ll stay in Sweden…”

William was quiet for a moment. Then, he shifted slightly, turning to face her fully.

“Would you ever move?”

Y/n was taken aback. She turned her head to look at him, trying to read his expression. “Move where?”

He shrugged, but there was something careful about the way he asked. “Anywhere.”

Y/n swallowed, her heart pounding. “I don’t know. Maybe. If the reason was good enough.”

William held her gaze for a second longer before he let out a small, almost nervous chuckle. “Good to know.”

Y/n wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but as he reached over and squeezed her hand lightly, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in her feelings as she thought.

[barbwritesstuff]

Not and ask but I do have to say I love how you’ve played with the lore of these mythical creatures. A lot of media definitely leans more towards romanticizing being one of these creatures but you’ve given them this doomed lore. If you’re a werewolf, you will go mad. If you’re a vampire you’ll likely die early or live long enough to see yourself lose touch with the world and become a blood crazed maniac. Upon dying, you can’t ever find peace in death. Becoming a monster comes with a few shiny perks and the heaviest debt you will ever take on. It’s so tragic and I love it.

I have a name for this! I'm sure people in the literacy analysis sphere have a smarter, swankier name, but I call it:

✨The Spooky vs. Superhero Slider✨

On one hand, you have the spooky stuff. Characters who are written to have genuine curses. You've been bitten by a zombie. You will die in seven days. etc That means the slider is set 100% to the spooky side.

On the other, you have literal superheroes. They're gods, they fly around and save the day, it's awesome. You want to be on this end of the slider.

Most characters who aren't just regular humans (be they vampires, werewolves, or alien gods) are somewhere along the slider. Depending on the author, depending on the story, even depending on the character, it can fluctuate a lot.

Take Lestat and Louis from Anne Rice's Interview With The Vampire for example. Both are vampires, but Lestat doesn't hate being a vampire quite as much, in fact he often has a wee bit of fun with it. Plus, he can fly. Stories from his POV are a few points more superhero than anything told from Louis' POV.

Another example, Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. They're mostly superheroes with the one big downside being their bloodlust. So, when Bella could instantly control her bloodlust, that series tipped hard into superhero. There was nothing horrific about being a vampire. It was fun. It was cool. It was... super.

It's always a sliding scale.

Personally, I prefer for that slider to remain closer to the spooky side than the superhero side. That doesn't mean I don't love superheroes. I am a massive Superman fan and wrote a whole wee story about it. But I want superheroes to be done with intentionality and I want my curses to feel like curses.

The genre of Blood Moon and Thicker Than is urban fantasy/horror.

They're not meant to be goth superheroes. They're meant to be cursed.

And that sucks for them... but it's a huge amount of fun for me, as the writer. I think it makes them much more interesting characters and makes the world way more fun to play in.

I think my werewolves have it just a tiny bit easier. They're 70% spooky and 30% superhero. The downsides are downsiding but the powers are still cool. My vampires I gave a bit of a rawer deal. They're 80%, maybe even 85% spooky. They get powers, sure, but the cost is steep.

Sorry for the long rambling response. This is just something I've thought about probably too much before.

[utterlyazriel]

this ribbon of blood that ties us together

a/n: i luv ignoring my wips and going feral and emerging from a doc 48 hours with this word count: 6.3k synopsis: Once upon a time, a high-society girl, you were to be wed. Two years on, you live a much different life alongside Arthur Morgan, an outlaw life, despite your squeamishness to blood, killing, and the like. But when the past won't stay buried, you learn just how far you'll go to protect the man you love. hurt/comfort, mutual pining, friends to lovers, period-typical sexism & canon-typical violence

By all accounts, according to Arthur, the two of you should not be friends.

Not that you weren’t lovely company! And nor was it that you couldn’t stand his long, sullen silences, even if he had trouble believing you were enjoying yourself, just sitting by him.

But there was a clear difference between you — one that Arthur felt sorely.

He hadn’t wanted to call you innocent, ‘cos you weren’t the naive type and you weren't stupid neither. But for running with a gang of outlaws? Your hands were remarkably clean.

See, you hadn’t killed a thing, ever: man or beast.

You got squeamish if you were on cooking duty when Pearson was butchering up the latest hunt, eyes hastily averted. You had pouted all day when John tread on a butterfly, even if it was entirely by accident. You passed off darning shirts to Tilly if they were too blood-soaked, nausea evident on your face.

Well, passed off is the wrong wording. More like, tried to sew without looking at your hands til Tilly took pity and offered to switch with you.

You weren't naive, you just didn't like to see things die. Not an awful hill to die on, Arthur had to agree. Neither did he in most cases.

Micah liked to grouse that you were definitely not cut out for gang life—said with a predatory curl of his lip, eyes shining with malicious intent. Probably was dreaming up all those ways to frighten you, or ruin your "innocence", just for the hell of seeing you shriek.

But Micah was a bad man. You knew that.

It’s why Arthur didn’t understand why the hell you tolerated him.

Watching you over the fire, the air bending in the heat, Arthur relents with a sigh. You did much more than tolerate him. If he wasn’t feeling so sour-faced, he probably go as far as to say you liked him, good and proper.

Besides, he could admit he was a better man than Micah; even if only in the faintest of ways.

He killed just as much. He’s beat men to death with his bare hands, blood flying and bones crunching. He doesn’t hesitate to send a bullet into any unlucky bastard getting between him and the next score for the gang.

Arthur knows feeling guilty doesn’t absolve him of nothin’.

At least he helped people too. Stopped when a lonely straggler needed a ride, retrieved stolen bags, and hunted down herbs and flowers. He enjoyed being the good thing riding into town, even if at time it took a hell of a lotta patience.

That was something he had, that Micah did not.

It just wasn’t enough for Arthur to understand why you might care for him.

But Arthur Morgan is not one to look the gift horse in the mouth and so despite how unlikely it should be, the two of you were friends.

It means being greeted in the early morning with a cup of coffee, the cup pressed into his hand before he’s even wiped the sleep from his eyes. You don’t linger, not any longer than you need to make sure he’s not gonna drop the hot mug.

The first time you had offered it, Arthur had been so surprised he had nearly dropped it.

You had laughed, hands darting out to steady the cup, and looked up at him through your lashes. “Hold tight, cowboy. That’s important stuff in there.”

Arthur had wondered then if this was what it was like to be struck by lightning. Each atom of his body fizzed, coming alive with a hum.

He had opened his mouth, then closed it, uncharacteristically flustered by the gesture.

You had laughed again, softer this time. Arthur finally reined himself in and tipped his hat in appreciation—mainly to hide the colour on his cheeks.

“Thank you kindly, miss.”

“You’re very welcome, Mister Morgan.” You had mused, amusement in your smile. Then you departed, other chores calling your name, with nothing more than a smile thrown over your shoulder.

For him, your friendship means finding the little gifts of the world to bring back. He hadn’t thought too much of it before, passing through homesteads and general stores with only fleeting glances.

However, after a week of hand-delivered cups of coffee, Arthur had begun to hunt for something of equal calibre he could give in return.

Several flowers sat in his tent, wilting and drying in the sun, in the grasp of a man too unsure of himself to gift them. He bought sweets, an extra chocolate bar in his satchel, before it was eaten in gnawing worry of what you’d think.

He was a brute. Trying to gift you nice things from his violent hands was downright laughable.

