#they of their own volition chose to enter

[gingermintpepper]

I can't quite remember where it was I read the statement but this reminds me very much of the whole "a lot of people who do greek myth retellings either treat it like christian text or are working out previous religious feelings in their work" argument I've seen with respect to trying to get to the bottom of the obsession with not only deposing Zeus but making him an unceremonious tyrant.

There is a very real and very prevalent belief that pagan gods can never be 'good' because they do not adhere to that Christian principle of 'a supreme god must always act in the interest of humanity' that just absolutely poisons any kind of potentially interesting portrayal of Zeus and the gods that could exist in something like Kaos. Combined with the staunch cultural belief that oligarchies are always evil and corrupt and that only humans could ever know what's best for humanity (aka free will >>>> determinism which like, fundamentally goes against one of the pillars of what we know about ancient greek theology) and you just end up with a lot of people who feel like they 'know better' than the gods and as such are completely uninterested in engaging with the material in an even superficially good faith perspective.

It's extremely frustrating all around -.-

What's so frustrating with so many/most(?) modern adaptations of Greek myth, whether they're doing some original story (like Kaos) or retellings, is the way they go with the gods being villains, killing/deposing Zeus and/or the gods in general, etc and so on

And like

I'm not INTO Greek myth for you to kill the gods in general or Zeus in specific/deposing him (who are you putting in his place and why are we supposing that individual would be any better?), etc and so on.

I'm here for the gods, and them being exactly where/as they are in the internal world of the myths and the story! If all you can come up to do with them is making them villains and removing them, what good are you???

[neoyorzapoteca]

"Ambivalence about responsibility for our own freedom does not mean we are stupid, self-destructive, incapable, or desirous of harm. It means we are human. And part of being human is not always wanting every moment of our lives to be a step on a long march toward emancipation and enlightenment. It also means contending with desires to circle or enter dark rooms.

Alcoholic or no, most who drink do so in part to ease the terrible burden of our volition; we drink in part because it can be delightful and exciting as much as scary and awful to “let things happen,” to find yourself in places and with people your sober self might not have sought, or might have outright rejected. This can be especially so for those of us socialized to be fearful. I was a pretty fearful kid, raised in the shadow of the sexualized murder of my aunt, and the teenage troubles of my wayward older sister. I thus found no small measure of euphoria and relief in tossing my drunken, twentysomething body upon the whims of late-night New York City, stumbling home regularly at 3:00 a.m. with a wad of waitressing cash stuffed in my bra or shoe. The problem, of course, is that the very substance that allows you to feel this freedom is the self-same substance that inhibits your capacity to remove or protect yourself if a situation becomes unwanted or dangerous. There is no magic cure for this dilemma; it is a knot with which each of us must grapple. Only we can know when we’ve had enough of the kind of wonky judgment that comes with combining sex and substance; it took me until I was thirty-three to have had enough. Some of my times were good and some were bad (none, thankfully, was catastrophically bad). But they were my times—I chose them, until I chose another way. I know—if and when you’re under the sway of a substance, it might not feel like you’re choosing anything. But one revelation of sobriety is that you actually can choose another way, even if this choice depends, paradoxically, on surrendering your illusion of control, and tiring of the particular brand of freedom that the substance has to offer."

Maggie Nelson, On Freedom: Four Songs of Care and Constraint

[jjanuaryrain]

DP x DC crossover

First pass at the first chapter of a DPxDC crossover fic (more below the break):

Words: 5757

Jason didn’t mean to return to his grave as often as he did. Honestly. He had no intention of ever returning to the Wayne family plot in Gotham Cemetery, but life had a mysterious way of directly contradicting Jason’s desires. 

So, instead, he just found himself there. Over and over: in the dead of night, or the middle of a storm, or during a city-wide blackout. Every time, it was dark and miserable and he couldn’t remember getting there, couldn’t remember making the decision to go, but he knew he moved of his own volition. Just not how. Just not why.

