#the only reason i say we should is that we have very little time for just us

[softness-and-shattering]

"If you can/when you can/where possible" is whats important. Those choices tend to require an amount of resources, be it energy or time or mobility or money.

As a poor, disabled fat person I have very little I can do, my options are super limited to begin with. And I dont know if my experience is closer or further from the norm, but when I read this what I hear is "push yourself beyond reason to make a miniscule difference to the world and significantly worsen your own quality of life. You did not build these systems and would abstain if that was possible, but its not, so you must do penance for existing through the suffering of others". People say "if you can/when you can of course" but then post mocking tirades about people buying fast fashion as if everyone can go shopping in boutiques and through expensive labelled-as-ethical brands and its just sheer laziness that all my shirts I buy about twice a year each cost under $15, why arent I spending $200 each in sizes I cant wear thats made from super sustainable materials woven in sweatshops with tiny details added by well-paid workers so they can claim none of it was made in sweatshops.

Like. Idk. There is no ethical consumption under capitalism but I dont believe we need to all ritually commit suicide or torture ourselves constantly to make up for benefiting from the exploitation of others. In general we need to all try move to slower fashion I fully agree in principle, I would like if the ripple effects of what I need to survive involved zero exploitation. But Im also in the exploitation machine. Im also struggling to survive.

The guilt of average people isnt going to break the system. Peoppe should not be shamed for how they meet their survival needs.

Maybe you do mean well, I will extend you that benefit of the doubt. This isnt personal. Im just so tired of feeling like Im being judged as a terrible person for trying to survive in this fucked up economic system that I cannot extricate myself or anyone else from. The only way to do what seems to be most ethical is to have resources, and whatever resources you have are exactly what.someone else doesnt. But mostly its the few holding everything wstching us fight for their smusement or not even noticing our existence at all brcause we are just the pitiful ones. And no I cant do anything about that.

really conflicted feelings on “there is no ethical consumption under capitalism”…while that is true i feel like lately it’s a catch-all phrase for absolving yourself from personal responsibility, which is not the point

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

•~{ Heyyy, So I just watched the one Weeping Angel episode of Doctor Who and my brain will not shut the hell up so there’s my attempt to shut it up }~•

•Stone Angel•

Young Justice is in a forest.

They have just finished a mission report and were on their way to get some food so they were not in their hero gear and it was supposed to be normal but hero’s lives can never be normal can they.

As they were walking down the street they heard yelling and then a portal opens up under him and drags them in and the everything goes black for the group.

In who knows how long the group wakes up In a dark forest and start trying to come up with a plan but with the sun almost down it would be better if they find shelter as they don’t know what kind of animals live in this forest.

So they start walking and talking about what they should do and how to get in touch with their mentors and that’s when they hear it, it was just the simple sound of a branch snapping nothing new in a forest like this but as they looked to where the branch snapped that’s when they saw it.

A large figure at least 10-11 feet tall but they were unable to see it clearly as it was covered in shadows but the YJL didn’t have time to ask questions because as soon as the figure noticed that they saw them it started to run at them in a inhuman way and they started to run for their life.

Thankfully as they were young hero’s they could run faster then a normal person would but with the figure hat on their tail it was only a matter of time to see who started to slow down first and than they saw it.

A castle it looks very old but at least they would be anyway from the thing so they started to run even fast and they were almost there! that’s when Kon saw them, it was a person they were laying by a large pond and with how the figure reacted to them well it wouldn’t be good, So Kon dashes over to the person and grabs them and books it back to the now open gates with his team yelling for him to run and that’s when Tim pulls him in and they shut the gate with all of them inside..

What that thing was….

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W took Danny.

Wait let’s go back a bit, Danny with Jazz and told his parents everything from the accident to being Phantom and they were horrified that they were shooting at their son and they immediately start to make all of their weapons ignore Danny and throw out all of their connections with the G.I.W.

But Danny still has to deal with ghost that come from the portal and his parents can’t help with and that’s when the G.I.W grab him after giving him a shot of sedatives to knock him TF out for a while.

After about 5 months the Fentons find where the G.I.W have been keeping Danny and when they find him he is on the verge of fully dying but luckily Danny’s core turns Danny into stone for his own sake but right now the Fentons grab Danny and book it out of there (and kill a few agents but Danny doesn’t need to know) and they call Clockwork to ask him what they should do and if he can help Danny.

And Clockwork says that with the G.I.W still around it’s not safe for Danny to be on this world and Clockwork can take him somewhere safe but Danny will never be able to come back so with some sad goodbyes Danny and Clockwork head into the portal and the Fentons destroy the portal behind them.

But with Clockwork being the Ancient Of Time he wouldn’t be able to care for Danny in the way he needs so Clockwork can’t take care of him so he looks around to see someone that owes him a favor or two and that he also knows will not betray him and he was have no luck until he remembered one of his most powerful allies that who’s him a favor.

The Ancient Of The Wilds.

They would probably be open to taking care of Danny so Clockwork try’s it and brings Danny to them and it goes well and They taking Danny from him and brings him to a old castle that is in their lair.

And that how we get here.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The reason that Danny’s core turned him into stone was a core is like a persons instincts to protect themselves but for ghost it’s more powerful

•Danny likes to stay by the pond because when he is stone he is kinda in this almost asleep mode and he likes to hear the birds and water

•All of Danny clothes, and jewelry are from a room inside of the castle

•The Deer Bone Headed Being and Danny are chill as hell with each other

•Danny likes to make The Deer Bone Headed Being aquatic flowers when his spot is shaded by the large trees

•Danny’s favorite time is when it gets colder as the sun goes down so much faster and he and The Being can hang out more

•With Danny being Stone most of the time it takes a while for his legs to start working again so the being just carries him around most of the time

•Danny’s legs is fine it’s just that the muscles still think that they are stone most of the time 

•It looks creepy as hell when Danny turns back from Stone and it also makes it look like a curse 👀

•The Deer Bone Headed Being is just trying to get Danny back to his spot by or in the pond before the sun rises and They are turned to stone / Forced back in the woods

•This is a horror/Paranormal story to YJL and they have to protect this clearly cursed person and Danny just confused about who these kids are and why are they so protective of him??