It wasn’t until he found a hair-pin, silver and slender with a delicate flower atop it, did Arthur manage to finally give back. He’d bought it before he could chicken out and once he had it, he thought it would be far stranger to keep it than to gift it.

You liked wearing flowers in your hair. That had been why Arthur picked them for you—but this, you could wear always, without it wilting.

He’d handed it over as you had passed him his morning coffee, pressing it into your palm as nonchalantly as he could manage. Then he hid his smile behind his coffee at your delighted gasp, your joy infectious and unmistakable.

You had thanked him profusely, for the first time not calling him Mister Morgan, but instead Arthur. His name had never sounded sweeter than falling from your lips

And that there… that was the one other, really good reason that you and him shouldn’t be friends.

Because as sure as the sun rose every morning, Arthur Morgan rose with it, undeniably in love with you.

—

You had been engaged once before.

Not by choice—an important distinction you hold fast to. Even if Karen likes to make passing jokes about you being a woman already spoken for, you’re thankful when Abigail quickly shoots her down with a piercing glare.

There is, after all, only one real reason a woman like you ends up on the run.

Rufus Hugo is your particular reason. A man up to his neck in wealth, pilfering the land for oil, and, as last you knew, looking for a fourth wife.

You’d once thought him unlucky, your poor fiancé.

How is it one man can be followed by such tragedy? Three young wives, in the space of a couple years, each found violated and slaughtered in the back alleys of Saint Denis, red smiles cut into their throats.

You’d once been a fool.

The papers and Sheriff had to be under his thumb, considering the blind eye and frilly stories they turned out. The rumours told a different, darker tale — ones that fell on deaf ears, too twisted up in your own plastic assurances.

Your father wouldn’t have organised this if he knew. And— and he couldn’t know, because it simply couldn’t be true.

Rufus treated you like a jewel, plying you with expensive gifts and decadent clothing, more than you’d ever had before.

When the nag in your gut didn’t leave, he had coaxed it out of you — the fear of some maniacal killer, out for the blood of Mister Hugo’s betrothed — and then he assured you with a feline smile of a wolf.

No one’s going to lay a hand on you, treasure. The only man who gets to touch you is me.

Adoring at the time.

Stomach-churning in hindsight.

You’d overheard entirely by accident, a fact that makes your heart skip stutter if you think about it too long.

Pure luck saved your life. Pure chance that you’d overheard them, wandering the halls at one of the many parties held in the honour of your engagement.

His nasty habit revealed to you in a manner of words, floating out the keyhole.

His sickening tone, lusty and humorous at once, you heard him tell the other men at the party how there was nothing better than how tight their cunts had got when he dragged the blade across their jugular.

Your stomach had plummeted. Bile crawled thickly up your throat.

The version of the world you knew contorted painfully, upside down and suddenly all wrong.

And like the vicious pain of stepping into a bear trap, the hinges of it sweeping up with sharpened blades, you knew if you stayed that you would undoubtedly be next.

You ran.

With nothing but the clothes on your back, frenzied like an animal being cornered, you ran. It was thankful you managed any coherent ideas as you tore down the stairs, pushing through the party, uncaring of the cries that followed you — but stealing a horse was probably the only reason you survived.

Though you sparsely knew how to ride it, you rode for two long, hard days before exhaustion caught up.

No amount of distance felt safe enough to slide off your dead-tired horse but you were given no choice. Your stomach ached with the growl of hunger and delirium had begun to creep in from your lack of sleep.

You were parched beyond relief and still in your god forsaken party dress, when you let your horse slow to a stop in a shallow river.

Then you’d fallen off in one spineless lump.

Caught somewhere between physical exhaustion and sleep, the freezing water had been quite the wake-up. More so when you surfaced, spluttering, and there was a man standing before you — muttering something about a strange damn woman.

It was the very first night you laid your eyes upon Arthur Morgan—soon after which, you promptly fainted from exhaustion.

The same night you disappeared from Saint Denis — becoming a ghost before you were doomed to become one at the hands on your to-be husband — you were reinvented in the warmth of a gang on the run.

—

Two years on, you stop wondering if Rufus Hugo still hunts for his fourth bride.

There would have been search parties for you, you’re sure of it. Even if half the party could attest to you fleeing of your own accord, a rich man doesn’t give up his prizes so easily.

But somewhere along the way, you’re not sure when, you stopped looking over your shoulder. You no longer tensed at every new, unfamiliar figure on the horizon, certain it was your past crawling back.

You’re not sure when—but you sure as hell know why.

Sliding off his horse in one fluid motion, Arthur hitches the reins on the post out front the general store with a grunt.

It’s a blazing day in Rhodes, the desert sun overhead. A mirage pools in the distance, along the main road. There’s little wind to cool you, just the buzz of flies around the horses.

It’s just you and Arthur travelling today.

An unnecessary journey for the sake of enjoying each other’s company; under the guise of camp work, of course.

You two are friends. Arthur kept his distance from most gang members, happier on the outside of the circle, which you knew.

It meant that when you got these moments — Arthur inviting you along for a journey to a town, the myriad of gifts he seemed to find for you — you couldn’t help but… hope.

You steal a glance at the cowboy, drinking in his rugged profile. He’s due for a shave, his beard a little longer than you know he prefers, but you gladly enjoy the sight.

Men in the city were groomed and clean-shaven. There’s something much more real about the ruggedness of Arthur’s appearance, his blue eyes flashing your way from beneath his hat. You catch the hint of his smile too.

Watching him subtly, he takes a moment to coo his praise to his mare, Hypatia. She nickers affectionately, searching for a treat that he dotingly gives. His rough voice whispers lowly of how he spoils her, even as he brushes her neck gently.

Sometimes, you really think Arthur likes horses more than he likes people.

It doesn’t bother you—how could it? How could you feel anything but soft-hearted when you see him dote on his horse, all his corners softened?

Besides, you think it’s a good show of character.

You’ve heard how he talks to himself sometimes, self-deprecating mutterings of how he’s a bad man, unworthy of your kindness.

But you’ve met worse men before.

Arthur may have killed, but never senselessly. Never for pleasure.

“I think,” Arthur says, his southern drawl thick. He tips his hat to the general store ahead of you both. “The spices will be second floor.”

Can’t hunt, can’t kill, can’t thieve — but god, can you cook.

It had been nice to have something to bring to the gang, considering your general squeamishness. Arthur decided long ago it was worth heading further south for the better spices closer to the city.

“I gots to pick up some more ammo, but I’ll meet ya in there.” His gaze finds the gun store across the street before tracking back to yours. He checks, “That alright?”

You nod to him, as your own mare butts your shoulder gently, making you laugh.

“Yeah, that’s alright, Arthur.” You affirm, reaching back to give her a pat. The sweet smile you wear is equal parts for her as it is for the cowboy before you.

“See you in a minute,” you say. Arthur nods, boots kicking up the red dirt as he begins to make his way down the main street.

The worn steps of the general store creek underfoot as you make your way up them, already mentally flicking through what you’d wanted to buy.

Salt, oregano, thyme… maybe some cumin, knowing how much Arthur seems to like it. Nodding politely to the shopkeeper, you head for the second story stairs — missing the flash of someone familiar through the window, peering in.