Something’d been pulling him there, that much was clear. He’d mostly stopped looking for a reason, though, as none had ever become clear no matter how long he spent inspecting the grave. There were only so many times you could stare at the same plot of land and think God, why?? before it started to get a little stale, y’know? And he’d never been harmed during his unconscious wanderings – a veritable miracle in this shithole. The Jason of a few years ago probably would’ve immediately assumed Bruce had something to do with it, but in reality it felt too… Magical. Too inexplicable and supernatural to be something that the Batman would have a hand in.

Still, despite being obviously supernatural, it didn’t feel particularly dangerous. The first few times he’d found himself in front of that ridiculously lavish slab of marble, sure, he’d practically blacked out again in a haze of green-tinged fury. He was pretty sure he’d smashed the thing up that first time, but when he’d come to in front of it a few weeks later, there wasn’t a scratch on it. That could believably be Bruce’s doing.

Now, there was something almost peaceful about waking up in front of the grave he clawed himself out of all that time ago. Nearly, what, three years now? Christ, had it been that long? Jason’s work wasn’t done, not by a long shot, but he also wasn’t the same thing that pulled itself, heaving and spitting, from the dirt. He felt a little less like a vengeful spirit and a little bit more like a person when he looked at that grave now. Less like he wanted to sink his teeth into anything that moved or dared to enter his line of sight. He maybe even felt a little related to the Jason Todd that was originally laid to rest there.

Tonight was different from all those nights before it. Jason chose to be here. Awake and aware, he drove his motorcycle through the sleeting rain to the entrance of the cemetery and made his way to his grave. He had business there tonight, and his grave was the most obnoxious place he could think of to ask Dickie to meet him. If the nuisance is gonna insist on meeting, Jason’s gotta get at least a little bit of a kick out of it, right? Not like he was gonna enjoy the conversation at all otherwise. 

He knew the route intuitively, so he was sure-footed when he stepped around the large weeping willow towards the Wayne family plot. (That used to rub him the wrong way, too, being lumped in with the Waynes. But it wasn’t like there was a Todd plot to bury his empty coffin in, was there?)

Fog was rolling across the carefully manicured lawn of the cemetery when Jason approached, curling around trees and over tombstones. Only the best and brightest of the city were buried here, those whose families had enough money or sway to keep their loved one’s bodies out of the cramped landfills that were the cemeteries in areas like Burnside or, god forbid, the Narrows.

So, it stood to question why some street rat was crouched down in the fog in front of an open grave when Jason rounded the tree. In front of Jason’s open, re-dug-up grave, what the fuck.

The fucker was damn lucky that Jason’s had 3 years to get a handle on his anger, because shit. Seeing the fresh dirt piled haphazardly around his half unearthed coffin had Jason seething behind his muzzle, teeth bared almost against his will. His pulse thundered in his ears and he itched to reach for a weapon and right this wrong wrong WRONG. 

But that wasn’t Jason’s urge. That wasn’t Jason’s well-honed instinct, carved into him by countless years on the streets of Gotham. It was something far less logical and far more nefarious.

So. Jason forced his muscles to relax and dropped back into a crouch instead, curling into the stretching shadows of the weeping willow. Wait, observe, understand. Then act. It was the only piece of advice of Bruce’s that Jason had any interest in following after waking up under the ground. And it still rankled to follow it.

The thought of Bruce, that old damned fool, and his other terrible advice had Jason tensing up all over again, but he forced the rage back, swallowed it back down into that dark pit in the center of his chest. There’d be a time to unleash it, later. When he knew for damn sure that his target deserved it. For now, however…

Wait. Observe. Understand.

The street rat was mumbling to himself as he crouched over Jason’s grave, sifting through the loose dirt as if he was looking for something. Oddly, though, he didn’t seem to have a speck of dirt on him. Despite his ratty clothes – a pair of torn black cargo pants and a dingy black hoodie with a faded and crumbling NASA logo on the back – neither of them had any stains. The hoodie was worn thin around the hem and collar, though, and even from a distance Jason could see at least one section that’d been obviously mended.

Definitely not one of Gotham’s elite, then. He didn’t have the look of rich kid playing poor, either, despite the lack of mess that the streets tended to leave on people. Overall, a disjointed sight.

Curious.