•Danny is well over 120 years old by the time the YJL find him

•Danny just calls the Deer Bone Headed Being “Runes” as it was the first thing they said that Danny could understand

•The kids do not know that as soon as Danny touches light he starts to turn to stone

•Danny knows that Runes hates it when other people are in the castle/forest so he says that but YJL wildly misunderstands it lol

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

[Anything that Danny is wearing also turns into stone until the sun goes down]

[and here is what I’m thinking Runes looks like]

•~{And that’s it! Hope this shuts up the brain lol anyway until next time you gremlins!}~•

[angelltheninth]

Those Who Meet in the Shadows

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, hate sex, rough sex, degradation, secret relationship, name calling-pussy slapping, dub-con, implied voyeurism

Word count: 0.7k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Just Jason Todd being an asshole. I like that version of him.

Jason smirked at you, his armor leaving indents on your thighs as they were spread out for him. "Wipe that smirk of you face already, its disturbing." You push your hand against him, of which he bites the fingers off one by one as the table under you shakes from the force of his deep, hard thrusts. "Fuck! Are you trying to break the table?"

"No, just you." He pushes closer, his hands on your hips, encouraging you to roll your hips with him. You try not to, you try not to give him the satisfaction of it, but can't resist him, "What would Bruce say if he knew his new friend was spreading her legs for me? Bet he'd be really angry with you. Yeah, I'm thinking... a little spanking for the naughty girl."

"Bruce wouldn't- ah, fuck, oh!" You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your cowl fully slipping, your face revealed, eyes widening. "D-Don't look at me you motherfucker, this is just-" He slapped your pussy again before pressing his fingers against your clit.

Your hips rose from the table to meet his thrusts, the echoing sounds filling the storage house. The weapons you used lay aside, the condom wrapper glistening in the dim light. At least he remembered that not wanting a repeat of you denying him like last time.

Last time. "We should stop doing this Jason. It' wrong." You were a hero, and him... something much darker, not a villain not yet but he was so close to that title.

"Yeah its real fucked up how easy you are. Letting me fuck you, coming all the time, screaming my name. But you have been distracting me more then usual. Maybe you should let every villain in this city fuck you, see if you can set them on the correct path. Then again, I am a very possessive man, I would kill any guy who wants this sweet hole. Its mine." Jason took your hands in one of his and pinned them down, "Keep them there, don't you dare move."

For some reason you listened. It was so shameful to obey him but had Jason's big, hard cock pumping in and out, making your body react.

"She obeys!" Jason boasted laugning.

"Fuck you." You still had the strength to flip him the bird.

"Aw that's adorable, is that the finger you use when you think of me?" You did. More then one finger because one wasn't nearly enough. "Bet you love having the real thing huh? Finally a man who knows what to do with a whore cunt like yours." He curled his finger over your clit, sending your back arching. "You think he's listening right now?"

No, the comms were off, you made sure of that. "N-No. He can't be."

"Then why is your pussy trembling so much? You want him to hear? Didn't know you let cockhungry sluts in your ranks these days Bruce. Must be real desperate. Poor little thing probably didn't even know how much of a slut she was." He spoke with an almost maniacal edge to his voice, his cock twitching inside you.

"S-Stop it. Its not true." You whimpered, getting all teary eyed.

"Yes. It. Is." He accompanied every word with a slap on your pussy, each sting making your head spin until a high pitched moan left your mouth, "Hear that Bruce?! That's your partner being my little whore!"

"I- I hate you." You managed to still bite back but your body didn't agree with your actions, and honestly you weren't sure your heart did either but that was easier to ignore when you were being pounded by Jason's cock. "I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!" Jason was only spurred on by your words, fucking every inch of his fat cock into you until he felt your walls tighten. Despite your best efforts not to your body reacted to his, stars dancing behind your eyes, head spinning, only able to feel his cock still working between your legs and his fingers on your clit. "St-ah-op."

"But babygirl," Jason pulled out and took the condom off, letting the cum gather on the floor, "We still have the whole box of these to go through."

[jasmineandcedar]

Stepping away

I have written and rewritten this so many times it now turned into a full-blown incoherent ranting essay but I don’t really care anymore. I am trying to remain my usual level-headed self but I will allow myself one rant before I’m out. (Proceed with caution—I will be mentioning the pliant bones pile of shit below)

Until recently, I hadn’t fully grasped how vile some parts of this fandom can be. Blocking and filtering kept things tolerable for a while, but the closer we get to the announcement, the harder it becomes to escape the vitriol.

This has been my first fandom experience. I enjoyed ACOTAR offline for six years. It was a peaceful, enjoyable part of my life. Nothing about my love for the series has changed. The only thing that’s changed is that I no longer want to be part of this fandom.

With the resurfacing of the ‘pliant bones’ garbage, the past few days have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. And that camel had been struggling. Holding itself together through sheer willpower. I’m surprised it lasted this long.

Every time this argument resurfaces, it spreads in ways that make it impossible to avoid. It has become one of those cyclical shipwar debates, and ‘women with fertility issues’ are caught in the midst of it. Women who do exist and deserve better than this discourse. It is, in fact, more common than some might think to either struggle with fertility or not be able to have children at all.

I joined this fandom excited about Elriel. I never thought that excitement would turn into being constantly reminded of one of my life’s biggest pains. I never thought I’d have to filter the words ‘womb,’ ‘children,’ ‘pelvis,’ just to be part of the ACOTAR fandom. Because I could never have imagined a scenario where a couple that want each other being separated due to perceived fertility issues would be considered part of the basis of romance between another pair.

It’s the foundation of tragedy.

This is not a story SJM is writing. She is not writing a ‘love story’ where two people who she has written to want each other are kept apart because they can’t have biological children. She is not writing a 'love story' where the guy who taught our favourite High Lord about the value of found family leaves the female he loves because she ‘cannot bear his children’ and goes after another female because she has 'pliant bones' (excuse me while I throw up at the romantic prospects of that story). The very idea is absurd. Unhinged. The reasoning behind the ‘pliant bones’ comment is literally in the next sentence. Anyone interpreting it as the foundation for romance is either wildly misreading SJM or clinging to confirmation bias so hard they have turned into a very uncompassionate human being. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. But characters can be shipped together without resorting to this.

Even if one does not struggle with this oneself, it should be possible to imagine the pain of not being able to have children with the one you love. But people throw this argument around like they’re discussing the weather. Over a fictional ship! For some people, this is not just a hypothetical. It isn’t just an abstract concept. It isn't a dainty little literary device. It is a reality, and it is damn hard pill to swallow. In many cultures, the ability to have children is considered the very essence of womanhood, making the inability to do so an existentially painful reality to come to terms with.