These wooden stairs are far less worn than those outside, but the traces of countless boots are evident all the same. Hand on the railing, you ascend slow, mind wandering off easily.

It’s venison for dinner, if you aren’t mistaken, from the latest hunt Charles brought in. Maybe tonight you’ll make convince Pearson to make the stew your way—spiced heavily and just the way Arthur likes it. (He hasn’t told you that half the reason is because it’s you making it.)

You approach the lined shelves with a hum, eyes dancing from colourful tin to colourful tin. Spotting your first target, a trusty tin of salt, you miss the creek of the floorboards behind you as you reach for it.

“Treasure.”

Your hand falters, fingers outstretched, halted in the place. There’s the unmistakable heat of a body behind you— but even so, the scrape of a knife leaving its sheathe confirms it.

A shuddering exhale forces from your mouth as the knife is suddenly beneath your chin, hovered above your throat. You lock in place, hand still held out. A hurricane of harrowing dread howls through you.

It couldn’t… it couldn’t be him.

No way could he have found you now, after years of your disappearance — no way was he still fucking looking for you.

The well of horror in your chest caves in, growing like a sinkhole, as your mind repeats the same word over and over: no, no, no, no, no.

The blade moves up, the cool edge of it pressing to your chin. You inhale sharply and feel a tremble start to take your body as your face is forcibly turned, pulling your gaze to a sickeningly familiar face.

“My, my,” Rufus croons. “My little bride to-be. Been lookin' for you a long time.”

Your nose wrinkles at the title, one you’d renounced the minute you'd fled, all those months ago. His dark eyes narrow at the motion and travel to your outstretched left hand, eyeing it with a glint.

“No ring.” He tuts, letting the knife fall back against your throat and resting it there.

You snatch your hand back in, hands flying to his arm and pulling with all your might—a fruitless battle against his strength. All it earns you is the sharp edge of the blade pressing further into your skin and you stop moving quickly, another gutted gasp pulled from you.

"Do you even know," He hisses into your ear. "How much goddamn money I spent on you? On trying to track you down?"

The venom in his voice leaks out, replaced by a charismatic purr you're far more familiar with. Once upon a time, it had voiced believable assurances from a man who would happen to be your husband.

Now, it only widens the sinkhole in your chest.

"You've cost me a fortune, treasure. Now I've come to collect what I'm owed."

A finger draws an idle line on your back, creeping forward along the stroke of your waist. Try as you might to suppress it, a shiver skitters through you and your throat presses ever closer to the knife again.

It's enough to pierce the skin, just a sliver, before the finger on your waist turns is joined by four others, clamping tightly.

Your balance wavers as you're forced back, the hard line of his body pressing flush up against you.

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck are you going to do?

Eyes screwing closed, you force your breath to remain even. You— you have your own revolver but if you move, you don't doubt Rufus has any qualms with painting the shop-floor with your blood.

If he wants you, he'll have to move you- he— he'll have to leave the shop and then, you can try—

A loud clatter sound and your eyes fly open, catching on to what's been dropped — your stomach following suit quickly. Your revolver glints back at you.

"Here's what's going to happen," Rufus begins, as if he's merely discussing the weather. "You and I are gonna—"

His voice drops at the intrusion of noise, a squeak from the stairs behind you. In an instant, you remember the person you're waiting on. Arthur.

A desperate mixture of terror and relief shoves up your throat. It's a warning and a cry for help simultaneously.

When the knife shifts, you have no choice but to shift too, your body and Rufus twisting deftly—his other hand drawing his revolver in an instant, the barrel directed at Arthur. He's already drawn back the hammer.

There's no keeping your breathing even now. Not as you get to watch Arthur's distracted gaze tug upward, seeing the horror seep into his expression. His body becomes deathly still.

You don't come along on jobs for good reason. Even so, you aren't so naive as to think being an outlaw has no risks. You know Arthur has been on the barrel-end of innumerable weapons, that he risks his life on the daily.

You've just never had to see it with your own eyes before.

The scene unfolding before you feels like a honest-to-god nightmare, ripped from the most fearful parts of your mind and thrust into reality.

A slush of hysteria churns within you at the realisation you may very, very well watch Arthur die today. The man who had been the first to hold out his hand, to offer you aid, to pull you from the life you were running to escape.

The one you hold too closely in your heart, in your affections.

The thought triggers something to seize terribly in your heart — and you know suddenly, without doubt, you'll do anything to stop it from happening.

There's a long moment where nobody breathes. You watch as Arthur's sharp eyes dart from the gun, to the knife on your neck, up to your face in rapid succession. You watch his horror bleed into a vengeful fury, one like you've never seen before.

"You don't want to do that."

The words come out so low it's nearly a growl. Arthur's hand moves, drawing back to his holster when Rufus interrupts.

"Uh, uh, uh," He taunts, quickly turning the barrel of the gun to your head. The barrel of it butts against your temple.

Arthur freezes.

"That's right. You're going to drop your revolver."

It's a staggeringly long moment as Arthur wrestles with what to do, his hand still hovering, fingers twitching. Then the knife nudges closer and the single trickle of blood down the column of your neck is enough to have him complying.

It lands with a thud against the floor. It feels like the nail in the coffin.

"Why are you doin' this?"

The revolver in Rufus' hand lolls forward to aim back at Arthur, the motion almost lazy. He smiles.

"She didn't tell you?" His attention switches to you, using his thumb on the knife to stroke along your neck. "Is this who you replaced me with, treasure? He's hardly an upgrade. Hell, he looks—"

The words die off as Rufus' head snaps back to Arthur, his passive grip on his gun changing in an instant.

For one long moment, he studies the outlaw across from you both and then, horribly, you feel the moment he starts to laugh.

"Oh, treasure," He all but coos at you. You see Arthur bristle across the room. "You're precious. Runaway with the outlaws, did you? This day just gets better and better."

He focuses his gaze back on Arthur and lines up his aim, hand steady. "I've seen your wanted posters, Mister Morgan. A fine five thousand to bring you in. My bride and my money all in a day's work."

He grins like the goddamn cat that got the cream, finger adjusting on the trigger.

And even though you know he knows, even though you know you told him, you can't help how your focus snaps to Arthur's reaction. Your stomach swoops in a horrible twist.

Because you can't but wonder if you're worth the trouble. As if you think, that now, as he realises who this man from your past is, he'll relent. He'll hand you over.

Understanding flickers across Arthur's face, the word bride sinking in with a sting. Then, somehow, the lethality rippling from his very being grows, expanding tenfold.

He's downright murderous, looking every bit of the immoral, malevolent man he believes himself to be.

He is never going to hand you over, you realise, the fear dissipating in the air like smoke.

Another one takes its' place. It's a terrible truth; he'll get himself killed trying to save you.

"Best of all?" Rufus hums. "You're wanted dead or alive, Mister Morgan."

He'll kill him.

You act without thinking. Distracted enough, Rufus' strength is beaten as your wrench the arm holding the knife back far enough to bite down into it, hard. Blood springs up beneath your teeth, the hard lines of sinew snapping beneath the force.

Rufus howls in pain. The revolver drops Arthur from its' sights as Rufus shoves against you fiercely, the butt of the gun slamming against your temple in a loud knock. You both hurtle to the ground in a desperate struggle—and all you can think of it the blade in his hand.