Jason upped the contrast on the lenses in his domino mask and zoomed in as much as he could on the kid. If he could be called that. He was on the small side, closer to Tim’s build than Jason’s, but he appeared to be post-adolescent at the very least.

Jason scanned his person for any identifying features. He was facing away and his black hair was tied up into a short and messy ponytail that did a terrible job of holding it back, meaning Jason couldn’t get a good look at his face. His ears were in plain view, however, and decked out in black piercings and silver chains. Jason filed that information away for later. The piercings could be good markers for identification later as long as he didn’t take them out. 

And… was it just Jason’s imagination or did his ears form the barest of points at the tips?

That was interesting. Could be natural, but… well, it was Gotham. Very rarely were things here as they seemed.

Jason shifted onto the balls of his feet, eager for a closer look.

It rarely got cold enough to snow in Gotham – the best they could usually ask for was an icy sleet that melted into blackened sludge the moment it hit the streets – but as Jason crept closer, that sleeting rain began to crystalize into true flurries. They collected in the street rat’s hair, reflecting the meagre light of the cemetery’s gas lamps and making his hair and clothes appear to be an even deeper black. The image of a black hole surrounded by a glittering crown of stars flashed through Jason’s mind, there one second and gone the next, and Jason had to physically blink the vision away.

The chains on the rat’s beat up combat boots shifted and jangled as he straightened from his crouch and let out a foggy sigh into the icy December air. Jason tensed, ready to follow silently, when the kid’s head snapped to the side and he locked eyes with Jason.

Jason’s chest seized.

His gaze was sharp, icy and blue, and Jason's entire body locked up. It only lasted a moment, but he felt a wave of dread fall over him so acute that he had to resist the urge to tuck and roll away from whatever looming threat must be there. But then it was gone, leaving only a wave of goosebumps and shaky legs in its wake.

What the fuck was that?

It reminded him of that time he took a glancing blow from Mr. Freeze’s freeze gun. Jason gave a violent shiver as the feeling subsided and rolled to his feet. He didn’t know what was going on here, but hiding in the shadows wasn’t gonna get him anywhere anymore.

Sorry not sorry, B.

He rose from his crouch and stepped out fully from the long shadow of the tree, chin lifted and shoulders back. He’d gotten rid of the helmet a few months back, but the black muzzle, domino mask, and armored hood that shadowed his face worked just as well for intimidation. He knew his size, too, could be a decent deterrent for a lot of people, and he didn’t shy away from using that to his advantage. However, the street rat just stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to face him, seemingly nonchalant.

Well, Jason was right – he wasn’t a kid. But he didn’t strike Jason as particularly adult, either. He had the barest hints of baby fat left in his cheeks, placing him at around 19 or 20 in Jason’s mind; possibly older if he had a bad case of baby face. There was a silvery web of scarring peeking out of the high neck of the gray compression shirt he wore below the hoodie. It crept out from his collar, up his neck, and just over the hinge of his jaw. It was a lucky find in terms of identifying the rat, but Jason couldn’t help a twinge of empathy.

Facial scars were a bitch.

To Jason’s surprise, it was the street rat that spoke first. And it wasn’t even to beg for his life or immediately spill his guts at the sight of the Red Hood’s signature glowing red eyes. Instead, it was a challenge.

“You gonna come tell me what this is about?” The street rat called across the increasingly snowy green. He sounded completely calm, apparently not at all phased by the Red Hood’s sudden presence in his very obvious crime scene. “Or d’ya wanna brawl about it first?” His accent was vaguely midwestern and his tone was lilting and playful. He was ballsy, Jason'd give him that. Asking the Red Hood for a fight was asking to have your teeth knocked out, but the rat didn’t seem to know that. He didn’t seem to know anything about the Red Hood at all.

For a long moment, it was just the wind and the snow between them. The air was crisp with tension and Jason wondered what the street rat was thinking. He looked utterly calm, but his body was loose in a way that Jason knew meant he could jump into action at any moment. Jason locked away the green-tinged itch to lunge or swing or tackle.

Instead, he slowly shifted out from behind the weeping willow, sweeping some of its long branches out of his way. The rat didn’t look particularly phased by his approach.

