#that's how much he meant to me in some way--there's more in his story and play style and leadership--although i won't be able to express it

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

A New World | Yandere Monster's World

Rules | Buy me a Kofi!!! | Commissions(Shorts, ASMRScripts, etc.)

Thinking about an alternate dimension with no humans. No rumors, no myths, and no ancient burial grounds that suggest they might exist. Only the creatures we write about and make stories of. Hairy 5-meter tall hairy giants, vampires that drink the blood of any they can get their hand on, gorgeous beauties that feed on the souls of all they drown at sea. It’s a monster lover’s dream. The races of course are in factions by race navigating peace as best as they can but it continues to be a contentious mission. 

Of course not helping their case, a new species is being introduced to the pool.

You. 

A dimensional traveler meant to test out a better place for humans to live. Of course, your soulless employers drop you in with limited supplies and promise they’ll return you in five years of course if you're not dead. 

But this monster world is far from ready to have a human come to their land. At first, they mistake you for a defanged good-natured vampire; flexing your technology as a silent show of dominance. Typical of those snotty fang-havers….but things get weird when the council of monster representatives finds the Vampires so in awe of your existence. 

“No fangs?”

“Imperviousness to the sun!?”

“You are like nothing we’ve ever seen–”

“Or smelt! Your blood—”

“We’ve never tasted anything more divine!”

After using a small reusable syringe technology is amazing from your pack and give them a couple of droplets. Only for one taste to have the vampires writhing in heat so feverish they can’t help but drool and pull at their suddenly too-restricting clothes.

The other representatives are baffled. Are you a witch?! You have a better temperament than any and you haven’t requested any hearts or weird herbs to sate some hunger of yours. The Witch representatives check you next, doing the usual checkups witches must go through.

“Alright now open your esophagus.”

“Uhm I can’t do that. I can open my mouth, though. Ahh”

“GASP! What on the Withering Lands is that pink thing hanging in the back!?”

“My uvula?”

“Oh my, should you be showing that to us?!”

“Yes, we may impregnate you that way.”

“That’s not how it works for me.”

Though for good measure and their imploding curiosity, they take a sample of your saliva. Learning from those narcissistic vampire they only pour a hint of it into their cauldrons. Taking a sip, their chemistry demands their brain think of an answer and yet….why are their pants wet? Oh dear they’ll need to satisfy themselves quickly or they’ll be unable to stop themselves from pouncing on the odd creature that brought this along.  It brings the council into an uproar some call for your immediate execution, others want to take you for further experimentation, and others hope to have what the vampires and witches were having. 

One of your immediate allies is the Elves the hosts for this council meeting. Escorting you from the courtroom as they mull about possible solutions, willing to hear out what you might have to say. Oblivious to the tension among the kingdoms and each specific problem, you can’t offer much. That leaves the Elf representative, an audacious fifth prince, at his wit's end. Near tears he expects you to watch awkwardly as the sparkling water falls from his eyes, not rub against his back. 

“Hey it’s okay we’ll figure it out. I really appreciate you looking after me.”

Your words fall on deaf ears as the elf is immediately thrown into disarray. Even through his clothes, the warmth of your hands has the most naughty parts of him stand at attention. The tips of his ears are the shade of the planet’s crimson moon and the nails he’d always kept beautifully shaped make indents in the wood. His guards happily fall to restrain the creature responsible only for them to suffer the same fate. 

It dawns on you just how terrible of a situation it is then you realize the door is locked and the monsters suffering from your effect have been thrust into a mindless rut where their all convinced you will solve their problems. 

And maybe you can, after all, you are the only human in this world. If you made these problems surely you can fix them. 

[itseasytoremember]

[[For ease of reading, and so don't annoy everyone with more excessively long posts, I've posted the entirety of the story under the cut]]

Day 2

I feel like I'm going to want to start logging these posts. If for nothing else than a log of Things I Tried that DID NOT work. We will call this day 2 because I started writing this log yesterday. Or not yesterday, but like, last today. Yestertoday. Yestoday. This is dumb. Anyways.

My plan did not go to... Plan.

Let me explain the problem first, and then I'll explain my "plan."

A few loops ago, before I knew it was a loop, I figured I would skip my morning workout in the hopes of getting to work early, because "there was a lot of traffic on First st. these last few days" I hadn't yet realized it was always the SAME traffic.

Anyways I left early and sure enough there was no traffic. I was actually at the red when I saw the guy for the first time, he seemed distracted, he kept looking at his phone and then whipping his head around, clearly he was looking for something and, by the amount of sweat on his forehead, he had been for a while. I only really noticed the guy because every other person I could see was looking at him too. The crossing guard, the kids, their parents, the people at the cafe, everyone was looking at the dude having a really bad day. He wasn't exactly being subtle is what I'm getting at.

All of a sudden he looks across the street and gets this big relieved look, seemed to find whatever it was he was looking around for, and headed toward it. It's just unfortunate that the light had changed while he looked at his phone.

No one had time to react, to even say anything. One second twe were all watching some guy act out the 5 stages of grief at 7:35 am, the next a Ford F-150 turned him into paint.

So, my plan was this; to stop that from happening.

I'll admit it's not the most thorough plan but I figure what it lacks in steps, it makes up for in adaptability.

Today, I made it there just as the man was looking up from his phone, maybe 45 seconds later than the day before, which meant I was still early enough to get out of my car, run into the road and yell "HEY STOP" but decidedly not early enough to then avoid the fucking truck myself. Oh also, the guy still got hit. He ran onto the road, I guess to try to help me, and a BMW took his legs out. The bastard. What was he going to do? Reattach my spine?

Well I'm back in bed at home so I'll take that as suspicions: confirmed re:timeloop.

I'm going to go to work now, after that I'll figure out a plan to get to the intersection earlier.

Day 3: I'm stupid

Why the fuck was I still going to work. Yesterday I TRIED to warn my boss about his paper coffee cup having a bad seam, and when he rolled his eyes and took a sip, thus spilling coffee on himself YET again, he tried to make it MY fault. He said I somehow distracted him? I went back to my office thinking one day I should find a better way to spend my life once I'm out of this loop when it hit me, and man do I feel dumb. 9-5 for the last I don't even know how many actual days. I could have been planning. I could have been doing anything other than finance. So I quit. I mean it won't matter tomorrow but I've decided to stop going in regardless.

I'm going to spend the next few days experimenting. Currently I wake up with my alarm at 6:30, which gives me one hour to put into action my plan, my first goal is to try and extend that time as much as I can.

The morning after my brush with a pickup's grill, my neck and back were achy for about an hour, which leads me to believe that my body remembers something of the last days events, even if after a while they fade. I'm going to first try staying up all night, to see if I can just start the day at midnight, and failing that, I'm going to try the exciting plan of going to bed early and drinking loads of water, because changing my phone's alarm won't do anything as it will reset every morning anyways.

I'll make sure to keep note of anything interesting over the next few loops, but I doubt I'll make much actual progress. Still, this log ensures I remember what happened, every detail, so I can change it. why? Why not spend eternity trying to save a life.

Day 7

Okay staying up doesn't work. The second I pass midnight I pass out, waking up at my usual time, just a little more tired and sluggish than usual. I run the risk of actually sleeping through my alarm and losing precious minutes. Lacey's alarm actually woke me up the first time I tried it.

Chugging water just meant I had to rush to the bathroom when I woke up, but it was still my alarm waking me.

Weirdly, going to bed early was the the thing that did the trick. I didn't have much hope in this working, but Lacey has been going to bed early for the last 20 years of our marriage and she's always up well before her alarm, so I figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Now it's not like I'm gaining hours, but yesterday I went to bed at 9:00 pm and I'm currently writing this at 6:25 am. Is going to bed 2.5 hours early worth it for 5 extra minutes in the morning? Usually I'd say no, but this isn't a usual situation. 5 extra minutes might be the difference I need.

5 minutes does, unfortunately seem to be the max I can get though, two days ago I tried going to bed at 8:30 and all I got for it was a weird look from Lacey. If anything, It took me longer to fall asleep than at 9, and so I ended up actually sleeping in a few minutes before I realized what I was doing.

The guy steps into the path of the truck at exactly 7:35am, meaning I have 1 hour and 10 minutes to stop that from happening every day. That means prep, getting there, and execution of my plan must require a maximum of 70 minutes, including the 34 minutes it take for me to drive there.

Actually I wonder if there is a better route. I'm going to try a few different paths over the next couple loops, and keep note of which one is fastest.

Okay, my alarm just went off, I'm gonna try getting there early and just tackling the guy. Maybe I'm overthinking it and it's just that simple.

Day 8: it was NOT that simple.

So I tried just running up and tackling the guy. Apparently some people don't appreciate being, in bystanders words, "chased by a guy who ran out of his car."

So, when the guy RAN AWAY FROM THE MAN TRYING TO SAVE HIS LIFE, and INTO TRAFFIC, everyone made it seem like it was somehow MY fault, and I spent the rest of the day in a holding cell. I called Lacey to bail me out, but I couldn't reach her at work and they only allowed me one phone call. I suppose I could have sped up the wait by hanging myself in my cell or something dramatic like that but that just doesn't feel right to me.

Maybe if I keep getting arrested, sure, but it wasn't actually all that bad once the processing was done. I did what I imagine you are supposed to do in jail; I thought about what landed me in that position and how to prevent it from happening again. That left me with a few things I'm going to have to consider moving forward if I want to save this guy and also continue on with my life as normal.

Which, is still a time loop, but, again, I'm fine with routine. I'm also finding that I'm perfectly content with this situation now that I've found something interesting to do with my days. "Day". That's still annoying.

Okay here's my list of Things I Considered In Jail:

- I shouldn't resort to anything that can get me arrested, injured (or killed) or otherwise caught up in unnecessary shenanigans.

- If I get caught in a lie, remember what the person said, I can try again next time round. confidence works wonders.