It presses forward, aimed for your neck, and you rip your teeth out of his arm, taking a pound of flesh with it. Rufus wails again and the knife surges forward, intended for your heart.

You twist frantically and escape the hold, scampering up and with nothing but pure instinct, your urge the blade into his own chest, pressing with all your weight.

It sinks in with a satisfying, bubbling gurgle. Blood rises quickly to spew from the wound, a river of red spilling out.

He's going to kill him—he's going to kill Arthur. The manic thought has your hands prying the knife out and driving it back in again, over and over, his body making soft squelching as gutted sounds drag from his mouth.

Blood sprays wildly, coating your face and clothes, but you can't stop. You can't stop, he's going to kill Arthur and take you away from him. You can't let it happen— you can't—

Hands pull at your arms and you seize wildly, dropping the knife and thrashing away, but in doing so, Arthur swings into vision.

It's him. He's alive. He's the one touching you. He's speaking, his lips moving, but no words are reaching your ears.

Your chest is heaving, hyperventilation wracking your body. Your ringing ears finally tune back in.

"—alright, you're alright. It's me. He's dead. He's dead. You're okay." Arthur murmurs, almost nonsensically, his hands held out, palms up. He's crouched before you and he barely knows what he's saying, but you're staring at him like a wild animal, drenched in blood.

"It's okay," He says again, desperate to help you in any way he can, blues eyes locked on you. "You're okay."

There's still blood in your mouth from the chunk you've taken out of Rufus' arm and a bright red splatter of it sprayed across your face.

"I—" The word coughs out of you.

Your gaze falls into horror as you take in the body growing cold on the floor next to you. Arthur watches the panic set in as the realisation of what you've done sets in.

"I- I had to, I had to," You begin to babble, terror threaded in your tone. "I had to, he was— he was gonna kill you."

"Hey, hey," Soothing sounds fall from his lips as Arthur shifts forward, reaching for you desperately. You grip his forearms, eyes wide, as if you need to make him understand.

"He was gonna—" Your words are interrupted by your own choking sob, breathing coming too fast. "Arthur, he was gonna kill you, I-I had to."

"I know, I know," Arthur croaks out, his throat thickening as his own realisation dawns. This hadn't been an act of rabid self-defence, as he thought. You had killed Rufus for him.

You, who can't stand the sight of blood, who gets queasy at the butchers, who doesn't like to hunt or kill — but will for him. To protect him. If he wasn't already there, the sheer display of love would send Arthur crumbling to his knees.

But he just moves his hands, his violent hands, to cup your face. The blood smears. "I know, sweetheart."

Your staring him, your eyes still wide and wild, looking frantically for something in his face. Forgiveness? Absolution?

Arthur will gladly absolve you of this, a crime that was barely a crime at all. Saving his life and your own, at the cost of the life of a killer.

There's blood on your eyelashes and in your hair. Your breathing slows but your bottom lip quivers with a fierceness. In the smallest voice he's ever heard from you, you whisper, "I had to," then crumble.

Arthur's large body cradles yours easily, one hand tucking around your middle and the other shifting to cup the back of your head as you sink into him. Your head tucks away in the crook of his neck, soft sobs spilling out easily now, and something awful aches in Arthur's chest.

"I got you," He repeats, a promise, a goddamn oath he swears to keep. "I got you, you're okay. You didn't do nothin' wrong."

He feels downright evil to move you so soon but his ears prick at some commotion below. Casting his eyes back to dead body, Arthur knows the large pool of blood has made its way through the floorboards. It's only a matter of minutes before the Sheriff will be here.

"Shit." He curses. He strokes a tender hand along your hair, calling gently for your attention.

"We gotta move. People are comin'. Can you walk?"

You dig your face out of his neck, movements sluggish. The exhaustion from the terror has drained you, your eyelids already drooping, limbs heavier.

Arthur makes the call for you.

Hoisting you softly into his hold, he keeps you nestled against his broad chest, arms tucked behind your back and the bend of your knees. He's almost thankful you can't stand, if only so he can feel the puffs of breaths that escape you against his neck, a reminder you're still with him.

Arthur eyes the locked door in the back corner. It'll lead around the back of the general store and out to the street but Hypatia and your own horse were still hitched out the front. Gritting his teeth, he prepares himself for a wild run, hoping the element of surprise is enough.

It will be enough. It has to be enough.

It's with a charging sprint that he makes it down the stairs, his boots slamming against the wooden floorboards. He doesn't pause to take in the shop-keepers aghast reaction, nor the sprinkling shower of red from the ceiling.

He bursts out into the daylight. Eagle eyes scanning the streets, it's clear that, for now, he's ahead of the law.

With less gentleness than he'd prefer, Arthur pushes you up onto Hypatia's saddle, keeping one hand on your waist to keep you upright and on. His other reaches for the reins hitched over the post and he snags them free, quickly doing the same for your horse.

There's a yell down the street, loud and demanding. Arthur doesn't spare a glance, vaulting himself up onto the saddle behind you.

With a hyah! and a loud, practised whistle, Hypatia breaks into a sprint, quickly followed by your own horse.

Two horses tear down main street, hooves thundering, a fearsome and unstoppable silhouette against the western sun.

The townspeople bleat their fear, barely leaping out the way in time as the horses rush by. Dust kicks up a red-dirt storm. Soon, when it settles, gone will be the only proof you were ever there.

Arthur rides.

The weight of you, slumped back in his chest, is less of a comfort than he would like.

He wants to— no, needs to see your eyes, needs to intercept every foul, wicked thought running rabid in your mind. You’re clawing at your soiled conscience, he’s sure of it, trying to tear the new stain on it from you.

Ruined yourself—for him.

A spidering guilt cloys in his chest, darker than ink and sharper than any blade or bullet he’s ever felt before. His chest aches.

Arthur knows he’s a bad man. He just never imagined he might drag you down to his murky depths.

Swallowing heavy, he grips the reins tighter. Leather bites into his palms. He welcomes the punishment.

He feels, more than hears, your sudden shuddering gasp as you come back to yourself. Your exhaustion must have dipped away enough and it’s clear, for a moment, you struggle to place yourself and your surroundings.

The jostle of a horse beneath you is a giveaway but even so, Arthur feels your hand curl across his toned forearm. Your grip is tight, nearly masking the tremble in your fingers. Nearly.

“It’s me,” Arthur assures, raising his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear over the rumble of galloping. “I got you, it’s Arthur.”

The grip on his arm loosens, his works sinking in, and you nod wordlessly. You let him cocoon you in safety, surrounded in his arms.

Unknown to Arthur, the ride is far too reminiscent of the journey you’d taken all those years ago; the long, hard ride with no goal but putting distance between you and where you were running from. Who you were running from.

Except this time, the one you're running from is dead. He’s dead and you killed him.

It’s unclear how far he travels, the sun sitting lower in the sky, a pinkness blooming on the horizon, before Arthur pulls Hypatia into a slower trot.

You hadn't been followed out of Rhodes, he knows, but he’d still taken you as far as he could, likely further than necessary.

But now, out of physical danger, his priority switches on a dime, all of his senses zoned in to you before him. You, still wordless, still vacant, still painted in a glaze of scarlet.

The decision come easy, Arthur using his keen skills to trot towards the sound of water. A thorough check ensures you'll have no company and Arthur wastes no time, tugging the reins to a halt with a quiet click. He dismounts, large hands reaching for you before his boots even hit the dirt.