“You new to town, kid?” Jason asked lowly as he stalked forward. Because he was increasingly certain this guy hadn’t been in New Jersey let alone Gotham for longer than a week, max. “Y’ain’t gonna last long, picking fights.”

The street rat shrugged, all slouchy and nonchalant in his oversized sweatshirt. He should’ve been freezing in the newly drifting snow, but he looked perfectly comfortable. There wasn’t even a flush to his pale cheeks.

“It’s not picking a fight if we both want it,” he said. “Y’know, like consent.” Just then, there was a tug in Jason’s chest and he swore he saw a flash of green in the rat’s eyes. Jason stopped dead in his tracks.

“What–” Jason cut himself off, literally biting his tongue. There was green swamping his vision and a pushing tension in his muscles, but Jason was in control, damn it. He’d worked hard to create a leash of pure will and he wasn’t gonna let some scrawny street rat of all people break it.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, the Pits insisted. Jason shoved the thought away.

“I’m not coming on to you, by the way,” the rat continued, leaning a hip against the headstone. Jason’s headstone. He felt a snarl rise in his throat. He choked it down. “Just offering a friendly brawl before we get to talking. To get the tension out of the way, you know.”

He was saying everything so casually, but Jason was having a difficult time wrapping his head around it. Who the hell asked to be knocked around by someone three times their size? Outside of the bedroom and kink clubs, that was. Had Jason stumbled across some sort of gang initiation by accident?

When Jason didn’t respond (wait, observe, understand), the street rat’s lazy smile grew feral around the edges. Jason felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he instinctually braced for impact.

“C’mon,” the street rat goaded. His eyes glinted a sickeningly familiar green. “Fight me,” he hissed.

And the Pits screamed.

Jason was in motion before he could fully comprehend what was happening. He was up and sprinting across the 15 yards separating him and the street rat. He felt the snarl rip itself out of his throat and the next moment his fist connected with ice-cold flesh.

The street rat toppled over backward with a yelp, landing in the dirty snowy mix behind him. Jason was on him again before he could stop himself. There was something fizzing in his veins, rising in a viridescent wave that made his blood sing and his teeth buzz. It felt like the sweetest moments of being Red Hood – smashing a crowbar into the faces of pedophiles, kneecapping traffickers, battering the bodies of those stupid enough to break the rules in his territory, his home. His whole body was alight with an incandescent rage. It felt spectacular.

He lined up another punch, baring his teeth behind his mask, but suddenly he wasn’t touching the ground anymore. That is, until he landed in an explosion of snow a few yards away.

Jason hissed at the impact but was back on his feet immediately. Good thing, too, because the street rat was on him again in an instant. They rolled in the snow, grappling and trading blows. He elbowed the rat in the face once, twice, before he caught Jason squarely under the jaw with a knee, leaving him seeing stars.

Leaving your guard down in exchange for getting hits in – sloppy, Bruce commented in his mind. Jason seethed, tasting blood, and redoubled his efforts. The two of them broke apart and back together again and again, kicking and clawing and spitting like feral cats, until the street rat launched him against a tree with a particularly strong kick.

All of the breath punched out of him and Jason saw stars as his head and back collided with the wood. He collapsed to the ground with a groan, every part of his body aching. He struggled to get his feet back under him before the rat could slam into him again.

A cackling laugh cut through the ringing in Jason’s ears and he forced himself into a defensive position. The street rat was standing a few feet away, grinning fiercely in the now heavily falling snow – how had Jason missed that the flurries had kicked up into a full blown winter storm? The rat’s hair was mussed up from their tussling, ponytail barely clinging to life, and Jason could see blood in his teeth. The Pit crooned happily at the sight.

Wait, happy–?

“I was not expecting you to pack that much of a punch!” The street rat crowed before Jason could follow that line of thought. He cringed at the loud sound. Probably a concussion, then. “Are you sure you’re not a full ghost? Like really, man, you kinda gave me a run for my money.” He was circling his arm, likely testing the spot Jason had kicked with his steel toed boots. Jason took the reprieve as a chance to stagger more fully to his feet.