And yet, this fandom… It neither starts nor ends with the ‘pliant bones’ garbage. At this point, I don’t think anyone can deny that this space is saturated with misogyny. I don’t know how a fairytale-esque, female-led romantasy series generated a fandom like this, but it’s exhausting to witness. The way this fandom treats female characters versus male ones says everything you need to know. Take two seconds and consider the framing of the ‘pliant bones’ garbage. You’ll quickly notice it centres the male and portrays a (for all we know) fully functional female body as practically dysfunctional (because Elain is portrayed as the one unable to bear children, practically infertile, between her and Azriel). And it frames two females’ value in a love story as being tied to their wombs. One of them who has yet to express if she even desires a romantic relationship, and if she desires one with a male. All hail THE MALE! Who is the centre of the universe to these people.

The characters aren’t real but somehow I feel like they deserve better.

SJM deserves better.

But more than that, the readers deserve better.

I’m leaving. I don’t know if I’ll come back. Maybe if the hostilities die down, I will. I wanted to have fun alongside others who love Elriel and the other characters. I wanted to anticipate Elain’s book together. And I have had fun, but at a cost I’m no longer willing to pay.

To those who stay and continue creating—writing fics, poetry, theories, headcanons, and doing art—you’re the ones actually fighting the good fight, trying to make this space fun. Those who ride at dawn for the fics and the art. I tried to do the same. Five months was all I could manage. Now, I surrender. I’m no Elain. I’m not a rose in a mud field. I’m a miserable twig drowning in the dirt, who just wanted some goddamn memes and joy in life.

So, I’m going back to my peaceful offline existence. Enjoying my ACOTAR memes and inside jokes with my fiancé.

I’m going back to peace and quiet.

(Sorry for ranting)

[meyhew]

are we on trial? | a glimpse into the night before andrew testifies

Nausea squeezes his stomach like a noose and Aaron wills the tequila to slide down his throat instead of coming back out. Katelyn’s fingertips scratching soft patterns along his scalp is the only reason he succeeds. 

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?” 

She has asked this too many times now—first when Dan and Matt were still here, then when they left and Aaron picked a movie without looking from Matt’s endless collection, and again when he got up from the couch for more of Matt’s alcohol. On any other night Aaron would tell her to quit it, but tonight he can’t. Tonight the sound of her voice is the one thing keeping him tethered to some semblance of sanity, even if it is to ask the same question again and again. 

Aaron shakes his head in a silent no. He knows what sleep will bring. Red hands and scarred wrists, his brother sitting in a pool of blood, Aaron’s-reflection-Andrew trapped in a mirror touching his temple, the sound of Andrew’s maniacal laughter chasing him out of his own head until he thrashes awake in his bed. He’d rather spend the night wide awake putting poison in his body.

As though sensing where his thoughts have drifted to, Katelyn says, “Have you told him I won’t be there tomorrow?” 

“Not yet. He’s been in a foul mood.” 

They all have, which surprised him. He knows his teammates well enough by now to have expected their indignant anger, but he wasn’t expecting their sadness. Dan’s lack of focus or Allison’s bitchiness toned down—it has all left Aaron a little dazed. Even Neil has curbed his antagonism, though that shouldn’t be a shock considering his very loud opinion about the uselessness of the trial. It doesn’t do much to earn him Aaron’s respect, but for once at least their resentment isn’t directed at each other. Their glum faces are an unexpected balm, though Aaron would sooner slit his throat than admit it to them.  

Katelyn pries the bottle of tequila from his hand and puts it a safe distance away. She turns the TV off and the remote disappears somewhere in the now-dark room. 

“Any more, and you’ll be throwing up all morning,” she says, not unkindly. 

Aaron sighs. He knows she’s right; he bulldozed past his safe limits an hour ago. The couch they’re on is small, but making it to the bed right now seems impossible. He turns his face towards her and Katelyn welcomes his weight. There are moments when disbelief takes over rational thought, this being among them. How is this real for him? How does he get to have her? It feels to good to be true, like one of these days she’s going to realize how fucked up he is, how fucked up his life is, and she’s going to walk away from him like she should have months ago. Instead, she’s there everyday, an unwavering presence by his side. 

He kisses her exposed collarbone and Katelyn presses a hand to the back of his head, holding him close to her. Not that she needs to. Not that he wants to be anywhere but here. 

“I can come by the courthouse at the end,” Katelyn murmurs. “If you want me to, obviously. Go somewhere.” 

As tempting as the idea is, he knows it’s a bad one. Maria and Luther will be there. That cop from Oakland will be there. Andrew’s would-be mother will be there, the one Aaron shut the door on. The ghost of his own mother lingering in different bodies. He doesn’t want Katelyn to have to see them, not until she must. 

Are you protecting her or Andrew? 

“I’ll find you afterwards.” 

She doesn’t take offense to his rejection and Aaron loves her more than he did a moment ago. “Do you want to talk to him?” 

him him him him him

“He’s probably asleep.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s not true. And, really, what’s there to say? 

“You won’t know unless you try.” She fishes around for something and a moment later offers him his phone. 

Aaron shakes his head. 

Katelyn gently pushes him back. “Well, go. I’ll be right here.” 

For a moment that stretches out indefinitely, they gaze at each other with something unsaid hovering in the air between them. Then Aaron leans in for a kiss, a tether, and Katelyn opens her mouth to him without hesitation. Her hand is warm on his cheek when she shoves him lightly. 

“Baby, go.” 

Aaron’s legs feel leaden as he trudges out of his room and towards his brother’s. He bypasses the lock for the keys in his pocket. Andrew didn’t want Aaron to have a spare and Neil didn’t see the point, but Aaron had insisted. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that had been clawing at his insides. Sometimes he still gets stuck in his useless body in that house in Columbia, locked out of a room his brother was bleeding in, laughing at his own pain. He knows it won’t happen again—it can’t happen again—yet the disconnect between his heart and his brain is unbearable. The words died within him, but it didn’t matter. Andrew understood his silent plea demand and dropped a key on his open textbook one afternoon. 

They have never talked about it and Aaron has never used the key. 