You’re willing, your hands seeking him, finding his shoulders and allowing him to help you off Hypatia. There’s a dulled look in your eyes and Arthur knows he will do anything—anything— to change that.

Feet on the ground, you’re level with his chest and you blink slowly, staring forward.

For a moment, Arthur waits, his brows drawn together in his concern. He gives you the moment. If you need to cry, to scream, to blame him — he'll take it, weather whatever storm you have brewing within you.

But you only drag yours eyes up to meet his, voice still small, "I got blood on you."

Another fracture in his chest, another ache of misery. Arthur sighs, gaze softening immeasurably, his hand coming up to cup your cheek tenderly. The blood smears beneath his touch.

"That's alrigh', sweetheart." He murmurs, sweet as he can. He tilts his head slightly, towards the lazy, roving river, blue eyes never leaving you. “Will ya let me clean yer up? In the river?”

You seem to just notice the riverbank you’re standing upon, head twisting to peer at the roaming water of the river.

A nod, minuscule and unnoticeable, if he wasn’t tuned into your every movement.

His hand on your face shifts, reaching down to tangle with your own. It's an anchor in unsteady seas, solid and unflinching.

Your eyes take in your hands, intertwined, and trail up to his face — and you know, with a sudden burning intensity, you can't regret what you've done today.

Not if it means having him. Not if it means saving him.

Arthur leads you down to the water, slow and steady. You follow, hand clutching his tightly, like a devoted follower who trails a messiah, your salvation ahead.

Stopping only to remove your boots and his own, along with his hat, Arthur bites back his hiss at the chill of the water as he wades his way in, fully clothed. The water licks up his calves, thighs, rushing around the sudden intrusion. When it reaches above his waist, he pauses, letting you catch up.

The sun kisses the horizon in the distance, a mellow and amber light cast far across the landscape. Strange how much had happened, had changed, in a manner of hours.

Crickets chorus. In the nearby trees, an owl hoots a soft lullaby.

Arthur doesn't let go of your hand. With the other, he brushes it across the surface of the river and then reaches in, letting it pool into his palm. He brings it your face and lets its run across your hairline, loosening the blood that's crusted there.

It's a slow, dedicated process.

Hands, scarred and calloused, pass over your skin the softest of touches. His thumb works gently at your hair, washing the blood away into the river. You close your eyes when he asks you to, in a low murmur, and the cake of sin is cleaned from you in the most tender of motions.

"Will I ever be clean again?"

A whispered question, eyes still closed. The blood may be leaving but you can still feel it spraying across your face, hot and thick. It's sunk in, you're sure of it—evidence of your crime just an inch beneath your flesh.

"You are not unclean." Arthur grunts, his hand still moving as he speaks. His thumb passes over your jaw. "This— what you did, it don't dirty these hands, you hear me? You did what you needed to do. You did nothin' wrong."

The assurances feel heady and heavy and you want to shake them off. You're not yet sure if you deserve them.

"I'm not mad he's dead." You say. He has to know this.

"I'm not mad I—" Your voice wavers terribly, even if your mind is set. "—killed him."

Eyes fluttering open, you gaze up at Arthur, reverent and resolute. "I... I would do it again, Arthur."

The for you is unspoken.

But if he looks, if he peers between the lines, you know Arthur would find it, beside the I love you hidden within your earnest words.

It's barely a secret—not when you want him to see it. You've been torn open today, a festering wound split down your middle, and somehow nothing feels more crucial than him knowing.

Him knowing and loving you still, seeing you unchanged, despite it all.

The water rushes around you, carrying your transgressions away, and his hand in yours, dwarfing it, does not falter. Arthur's eyes graze across your face. He seems to find what he's searching for.

"You won't ever have to, sweetheart." He says, voice nearly a whisper.

His lips find your hairline, scraping a delicate kiss against the clean skin there. Then he presses his forehead against yours, soothing and intimate, a lifeline. An understanding and a reciprocation.

A sudden urge possesses you, the words clawing up your throat in a frenzy.

You need to tell him, need to say the words aloud and make him understand, as you had on that shop floor.

What if he doesn't know?

His forehead shifts against yours, the tips of your noses nudging together, your interwoven hands grasping each other just as tightly as the other. A warmth rises in your chest, glowing and fizzling, and despite the day, your lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

He knows.

[puppiesinbeacon]

Teen Wolf Fic Rec List

9 Sterek (+1 spnteenwolf/crossover that I just adore).

LUST (Lust & Unresoved Sexual Tension) by theroguesgambit

"'Derek… Incubus, remember? This isn’t… we aren’t…” Derek cuts off his words with his mouth (it’s fucking effective, why hasn’t be been doing this since the day they’d met?) and breaks away again long enough to growl “I’ll send it a fruit basket later.” -- The pack has to deal with an incubus. This was going to be a PWP but I'm a giant mushball so ended up being about feelings." Words: 8,278

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221239

Let It Burn Fast by RurouniHime

"'So.” Stiles rubs his thighs, snaps his fingers again restlessly and looks around. “Thoughts? Comments? Revisions you’d like to submit for consideration?” Derek weighs it. “Stiles, are you asking me to have sex with you for the good of the pack?” “I—yeah.” Stiles blinks a couple times, then smiles again. “Yeah, I guess I am. That is the thing that I am doing.” (or, the one where Stiles proposes no-strings-attached sex for Magical Reasons and Derek somewhat unwisely agrees.)" Words: 32,562

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919445/chapters/39751182

Gonna Write A Classic by jezziejay

"The sexploits that Stiles writes about aren’t autobiographical. There’s never been anything overtly salacious about his own sexlife, nothing that was ever going to be screenplayed for a porno, but he still has a very creative imagination to work with. Usually. Tragically, and frighteningly, his imagination has gone rogue on him. It’s broken, flatlined, missing. “I have writer’s cock,” he whines at Scott over the phone. Or the AU where Stiles writes porn to help him through college and Derek becomes his muse." Words: 6,067

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410000

Will To Follow Through by owlpostagain

"'It depends entirely on how you look at it, I guess,” Stiles shrugs. “On the one hand, instant healing and the apparently inherited ability to pull off leather at all times. On the other, serious attitude problems and a suspicious disappearance of eyebrows.” “Even Derek’s?” Danny snorts, “that’s a lot of eyebrow to lose.” “I know,” Stiles agrees. “You should see, it’s so weird. Every time I want to ask him where they go, except he’d totally eat my face off.” “There are worse ways to die.”' Words: 42,411

https://archiveofourown.org/works/574941/chapters/1030600

Twilight by Hedwig221b

"Derek. Stiles thought about him the most. Something told him that it wasn’t the last time, far from it. He thought about his softness and his open desire to kill. Stiles’ hands remembered the heat of his hands. His neck longed to feel the coating warmth of Derek’s breath. His lips burned from the kiss that never happened. Everything was so fucking complicated. Except one thing. It was the only clear thought in his head. The one that made his stomach clench from fear, his heart stutter from hope, and his lips stretch in a smile. He was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Derek." Words: 67,799

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61991869/chapters/158527216

The Seven Lives Of Stiles Stilinski by glorious_spoon

"Stiles disturbs an abandoned temple and catches the attention of a goddess of time and fate. When he starts time-traveling involuntarily through the past, he's not sure if she means it as a curse or a lesson--but no matter when he travels to, he always seems to end up at Derek's side." Words: 25,975