“What are you,” he asked. He didn’t entirely mean to, but his self control was pretty shot at the moment. There was blood dripping into his eye and he quickly wiped it away so as to not let it obscure his vision.

The street rat tilted his head at him like a curious dog.

“Uh, I’m like you,” he said, as if that was supposed to mean something. Jason almost hissed.

“You’re not human,” he said instead, trying to keep his voice steady.

The street rat stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were back to their icy blue, but Jason wasn’t fooled. When he tentatively took a step forward, Jason shifted a step back.

“Wait a second,” he said, holding up his hands. “Do you… not know what you are?” The question was soft, surprised, and oddly sorrowful. The wording of it itched at something under Jason’s skin. What he was? He was human… right?

“I’m human,” was all he could think to say. It sounded weak even to his ears.

The two of them just looked at each other as the snow and howling wind started to die down. Jason analyzed the slightly pointed ears and sharper-than-normal canines, recategorizing the information in his brain. The street rat opened his mouth to say something, but just then the rev of a motorbike engine sounded distantly and he flinched back. 

Familiar headlights flashed at the front gates of the cemetery and Jason remembered suddenly that he’d invited Nightwing to meet him here. Jeez, how long had they been fighting?

He wiped again at the blood streaming from his forehead, though he knew hiding the wound from Dickie would be impossible. The street rat rocked on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets once again. He looked the most uncertain he had all night and Jason knew right then he’d lose him if he didn’t get his hands on him right now.

The rat seemed to realize the same thing, and he skipped backwards right as Jason lunged for him, avoiding being grabbed by the front of his hoodie by mere millimeters. Jason shot out his other hand to snag him by the stupid chains hanging from his belt, but between one breath and the next, the rat disappeared. Honest to god disappeared like a goddamn ghost.

The irony was not lost on him.

Jason staggered to a stop and stood, panting, in the slowly dissipating snow. A moment later, Nightwing was at his side, escrima sticks crackling in his hands. His big brother scanned the area but the street rat was nowhere to be seen. Wing turned to him, evaluating, and hissed when he saw Jason’s forehead.

“What happened?” He demanded, stowing his weapons. He reached for Jason then hesitated, hand hovering near his face, before he eventually retracted it. Jason had long since adjusted to the sting of disappointment from those almost-touches. “Jaybird?”

Jason stared at his dug-up grave sitting empty and cold a few yards away. Something glinting and green glowed from under the drifted snow.

“I think,” Jason rasped, “I just fought a ghost.”

⋆˖⁺⊹₊⋆✧⋆₊⊹⁺˖⋆

Danny floated in the expansive green of his realm. Sometimes he kept it looking like a home so that his friends and sister could visit, but when he was there alone, he liked to allow it to shift and reform along with his mood. Right now he felt empty and confused, and the space reflected that. Whorls of green surrounded him, spiraling away into the distance in time with his thoughts.

That ecto-entity in Gotham bothered him. He’d felt off, but Danny had chalked it up to the fact that Gotham itself was off. It was like a dead zone for ghostly activity despite the abundance of death and ambient ectoplasm. Maybe he should’ve known something was up when the being had approached him, then.

He’d initiated a friendly brawl to help burn off the fizzing ecto-energy that had been pumping off the guy in waves. He’d only felt energy like that from the few poltergeists he’d encountered. How was he supposed to know the guy didn’t know he was still dead?

The revelation was startling and more than a little concerning. He’d never met an ecto-entity who thought they were still alive before. Usually the whole dying and waking up in the Realms thing cleared that right up.

Was it possible the guy had skipped entering the Infinite Realms entirely and had somehow ended up back on Earth anyway? It made sense with the obvious lack of recognition he’d had of Danny, and the strange vibes he’d been putting off. Even in human form, most sentient ghosts and ecto-entities inherently recognized who Danny was, or at least his title. Apparently the aura of the Ghost King wasn’t easily missed.

So what the hell was up with Gotham dude?