Now he pushes the door open to find Andrew sitting in the window. It’s such a familiar sight it draws Aaron up short. 

Andrew has to testify tomorrow—today—and he’s sitting cross-legged in the window with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn’t turn at the sound of the door opening, doesn’t give any indication he even noticed it, and Aaron doesn’t need him to. He stands there without saying anything and Andrew keeps smoking. 

Is that how miserable I look right now? Aaron wonders. 

Andrew looks the same as he always does, or so it seems; the line of his spine is rigid, a light trembling to his hands Aaron can spot even from the doorway. His brother is not a person who shakes. 

“Stay or go,” comes Andrew’s voice. 

Aaron closes the door behind him and crosses his old room towards the window. He hops up to squeeze on the sill across from Andrew. 

“Where’s Neil?” 

Andrew doesn’t look his way. “Sleeping.” 

“So why aren’t you?” 

Eyes the same as Aaron’s slide his way. The fear, the rage, the irritation that’s been bubbling up underneath Aaron’s skin is nowhere to be seen in Andrew’s bored gaze. Aaron ignores his silent why aren’t you? and grabs the pack of cigarettes at Andrew’s knees. He waits for a warning, a hand to snatch it back from him, but nothing comes. Andrew lets him have his way and Aaron pushes a stick between his lips. 

Almost-reflections. Like looking at himself in clear lake water: a distorted, blurry, almost-image of himself. Where Aaron is wearing a white Palmetto crewneck, Andrew is in his signature all black getup, arm bands and all. Even now, even here. Not that Aaron wants to see the mangled skin on his twin’s arms. Every time he remembers it, he thinks, that could’ve been me. He saved me from ending up like him. 

He wonders if Andrew gets them, too. The bad dreams. It seems unlikely for his shield of a brother to be haunted in his dreams, but they are too alike. Case in point: sitting here speeding up their death instead of preparing for the reckoning tomorrow. Aaron really should stop smoking. It’s not a good look for him, but it’s an easy crutch. And it’s the only way he can sit with Andrew. 

“Katelyn’s not going to be there tomorrow,” he says. 

Andrew cuts him a vicious look. “She is not doing me a kindness. I do not need it.”  

“Jesus, Andrew. Who, then, if not you?” 

“The intricacies of her psyche are not my problem.”

“You could say thank you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

They don’t thank each other. Why should they? His blood is his blood is his blood. Sometimes Aaron wonders if they were put together in the hospital, the way many twins are paired up for skin to skin. Because they’re not used to being alone. Because they naturally reach out for each other. Because being pressed up chest to chest releases oxytocin. Did he and Andrew have that? Or were they separated before they even got to know each other’s smell? He wonders if that’s why there’s sometimes this empty pocket inside of him where nothing else seems to fit. 

He wants to ask what Andrew will say tomorrow. So many versions of the truth and only one that will matter to people: Aaron killed a man. Wouldn’t matter to them that his brother was lying on a bed with his pants at his ankles, blood streaming from his face. Wouldn’t matter to them that Andrew never asked for any of it. He was Andrew Minyard and they already knew the kind of man he was. Of course his brother would be the same. Of course they’re both the same. 

Aaron doesn’t ask. They don’t speak at all. But it helps Aaron to know that Andrew can’t sleep either. 

[offtorivendell]

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant." The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain. It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline. In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

TW: death, infertility, pregnancy and childbirth related trauma. Also a brief mention of sexual assault.

Hi anon,

Respectfully, please stop being deliberately obtuse. Let's break this down, line by line.

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant."

I'm aware! I assume that you sent me this ask because I reblogged an old post of mine yesterday, so what you seem to be missing is that I've already discussed this.

Here, where I implicitly acknowledged both infertility and trauma related to pregnancy and childbirth as potential triggers in the post:

And here, where I explicitly stated that we know you guys don't mean that Elain is unable to conceive at all - which is impossible to know, as per the text she hasn't tried. If you read what I wrote, you'd see I said that - assuming Nesta had not changed her anatomy and would not be able to in the future, or that Elriel would even conceive winged children if they wanted kids at all - Elain and Azriel together would be functionally infertile*, as any child with wings (which is not a guarantee, by the way, though as you guys treat it as a foregone conclusion I worked off that premise) would die before or during birth, killing Elain at the same time.

* Is it more correct to say they'd suffer from "impaired fecundity"? Yes! But please read a little further.

The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain.

It's really not hard to understand that we are discussing a fictional woman's ability to successfully have a specific man's children, and that their impaired fecundity does not (or should not) impact her worthiness to be loved by that man; that it has been equated to the struggles that many real, living people have experienced with regards to conceiving, carrying their babies to term and giving birth; and that - while an oversimplification - all these issues are being lumped under the umbrella of "infertility struggles" to be concise and accessible.

That being said, let me correct you quickly. While you very carefully said that we were "not told the same of Elain," with regards to Nesta changing her anatomy, you neglected to mention that SJM actually had her choose wording that didn't explicitly exclude Elain from the change, either.

The brisk spring wind whipped her golden-brown hair across her face. “I gave it back to the Cauldron in exchange for the knowledge of how to save them.” She swallowed. “But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.” The Mother. The only being who would see the sacrifice Nesta had made and give a little back. Perhaps it was she who had peered out at them through the Mask. “What did you change?” Nesta rested a hand on her abdomen. “I changed myself a little, too. So none of us will have to go through this again.” - ACOSF, chapter 78

Also of note, Nesta specified she had the "knowledge" to perform the change, which suggests that even if Elain wasn't changed then, it could be done in the future.

It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az...

Literally all that ever needs to be said on the topic.

... but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline.

You should have stopped after the first half of the sentence. Elain's lack of pliable bones - ie. the second half of the "Illyrian womb" discussion that posits Gwyn as the only logical love interest - is not even a medically accurate theory, so it shouldn't be entertained full stop. While SJM may have posed Illyrian womb/wing issues as an issue for Feyre and Rhys, she never suggested it would impact any couple's decision to get or stay together. In fact, Nesta and Cassian were mates while Nesta was still unable to birth winged babies, too.

In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

Once again I'm asking you to put your thinking cap on.