- I should figure out the guys name, what he does, where he is headed etc, you are more likely to look and listen, rather than RUN INTO TRAFFIC, if the guy yelling at you is not yelling but instead calling your name, smiling and waving.

- On that note, be friendly and get there early. I was over thinking my prep and under thinking my follow through. Get up and out of bed, I can speed a little as long as I don't get pulled over, and get there and PARK your car.

Okay writing this out has given me more confidence in my next attempt. I probably won't update this log until I've made some progress.

Day 13

YES! PROGRESS!

First is that the guys name is Ben. The second, and indisputably bigger discovery, is that Ben does something different every day! Different! Meaning not looping! Or not perfectly looping at least. He’s still dying every day, which I’m not crazy about, but he definitely feels like he’s connected to the loop. It’s not anything big, but I’ve noticed he will have his phone in a different pocket from one loop to another, or he will arrive from a different direction. Recently he’s started to have this look of familiarity to me, even though before this he was a complete stranger to me.

I’ve optimised my morning routine and route to the intersection as much as possible, but Ben coming from different directions every loop means I have no way of preemptively stopping him. Just that he shows up on the south east corner looking frantic, checking his phone, he sees something, and walks across the street as the light changes. Honk boom splat and the day resets.

Actually now that I write that down it feels correct to me. I have no idea why I’m looping this one day over and over, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe this is connected, maybe it isn’t. It doesn’t actually change anything if they are, because I still have no idea what caused this, or is saving Ben will actually do anything at all.

I’m not super proud of how I got his name to be honest. I tried to get Ben’s attention with the, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” line, but he politely excused himself from the conversation right into the path of an oncoming bus.

I was about to just run and call the cycle a bust, but I noticed that, the way the guys jacket fell, I could actually see his wallet in the breast pocket.

So… I pickpocketed a dying guy. TO SAVE HIS LIFE, still didn’t feel great. At least I didn’t get caught and end up in jail again.

Ben Morriston. He has a driver’s license and a student ID. Huh, he’s in med school. Ok doctor Ben. Nice to meet you. How do I keep you alive?

Day 21

I haven't made a log in a while because I haven't really made any progress, that is, until today. made an assumption about this that was absolutely screwing me over, but I figured out what it was and I've fixed the problem;

My mistake was being overly familiar with Ben. My first attempt at calling his name out worked to stop him, but once he asked me how I knew him he immediately sussed out that I didn't actually have an answer to that. That led him to getting really freaked out, he tried to run, he ran onto the street, and a car hit him again.

I realize now that I assumed Ben would be more receptive to someone he knew, which may be true, but I also assumed I had the ability to convince him I am someone he knows, which I don't.

So going forward I'm going to keep lying to an absolute minimum, not only because I'm bad at it, but it's unnecessary. “Hi, you look lost, can I help you?” I should also try to figure out where he's actually headed...

Day 27

Ben is going to the hospital! Not currently, I'll get to that, but that is where he is headed when I encounter him.

Ben is currently very much dead. Turns out traffic is not the only thing I need to worry about.

I had managed to both stop him from wandering into traffic and figure out his desired location, but unfortunately for both of us, we had hardly made half a block when a rogue AC unit fell out a window, filling an area of space previously occupied by poor Ben's head.

The loop before the AC unit, it was a tire that had rolled out of a mechanics shop that took him out. Before that, a falling hammer from a construction site.

The guy has fallen into the sewer because of improperly placed manhole covers, he's tripped on a rolling skateboard and broken his neck, he's been pushed into a pane of glass, and had a pane of glass fall on him. If we are both stuck in a loop he has the much worse deal. I've seen so much blood and death at this point I'm not even reacting anymore. But if I get it right even one time and he lives maybe it'll all be worth it.

Tomorrow I'm going to start wearing an ID badge I got from a conference years ago. The badge is expired but that doesn't matter, what matters is it's on a lanyard from St Joseph's hospital. The same hospital Ben is headed to.

What benefit? No one questions someone 1. With what looks like a hospital ID badge and 2. Calling them by their full legal name.

I'm not fucking around with this any more. Ben is getting in my car and I'll drive him myself to the hospital.

Day 29

Yesterday I got Ben to the hospital. He listened to me, got into the car, and I drove him there without a hitch.

He thanked me repeatedly and ran inside, and I followed him in just to make sure the whole building didn't explode or something.

Turns out Ben needed to get to the hospital because his wife was in labor. He made it just in time. Him, his wife, the baby, everyone was safe and sound.

I was in the waiting room, i didn't want to be in anyone's way but it didn't feel right leaving, so I was just sitting there when Ben ran into the hallway to get me.

Ben thanked me again, he hugged me and told me he was so happy I could be there with him. He looked at me and it was like I had known him his entire life. I told him truthfully that I was so happy I could help get where he was going, and that he should go be with his family. He insisted that he was, and asked if I wanted to meet his son.

It was an odd but beautiful moment, and I'm happy I was allowed to experience it. Afterwards, I went home to Lacey, and we went to bed.

The loop didn't end. I woke up with my alarm to find that everything was back as it was yesterday. That's fine with me. I'm going to go pick Ben up now, and I think after that I'll surprise Lacey with lunch at work. You, the thing they don't tell you about being stuck in a time loop is it's really not all that bad.

---

A newspaper obituary:

Joseph Duncan Morriston, Toronto, age 89, died peacefully at St Joseph's hospital, surrounded by his family and friends. Joe was always a kind soul who, after witnessing a catastrophic car accident, left a lucrative career on finance to become an EMT, where he saved countless lives and developed several procedures himself that are now considered best practices in care and ambulance driving.

Joe is survived by his son, Dr. Ben Morriston, and his grandson, Duncan Morrison, who was delivered at St Josephs just two days before Joe's passing.

Joe will interred at St James cemetery beside his wife, Lacey Morriston (1935-2023).

A public celebration of life will be held at the Etobicoke community centre, with anyone whose life was touched by Joe being welcome to come and share a story with the family.

Joe's family has kindly requested that, in lieu of flowers, those inclined may donate to the Alzheimer's Association of Canada.

---

UPDATE FOR OBITUARY POSTED YESTERDAY JOSEPH MORRISTON:

DUE TO AN OUTPOURING OF FEEDBACK BY THOSE JOE HAS HELPED, THE CELEBRATION OF LIFE HAS BEEN MOVED TO THE HARBORFRONT CENTRE, WHICH HAS BEEN KINDLY DONATED BY THE CITY, TO ACCOMMODATE THE LARGER CROWD EXPECTED.

The Thing They Don't Tell You About Being Stuck in a Time Loop

The first time round the time loop was honestly fine. Same with the second and the third. Honestly I didn't even realize i was in a time loop until day 7 or 8, and that was because the statistical chances of my boss spilling his coffee on himself, while in and of itself is not low, became exceedingly strained as the days went on.

But if it weren't for that, I probably would have never realised I was looping. Mock me all you like, I enjoy routine, I thrive with it, and so, yes, it may have taken me a little longer to realize my day was looping, but I would also argue that I am much less likely to succumb to some sort of mental break due to this situation. To some, I could imagine being stuck in a loop of one day would get boring, or even horrifying, I am not one of those people. Not only that, I was lucky enough to be stuck in a loop of a day in mid May, with decent weather, in my home city, with the woman I love. If it weren't for the fact that it's a work day, It would be perfect.

That and the man who keeps getting hit by cars.

The first time it happened I didn't notice. I feel terrible saying that but the first few days I was still going through things as though it was a normal day, and normally I take about 60 minutes from wakeup to leaving the house for work, which meant that by the time I would make it to the intersection where it happened, the car had been moved to the side of the road, and all I dealt with was a bit of traffic.

It wasn't until I started testing the parameters of the loop, breaking my routine, that I figured out what even caused the accident, but more on that later. For now, I have a plan to try and save this guy. I don't know why, but I feel like that's important. That he's important.

And I mean, what do I have to lose? Some time?

[marielle555]

“The sexualization of vampires” and what does Oblodra have to do with it?

I remember with sweet nostalgia how in the first playthrough my hands itched on the hilt of the blade, when my sunshine expressed this wish, and I thought that Oblodra had already played her role in the story, and I didn't bother, and just chose the “Attack” button. How the city guards actively expressed their weighty “ay-yay-yay, bad girl” until I managed to do it more or less neatly without upsetting the officers of the law. How I dragged her corpse around looking for a suitable ditch and found a good place for that drow in the sewers of the city. And how Astarion and I kissed (this was in patch 5) afterward, standing knee-deep in mud… Romantic. Really, things can be easier if you just have a little patience (and see how Astarion protects you):

Oblodra attacks on her own as part of the plot and the fight is calmer. Of course, this character has her own importance in the story, the scene of Astarion's confession in Act 2 after meeting her is deeply touching and leaves a mark on the soul in the first playthrough. The only unpleasant surprise is the lack of opportunity for “evil” roleplay when meeting her, when you have to refuse too, just impossible too politely (while the game has plenty of opportunities to outright insult and intimidate other NPCs, even in cases where these unfortunate NPCs do not give the slightest reason for it), but this is leveled in Act 3 by the opportunity to destroy her life's work and kill her. But the fact that Oblodra manages to “surprise” and wonder even after playing through the game is something I didn't expect from her. No, the character herself has nothing to do with it, but the perception of this character… It turns out that haters think that fans of Ascended Astarion are just like Oblodra.