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125540/chapters/35071370

Pale Skin and Fragile Bone by fakinbrilliance

"Stiles asks Derek to teach him self-defense." Words: 62,239

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330807/chapters/5136185

Saturday Night At The Movies by aussiebee

"After running into Stiles at the late night movies, Derek realises just how badly Stiles is handling the post-nogitsune fallout. He knows the feeling." Words: 7,349

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207809

We Should Be Lovers by stilinskisparkles

"They’re both more frantic this time, and Derek hopes it’s in part because Stiles has been thinking about him just as much as Derek’s been thinking of Stiles. He doesn’t want it just to be because they’re drunk, or because the party’s mostly a bust. And, if it is, he’s determined to make it about him. He wants Stiles to remember him." Words: 6,643

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600951

And here, my honorable mention:

No One Chooses This Life by lapsus_calami

"Stiles wasn't running from his problems. Except he kind of was, but at least he was being productive while doing it. He gave himself one year. One year away from Beacon Hills, away from the pack, away from his dad. One year to get himself pulled together, to stop spiraling into panic attacks, to stop falling into pits of despair, to stop screaming himself awake every night. One year to learn everything he could about his spark, about hunting, about the supernatural. One year so that when he went back maybe, just maybe, he could do more good than harm." Words: 253,586

A sprinkling of Dean/Stiles in there, but it's not the focus. This fic is going 10 years strong, and they just posted a new chapter dec2024.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/240129

[rottenpumpkin13]

Angeal, Sephiroth and Genesis all start growing wings and becoming monsters, essentially defecting together to make it Shinra’s problem.

Who/what do they take with them?

No one could say precisely when it started. Sephiroth would claim it was the moment he first saw a wing on Genesis' back, and Angeal would argue it was when Genesis told them both he was leaving. Genesis, naturally, would blame Sephiroth for existing too perfectly and throwing the balance of the universe into disarray.

Regardless, the point was that one day, SOLDIER's elite began sprouting wings, and instead of doing the sane thing—seeing a doctor, maybe asking Hojo and Hollander what the hell was happening (not that they ever would)—they looked at each other, had one (1) conversation, and decided to make it Shinra's problem.

So they left. Defected. Just like that.

Except they weren't stupid, they were going to do something useful.

SOLDIER had been suspicious for a long time. Some of them were tired, some of them were sick and didn't know why, and some of them had spent too many years watching good men die, fighting Wutai, monsters and Shinra's own unchecked ambition. So when Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis stood before them, living proof that whatever was in their veins was changing them into something else, they listened.

And they followed. Not all, obviously. Angeal pulled Zack aside and told him, firmly, to stay put. Zack argued, because of course he did, but Angeal wouldn't budge. Zack wasn't ready to burn bridges. Not yet. Not ever, if Angeal had his way.

And so, the lines were drawn. (Sephiroth, for the record, had one hard rule: No clones, no copies, no Hojo-esque bullshit. If they were going to fight, it was going to be real).

At first, Shinra underestimated them. A few dozen SOLDIER defectors, even with Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis leading them, couldn't possibly stand against an entire mega corporation, right? Right? Wrong.

Shinra sent out waves of fighters and Turks. They cut through them. Shinra tried to use the media against them. Genesis countered with unsettlingly well-articulated emails to his unwavering fanclub.

Shinra tried to hunt them down. Sephiroth started hunting back.

They moved fast, striking at supply lines, freeing factory workers, taking down the worst of Scarlet's machines. But degradation still loomed. Genesis and Angeal were feeling it creeping in—the inevitable decay of their bodies, the slow disintegration into something inhuman.

Then Sephiroth, in a moment of absolutely reckless self-sacrifice (or devotion, Sephiroth would later argue), offered up his own cells. Unlike Hollander's garbage, they worked. No more degradation. No slow, agonizing descent into nothingness.

For the first time in a while, Genesis and Angeal were whole again. And so, freed from death's shadow, they settled down. Not permanently. Shinra was still trying to kill them, but they found a house. A quiet, tucked-away place in the country where they could breathe. The war wasn't over, but they could take breaks.

Until Zack showed up, SOLDIER First Class and all, to fight Shinra's battles.

Zack: You traitors won't get away with this! How could you abandon SOLDIER and everything we fight for!? Where's your honor? I'd never betray SOLDIER like this! You guys are evil!

*AGS are in the kitchen, cooking dinner, completely unfazed*

Angeal, wearing an apron: Yeah, yeah. Are you staying for dinner? I'm making extra lasagna, and for dessert, Genesis made apple pie.

Genesis: I'd love to hear more about your girlfriend, Aerith. Let me go grab some wine.

Sephiroth: If you want, you can help me set up this telescope so we can look at the stars after dinner.

Zack: Fuck SOLDIER, Fuck Shinra, Fuck President Shinra, fuck Rufus Shinra, fuck Heidegger, fuck Palmer, fuck Hojo, fuck the coffee machine in the breakroom that never works right, I quit. Pass me a plate.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

The fact so many are really out there cherry-picking Robert Eggers interviews to justify their incorrect interpretations of “Nosferatu” (2024) ending is wild. Some are really obsessing over the “vengeance” detail and taking it out of context while ignoring everything else. This is peak denial, and you are grasping at straws, at this point.

Linda Muir, the costume designer, reveals Ellen’s costumes showcase her progressive liberation from Victorian society until she’s fully liberated at the end, and her nature takes over;

Robert Eggers calls the union between Ellen and Orlok “a sacred marriage”, a “completion of some kind of destiny”, “sex and death”, and how Orlok is the only person who can understand and fulfill Ellen;

Bill Skarsgård described the ending as “sex and ecstasy”, and “maybe that is what Orlok wanted all along”, and that this story is “a very heightened fairy tale/dark story, but also it's two people potentially falling in love. It isn't love, it's something else, but love is maybe the closest thing to it that you can kind of relate to”;

Lily-Rose Depp said: “she's [Ellen] doing a good deed and she's breaking the curse, but she's also indulging in a dark desire that she has” and how “ it’s a love story with Count Orlok” and “there’s a mutual yearning there”;

David White, the Prosthetics and Make-up Designer said they made “a different paint job” on Orlok to give a “sense that there’s some kind of twisted romance going on here” because the idea wasn’t “grossing everyone out. It’s quite delicate. The beats that Robert’s looking for, he’s very good at pacing those things.”

Linda Muir also confirmed the lilacs connect Ellen and Orlok, even though this is obvious in the film itself, it’s the visual storytelling of their yearning: “this lavender hue subliminally underscores the connection between Ellen and Orlok, who remembers lilacs from when he was alive.”

Robert Eggers also confirmed Ellen and Orlok are inspired by Catherine and Heathcliff from “Wuthering Heigths” by Emily Brontë. Catherine and Heathcliff are reunited in the spiritual realm after their physical deaths, and Mr. Lockwood sees their spirits approaching the window. The last shot of Von Franz is him at the window, smiling.

Robert Eggers also revealed he was inspired by “Svengali” (1931); where Svengali could only have the female lead love in death (“Oh, God, grant me in death what you denied me in life; the woman I love”) and also “La Belle et la Bête” (Beauty and the Beast) (1946), where the maiden’s love breaks the curse of the beast.