Obviously we do not have to consider the delivery of winged babies in the real world, but if you cannot see how the frequent suggestion (that Elain's hypothetical inability to successfully have Azriel's children is a valid reason as to why an author would separate, or even hint at separating, a potential couple) could be hurtful and upsetting to the many people who have/are currently struggling with infertility - or who have lost their much wanted and loved babies during the course of pregnancy or childbirth - then I have to assume that you're either suffering from a catastrophic lack of empathy or, respectfully, you have a sheep or two loose in the top paddock.

As I mentioned in the post I linked above, if the fandom is (rightfully!) expected to handle the topic of Gwyn finding love after experiencing SA with grace - out of respect for real life assault survivors - then it is not wrong to expect the same degree of care in return when discussing the anatomy change in ACOSF, out of respect for those who have trauma associated with infertility, pregnancy and childbirth in real life. It's an incredibly simple act to listen in good faith, rather than jumping straight to accusing us of wanting to "yell about" something just because you are prioritising shipping discourse over being kind.

It's 2025, the "Elain doesn't have an Illyrian womb or pliable bones" theory is both medically inaccurate and hurtful, and it really needs to end here.

Please.

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Stretched (Part 1)

aka a filthy rolan x cleric postgame concept that I might write one day but in the meantime desperately want to get out of my brain and onto the page. EDIT: HAHAHAHA never mind, I wrote it. fuck me. Here you are, 1324 words and only part one!

ft fingering, “do assholes really work like that? we ignore it for kink reasons” and the BG3 equivalent of medical kink. Mild dubcon for "Rolan's having a great time but a healer shouldn't be enjoying fingering your asshole this much"

Rolan’s settled into the Tower; theoretically he has everything he wants. Apart from Tav, that is; he nursed a sore crush on them for a long time— ever since they saved his siblings— and has only just come to accept that they’re never coming back from Waterdeep. (… Several months after their wedding to Gale). Tav’s presence, however, awoke a very long-neglected (and repressed) part of him, and now though he thinks less often of them when he handles himself… he still handles himself often. Could it be the Archmage still needs something in his life beyond the Tower and his siblings?

He finds it, with some shame, behind the counter at Sharess's Caress. In disguise, of course; he doesn't want the city to know he's buying toys... especially not toys of this size. Rolan doesn't start with the largest ones, but as his hopes of Tav grow fainter, he finds himself seeking more and more challenge, more punishment for his aching, gaping hole. He loves to imagine them stretching him, taunting him for pining over them - claiming him as their own. And now that's receding, he still finds himself addicted to the sensation, barely able to come unless he's struggling on a cock far thicker than his own.

The figure that the cleric sees, coming through her door, is stiff with embarrassment, a violently crimson flush revealed on his cheeks as he casts off his Dragonborn disguise to show the tiefling underneath. Not just any tiefling.

‘Archmage,’ she says in recognition, keeping the note of amusement she feels hidden. She’s a professional, after all… although whatever ailment he has come to her with must be rather delicate, especially when his title makes him flush further and insist on being called by his name only. After a fair amount of evasion, and the confirmation that she is as discreet as every one of her previous clients has said, she at last pries out his problem: he fears he has stretched himself.

‘Using what implements? What are the symptoms?’

‘What other symptoms do you need?’ he hisses, before catching himself. ‘I know how it is supposed to feel.’

‘Is this immediately after use of toys, or…?’

‘I am not an idiot— I know to expect it after—but this feeling persists near-constantly.’ His voice drops, and she sees the true mortification and worry behind his bluster. It’s… more than professionally interesting. Poor man. She will make his embarrassment worthwhile.

‘Remove your trousers, and get on the bench. I need to examine the situation.'

He casts an anxious look at the door before he disrobes, and she asks if he'd like it locked; his shoulders drop a little when it is.

'Have you cleaned up, or should I—'

Rolan conjures a Prestidigitation faster than she can finish the sentence.

'Do not misunderstand,' he disclaims. 'I came prepared— I am merely being cautious—'

She can hear the irritable sound of him swallowing his nerves, and pats his bare ass gently. There's a slight hitch in Rolan's breath.

'Don't worry about it. Now.' She takes the base of his tail in his hand, and he draws another sharp intake of breath. If she had to label his affliction as anything, she would be inclined to say it was starvation. He is so hungry for her touch, that the slightest movement makes him shiver... and between his legs, his cock is beginning to stiffen.

Rolan clenches his thighs as she moves his robe out of the way, drawing his tail up so she can get a good look at his hole.

'Are you wearing this every day?' she asks, tapping the plug in his entrance.

It is rather basic, compared to the rest of him. His hair is beautifully twisted, and his elegant silk robes are drenched in expensive silverwork. But the plug is plain; not a jewel or crest in sight. Perhaps he is too ashamed of this hobby to let himself truly indulge in it. (A shame in itself, when the plug sits so prettily between his lovely, pert cheeks).

'Yes,' he admits.

'Mmm.'

'I have to!' he protests irritably. 'Otherwise, I can think of nothing else but the sensation of it. Being open—'

'I understand,' she says soothingly. 'I'll have to remove it for now.'

'Of course,' Rolan whispers, tensing his thighs even harder.

She puts a hand on one. 'Relax. Otherwise this will be more difficult.'

He lets out a choked whimper— but he does as he's told, and he keeps relaxing, with the utmost effort, until the plug is drawn from his hole.

There's no denying he's hard now. The cleric oils her fingers, presses one easily inside to begin the examination.

'One easy,' she murmurs, pushing it further up until she finds his pleasure spot. It feels healthy; in fine working order, if Rolan's gasp is anything to go by. She curls her finger a little more.

'Fuck!' Rolan whimpers. 'I mean— Zurgan— excuse me.'

‘Don’t worry about it. Just stay relaxed. I’m going to see how easily you accommodate wider objects.’

She presses another finger in, appreciating the heat inside him. Tieflings always run hotter than other humanoids. The lack of hair is very pleasing too— perfect for someone as neat and ordered as Rolan clearly is. The oil slicked on her fingers spills down his taint; she pauses for a moment, and takes a washcloth to wipe him clean.

Rolan’s asshole might be a little stretched, but she still feels it tense urgently around her. He lets out a short whimper, stifling it unsuccessfully with a cough.

‘Keep your tail up,’ she murmurs, as if she hasn’t noticed.

‘Yes— ’

Three fingers. Rolan shakes. She didn’t encounter much resistance, but clearly the act of being probed is rather stimulating for him, stretch or not.

‘Let me see.’ She gathers all four fingers, pressing them against his entrance— now, there is a little resistance— and checks to see how Rolan is taking it.