Danny groaned and rubbed his face. His visit to Gotham was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission – in and out before Lady Gotham noticed his presence enough for it to become a problem. Now he not only had to return to retrieve what he missed the first time, but he should probably stick around to figure out what was up with the being he’d encountered. Even putting aside the confusion about his living status, the guy felt off. More than was normal even for Gotham, Danny was realizing.

Well. At least he had an excuse to poke around the land of the living some more. Ever since receiving the crown and ring, he’d been spending more and more time in the Infinite Realms. Not a problem, exactly, but Danny did miss Earth. He was still alive, after all, even if it was only halfway. Plus the Observants were way less likely to bother him on the living plane, especially if he was in Lady Gotham’s haunt.

Agh, right, Lady Gotham. He should probably actually address his excursions into her territory before she decided to do something about it. Even as King, he wasn’t dumb enough to mess with something as fearsome as an Earth-Borne. Ghosts that existed as concepts borne from concentrated amounts of intense emotion seeping into the Infinite Realms from the land of the living were especially gnarly to deal with. They were a bit like the Never-Born in that they didn’t operate like a typical ghost. They were more powerful and played by different rules based on the emotions that they fed off of. And with the amount of terror and dream Gotham was constantly generating, Lady Gotham was fearsome indeed.

Damn. That meant more etiquette lessons with Dorothea. While Danny could probably take Lady Gotham in a fight (he could probably take just about anyone who wasn’t an Ancient at this point) he didn’t particularly like to engage in battle if he could help it. His approach to ruling was distinctly hands-off when it came to battling (much to the chagrin of his more violence-attuned subjects). If he wanted to avoid a spat with Lady Gotham, he’d better get his ducks in a row before he dared to enter her City again.

Dorothea would be thrilled, at least. She loved nothing more than making plans for how Danny should interact with certain ghosts and entities. It soothed her Obsession, he thought, to work so closely with a King.

With a flick of his hand Danny summoned the door out of his pocket dimension and floated toward it. It’d be best to get started on learning how to approach Lady Gotham as soon as possible. He still had an artifact to hunt down and the added issue of the red eyed ecto-entity haunting Gotham. He mentally added that to the list of things to mention in his meeting with Lady Gotham. That is, if she didn’t try to smite him for invading her Haunt without warning once already.

Ghosts could be so dramatic.

⋆˖⁺⊹₊⋆✧⋆₊⊹⁺˖⋆

“This will not stand!” Damian shouted, voice echoing through the Cave. “You will return my katana to me at once before I run you through and–”

“Run me through with what, Dami,” Steph countered. “Your sword? Oh, wait.” She dangled the youngest Robin’s katana from loose fingers, just beyond his reach from where he sat in the infirmary bed. “It’s mine now, isn’t it?”

“You insipid, ungrateful–”

“Damian,” Duke chided from his seat at the bat computer. “You know what Alfred said about getting worked up.”

“Pennyworth is not my keeper. I am the blooded heir and I will not lower myself to be bossed around nor corralled by ingrates such as yourselves.”

“Then why don’t you get up,” Stephanie goaded. “C’mon, your sword’s right here.” She did a few test swipes with it through the air. Damian hissed at her.

“Stop that at once! You have no right to handle such a weapon!”

“Come get it from me then!”

“Father’s rules state that after a significant injury you aren’t to leave the infirmary bed until your health and wellness have been confirmed by–”

“An ingrate such as Alfred?” Bruce asked dryly as he entered the cave. Damian snapped his mouth shut, face pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon. Steph cackled. “What did I say about the word ‘ingrate’ Damian?”

“But father–”

“We’ll speak about it later, son. I received word from Nightwing to expect him and Red Hood at the cave soon, ETA 2 minutes.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even Tim looked up from where he’d been poring over files on a new rogue reported in the Bowery. Damian’s katana wilted in Steph’s hand.

“Wait, Jason’s coming here?” She asked. “Willingly?” Damian used her momentary distraction to lean far out of bed and swipe the blade out of her hand. She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Yes,” was Bruce’s only response.

Tim and Duke shared a look over the top of the computer. Dick coming down from Blüdhaven was one thing, but Jason…

“Is something big going down?” Tim asked. “Or is someone, like, dying?”