The only mentions of Thomas in interviews is how he’s greedy, loves his wife but doesn’t understand her (no shade, but it is what it is). But you really think her sacrifice is about him!? Linda Muir literally tells us Ellen is progressively breaking free from Victorian society until she’s fully liberated at the end, so the point of her sacrifice isn’t to save Victorian society, either. These are collaterals of the true reason; breaking the curse, like Lily-Rose Depp says. The ending is about Ellen and Orlok, and their union.

Ellen doesn’t “defeat” Orlok, they both get exactly what they want. Only idiots with confirmation bias from previous adaptations and no understanding of this story interpret the ending this way, even though all the interviews from the cast and crew, the inspirations and the film itself (if you take the time to actually break it down in a serious manner, with the historical and folklore context), contradict this interpretation.

Many also don’t know how spiritual contracts work; Orlok wanted Ellen’s soul and he got it. It’s a spiritual contract. They were both meant to die. He literally tells her “you not for living” in the prologue, and “you are not of human kind” twice. Their covenant is: “You are not for the living. You are not for human kind. And you shall be one with me ever-eternally […] As our spirits are one, so too shall be our flesh. You are mine.” They have sex not only to consummate their marriage, but because the breaking of the curse is a Sex Magick ritual (“maiden fair did offer up her love unto the beast, and with him lay in close embrace until first cock crow”). Robert Eggers show us Herr Knock performing a Şolomonari Sex Magick ritual (masturbation) for a reason.

Ellen gave him her soul; he is already dead, his spirit is trapped in that rotten corpse and has to be set free (break the curse, “her willing sacrifice freed them from the plague of Nosferatu”) and she has to die for this covenant to be fulfilled: “willing sacrifice”; Orlok asks her “you accept this, of your own will?”

The Şolomonari codex of secrets with the instructions Von Franz found not only belonged to Orlok, he wrote it himself; in Romanian folklore the final assignment at the Scholomance (the school located in the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania, where Orlok studied to become a Şolomonar) was to copy one's entire knowledge of humanity into a "Şolomonar's book". This is based on the “Dracula” novel; Dracula also studied at the Scholomance. Von Franz says “their Nosferatu” is Şolomonari after he finds the book; he’s confirming to the audience the book is Orlok’s (the confirmed Şolomonar by the narrative; Knock is not a Şolomonar, he didn’t attend the Scholomance). This isn’t a “fan theory” and Robert Eggers doesn’t need to confirm in interviews what his film already confirms to the audience.

Orlok wanted Ellen to break his curse, and set his spirit free. When the “vampire hunters” arrive at Grünewald Manor, Von Franz tells Thomas to “set the daemon’s spirit free” (foreshadowing for Orlok’s death). Orlok also wants Ellen’s spirit by his side, forever, in the spiritual world. That is his whole motivation in this story. A curse she put on him when she brought him back from the dead, and cursed him to be a strigoi. How the hell are you taking revenge on someone while you are breaking the curse you, yourself, put upon them, in the first place? Simple, the “vengeance” Eggers talks about has nothing to do with Ellen and Orlok, and the 2023 script is filled with incorrect dialogue and descriptions, especially of the ending scene: this script says Orlok just falls over Ellen, and that doesn’t happen. She embraces him and comforts him while the sun is killing his physical form.

Ellen accepts Orlok because only him can understand and fulfill her (“I cannot be sated without you”), and she finally realizes her nature won’t ever be accepted by Victorian society (like Orlok intended when he gave her the “countdown”), because she’s not for the living, she’s not for human kind. Her and Orlok are dual-natured spirits who belong to Pagan times.

This is what Robert Eggers intended, this is what the cast and crew interview tell us, and the film itself, not your half-baked wishful thinking interpretations based on one word and on a script that’s incorrect. Eggers won’t even share with us his Orlok backstory and you really think he’s allowing the actual script to be online.

[haithhegimp]

Jason Todd is Mentally Sixteen During Under The Red Hood*

(The overly long introduction is all in brackets! You will not experience too much confusion should you choose to skip, so feel free to skip. The content of the post will be under the cut.

*As always with the DCU, consistency is far more dead than the Waynes could ever be. This post is about Jason's timeline from UTRH, and only UTRH. I will use a couple of sources from other places for information we cannot confirm from UTRH, but can vaguely be assume are true there. However I will not be talking about the timelines from other media, and especially not other continuities, in this post. I will also be interpreting certain scenes, and that ultimately makes this post somewhat subjective.

I love UTRH a lot, and I found that most other Jason fans love it too. We often use it as a major content source and base a lot of our opinions and feelings surrounding Jason on it. However, in hyperfixating and re-reading it several times over, I have realised that a lot of us miss a major detail that gets exposition-ed to us in Chapter 14/[Batman(1940) Annual #25]!

Of course, if you've come to the same conclusions as I have, and choose to ignore them, then absolutely more power to you. I'm not here to police which canon you folks choose to stitch together and treat as your own, if you choose to interact with canon at all. These are all just comics, have fun!

On top of that, it sometimes gets vague and up to interpretation (which is honestly an aspect I kind of like) so this can all be considered my own opinion if you personally disagree with an interpretation I make <3

Anyways, a lot of us enjoy the angst factor that comes out of Jason being young, but not many of us realise exactly how young he is. This is something I wish to explain to you folks for your content consumption pleasure ^^

Overly long introduction done, yo!)

1. Jason dies at 15 years old.

I am so sorry, I could not find a primary source for this.

Secondary Source A- Word of mouth. Various different Tumblr and Reddit posts I have found when looking this up have listed Jason as being 15 when he dies. Including this post from @thebatmanfiles-blog, this post from @fuckyeahjasontodd, this post from @oh-mother-of-darkness, and these posts from u/GooderCand and u/InDarknessOftFindI

Secondary Source B- Jason's death certificate from [The Batman Files]

Not to be mistaken for [Batman Secret Files], Matthew K. Manning's [The Batman Files] is not a canon DC property work, to my knowledge. (It's honestly kind of confusing, but I'm listing this as a secondary source because I am... pretty sure that [The Batman Files] is not a canon DC property, it is not available on the DC Database Fanwiki or the Official DC Website).

2. Jason Is Revived Six Months After His Death

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25] *(This is just a fun fact, feel free to skip. The page of Jason being alive is taken directly from the, at the time unreleased, [Batman #428: Robin Lives!], with only being slightly recoloured. Due to the gimmick of Jason's death, [Batman (1940) #428] had two different versions drawn out, and though I wasn't able to find any interviews or comments about this on shallow research, it's nice to imagine that the producers of UTRH wanted to showcase Aparo and DeCarlo's unseen efforts ^^)

Jason was originally supposed to live (according to the narration)-- we can use this to say that his injuries (by comic book logic) were non-fatal.

Jason, in his coffin, is shown with the same injuries as his dying-but-not-supposed-to-die-body-- we can use this to say he is biologically 15 when revived.