The moment he realises she’s looking at him, his cock twitches, and he panics, pulling away from her examining fingers.

‘Surely that’s enough,’ he gasps, dragging at the tails of his robe to hide his cock.

‘I need to determine the extent of the problem, if you want me to treat it properly.’

His tail flicks as he looks back at her. ‘Wretched Hells. Just how much are you going to put up there?’

The attempt at nonchalance comes out thin, breathy instead of confident. She can’t help but find him a little fascinating; easily embarrassed and yet pretending to be bold. And all over something so mild; she has treated people with far stranger ailments. Once again, she wonders if he perhaps only needs somebody else to make him feel that this is alright. Not that it matters at the present.

‘I’m going to find your limit,’ she says. ‘When it hurts, say now.’

Rolan pauses, and cedes, raising his tail once more to reveal his worked hole. His claws curl anxiously into the bench leather. ‘I am ready— ah— ah— ah— now!’

All four fingers and thumb, but not even close to the knuckle. Whatever monstrous girths he thinks he’s been stretching himself with, she is sure he could take quite a lot more�� with practise and encouragement of course.

‘That’s the examination finished then,’ she tells him. ‘Let me clean you up.’

Again, she presses a gentle cloth to his skin— all the way down to his balls this time. He shivers, whimpering at her touch and not even trying to hide it this time. Too far gone, perhaps.

She notices a drip from his cock beneath him on the bench, and cleans that up too. Not the cock that it came from, though; that is his concern, even if he seems to anticipate it when she reaches beneath him.

‘Now,’ she murmurs, washing her hands off. ‘I’ll just consult my notes, and make you up a treatment salve.’

‘It is curable?’ Rolan asks.

‘Oh, certainly. I’ll explain what you have to do.’

[taxideermied]

Hi hi! Thanks all for the respectful discussion on this topic. I've enjoyed reading the notes and additions very much. I want to say, though, that this will be the last time I plan on discussing this topic on this post because I'm not particularly interested in full-time discourse on my blog, and also because it's becoming a little unwieldy for me personally to deal with a super long post lol. I am making this last addition for the sake of clarity as to my claims for anyone reading my blog, not to necessarily sway anyone's opinion.

With that said, I think some of my points have been missed/misconstrued.

Firstly, my original post was about mindful messaging more than anything. Mainly: if you have an issue with something in the community, don't swing a wide net because you risk hurting those adjecent to your problem. That physical nonhumanity was involved was tangential, but nonetheless that's where we went.

So, secondly, and I hope this is clear, I am not advocating for an anti-science approach to nonhumanity, nor am I advocating for blind faith. I specifically avoided the subject outside of my original post where I said the community at large discusses scientifically unverifiable experiences. I think we are all in agreement that self-perception such as Sundragon's "I feel like a dragon" is not scientifically verifiable, but is still "valid" in this space, so I don't feel the need to elaborate on that point.

Where I think my statements are unclear (and for the record, this is on me for not being as specific as I could have been) is in the issue of claim vs expression of personal experience. I think this in conjunction with "subjective verses objective experience" is a little bit difficult to parse so bare with me.

My sense of the community is that those who experience and discuss physical shifts do so because it is an expression of personal experience, not because it is a claim. This is a part of their nonhumanity for whatever reason they may have. It is not a claim because I have not seen anyone trying to prove their experience to anyone else, merely discuss it and relate to like-minded individuals. This does not mean you don't have to be skeptical, but I do not believe your disbelief means that these members of our community should self-censor or be subject to demands for proof. Someone talking about something they feel on a personal blog is not the same as them putting a thought into the "marketplace of ideas" to be debated and verified. While I don't think anyone in this thread did so directly, I feel like the line of thinking suggested here could encourage "proof demanding" behavior.

So what about the tricky subjective vs objective experience issue? Surely physical shapeshifting is an objective experience. Well, again, I think there's nuance here. Is the shifter in question insisting that the transformation is 100% verifiably happening in the reality experienced by others, so much so it could be captured on camera if only one worked properly in the moment? Or are they asserting that they perceive their own physical shifts? All objective experiences are filtered through a subjective lens because you are a brain that perceives the world through sensory organs. You are not experiencing a 1:1 recreation of the world. As a friend eloquently put it: "None of us experience reality-as-it-is. All of us, even people who don't know what a therian is, have some level of disconnect with objective reality. Our experience of the world is imperfect; talking about those experiences is not a claim about shared-truth, it's a claim about personal-truth." See: the parable of blind men touching an elephant. One person's experience of objective truth is not the disproving of another's, even if it conflicts.

Finally, there's the synthesis of these issues regarding how we shepherd the community from within.

If your issues with physical shifters is with those who claim to shift verifiably in a collective reality and claim this is something that can be taught or who otherwise encourage cult-like mentalities, then vis a vis my first point, say that those are the individuals and/or paradigms you take issue with. Nothing wrong with pointing out harmful practices, but lumping harmful ones in with harmless ones is irresponsible.

If your issues are with all physical nonhumans or those who discuss scientifically unverifiable personal objective experiences in a way that harms no one, then I would suggest, I guess, in the kindest terms, to get over it. What is the other option? As far as I can tell, censorship or other methods of driving these individuals out of the community, and I personally don't feel comfortable taking that route. I don't think we as a community would be better off in doing so.

Okay. I think that is everything. Thank you for bearing with me if you read all this, I appreciate it very much! If anyone is still interested in talking this over with me, shoot me an ask and I'll (maybe) respond. Like I said, not trying to be a discourse blog, so I can only do so much.

If you’re going to assert science in a community full of people discussing their scientifically unverifiable experiences I think you should consider what you’re really trying to say. If you’re not trying to call people liars then there’s probably a better way to go about making your point than enumerating the reasons why you think they’re lying.