What surprised me in this comparison was not so much the attempt to insult by comparing me to one of the most vile (to me) NPCs in the game, but the lack of any semblance of logic in this comparison. What is this nonsense even based on? Any, even the most insane inferences should, in theory, have at least some basis. The clue, as it turns out, lies in the “sexualization of vampires” and Welch's “message” (from the perspective of their fans, I can't say anything about the author). It turns out that Araj is not just a brazen bitch, who humiliates Astarion, behaves with him as if he were a slave and someone's property, and you see this vulnerability on his face, the change in the tone of his voice and you can't, categorically can't smash her face or at least say who she is, what she is, and what is about to happen to her… That's how this scene is perceived the first time playing through, to then be struck by the evening scene of Astarion's confession, when after his first line at first you really don't understand what he's going to thank you for, and then…

Yeah, the confession scene is brought to tears and you realize it's about PTSD, how much it depressed him, how much abuse he endured. And why that even a little support from Tav at that moment (really, just a little support, just to confirm that “He said it all,” just to show that you, well, you're not a shit, that's all, you didn't take advantage of his vulnerability and his PTSD for some f**king potion) meant so much to him and was so important in prompting such a revelation. But no, the fans of Welch's work (who is the author of Oblodra and the Act 2 confession scene), “decode the message” of the author in such a way, that no critics would never have thought that it is so bad. For there is no hint in the game itself, in the story and in the script that Oblodra is such a “symbol of the sexualization of vampires”, except that her manner of speech and voice are somewhat lecherous (well, or “sexy”, if one considers this manner as such). But some feel that Astarion's line to Oblodra, “I'm sorry? You want to be bitten?” sounds like the character, along with the writers, are ‘’throwing in the face‘’ something unkind to those with a ‘’fetish for vampire power‘’. Because of the word WANT. In a world where vampires are hated and feared, where all the companions are terribly unwilling to be bitten by Astarion, where the general attitude towards vampire bites is far from positive, to be surprised that someone wants to be bitten? Is that strange? Astarion, at the very beginning of the dialog, utters: “Don't worry, we're all friends under the Absolute. I won't bite.” To avoid unnecessary paranoia and suspicion from someone who recognized him as a vampire. Yes, Oblodra's blood is vile and Astarion can smell it, but it is logical to be surprised that she wants to be bitten. It must be hard to perceive any works and play any games, and to communicate with people in general, if the word want in any sentence is perceived as a hint of sexualization or a reproach for the presence of such urges. Do you want to drink a cup of coffee or tea while you read, by the way, hmm?

In order to realize their “sins and vices”, uninformed and unsophisticated in all kinds of nonsense that still exists in various corners of the Internet, fans of the Ascended Astarion must realize two things. First, there are a few people in the world who are piously convinced that vampires cannot be sexualized.

Well, we'll keep that in mind, but something tells me that in the global perspective, fanged handsome men are not in danger of lonely existence and lack of loving fans. Though in general, this “they want a hot vampire” story would probably work in some other game, where there would be some elf with a tragic fate (not a vampire spawn, by no means, well, you can remember the story of Fenris from DA2 or Sebille from DOS 2). And this elf would be persuaded to suddenly become a “hot vampire” through some violent and bloody ritual, making him the unquestioned fanged deity of all vampire sexualizers. And without the ritual, he would never have known the taste of his lover's blood, or the taste of anyone else's blood, nothing of this vampire existence. So he would have remained a good elf and a hero, and not a gram of intimacy. And he would have expressed his harsh “ew” to any elf sexualizer, who would have tried to induce him to debauch over the graves of the dead.

It's also worth knowing that Baudelaire Welch, author of Oblodra and the idea that anyone who wishes to see their beloved character in the game healthy and well and (oh, horror!) has no problem with annihilating 7,000 NPCs, can so wish solely due to a very high degree of sexual arousal, is also the author of a game in which you can't sexualize a vampire. “Don't Wake Me Up.”

The character, who is a vampire - Len, and there are sexualization scores in the game, which, when certain actions and dialogues are chosen, lead the player to “good” and “bad” endings. There's also the character Asterius, who is in love with you, and any romance with Asterius is bad. To get the good ending the game requires you to have an romance specifically with Len. Len was created as a character who cannot experience positive emotions, he was constantly tortured to make him the perfect villain, and he was sexualized so that players would want to have romance with him and he was forced to have sex with players against his will. The game has a hidden point system that calculates how much you objectify Len rather than show attention to him. Essentially, any romantic or sexual feelings from the player towards Len are objectification. Well, okay, it's an author's game with its own elaborate plot and story (although my inner skeptic can't find any logical explanation for how it's possible for such a world to exist where, with such technology available, some evil creators or programmers would actually torture some character in some romance game, making him a “villain,” instead of just prescribing a core AI with the character traits desired by the public). Author's game with any unusual plot is good, for those who like such things, but attempts to fulfill their fantasies using an already existing, written by another author character - not so good. Especially with the attitude to the audience, when players, on the one hand, are perceived as fools, who need to be “taught,” and who perform companion quests solely for the sake of sleeping with them and do not know what RPGs and roleplaying is at all, and on the other hand - as some “enlightened connoisseurs” of all sermons and messages, who in no way want to dive into the magical world from the inside and play with pleasure, and consider the game as some kind of literary work, in no way sympathizing with the “pixel man”. Well, if Oblodra is a kind of symbol of sexualization of vampires at Welch's, then I don't mind at all if such “messages for their own” will be in games, when they are invisible and don't interfere in any way with the play of common players. As in the case of Raphael's House of Hope and Haarlep - a knowledgeable person explained to me that this location is written largely for those who like the non-con genre. In ordinary perception, it doesn't interfere in any way - if someone wants to rape their Tav with Haarlep, “give themselves up for a key” or whatever, it doesn't make the fight with an unusually brash mini-boss any worse, nor does it prevent you from taking off his boots to collect a set of armor. It's just pretty funny, when a certain small party of “sexualization” fans start globally perceiving everyone around them through the prism of their own perception.

By the way, when we meet Z'rell after Oblodra and try to hide our true intentions from her by thinking of something more important than those true intentions - I always think about Astarion in that situation. Who else can push any other intentions out of my mind? Astarion gives his approval. The game describes Tav's thoughts as “To think of your attraction to Astarion.” You can think about attraction, you can't think about pure platonic love. Astarion approves of this attraction. Does he like that Tav sexualizes him or what?

Putting aside the whole “hot vampire daddy” bullshit (why they call him “daddy” I'm not aware of, but it's a regular thing), and looking at the really serious aspect - the fact that Astarion was a victim of sexual abuse - even then, understanding how helping him through the ritual could make the Tav looks like Oblodra is all the more impossible. In this case, only the dialog after the ritual with the line “I want your body” deserves to be placed in screenwriting textbooks as an example of the worst lines writing for a player in the game. Larian themselves have unfortunately treated such a heavy and sensitive topic without proper respect and understanding - using Astarion for dirty promotion of disgusting “bear sex”. And all the opportunities that are in the game for “good” Tav (the video from the brothel with UA in a “threesome” with Halsin is just painful to watch, if you have a heart, but this kind of shitty behavior by Tav using a traumatized person for their own perverted pleasure is acceptable and quite “good” here and doesn't even result in “lecturing” the player).

If we talk about what the developers wanted to show that Astarion cannot be sexualized, then it is extremely strange not to give at the same time the opportunity for platonic love, and it is not in the game. There is an option to refuse sex after the Ascension, but that's a line about nothing, it's just a scene refusal, and that line doesn't affect anything at all and is present in the game just “for the sake of being”. Well, okay, not “just to be”, but for the unique, rare opportunity to be a “sexualizer” without having sex. It's truly groundbreaking, it's never been done before.

Of course, deep romantic relationships can be without sex, but in that case the authors should have implemented the possibility for deep platonic love if they introduced such trauma to Astarion. I really want to apologize to him in the act 2 scene if he felt bad around me before, even though I knew nothing. And tell him that I love him and will always be there for him, that I don't need any sex, that I care much more about how he feels. Nothing prevents in this case these two people from having a deep and strong connection, perhaps stronger than many couples who have sex but are superficial about the relationship itself. It doesn't prevent love. Of course, the same will be true after his Ascension. That's what love is, sex is not necessary, it's just that the possibility doesn't exist in the scenario.

But at the same time after Ascension Astarion himself offers to resume intimacy, all his facial expressions and active leading behavior during the scene of the night with him, indicate that he enjoys it. And the scene itself is beautiful, not for nothing, probably some of the “morally enlightened” personas in the UA camp, go through this scene separately and then restart to avoid getting down on their knees. Astarion is perfectly fine with intimacy after the ritual, not a single, even the slightest hint of feeling bad. Deep serious gaze, sincere gratitude, “You have given me everything. Thank you.” And the tenderness with which he kisses Tav's hand. This is confirmed by the developers' notes:

“Player and Astarion standing facing each other.

They gaze lovingly at one another”

“Tav kneels before Astarion. This should be covered by the kneeling attitude, Astarion stands proud before the Player.

He is powerful. He is free.”

“He gazes down at Player. He is savouring the moment.”   

No one uses anyone in an AA romance. It's a story of deep strong love and trust. Though, of course, I'm curious, if Welch really wrote Oblodra as some sort of symbol of the sexualization of vampires, or if this is already the fantasies of individual “sexualization fans”. How does this thinking work? It's a curious question, it's impossible to say for sure, but two factors seem to play a role here: the obsession with all sorts of intimacy in some individuals, and most prudes, funnily enough, are these very “gooners,” which they like to call players who want romantic fanservice. Second - perhaps they really attach such a high value to their own “sermons”, “messages” and believe that being on the side of some conditional game “good” (no matter what kind of harm is offered under the sauce of this “good”) is so valuable that only another “great pillar” of motivation - sex - can induce someone to reject their “preachings” and help their beloved character to get the opportunity for a happy life. It's true that the worst ending, when you can see with your own eyes how much worse that ending is, will never become good from being called that. No matter how many times it's called that. And it doesn't matter what the people who talk about how bad this finale is are called. And going back to the image of Oblodra and whoever resembles her - there can be completely opposite associations with that image. Oblodra is a bitch. If you give her character a brief characterization, you can fit into that word. What word can you call Astarion's haters, who claim that “kick” him is the right thing to do, that to bring him to his knees in an evil ending is also the right thing to do, and they ascended him for that purpose? Bitches. Well, here we are, finding where the Oblodras are in the fandom.

[duskbornraven]

Midnight Oil

When I die send me to The Pitt, but only on night shift. Wrapping up some wips I've been sitting on for way too long.