After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 15.5 Jason's Biological Age- 15 Jason's Mental Age- 15

3. Jason Gets Into A Coma For One Year

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

After digging himself out of the grave, Jason is hit by a car (man, he cannot catch a break)

He is hospitalized and operated on, before going into a coma for One Year

General-Comic-Book-Logic and Actual Research (I sincerely apologize but I'm not looking through genuine medical documents to verify this one, I'm just gonna trust the basic google search) both agree that coma patients do not mentally age

This means Jason's mental age stagnates for One Year

One Year After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 16.5 Jason's Biological Age- 16 Jason's Mental Age- 15

4. Jason Spends Two Years Catatonic*

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25] *The original describes this state as Jason being run by his instincts, without reason, clarity, or memory. Fans have labeled this as catatonia. I will be referring to this state as catatonia for convenience sake.

Jason wakes up from his coma, but is catatonic

He spends One Year being homeless and living off of instincts (man, he CANNOT catch a break)

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

An international game of telephone occurs when a thug sees Jason doing some Robin moves

The Al Ghul's are at the end of the line and kidnap Jason

They keep him, in his catatonic state, for One Year

It is unclear, at this point, whether Jason's catatonia has impaired his mental aging

Three Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 18.5 Jason's Biological Age- 18 Jason's Mental Age- ???

5. Jason Gets Dunked Into The Lazarus Pit

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

Here is where my interpretation comes in,

Jason's first words upon leaving the Pit are ["What!? What is happening to me!?"]

Jason, while running away with Talia asks, ["Talia?! What the hell do you-- Where was--!"]

Both of these show Jason being confused about his situation, and unsure of his surroundings. Especially the confusion in ["Talia?!"] means that he is surprised/confused to see her.

All of this goes to say-- he doesn't have any memory of how he came to be in this situation, and he doesn't have any memory of his time being catatonic.

HOWEVER!!! The possible counter-argument is that during his remembering sequence, Talia is a figure on screen, which has the mild implication that she is something he remembers?? This contradicts my interpretation but also has less evidence.

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

Jason remembers his death and the events leading up to it, but there is no mention of whether or not he remembers his years being catatonic.

I interpret this as him not remembering.

With My Interpretations, Three Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 18.5 Jason's Biological Age- 18 Jason's Mental Age- 15

6. Jason Prepares For Being Red Hood

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

We get that... and then the BTS of Hush. That's literally all we get.

It's so unclear, I'm sorry it's really sort of impossible to give you even a vague estimate of how much time passes.

I've been trying to comb through the rest of UTRH to find things but we only get clear time stamps after Jason's debut as Red Hood. (i may have missed something, though! feel free to lmk if youve found a time stamp in UTRH before Jason's debut)

I only have my personal thoughts that it was probably a year or less between this and Jason's debut.

For the purposes of this post, we'll just say that roughly a year passes with training and preparation.

7. Jason Debuts As Red Hood

[Under The Red Hood #1] / [Batman (1940) #635]

So, at the start of Under The Red Hood, Four-ish Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 19 - 20 Jason's Biological Age- 19 Jason's Mental Age- 16

And alternatively, if you mentally age him during his catatonic era, Jason's (alt) Mental Age- 18

(Now it is time for the Overly Long Conclusion! These will just be more of my personal thoughts and comments, and will be within brackets as well ^^

Honestly, despite me piecing this version of canon together, I don't usually subscribe to it lol. I find UTRH Jason attractive, and canon is what you choose to Frankenstein together, so I usually place him as actually around 19.

But if you consider the events of UTRH through the lense of a deeply traumatized and angsty teenager, that happens to have way too much power? It feels... oddly logical? Like, through this perspective, I look at Jason telling Bruce that he's the better Batman in quite possibly the most dramatic way ever and I go, "Oh of course he would, he's sixteen. I would say shit like that at sixteen if I had even half the baggage."

TBH, I don't think that Winnick actually considered this timeline when writing UTRH Jason, but it fits together really funnily well with his character.

It also makes everything quite a lot more tragic. With this perspective, its more than just losing his teenagehood to shitty circumstances. He is actively and presently still a teenager, a child, when in shitty circumstances. Jason is a sixteen year old child when his father slits his throat.

Actual For Realsies Not Just By Technicality Teenage Crime Lord is absolutely insane, deeply tragic, and more than a little bit funny to me.

If you read through all of this, I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts and perspectives. Whether you see where I'm coming from, whether you have a completely different perspective, or whether you like thinking of this only sometimes! Hell, even if it's just to cry with me over The Tragedy of Jason Todd, I'd love to chat.

Thank you for your time, if you made it all the way through! Overly Long Conclusion done, yo!)

[My Drawing, lol]

[chimuelo2005-blog]

Viktor Didn’t Just Want to Live—He Wanted to Be Remembered (And Piltover Took That from Him)

Viktor’s illness in Arcane is one of those things that people talk about, but I feel like they only scratch the surface. Yeah, it’s tragic, yeah, it’s why he pushes Hextech so hard, but the way it actually shapes him. His mindset, his relationships, the way he exists in the world is so much deeper than just “he doesn’t want to die.”

Like, Viktor isn’t just running out of time—he feels it, every second of every day. He doesn’t get the luxury of patience, of hesitation, of slow and careful progress. People frame his desperation as a descent into obsession, but let’s be real; when your body is literally failing you and you’re one of the smartest people alive, of course you’re going to throw yourself into your work. What else is he supposed to do? Accept it? Lie down and die? He’s been sick since childhood, and you can see how that shaped him into someone who refuses to waste even a second.

And that’s why his relationship with Jayce is so painful to watch. Jayce is idealistic. He believes in progress, but in a way that’s manageable, controlled. Jayce is thinking about the future in terms of decades. Viktor? He doesn’t have decades. Every time Jayce hesitates, whether it’s about Hextech, about the ethics of what they’re doing, about the council’s approval, it’s not just frustrating for Viktor, it’s terrifying. Every delay, every “we need more time,” feels like another nail in his coffin. And the real tragedy? Viktor knows Jayce cares. He knows Jayce wants to help. But Jayce has the privilege of time, and Viktor doesn’t. That’s a gap that love and friendship alone can’t fix.

And here’s my hot take: Viktor’s biggest fear isn’t just dying. It’s dying without proving he mattered. His whole life, he’s been seen as weak, as fragile, as someone people pity. Hextech isn’t just about survival for him—it’s about legacy. It’s about making sure that when he’s gone, the world will remember him as something more than a sickly kid from the Undercity. And when you look at it that way, his whole arc stops being a “tragic downfall” and starts looking like the only path that ever made sense for him. Because if the alternative is fading away into nothing? Then yeah, of course he’s going to push further. Of course he’s going to risk everything. Because at least if he goes out, he goes out leaving something behind.

And that’s why the fact that people took Viktor’s name off Hextech is actually one of the most tragic things in the show. Like, Hextech wasn’t just some invention for him, it was his life’s work, his legacy, the thing that was supposed to make sure he was remembered. He built that with Jayce. It was supposed to be the proof that he mattered.

And then the second he wasn’t there to fight for his place in history? They erased him.

They didn’t just take away credit. They took away the one thing that kept him going, the thing that made all of his sacrifices mean something. Hextech was supposed to outlive him, and in a way, that was supposed to be his version of immortality. But now? Now it’s just “Jayce Talis’ great invention,” and Viktor is nothing more than a footnote.

Like, imagine dedicating your entire existence to something, burning yourself down to nothing just to make a mark on the world, only for people to turn around and act like you were never there to begin with. That’s not just tragic—it’s devastating. And the worst part? Viktor probably saw it coming. Because deep down, he always knew he wasn’t the kind of person history remembers.