[hermitcraftx]

just got a dm abt one of my posts and y'all please don't try and show the hermits (or any minecraft youtuber or content creator for that matter) my posts, i'm uncomfortable with it and don't want any of my posts shown to a cc. if they stumble upon it naturally that's unfortunate but i can live with it since i do maintag a lot (something i REALLY need to stop doing tbh i already know i need to make a tagging system just for my blog that wont clog results) but going out of ur way to show a cc is entirely different and something i am not comfortable with.

no hate to the person at all but even if i wasn't a little silly and weird with it sometimes i wouldn't be comfortable with it, i want my blog to be a purely fandom only space with none of the creators involved <3 please respect this

[gailynovelry]

Hi! Hi. Guess who's in. Love y'all.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

ok! get yourself some secular reading to enjoy - poetry, translations of books you used to love as a kid, magazines, newspapers, a good, kind, informative kids' encyclopedia. when we teach people yiddish it's the same, we start them with poetry because it's idiomatic language presented in reasonable pieces. resist the temptation to let your learning material be depressing current events - children also learn worse when their early reading distresses them, that's why the kind of mayses for very little kids are as gentle and kind as possible. go slow and gentle with yourself, don't rush it and don't be mean. niqqudot are mostly for learning new words so you'll see them in kids' books much more than adults', just like accent marks in russian and ukrainian.

then when you're comfortable reading some short poetry and understanding novel songs on the first go, since they exist in hebrew you should try watching TV series - ideally ones with a familiar format at first that don't have plot to get lost in, so like I don't remember what Israeli Svetofor was called but it exists, but then shows and plays w a very standard register, then soap opera or sitcoms

practice and talk to people online - you can even do what I did to learn english, it is kind of cheating and maybe a bit ethically dubious but you can open two windows of Skype or WhatsApp and talk to two different people at once, and just say the same things A says to B and vice versa. these are still almost three separate conversations (you with each of them, them "together through you"), and you will go "off script" quickly, but it helps if you're socially anxious :)

at all stages of this process try reading first a siddur and then more complex jewish texts; you'll find modern literary hebrew easier with a strong and fluent ability to read your own chumash and start to make progress with talmud aramaic, which kids are thrown into with no context because it can be done. it might colour your idioms a little archaically but this mostly comes off as cute and people go with the bit (once a bus driver in haifa told me the bus cost two zuzim and i answered him in aramaic and only died a tiny bit its ok), and if you do it often and with rarer words you start to look even a bit educated, which is always endearing.

listen to music! All the time, cooking cleaning organizing floor washing coin laundry whatever. Tuning the ear is most of any language, then if you really cannot make some certain sound a speech pathologist can help you, and you'll already know how it should sound.

do a little a day, don't give up, don't think about any geopolitics or future anxieties you might have about hebrew or israel or etc.

strength to you! you're starting on something very important.

anyone have tips on fast ways to become proficient in hebrew i need gentiles to not understand what i’m saying

[gooobraghhh]

I take overstimulation extremely seriously just so we’re all aware.

Most I’ve ever made a guy cum was 27 times in one session and all of those happened in the span of about 5-10 minutes

Got him really warmed up and started fucking him with a dildo while I alternated between whispering in his ear, biting his neck, playing with his chest etc. After only a minute or two he shyly muttered out that he was going to cum. I stopped, stared directly at him and we had this brief, telling moment of eye contact before he got so embarrassed he had to turn away. We both knew he was under the impression he couldn’t cum without touching his dick and the fact he almost just did was so fucking hot to me.

I pinned his leg over my shoulder and continued. Within a minute he was back to how he was before, just on the verge and I kept moving it while he shook beneath me. Finally let up after he came all over my hand and I asked if he’d cum sarcastically to make fun of how obvious and hard it was and he just whimpered out “… I came twice”

He absolutely should not have told me this because as soon as I knew making him cum over and over was on the table I was determined to go as far as I possible could, and hearing him say two like that was addictively cute. I Pinned him even more and continued, told him to count every time he cums before quickly getting back into it.

27 times I made this very masc dude cum. 27!

Didn’t even think that was a possible number. Every 15-30 seconds I’d feel him tense up and clench on the dildo then I’d hear his little chocked voice murmur out a number before I kept going. He made a giant fucking mess, squirting basically each time in the beginning. I kept moving the goal post further and further, “come on let’s just get to 10 puppy!”, “I think we could do 15 don’t you?”, “Whoops that was a 16th one, well we might as well get to twenty, right?”. He was fully trembling, shaking, crying. His eyes were in constant state of being rolled back and the noises he was making were so intense. The best part was hearing him count though, it was the only coherent thing he would say and he struggled to get out each number but if he didn’t count I’d start choking him.

Hearing a grown man moan out “25” or whatever ridiculous number we were on has to be one of the hottest things I’ve experienced. I would have kept going forever but he was begging and pleading for me to stop and for some reason I don’t think he believed that I’d really let him be done at 30

He was a complete fucking mess after as you’d imagine. Basically just sat there in a daze for 10 minutes but I made sure to make fun of him. I mean 27? Really? Just an embarrassingly high number. He also physically couldn’t handle any play for like several days after this so safe to say I throughly worked him out.

I guess now my goal in life will be to get someone to 30

[thingsidrawgohere]

Alright. I'm calling it done before it kills me. This is Second Head. It's an Art Book containing instances of the phrase "second head" in fanfics found on AO3. I'll explain much, MUCH more in the cut.

So when I say 'art book', I mean this is an intrinsic piece. I have no motivations aside from personal amusement and interest in outcome. A lot of money was lost/transmuted into free frustration in this project and I have no claims, obviously. I will prolly be the only person alive to read this.

THAT SAID. I have noticed in my years reading fanfic, there's a few linguistic shibboleths that arise in authors who also have experience in the mines. I think there's not a soul alive who hadn't wandered across a 'ministrations' when reading Narutos oral sexing. There's- Hold on. Here's some pix.

There's an impulse, I think, to in-group even when performing a creative act. A feeling that there are certain ways one Should go about the act, by virtue of seeing it performed that way. Especially so when 'training' at the act is often just Doing. Double Dog Especially when the act is exclusively for oneself with very little oversight. Which is to say, we make what we see and we make what we think we should make. At least, at first.

Now, I've been noticing 'grew a second head' (to insinuate surprise) in fanfic for some time. I've never seen it used Outside of fanfic. (Edit to add: I am not making the argument the phrase is from fanfic. Nor do I Believe it is from fanfic. Jesus Hopping Christ, people. That's not what this project is about.) That may speak to my own bad habits but it got me curious. So a friend and myself downloaded a mirror of AO3 from July of 2024. He did some code- Stuff to scan the mirror for "second head" and of the ~13 million works, ~70k (English) results were returned. That's a rounding error, honestly, but Far FAR more than I expected.