Paring: John Shen x f!Reader

Warnings: mostly fluff, minor injury to reader, general work crush embarrassment, no use of y/n, female reader, not beta read

Summary: You get hurt trying to check out the local hot doctor who visits your coffee shop. He winds up checking you out as well.

Word Count: 3k

You never minded working Thursdays at the coffee shop, especially on nice summer nights like tonight was shaping up to be. You could manage to actually work the floor most of the night compared to the weekends, which is why you had even agreed to come on as shift manager. And for a manager role there  wasn’t really much to it outside of helping with schedules and being the authority figure. 

At least on the night shifts, you had heard some crazy stories from the opening shift. Granted open was at noon and compared to the hundreds of other shops in the city it was a very late start to the day. Though that was the entire point, the shop was open from noon to seven in the morning. It was meant to be specifically for the night shift. Those who found comfort in the way the city moved in the shadows. Or the more common occurrence of the overtaxed college students and unfortunates who got saddled with the night shift until something opened on days.  

You honestly would have probably burnt out at any other customer service job. This place had its perks. Being able to leave the door open to bring in the warm breeze was certainly one of them. The gentle rumble of traffic and the occasional shout echoing down the road was excellent background noise when the place was empty. 

One of the nicer perks was the owner tending to hang around for the first few hours of your shift, meaning you could get most of the way caught up in the office. Angel generally would linger in the doorway to the office while you got yourself set up at the computer, telling you about first shift drama or what was new with her and the family. 

It very much helped that your boss was phenomenal at making coffee and would always have something new for the shifts to try throughout the week. And the free coffee, good or not, was really one of the main reasons you kept coming back. 

“And I am sick of him calling in at the last minute, I think we need a new day shift lead.” Angel was explaining while you updated availability for one of the new hires starting next week. 

“You’ve been saying that since before I started. He’s your brother, fire him if you want.” You didn’t look up from the computer, focused on not getting the rows mixed up while comparing the paper form in front of you. 

“Yeah but you know-” She trailed off and started out of the office “Hey John, you’re almost never on Thursdays.” She had turned her attention to whatever regular had walked through the open doors. 

“Normally, but I swapped shifts so he can have my day off next weekend.” You froze the second he started talking. You would be mortified if anyone called you on it, but recently the biggest perk was getting to see this specific regular. Doctor John Shen. The man was the ideal customer, always knew what he wanted, never complained about the lines. He was all some of the girls on the night shift would talk about initially.  

You hadn’t thought anything of him at first admittedly, he was handsome and left a decent tip most of the time. But the more he came in the more you caught yourself noticing him, how he carried himself, memorizing his drink order and schedule without really meaning to. He was laid back, to put it mildly but not in the overly confident sense. It was like the man was just good at carrying weight on his shoulders and not letting it drag him down. 

You pushed the rolling chair back to better look at him through the door. Which, to your absolute mortification, managed to crash backwards into the hard wood of the back office floor head first. Instantly a sharp throbbing pain shot through the back of your head, the sharp stab of heat that usually accompanied pain close behind. 

“Jesus, you alright?” The sound of fast approaching footsteps broke past the ringing in your ears. 

You managed a groan and tried to force yourself upright, blinking tears out of your eyes. Only to have a pair of hands stop you. “Woah,stay still for a second alright?” 

Your vision clearing slightly your eyes focused on your boss kneeling beside you and keeping you still beneath him was John. His eyes flicked between each of your pupils. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay” The back of your head was throbbing still, the occasional sharp sting adding to the aching pain. You went to sit up again and once again were held back by a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’m fine, really.” 

When he didn’t let go right away you pushed his hand from your shoulder. “It’s Thursday night, I’m at work, I just fell out of the chair.” Sitting up did very little to ease the pain at the base of your skull, a now persistent sting accompanying the warmth. 

“No nausea?” John adjusted to sit back in front of you on the floor,his eyes still searching yours carefully.  

“Not as far as I can tell.” You were also mentally checking off what little you knew about head injuries. Which admittedly wasn't much more than had already been checked off the list. “I’ll ice it and keep an eye on it to make sure. 

“Let me at least check you out in better lighting.” He held out a hand to help you to your feet. “Make sure you’re okay before I get into work.” 

You let him pull you off the floor, a little too aware that despite the injury this was the closest you had ever been to him. Usually there was at least a foot of counter between the pair of you. But now following him out to the floor you felt more aware. There were no machines for you to hide behind out here. Luckily for you the odds of making more of an idiot out of yourself were almost impossible. 

The shop was, thankfully still empty, or you would have insisted that you went back into the closer, darker space of the office. Out here it felt less like some secret thing. You sat yourself at a table, the ach in your head already slowly subsiding. 

“Yell at me if this hurts too much.” A familiar voice from behind you, the sound of latex stretching followed. 

“Good thing you came prepared.” You hissed lightly as his hand brushed over where you must have landed. 

“I honestly don’t know how many gloves I’ve taken home. Mostly by accident.” His touch was light as it brushed hair out of the way to get a better look. “But I don’t think I needed this one, you’re not bleeding at least.” 

He dropped heavily into the chair across from you, as casual as always. “You’re lucky. Could have been a lot worse and I would have made you come visit me to work.” You couldn’t pretend your cheeks didn’t burn a little at that. “You should be good, get some ice on it, take it easy and if you feel worse go get checked out.” 

Angel joined you at the table, sliding a coffee over to him. “For the help” She offered  with a smile. 

“Well how can I turn that down.” John accepted the drink, taking a slow sip from the mouth of the cup and checking the display on his watch. “I do have to run actually. I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m late to cover.” 

He was halfway out the door when he turned back to look you in the eye once more. “I mean it about seeing a doctor if that gets worse. I don't want to come back to find out that something happened to you.” With that he was out the door and down the street. 

You watched him go, the usual excitement that followed his visits was there as alway, but something more also bubbled under the surface. Last week you had hardly said a word to him when he came through for his usual. And today he had taken care of you, gone out of his way to double check. You knew there was some level of responsibility for helping even off the clock. It was still nice to know that he cared enough to take care of you, and didn’t give you a hard time for it. 

It was hard to deny that seeing the doctor in him come out, the softer demeanor, the sole focus on you. It was sweet, and incredibly attractive. You hadn’t realized that you had been lost in thought until a voice behind you snapped out of it. 

“Are you okay? I can hang around for a little longer.” You winced away as something cool was pressed to the back of your head.

“I’ll be okay once some back up shows, you don’t have to stay late for me.” You took the makeshift ice pack and held it to the back of your head. She was still watching you like you might break on her. “I swear I will call you if I need to leave early. And besides I already saw a doctor technically. I’m as close to medically cleared as I’m going to get tonight.” 

That got the world weary sigh from her that you had come to expect. Along with the familiar smile. “Just try not to let the shift get any worse, I don’t know if I can handle any more stress in one day.” 

You spent the rest of the hour finishing your paperwork in the office. Occasionally venturing out to get a drink or refresh your ice. Often shooing your worried friend away to actually work when there were customers in the shop. 

Once the rest of the night shift began to filter in you transitioned to working the floor. The pain was mostly gone by now only the dull ache and the shame lingered. You had fallen on your ass and made someone else late to work, probably. All because you wanted to look a little cooler when you were checking him out for once. 

Not to mention that now your co-workers were stuck doing most if not all of the heavy lifting the rest of the shift since they instituted that you took it easy. You had hit your head, it wasn’t like they found you lying unconscious in the walk-in but they had been bullied into making you take it easy. It was hard to refuse Angel even if you ignored that fact that she owned the place. 

Your night was turning into a painful, embarrassing slog as you had to explain over and over to the overnight team as they trickled in that you had fallen on your ass. That you would be fine because with your stupid luck a doctor had happened to be on standby. 

Unfortunately, most of your team knew you well enough to start putting the pieces together of what that meant. Which made for far too many jokes about you getting hurt just to get the doctor to check you out for a change. By the time you were finally making your final rounds it felt like you had been there for an eternity, a special shift from the depths of embarrassment hell. 

John however had spent the first hour so half expecting you to come wandering into the ER. And yes, that may be the doctor brain rushing to the worst case scenario. But it also wasn’t impossible. When you didn’t show up though it was easier to let himself slip into the flow of work, focusing on actual patients. 

It wasn’t until after his first full rotation of the unit he was actually able to stop and clock that hours had passed and the pretty barista hadn't come through the doors. He took the minute he had to catch up on his charting, before the next crisis knocked him off his feet anyways. 

“You better be careful coming in the next few weeks.” He slid up to Ellis at the computer, catching her eye over the monitor. 

“Why would you say that?” She sighed, head falling back in exasperation. “Are you trying to spread your weird back luck curse to me?” 

“I’m just saying, I had that barista take a fall at my coffee place and Abbot’s whole car accident thing a while ago. You better be careful.” He shrugged. “Night shift has some weird luck going around.” 

“And now you’ve said it to me so for sure something’s going to happen.” She sighed, pushing away from the computer. “Do yourself a favor and quit talking about it before you put the poor girl in the ER tonight.” 

To his credit, he kept his mouth shut about it. It did help that it was a nightmarish night all around. He didn’t even really have the time to think about you let alone bring up his pre-shift heroics again. 

But as the day shift trickled in you crept back into his head. It wasn’t lost on him that you could have gone anywhere else in the city to get checkout if you had gotten worse. Something that didn’t sit right with him at all. 

Over the next few days he swung by the shop, even if he was technically off. If you were in he could at least follow up and make sure that you were okay. And if you weren’t? He would at least get the coffee and he could come back the next night. 

He probably could have called ahead and asked, he was well aware he was enough of a regular that the owner knew his drink order. But that was hardly on him, the shop was on the way to work and made some of the best coffee he had been able to get his hands on. 

So here he was making his regular coffee runs, just a little more frequently. And for his peace of mind it was worth it. Besides, whether he was willing to admit it to himself or not, the coffee wasn’t really the only reason he liked visiting the shop. Maybe he had been swinging by specifically on nights you usually worked for a while. 