“No one’s dying. Jason and Dick encountered an unknown entity and are returning to the cave to report on it.”

“An unknown entity?” Damian sounded far too excited for Bruce’s liking. “What sort of entity? Is it one we haven’t encountered before? Father, you have to allow me to–”

“We will wait for Nightwing and Red Hood’s intel before making any plans of action,” Bruce said with finality. His gathered children tittered and whispered amongst themselves but didn’t argue. A rare blessing.

A minute later, the sound of twin engines and the bay doors to the Bat Cave opening reached their ears and Bruce stalked forward to greet his sons.

“Nightwing, Red Hood. Report.”

Jason glowered at him as he took off his helmet but didn’t sneer or glare like Bruce expected. He looked tired and drawn and there was blood crusted in his hairline. Bruce’s heart gave a wounded squeeze but he’d learned long ago that his concern was not appreciated. Not when it came to Jason. Dick spoke up on his behalf, instead.

“Jay encountered somebody in Gotham Cemetery tonight,” he reported dutifully. “They left this behind,” he tossed a Wayne Enterprises containment device to Tim, who nimbly snatched it out of the air, “after they picked a fight with Jay and subsequently disappeared once I pulled up.”

“Disappeared?” Nightwing nodded.

“Yeah, into thin air apparently.”

Bruce considered this for a moment. A meta with possible teleportation abilities skulking around Gotham’s cemetery. Not a pressing issue, exactly, but one that should be looked into.

“Subject description?” Dick looked at Jason who sighed.

“Approximately 5’8” or 5’9” male with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Distinguishing factors include multiple piercings on both ears – lobe and upper lobe, multiple helixes, and a daith. Industrial piercing on the left ear. Slightly elongated canines and pointed ears. Lichtenberg scar on the left side of the neck from the jaw down to an indeterminable point beneath the clothing.”

“Did they have something to do with the Lazarus Pits?” Tim’s voice cut in before Bruce could ask more questions. Damian and Bruce both turned sharply to look at him.

“Why do you ask that, son?” Bruce asked as calmly as he could. The Lazarus Pits were a touchy topic for just about everyone, but especially Damian and Jason.

Tim didn’t respond. He just silently held up the containment device that had unfolded to reveal a glowing green amulet within its radiation-proof walls. Damian sucked in a sharp breath and hopped off the bed to join Tim in inspecting the artifact. Bruce didn’t object.

The Lazarus Pits. He dared an assessing look at Jason. He didn’t look particularly enthused at the mention of the Pits, but he also didn’t seem to be holding back that ever-present anger that hung off him like an albatross these days. He looked drawn and tired, if anything.

“They were one of Ra’s?” Bruce asked instead of demanding his children step away from the Pit-contaminated artifact. He could confront the emotions all of this inspired in him later. Right now, he needed to learn as much as he could before Jason inevitably stormed off.

“Jay said he didn’t think so,” Dick replied. “He said they were a possible meta, or possibly a, ah…” His eldest trailed off, looking at Jason, and Bruce turned his gaze to him as well. Jason met it head on.

“A ghost,” Jason finished bluntly. He had shucked off his leather jacket and draped it over his bike, leaving him in a long-sleeved black compression shirt. He looked so different from the boy Bruce remembered. Bruce frowned.

“A ghost?” Damian scoffed, looking up from where he was leaning over the containment device. “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“And it was hostile?” Bruce pushed on before Jason could get into it with his youngest. He didn’t even spare Damian a glance, though.

Curious. Concerning.

“No,” Jason responded again, surprisingly forthcoming despite his one word answers. Bruce had come to expect far more of a fight when looking for information from the Red Hood.

“Jay said that although they fought, the unknown seemed to regard it more as a kind of sparring than a true fight.”

Steph snickered from the corner and Jason’s gaze flicked to her.

“Sparring? Looks to me like you got beat to hell.”

It was true. Bruce wanted to believe the report his sons were giving, but in addition to the head wound, Jason was clearly favoring his left leg and the way he stood belied an injury of some sort to his ribs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he were concussed as well, given his strangely tolerant behavior.