This book is 401 such examples that I personally selected for a variety of reasons. The number itself was arbitrarily chosen. Each page is separate fic, the roughly 300 words around our key phrase.

I don't think repetition or mirroring is a negative thing. I think it's quite charming. Nor do I think it's a sign of a 'bad' artist or 'bad' art. I think it's a signifier of personhood, of belonging, of enthusiasm. Of culture shared and wishing to share. I think it's real sweet. I always smile when I catch a 'grown a second head' in a work.

And it's really fucking funny when it's John Sherlock getting a sloppy toppy. Bless.

Edit: Fixed a very VERY funny error.

Edit: I am not making the argument that the phrase is exclusive to fanfic or, fucking forbid, FROM fanfic. I'm stating this Again because we skim here. Also- If you would like slamdunk my ass by stating the phrase predates the Internet or your GenX parents use it, please use 'sailboat' in your comment so I know you're specifically trying to kill me.

Edit Edit: You know what? Fine. I DO think this phrase came from fandom. I think ENGLISH came from fandom. I think YOU came from fandom. I think EVERYTHING came from fandom. The Sun, the Moon, the Seas- Fandom. Specifically Sonic Mpreg. The second head was Shadow the Hedgehog crowning. Congrats!

[emberoops]

presents and also i dressed our baby as a bee.

tbh we should be doing more but i am so tired right now. and also fuck shoulds*

good for you. doing anything special for it?

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’d die for you.

Viktor:

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Please don’t.’ He says almost pleading with you to reconsider after hearing you say such a thing, to be willing to trade off your own life for his own that was already on borrowed time, so wouldn’t your sacrifice be a waste if he was bound to die regardless?

He came from the undercity where loss was an constant occurrence and survival was the norm. So the idea of loosing you wasn’t one he’d warmly welcome nor want to endure as he’d only bury himself deep within his work, going to such lengths with the off chance that he could theoretically bring you back from the cold embrace of death,

‘You’ve got so much ahead of you Viktor.’ You countered. ‘So much to do to achieve your goal of helping others!’ You add.

Viktor moves to look at you from his workplace with a raised brow. ‘And so you automatically think your life is forfeit in comparison because of this?’ He asks as if to show you just how ridiculous it was to just throw your life away because you believed his dreams for the future outweighed the worth of that of your own life.

You stayed quiet as you could see the disbelief clear within his amber eyes as he grabbed his cane and made his way over to you to hold your hand in his long, slender and calloused ones as they caress the back of your knuckles. ‘For it’s not. No life is more important than the others solely based on what the person can give to others.’ Viktor tells you as sits himself down next to you.

‘Our lives are of equal value and I’d would much rather you’d live for me instead.’ He says with a small smile. ‘Do you think you can do that for me?’ He then asks softly, intertwining your fingers together. You smiled back at him. ‘I can sure try as long as you do too.’ You replied and Viktor let out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hand in thanks.

‘Then we shall live for each other.’ Viktor said but little did you know that he’d be lying and he wasn’t going to be staying very soon.

Ekko:

‘I’d gladly die for you.’

‘No, you wont.’ Those words might’ve come out more harsher than Ekko wanted but he wasn’t about to let you joke about trading your life for his own. He just wouldn’t.

Even now the idea of you being the self sacrificial hero made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was the one who should be protecting you, protecting everybody really and once his mind was made up Ekko was more or less an immovable object, never yielding and never budging from his ideals for nothing.

So to say he wasn’t liking the idea of you dying on him was an understatement. He didn’t like it for a plethora of reasons as he’s already lost enough people close to his heart, he wasn’t willing to have you be amongst them, painted on the mural by his own hand as he feels the guilt and grief eat away at his heart. ‘Promise me you won’t be reckless the next time we’re out on a mission.’ He gives you his pinky, something you two did when you were being serious about things.

‘Ekko-‘

‘Promise me you won’t.’ Ekko cuts you off in desperation, his eyes wide and his breathing becoming rapid and uneven the longer you didn’t immediately link pinkies with him like you usually did, it had him feeling as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. ‘I don’t want to loose another person I love.’ He adds and you interlock your pinkies with him before being pulled into his strong embrace where he buried his face into yours neck, not wanting to let go of you after hearing that statement leave your mouth.

‘I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.’ He whispered into your neck, grip tightening on you as he feels you rub his back soothingly. Ekko wasn’t ready for the day he’d have to say goodbye to you and so until that day he’ll keep protecting you until he couldn’t anymore, for he’d rather see you move on forward without him, but if he knew you as well as he did then you would just be equally as stubborn to see him live another day.

So he’ll just keep ahold of you like this everyday when you were alone just to remind himself that you were still here and here you will stay.

Silco (young) :

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Don’t say such things, haven’t we suffered enough?’ He’d say as he has you by your shoulders, his grip tightening in tandem with the idea of possibly loosing you to all sorts of things, whether it’d be Zaun or the corrupt enforcers from topside. Silco wasn’t exactly willing to lose the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

It was a day he’d never wish to see pass him by as he didn’t know what he would do should he find you dead in the rubble from a something that was purposely intended for him, he’d blame himself and be left to seek solitude in the darkness and shadows should that ever be the case.

‘But it’s true.’ You’d reply.

Silco grits his teeth at your stubbornness but it was one of your defining traits that he deeply adored. ‘Well I’m not going to allow it.’ He retorted. ‘I won’t allow you to hastily throw your life away just because you felt like being a hero.’ He practically spat out the last part as though it were poison. Hero what the hell has being a hero ever done for anyone? Nothing that’s what and Silco would refused you at every time you got like this, not once liking the implications it left within his head.

‘Not a hero, just someone who cares enough about another person to be willing to see them keep living, even if it means dying in the process.’ You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued to look him in the eyes to prove your words true, but you didn’t need to do that for Silco knew well enough you were a person of your word, never once going back on it when you probably should’ve.

‘Heroes don’t exist in Zaun.’ Silco said as he rests his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. ‘So don’t try and be the first for I don’t want to be the one to make your mural. Don’t make me have to leave you behind. Don’t make me mourn for what we could’ve had.’ He pleads with you as you gently hold his face and caress his cheeks, allowing him the chance to rest his eyes and drink you in through your touch.

He didn’t like the idea of you dying before him, not one bit, so he’ll try and make sure that you survive together long enough to see the betterment of Zaun.