Maybe he had just so happened to notice that you always made sure to make his order for him. He had been hoping for a better excuse to actually have a conversation with you. Offer to hang out when both of you could get off, which shouldn’t be difficult to plan considering your shifts usually lined up. 

It was a few nights after your encounter and the front door opened letting the scent of fresh summer rain in with it. Along with a very rain soaked John. Still as relaxed as ever, seemingly unbothered by the sudden chill of the air conditioning. 

He wasn’t dressed for a shift this time around, which wasn’t totally out of the usual. It wasn’t like your shop was in an inconvenient location. But the way the rest of the shift vanished on you was in fact out of the usual. Leaving you alone on the floor to take his order. Which was something you were sure you could recite in your sleep by now. 

“Yo, there’s my favorite barista. Glad you didn’t wind up coming to visit me at work.” He leaned in, arms folded on the counter. “Though I am apparently cursed so I didn’t put that out there.” He shot you a knowing smile, like you were already in on the joke. 

“Cursed?” You stepped closer to the machines to get his drink at least started. Ignoring the rush that came with being his favorite. Not that it really meant anything, he just happened to see you more than the others. One of those perks that came with management. 

“So I’m told, if you believe in that superstitious shit.” He followed you around to the machine as he spoke, warm eyes catching yours whenever possible as you worked. “Though I don’t know if I’ve actually seen proof of it yet.” 

“Well thank you for not spreading that to me I guess.” You laughed, steam blocking your vision for a moment. “That’s another thing I owe you for.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. “Literally just my job, doesn’t hurt to help.”His hands were in his pockets while he watched you work. “Though I have been known to work for coffee, every once in a while” His head tilted as he spoke, that smile widening. 

“Well luckily for you, I am something of an expert when it comes to coffee.” You offered him the cup, as usual relishing the tiny moment of contact when your fingers brushed over each other. He is free and sliding a torn and folded piece of paper across the counter to you. 

“I’m not doubting that.” His tone didn’t change but you felt the way his gaze shifted, refocusing on the paper between you. Once the paper slipped into your hand he added, “A little old school I know. I figured we could broaden your horizons a bit. Maybe get you some expertise in some of these local restaurants? We could go and grab dinner one of these nights.” 

The scrap of paper in your hand suddenly felt a little heavier, a little more alive in your hands. Unfolding it revealed John printed in classic, half legible doctor handwriting. Below that his phone number, perfectly legible. “I think it would be good to explore.” 

He would have had to be blind to miss the way you hardly fought back your smile, the way your hands shook just a little. From nerves or excitement it was hard to say, maybe a little of both. It almost didn’t feel real. Like it was all some fever dream and you really had hit your head much harder than you thought. You would wake up any second on the office floor, back at square one. 

Instead you watched the smallest hint of tension drain from his shoulders. “Good, I might already have a place or two lined up. Just in case.” Another easy shrug, his hand returned to his pocket. “Just text me when you have some time off. We’ll make it work.” 

“I’ll get back to you before the shift is over.” Happy with your answer he backed away from the counter, drink in hand and headed for the door. He had turned around and went to push out the door before he glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh and be careful the rest of the night, would hate to have to have you show up at work before I see you again.” With that slightly ominous warning he dipped back into the rain and vanished into the night. 

[perotovar]

everything good happens after midnight — drabble

gif by me

pairing: dieter bravo x gn!reader rating: T content: soooo much fluff word count: 611 dividers: @/saradika-graphics beta: @for-a-longlongtime (ty bb)

summary: dieter has a surprise for you. knowing him it could be anything.

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DARLING BB @sp00kymulderr i'm sorry this came later than i planned!! i hope it was a great one and sooo many dieter kisses are in your dreams tonight ♥

Dieter wasn’t always one for grand gestures. He liked more intimate moments at home, both of you cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, and smoke permeating the air. 

Today, though, was a different story. 

He’d texted you earlier than normal, which meant that he was really excited about whatever it was he had planned. His instructions were to get dressed in something nice, but comfy. That very well could have been Dieter’s life motto. But you did as he asked, and sent him a text in return.

where are you taking me, mr. bravo?

Shhh don’t worry about it 😉

dieter bravo with a plan… i’m scared lol

🥺

kidding lol you know i love u

😍😍

You giggled at your phone and made your way out to the car he’d gotten ready for you. The drive from Dieter’s Sherman Oaks home was a little longer than you were expecting, and your curiosity grew and grew the further the driver took you. Every time you tried to ask the stoic man in the front seat where you were going, he’d just smile calmly and say, “Mr. Bravo’s orders,” and pretend to zip his mouth shut. 

Eventually, though, he pulled up to a secluded area overlooking downtown LA. Normally the lights from the city would cover up just how many stars there were at night, but Dieter managed to find a spot where you could see most of them. 

Making your way over to your man from the car, you noticed that there were blankets spread out over the ground and some wine with a charcuterie board. You raised a brow in his direction and he just shrugged with a goofy grin on his face. 

“What’s all this?” You asked, a laugh bubbling out of your chest.

“I need a reason to treat my baby?” 

Your heart melted at that and you couldn’t deny him a kiss. He hummed into it, big hands holding your hips in a tight grip. Electricity shot up your spine at the gesture, making you wrap your arms around his neck.

A soft sigh left Dieter as he slowly walked you over to the blankets and gently lowered you to the ground. He hovered above you, his kisses growing deeper and more heated. You felt his cock twitch to life between your legs, making you wrap them around his waist to grind against it.

“Baby,” he grunted, nipping on your bottom lip. “H-hold on,” he chuckled.

You whined slightly, and pulled away, a small pout painting your lips.

“Wanted to show you something first,” he grinned, handsome face flushed and plump lips swollen. Your heart still pounding in your chest, you let him direct your eyesight downtown, following his pointed finger to a large billboard in the nearby distance.

You squinted your eyes, then gasped when you realized what he was pointing to.

There, on a billboard in downtown LA was an image of your upcoming indie film. You’d been working so hard on it, spending much of your free time perfecting the script and making sure the cast was just right. 

“Dee…” You whispered. Deep brown eyes and a cheeky smile looked in your direction. “How did you do this?”

Dieter just shrugged in response, eyes twinkling in the nearby candlelight. “Because I love you. And I’m proud of you. Wanna show you off,” he answered easily.

You cupped his face and pressed your forehead to his, breathing him in. “I love you, too, you silly man,” you chuckled. “Now, fuck me under the stars.”

Dieter’s chest puffed up slightly before he crawled back on top of you. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

I would like to explain that the reason I didn’t like that last shot of Andor is because I don’t like the way Bix left in the last arc.

(Putting this under a cut so you can skip for spoilers or skip if you just don’t want to hear anymore about it. Perfectly understandable.)

Let me make this clear first: Bix leaving in itself is not the problem. I’m so glad that after everything they put her through, they didn’t just kill her or make her fight and keep fighting when she doesn’t want to. I’m glad that the last we see of her, she’s finally looking healthy and at peace. How often do we get such a quiet, fulfilling ending for a character (especially in Star Wars, and especially in the Everyone Dies Show?)

We all knew going into this show—and this season in particular—that Bix had to make an exit somehow because we don’t see her in Rogue One. The first option I think occurred to everyone (myself included) was: she gets killed. And the next thought I had was: that’s terrible and it would be the laziest option. As this season progressed and we saw her struggling so much, the more I hated the idea of them killing her off because I hate when they decide to just kill off a traumatized character like that’s the only mercy they can contrive for them.

Having Bix choose to leave is so much better.

But here’s the crux of the matter (for me, at least): it’s the way they had her leave.

I’ll admit: I didn’t mind the Force healer. Initially. The scene with her does resemble some of that overly cryptic, poetic, ominous prose that I usually associate with Doctor Who—you know? Someone standing there with a haunted look, gazing at the main character like they’ve just watched them die in front of them a thousand times, and then they go on to allude to it in the vaguest, least helpful way possible? But later when you, the viewer, see the finale and see the dots connect, you’ll know what it means? (And it makes for some really cool edits later)

Yeah, the Force healer’s speech was terribly on the nose but I enjoyed it. I liked that they slipped a little bit of Jedi stuff into the No Jedi Allowed Show. And the concept of a Force healer on Yavin just sparks so many ideas and stories for me.

But I didn’t like that, because of that one single ominous and vague interaction, suddenly, Bix reveals she’s had all these feelings and dreams for so long that Cassian is meant to do something in particular, like he’s so special and destined for it and she’s not supposed to be a part of it.

What?

I don’t blame Cassian for freaking out a bit at that because where is all this coming from? Bix earlier does express belief and faith in him, she does feel he’s an asset to the Rebellion and she does want him to fight, okay, but now she’s been sensing destiny? I thought the point was supposed to be that Cassian wasn’t a Chosen OneTM.

Then Vel comes and tries to convince Bix to convince Cassian to give more to the Rebellion, stay in line a bit more so they can actually use him. Okay. That’s fine. I don’t have a major problem with that. What I do have the problem with is that, somehow, Bix takes this and connects it to the Ominous and Vague Interaction and decides Cassian is a Chosen OneTM… in the There Is No Chosen OneTM Show.

So then, after Ghorman, Cassian returns and expresses a desire to leave. He wants a quiet, normal life. Bix takes away his choice, tells him she’s choosing for him.

When I first saw that message, I suspected the writers made her pregnant, but I really thought they wouldn’t go there.

It’s not the tragedy that Cassian has a child that he’ll never know that gets me; it’s that his choice for how to live his life is taken away and someone who claims she loves him did the taking away based on some vague notion that he’s a Chosen One.

Having Bix choose to leave because she doesn’t want to fight anymore is fine. Letting her return to somewhere she made connections in the community and found meaningful work is fine. Having her go on to have a family of her own is also perfectly fine.

Making that baby Cassian’s is not fine.

A part of me wouldn’t have minded if Bix had told Cassian and they had an actual mature discussion and decided she needed to leave and have the baby somewhere safe. Logically, Cassian would want to go with her—we want Cassian to go with her—but they could have had it that he agrees to follow and find her after he’s done with this mission he’s already committed to (this would work really well if the Bix leaving stuff was pulled forward to this arc. They could have done it; their hands weren’t that tied). Then you can still have Rogue One happen all the same but with some different context as they hammered home in the advertisement of this season (but why doesn’t Cassian mention Bix? Because he’s keeping her safe and it just doesn’t come up. Not a lot of time for casual conversation when the Death Star looms, you know?)

It’s just too obvious they wanted extra layers of tragedy and having Bix choose to leave because she fears she’s getting in the way of Cassian’s contribution to the rebellion is a cheap shot already, adding in a child he will never know (but made a sunrise for, yeah, okay, we get it “poetry; it rhymes”) is an even cheaper shot that I did not expect from a story that provided so much deep, complex writing in the first season.

And the thing is: this isn’t a tragedy for Cassian. Alright? He doesn’t know. The tragedy for him is Bix leaving and making the choice for him to stay in the fight. The baby is just supposed to be a tragedy for the viewers.

But had it been Bix choosing to leave, choosing to start a new life, choosing to have a family somewhere peaceful, then I would just enjoy it (and that’s how I’m gonna headcanon-fix-it for myself)

[dollypopup]

controversial take?

Penelope did not always love Colin.

Penelope always found Colin attractive. Penelope idealized Colin. Penelope dreamed of being together romantically with Colin. But she was not in love with Colin because the Colin she knew wasn't real. The Colin she made up in her mind was a sanitized, perfectly polished version of him that has never existed save in a society that required him to be as such. Penelope ONLY came to actually love Colin when he revealed to her his actual self: the self that hurt, the self that cried, the self that yelled, the self with insecurities. The self that can sharpen on her like a knife. The self that curls in fetal. Until she cracked his chest open to see the gaping wound of him, she did not love him.

The Colin Penelope thought she loved was a man who was always kind, always sure of himself in society, always sweet and understanding. A Colin who wrote her letters from across the sea to include her in his adventures and always made time for her and was always there with a joke or a question about how she was feeling.

And the thing is: Colin IS kind and he IS sweet and understanding, but there is no always about that. There is no always about anyone. Colin sulks. Colin sobs. Colin feels deeply and loves deeply and hurts deeply. Colin is curious. Colin is lonely. Colin is needy and hungry and conflicted. Colin is tender and emotional. Colin is sarcastic and sharp. Colin is quiet and withdrawn and holds his hurts so tightly, can't ask for help. Colin wants to be useful. Most people do. But when he isn't, he feels aimless. Colin succumbs to the pressures of his society. Colin is rejected and abandoned and blames himself. Colin is warm and empathetic and studious and selfless but he is also angry and jealous and avoidant and human.

The Colin Penelope claimed she always loved was not a person. He was a prince on a horse. And let's be very clear here: in many ways, the real Colin absolutely still is a princely character. That's why very minor things like him saying he wouldn't court her got blown up SO big in the fandom. Compared to 'wed bed and bred' from Season 2? Hell, even compared to some of what Penelope herself has said? Colin absolutely is a sweetheart through and through.

But honestly, the moment where I did feel like Penelope loved and accepted him? Was after the entrapment line. Yes yes, I know. Booooo tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes from the majority of the fandom who INSISTS on demonizing him for it, but. . .truly? That was exactly how someone who actually accepts him would react.

He lashed out, he was hurt, he was upset at her (and let's be clear here: for very, VERY good reason. Most if not ALL people would be upset to find out their fiance was hiding a double life from them), and she absorbed it. She took that blow and assured him, because she knew what he meant was Do you even love me? and her response to it was Yes, I do. I do love you. That was the right way to go about it. That scene, for me, was a moment in which she really saw him. And she really cared for him. No bells, no whistles, no galloping in on a horse with an open hand for her to take. Colin showed her the side of him that could be ugly and mean and she said Yes, this too. All of it. All of you.

That was the only way she should have reacted. Because if she didn't absorb that blow? If she DIDN'T accept him for who he was? That's the death of their love story. If Colin said 'Yes, but you're my mess' and Penelope said 'Too much mess, chuck it out'? What kind of romance would that be? Not a romance at all, really, but a breakup. When Colin said something previously that hurt her, she threw their whole relationship away. Her hearing him say something that hurt her but still choosing him is important character growth.

There truly were not enough moments like that for me in the show. Bridgerton, and Polin more specifically, tends to lean on the whole 'Oh, she's always had feelings for him' thing to justify us getting less genuine affection and acceptance from her in the season, but the truth is that those feelings weren't based on anything real. Their push back, their back and forth, their fights- that's real. It's easy saying you love someone through the good times. Far less so to truly love them through the tough ones. It is only love, actually love, if you love them through the tough ones. Otherwise, it's artifice. Otherwise, it's a bubble waiting to pop with nothing of substance beneath the shiny, iridescent skin.

So, no, Penelope did not always love Colin Bridgerton. There is no always have.

There is, however, an always will.

[antarcticcrew]

❗Changes to My AU❗ – Private’s family Update📝

Hello Crew! I just wanted to explain something that’s been holding me back from making content lately: I really don't like the original headcanons I made for Private’s biological family.

They were written early on, before I really started developing this AU deeply, and they ended up way more dramatic and complicated than I meant. Honestly, they created more plot holes than they solved—and even if none of you noticed, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

The truth is: his backstory was only ever supposed to explain a few simple things—how he got to the U.S., why he knows Uncle Nigel, and why Nigel thinks he’s spy material. That’s it! But I overdid it, and it started affecting how I worked on the rest of the AU.

So I’ve officially rewritten it! The new version is way more straightforward, better characters and fits the tone and canon of the AU better. It’s not meant to be a huge emotional arc—just background info to support other parts of the story.

The older headcanons are still up if you want to see them, but they’re no longer canon. BUT the physical designs for the characters are still good.

Thanks for your patience—I know I haven’t posted much, but I’m still working on things, It just takes me a bit to produce art, especially when I am still learning how to draw! If you have any questions I will be happy to try and answer them down below. I love you all and your engagement and words mean the world to me ❤️

Private's Updated Family Info:

Sam Fishy, an MI6 agent, became the reluctant guardian of Theodore (aka Private) after the boy's mother—someone Sam had a one-night stand with and had quietly been paying child support to—unexpectedly passed away. Sam took in the two-year-old out of a sense of responsibility.

At first, Sam tried to be a decent father, but the pressure of balancing espionage work and parenting quickly wore him down. After a few months, he became emotionally distant, though he still provided for Theo in every material way. Theo never lacked toys or comfort—just connection. He had a few playmates here and there, but his relationship with his dad remained cold and unfamiliar. Especially when he was never aware of what exactly his fathers job was...

The only warmth in Theo's life came from his "Uncle Nigel," who kept up a fun, goofy persona around the boy. Nigel, also a spy, (but like his brother has to hide that from private) was often busy but made time to visit when he could—and those visits meant the world to Theo. Still, he spent most of his early childhood feeling deeply lonely.

When Sam had to go to the U.S. for work, he brought eight-year-old Theo along under the pretense of it being a vacation. But it was the same empty routine in a different country—Theo alone in another room while his dad worked.

In Chicago, that’s when Theo ran away.

When Sam discovered his son’s absence, he searched for him and eventually found him with young Skipper, Kowalski, and Rico.

He could’ve taken him back. He was going to, originally. But seeing his son happier without him felt like betrayal. In Sam’s mind, he’d done everything right as a father, sacrificed a lot in his life. He couldn’t see how distant he’d become, how much his work had taken over.

So blinded by pride, he turned away—believing that if Theo wanted a different family, he could have one.

But when Nigel caught wind of what happened, he became intrigued. Even though Sam told him to forget about the boy, Nigel believed it was all part of some bigger plan. He hadn’t seen Theo’s potential as a spy at first—but maybe this was his way of breaking into the agent life. So he kept tabs on him over the years, eventually visiting again in the future to enlist his help with the Red Squirrel situation.

[mullion-ghoul]

Mullion sighed, slowing his work on signing all the papers when he noticed your tail starting to coil around your leg. His own tail kept wagging slowly, almost playfully hitting your foot every time. "My dear, believe me, I understand more than you'd think. In fact, let me tell you a story..."

Mullion cleared his throat as he adjusted how he was sitting and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to keep it out of his face and looking stylish enough to be... youthful, in any way he could get it. He slowly removed his thick, oversized work jacket and pulled up the sleeve of his traditional robes so you could see a small tattoo on the inside of his forearm. It was like a brand. "When I first got to the Ministry, they didn't know at all what to do with me. Well... I was small, and weak, and I didn't land in the middle of the sigil like I was meant to—you should know all about how much of a mess that could be." Mullion snickered, and for a brief second, it was almost like you could see through his black hole-like welding goggles and his bright blue eyes were staring right back. "I landed in the garden. And my arrival may have scorched a lovely little red rose bush."

"But Papa Nihil was furious!" The older ghoul took a handful of the already-signed documents and set them aside, freeing up some space in his lap to continue forging signatures. "He gave me this little tattoo, but he didn't let me come into the Ministry for years, so I stayed in the greenhouse until I was... hm, around 23? And even then, I was only allowed to roam this little old wing on the far East of the building. It was comfortable, though. And I got to meet... plenty of lovely men."

Mullion nervously bit the corner of his lip with one of his jagged tusks, trying not to seem like a schoolgirl talking about a crush. He shook his head quickly and returned to his original blistering pace of signing all the documents, but this time, he kept his head down.

"I just mean to say, dear... I understand. And I'd be delighted to show you around the garden. I'll even—oh, actually, I just blew these brand new mini decanters! I'll pack some wine and... small sandwiches, and I'll cut up some fruits so we can have a little break and a snack. It'll be good for you, little spitfire, trust me." Mullion sighed, a small grin spreading over his face. "And don't look so anxious. I'm old. Not that I don't bite, but if I did, you'd probably just get a whole lotta gums."

[Open RP] When the sun rises...

The Ministry was silent as the morning approached. Siblings of Sin were still sleeping in the early hours of the morning, and Ghouls were too preoccupied with their own business to notice the early birds.

Sanguis, on the other hand, was fully awake and already running errands. Loads of paperwork sat untouched on his desk, held steady by a half-empty cup of cappuccino. The ghoul was struggling to keep his eyes open after spending the entire night reorganizing the Ministry's archives.

"Oh Satanas, give me the strength to get shit done today..." He muttered as he picked up the papers nearest to him. He was so focused on reading the same sentence over and over again that he didn't notice the person approaching the door.

[deceptionpasses]

:( </3

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[meticulousmaker]

another random thing that stands out to me rewatching Steven Universe as an adult:

throughout the show there's this clear Vibe that Steven has inherited some big magical destiny, right? and it makes sense narratively: he's the son of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, now being raised by her friends who were the last remaining survivors of an interstellar war. he's like a human child in most ways, except he has magical powers that start to become more obvious as he's getting older. no one like him has ever existed before. it's a big deal. raising him and figuring out how he's going to grow is its own unique challenge, because nobody knows what to expect. so of course there's this magical destiny vibe, given all that.

What's interesting to me, though, is that this magical destiny is in no way literally, physically present in the story, it's just something everyone kinda feels. Like, there's not some ancient prophecy about a half-gem, half-human savior. He's not the Chosen One in any literal sense, he just happens to give off Chosen One vibes. And I say that's interesting because it means that the fact he was kinda raised with this Chosen One vibe is completely a decision everyone around him made, for better or for worse. And the show is aware of this, because the weight of Rose's legacy and everyone's expectations of him is a constant theme, and as Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all grow and develop, they also realize the downsides of them putting those expectations on a child. Like, Steven spends his whole childhood being told about how great Rose was, and how because he's inherited her gem he will probably inherit her powers - and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how awful things could have been if Steven had no exposure to the Gems and no knowledge of what they were or how they worked, and then his powers started coming in? It was hard enough even when he was surrounded by the most qualified Gem Experts on Earth. But being primed for all of this "you're going to have your mother's magical powers" stuff put a heavy weight on his shoulders, and then the fact that nobody else quite knew how his abilities worked meant he was constantly faced with the adults in his life looking to him with concern because they didn't know what was happening with him. That's gotta leave an impression on a kid - and, well, throughout the show and especially in SU Future we definitely see that it does.

I like the way the show handles the pressure that's put on him, and the fact that everyone is just... trying their best in a completely unprecedented situation. Nobody knows what to do or how to raise this kid, and that inevitably causes problems but everyone is trying. And Steven can feel that everyone is trying without knowing what to do and he just wants to help and not be a burden and none of his caretakers have said that he's a burden but he can feel everyone's confusion and concern and the expectations he's not living up to and he cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He's in an extremely unique position that grants him opportunities to help that nobody else has, and he feels like he's failing everyone if he can't fulfill that, and in the end it never should have been his job to fix things but somebody had to try. Somebody had to try, and he was one of the only people with the ability to stop the Diamonds, stop the war, stop the lies, stop his world and everyone on it from being destroyed... and he was just a kid.

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Orc x fem!reader— cum eating, dry humping, fingering, voyeurism, rough sex, clitoral stimulation

Pt1

“Hey neighbor, I was just talking about you,” your hot Wolf Hybrid neighbor says as you walk over to his little group hanging out in his driveway.

His Orc, Naga, and Wolf friends all flash you a knowing smirk, their varying fangs glimmering sends a heat in your belly before you quickly stop yourself. You had to tone your horny ass self down. You didn’t wanna make a bad impression on a new city of people by being desperate for everyone’s cocks. You didn’t think that would fly here. As they stare your cheeks begin to heat up in a way you know is noticeable.

“Mentioned how I wanted to bring over a cup of coffee I made you,” he adds as if sensing your thoughts and trying to reassure you.

So he wasn’t going around talking about you to all his friends? Something tells you that’s not exactly true as his eyes gleam with arousal. You imagine it as you take the cup of coffee from his hands. Your hot neighbor sitting around with his equally hot friends, going over every little dirty detail. Raving about how good your tight cunt felt around his thick cock. All of them growing hard as he recounted the noises you made and how desperate you were to be filled while imagining it was them with you instead.

A choked whimper escapes you that you quickly try and hide beneath a pleased hum. You try your best to look casual as you subtly rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. But you’re briefly brought back to reality as your hot neighbor hands you the mug of coffee.

“Thank you for this, but—“ you say as you bring the mug to your lips only for your neighbor to brush a clawed finger along the edge of the cup and tilt it up, forcing you to take long gulps of the nicely warm drink. You meet his burning gaze, unable to look away, the tension simmering between you. And in front of all his friends. Fuck you can feel how wet you’re getting.

When he finally removes his finger you lower the cup with only a bit less than half left. Your mouth smacks as the taste bursts across your tongue. It was bitter as you expected coffee to be but also a bit sweet and… salty? It was certainly creamier than you expected it to be. You liked it. Probably more than you liked whatever blend you usually get. You’ll have to ask what his special ingredient is later.

“Thank you again but I was wondering if you guys could give me a ride? I’m in a really tough spot and I just need someone to get me going,” you say, voice strangely huskier than normal.

You clear your throat, glancing away, and look back up to all four of these damn fine men staring down at you as if they’re about to pounce. Your pussy flutters, clamping down around nothing at the thought of them actually doing just that. Their claws digging into your plush form, fangs grazing your sensitive skin, their big tongues ravaging your body to prepare you for their giant cocks.

“Work that is,” you add, voice growing husky all over again.

Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor chuckles darkly, the sound shooting right down to your core. He glances at his friends and a silent conversation passes between them. Then all of them are moving toward the car as if suddenly eager to get in.

“C’mon, sweetheart. We’re headed to work ourselves but we’ll get you off. Who are we to deny someone as cute as you?” He says smoothly, his raspy voice making that sound much more suggestive than you think he meant to.

Your hot neighbor rounds the car, taking the drivers seat. While his Wolf Hybrid friend quickly takes passenger. As if he didn’t want you getting to it first.

“You’ll have to ride in my lap though,” His Orc friend immediately says with a smirk as he hops in the backseat of the car. You follow after him, not wanting anymore seats taken from you.

“And why would I do that?” You ask, not wanting him to know how much you like the idea.

Just as you’re about to sit in the middle seat instead, the Orc’s giant hands are gripping your waist and plopping you down in his lap. Before you can argue or pretend to complain, the Naga gets in last and he curls half his long rattling tail into the middle seat while the rest takes up the remaining one.

“There’sss no more room,” the Naga says, forked tongue slipping out as he speaks and a second later his eyes dilate.

You blush, knowing he can probably taste your arousal in the air. In fact, they all probably can. The realization has you blushing deeper and growing wetter on the hot Orc. Especially as the Orc tugs you closer to his chest and you can feel the distinct bulge of his half-erect cock pressing deliciously along your clothed slit.

Hot neighbor starts on his way and you share your new place of work with them. They’ll know exactly where you are now nearly every day. It sends a strange thrill through you. Wolf Hybrid neighbor tells you that it’s on the way to their place so they’ll drop you off first but that it might take a little longer. They usually like to down the back roads.

You find that you don’t mind as you’re a lot more than just comfortable sitting in the hot Orc’s lap. That is until they actually start driving down the back roads and their… bumpy terrain.

A small grunt escapes you, eyes widening as the car starts rocking. Each jolt of the car has the Orc’s hardening length rubbing right up against your pussy. Your throat tightens as you try and choke down your moans. The Orc feels huge and he’s rubbing over every inch of your cunt. You swear you feel him rocking in sync with the rock. But what would be crazy.

Small talk fills the car and you’re grateful no one seems to be able to notice your inner torment. Small whines leave you as you practically bounce on the Orc’s clothed dick. It sends shocks through your system and you quickly grow more and more needy. The need to be filled and stuffed full itching at your skin.

“I think you’re wet enough f’me now, sweetheart. My patience grows thin. Fuckin’ need to get inside ya,” the Orc says, breaking you out of your lustful daze. It’s only then you register his panting breaths and the way everyone’s eyes shift toward you in the car.

“W-what?”

You yelp as the Orc jerks off your slacks and panties in one swift move and hooks your legs over each of his knees, spreading you wide for the whole car to see. Your glistening folds spasm as they’re exposed to the cold air.

Thoughts run through your head at a mile a minute. You should want to stop this. To scramble off this sexy Orc’s lap. But you only get more turned on, your arousal gushing out of you at the thought of him so suddenly taking you.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been wantin’ to fuck me since your fine ass walked over. That’s how this place works, right?” The Orc asks, almost mockingly.

His words wash over you, clouding your mind, as his hands explore your body. Slightly clawed fingers trail down and dip into your soaked folds. A low moan leaves you and instead of trying to get away you melt back into his chest, hips rolling with the movement of his fingers. He takes the time to prep you for his length and it slowly has you becoming an absolute mess in his lap. And you haven’t even had his cock yet.

You suck in a sharp breath as the hot Orc’s fingers leave you only to replace them with his thick angry tip. His pre-cum creating an even bigger mess of you. Your mind threatens to gain clarity again but then the Orc is pushing you down and splitting you open on his cock.

“Nngh! Ooh… Oh fuck,” you cry out, throwing your head back. The stretch of his girth forcing your gummy walls to accommodate him has your eyes rolling back. The deeper he goes the more you swear you’ve never been filled this good in your life.

The fact that you’re in a car full of men shifts back to the front of your mind and you lift your head to see them all still watching you with a fierce intensity.

Your hot neighbor continues to drive but you notice the way his eyes keep flicking back to you in the mirror. While his Wolf Hybrid and Naga friends each have all their cocks out, languidly stroking them to the sight of you stretched pretty on their friend’s cock. You whimper, basking in the attention, and a second later the Orc starts slamming you down on his massive cock.

“Fuck, dude, you were right. What a perfect pussy. They’re drenched f’me, just slipped right in. So warm and tight. Poor thing won’t get a moments rest in this place,” the Orc huffs and the car erupts into soft breathless laughter.

Aha! You knew your hot neighbor had talked about you with them. The praise is all you focus on and it has your walls squeezing the Orc’s length, wanting to make him go mad. A low growl vibrates from his chest to your back as he feels you get even tighter. His claws sink into your hips as he starts using his grip to fuck his cock up into you at a bruising pace. His thrusts syncing up perfectly with the rocky jostling of the car that only seems to be getting worse.

You cry out as the car’s movements also deepens the Orc’s momentum. You swear you can feel his dick all the way up in your throat. He’s stuffing you so full of him you don’t know if you can take it. You arch back into the Orc, putting on a show for him and everyone in the car. Through hooded eyes you watch as they furiously pump themselves to the sight of your body. It gets you so fucking hot. Their lustful eyes raking over your form. All of them wanting a piece of you, all of them jealous of the one who gets to fuck you.

The Naga flicks out his tail, the rattle on its tip moves in between your legs, wanting to do anything he can to give you more pleasure. You wait with bated breath and shriek as he rattles his tail, the vibration sending sparks throughout your body. The Orc snarls in your ear and picks up pace, jerking up his hips and meeting your thrusts in a way that has your toes curling.

“How do they look?” Your hot neighbor growls, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and sounding borderline feral. His cock aching against his slacks.

“They look so fucking sexy, man. Their tight pussy can barely take him,” His Wolf Hybrid friend moans, his hips twitching as he jerks himself off even harder.

“But they’re doing ssso well. Pretty thing will be ruined for anyone else,” the Naga adds, roughly rattling his tail against your clit. He thrusts up into each of his hands that pump at both of his dicks. You mewl, vision blurring at the intensity that wracks through you.

“Fuck, I think they’re about to cum!” One of them shouts but you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to focus on which one it is. But then the Orc’s hot breath is curling around your ear and your mind clears enough to hear his rumbling voice.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuckin’ let go and cum on my cock. Squeeze the damn life out of me, you can do it.”

The cord snaps and jaw drops, fierce screams echo throughout the car as you explode all over his cock. Waves of ecstasy wash over you and you try your best not to pass out. The sight of you coming is a vision of pure art and none of the other men can hold on much longer.

The Naga lets go first, shooting his cum over any inch of bare skin he can reach. The Wolf Hybrid is close to follow in his friend’s footsteps as he cums all over you two. Seeing you all wrecked and messy quickly has the Orc slamming into you, burying himself to the hilt and shooting spurt after spurt of his cum deep inside you.

“Such a pretty slut you are, sweetheart. So easily made a mess from our cocks. You’re perfect,” the Orc rasps in your ear and you preen under his praise.

The rest of the car ride is spent with the monsters cleaning you up as you lay limply in the Orc’s lap. You take the time to regain your strength and you hope you’ll be able to feel your legs enough to walk into work.

When you arrive your hot neighbor gets out and greets you as the door opens. He helps you out and you immediately melt into his embrace. Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor laughs, leaning down and kissing the crown of your head.

“Next time, darling. Now get into work,” he murmurs intimately in your ear. Giving your butt a nudging pat.

As you walk in on wobbly legs, you glance around the lobby, looking for the headhunter that recruited you. He was meant to meet you and show you the ropes of the job. But he isn’t anywhere to be seen and you wonder what you’ll do next. You could ask the Demon Guard by the door where you could find him, head down the closest hall and hope you find the headhunter down one of the rooms, or you could head to your Minotaur Boss’ office and hope he can show you around.

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.

[yourlocalmushroom]

The Amulet

dpxdc

Damian was nine when his brother died.

Danny had been twelve—older, taller, faster. Wiser, even. At least, that’s how Damian had always seen him. He was the one who ruffled his hair when he was annoyed, the one who taught him the best way to land a hit when sparring. The one who, even in their grandfather’s suffocating world, still managed to make Damian laugh.

And then, one day, he was gone.

Not just gone—erased.

By the time the grief had settled like dust over his shoulders, Ra’s al Ghul had made sure no trace of Danny remained. No files. No photographs. Not even a whisper in the League’s archives. It was as if he never existed.

But Damian remembered.

And he had the amulet.

A small, smooth crystal set into a metal frame, strung on a fine, worn chain. Danny had pressed it into Damian’s palm the night before he disappeared, closing his fingers around it like a secret.

“Keep it close, Dami. No matter what happens—don’t lose this. Promise me.”

Damian kept that promise. Through every sparring match, every mission, every moment he stood as Robin beside his father. He wore it beneath the collar of his suit, hidden but always present. When the world felt heavy, the amulet reminded him he hadn’t imagined it all—hadn’t imagined Danny.

And over time… it started doing more than that.

At first, it was just a feeling—a presence. Every time Damian found himself in danger, the amulet would glow, just barely, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t think much of it. Probably just a trick of the light.

But then the near-misses started.

A blade that should have sliced through his side—dodged at the last second. A bullet meant for his skull—tilted just an inch to the right. A collapsing beam during a mission—falling just shy of crushing him.

Every time, the amulet pulsed, and the next moment, he would move—without thinking, without reason. It wasn’t skill. It wasn’t luck.

It was something else.

And the family noticed.

Bruce had narrowed his eyes every time, watching him with the same calculating look he used when analyzing evidence. Tim had outright asked if he was cheating death. Even Jason—who didn’t believe in magic or miracles—had muttered something about the brat being “too damn lucky.”

Something was wrong.

But then, the real nightmare began.

It started like a whisper—stories of strange phenomena, ripples in reality, beings phasing in and out of existence in small towns and quiet corners of the world. Then the whispers turned into chaos. Entire cities blinked through moments of freezing cold, electronics failed, shadows moved when they shouldn’t.

The Justice League investigated.

What they found wasn’t a rogue metahuman, but an open wound in the fabric of their dimension—and something trying to crawl through it.

Ghosts. Entities. Creatures that bent light and space, beings of ectoplasmic energy that grew restless, aggressive. Some were merely curious. Others were cruel.

And they were looking for someone.

“The King,” one of them rasped through Zatanna’s containment ward. “He is here. We can feel him. His heart beats in this world once more.”

The JL pressed for answers. The ghosts spoke of a kingdom—the Infinite Realms—a place of dimensions layered like veils. Their king had fallen, and now the throne trembled beneath the feet of a usurper. The war had spilled over into this reality in search of the one who might reclaim it.

The king, they said, had been reborn.

But time was running out.

In the weeks that followed, the world became a battlefield. The League, the Titans, the Bat-family—all fought with everything they had. Cities were scarred. Skies turned green under rifts of swirling ectoplasm. And still, the invaders came, stronger, bolder.

Until one night, Damian found himself face-to-face with death again.

He’d leapt in front of a civilian—reckless, impulsive, the way he always was when his blood ran too hot. The specter’s blade moved too fast.

There was no time to dodge.

But the amulet around his neck blazed to life.

Light burst outward in a pulse that made the air shatter. The ghost reeled back, howling in agony, while every other entity across the battlefield froze. A shockwave rippled through them—not of force, but of recognition.

And fear.

Every spectral eye turned toward Damian.

The king is here.

Some screamed in fury. Others dropped their weapons and fled. Those who lingered felt the surge of power that poured from the boy—not his own power, but something ancient, something buried deep in the amulet that now burned white-blue against his chest.

Everything stopped.

The ghosts froze, eyes wide with horror.

"The King," one of them whispered.

Damian barely registered it.

The energy surged through him, crackling under his skin, pulsing with something ancient and vast. He could hear voices—distant, echoing, familiar. The ground trembled beneath him, and for the first time, the invaders fled.

The war was over.

And Damian collapsed.

The League called an emergency summit in the days that followed. Damage had been widespread, but miraculously, there were no major civilian casualties. As cities began to rebuild, questions remained. Chief among them: What exactly had happened?

Robin sat in the meeting chamber, surrounded by the most powerful beings on Earth, saying nothing. His fingers drifted toward his chest—only to find nothing there.

The amulet was gone.

His breath caught, just slightly.

The warmth that had always been there—the anchor to his brother, the quiet hum of protection—it was gone.

Panic swelled in his throat before he even realized he was standing. The conversation around him blurred. Someone called after him, but he was already halfway down the hall, footsteps echoing through marble and steel.

He burst through the balcony doors, heart hammering—and stopped.

The sky was clear. The stars shimmered like tiny mirrors.

And there, leaning against the railing, arms folded, gaze turned upward… was Danny.

Whole. Real. Alive.

He hadn’t aged a day.

The same snow-silver eyes. The same wild black hair that defied gravity. That same presence Damian had only remembered in fragments, in dreams.

Danny turned at the sound of footsteps. His expression softened.

“Hey, Dami.”

Damian felt like the world had shifted beneath his feet.

Danny’s voice was exactly the same. Not older. Not changed. As if he had never left.

"You grew."

The words were soft, fond.

Damian’s breath came sharp and uneven. His body screamed at him to move, to do something—to attack, to demand answers, to hit Danny for making him think he was dead.

But he couldn't move.

Because suddenly, that warm thing in his chest, the one he had ignored for years, the one that had flared to life when he had blown out the candle that morning—

It broke open.

Flooded through him like fire and light, grief and relief, memory and something else—something too big to name.

He had spent years pretending he didn’t feel the ache. Years telling himself it didn’t matter. That his brother had been erased. That he was alone.

And yet, here he was.

Standing in the moonlight. Smiling at him.

Danny existed.

The amulet—the core—had never just been a memory.

It had been Danny.

Waiting.

Returning.

And Damian didn’t know what to do with that.

So he did nothing.

Just stared.

Just breathed.

And Danny just smiled.

Like he had never been gone at all.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.