Jason, however, just shrugged.

“He called it a friendly brawl. Didn’t pull a weapon or go for any low blows. It was more civil than a round with the brat.” He jerked his chin at Damian.

“He did all that to you without a weapon?” Tim blurted incredulously. Then he visibly withdrew, curling back over his research. The relationship between the two of them was so strained…

“Yeah,” Jason stated simply. It was incredibly tame for an interaction between the two of them and Bruce added this to the growing catalogue of Jason’s strange behaviour after encountering this unknown.

When Jason looked away, Bruce caught Tim mouthing ‘what the fuck’ at Duke. Duke just shrugged helplessly back.

Jason’s behavior was only becoming more curious and more concerning by the moment, and it seemed everyone was noticing.

“Are you… feeling alright, Jason?” Duke asked tentatively, voicing the room’s concern for them. “You seem surprisingly mellow for someone who just brawled with a ghost.”

That got a reaction from Jason. His face cycled through a complicated dance of emotion, and Bruce caught disdain, worry, anger, and oddly enough, relief before his son managed to shut it down. The glances between his siblings signaled that they’d noticed as well.

“The Pits,” Jason began stiffly and Bruce immediately stood up straighter. “Have been… quiet. Since.”

Silence. Bruce felt his own complicated dance of emotions, though he knew better than to let it show on his face. Those handful of words were more than anyone, except perhaps Dick, had heard from Jason about his experience with the Pits. This… unknown entity must have rattled him more than Bruce had first thought.

“Jaylad,” he said softly. He tried to catch his son’s eyes, and to his surprise, Jason let him. His son’s answering look was so weary, so world-worn and wary of Bruce that he almost gave up on finding the words. But. He remembered Alfred’s quiet assertions that just because Jason pulled away didn’t mean that they should stop reaching out. How close Jason had allowed Dick to get these past few months was a testament to that.

So, instead of biting down his concern and demanding a blow by blow of the entire encounter, Bruce crossed to where Jason stood stiffly beside his bike. When Jason didn’t growl or tell him to fuck off, he placed a gentle hand on his arm. “What happened?”

There was a moment of stark silence before Jason shrugged him off. It wasn’t unexpected, but Bruce couldn’t deny the sting of pain it caused. 

“Ask Wing,” his son bit out. He turned suddenly and brushed past Bruce without actually making contact with him, feet aimed for the elevator to the manor. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Jay,” Dick protested at the same time that Bruce called, “Jason, don’t leave! We need to figure this out.”

Jason only turned around once he’d stepped inside the elevator. He gave Bruce a familiar sneer, but there were no glowing green eyes to back it up.

“You got by just fine without me for three years. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The doors closed on Jason’s sneering face, but despite it all, deep down in Bruce’s heart, a spark of hope had begun to grow.

[ranpazz]

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆.

cw: fem!reader, food play, aphrodisiacs, Ranpo is a little mean, cunnilingous, slight fingering, nipple play, throat-fucking, A little degradation, praise kink (Ranpo), multiple rounds implied(i got lazy), not proofread, etc.. —HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR SWEET BOY. (I didn't make this last minute idk what ur saying.)

Having a boyfriend who's childish is one thing, but when it's his birthday and he demands to be spoiled rotten is a whole different issue. You've been tending to his every need out of your own volition, feeding him, carrying him, and spoiling him whenever he desired. Now, you were a patient woman, especially with your boyfriend, but you think he was going a bit overboard with demands.

Moreover, you believed it was becoming somewhat unfair with how much Ranpo was bossing you around. This was nothing new, but the sheer amount of demands flying out of his mouth became enough. Which is exactly why you decided to take matters into your own hands. Since he enjoys having you feed him so much, you chose to give him aphrodisiac chocolates. A part of you believed he would see right through it, yet he didn't reject nor show any signs of knowing about the sweets. But you knew better.

Which, inevitably so, leads you to now. And for once, he wasn't lazy about something. The birthday boy himself was on his knees, stuffing his face between your legs out of desperation for some sort of relief— which he was denied of. "Mmpffh– you're doing so good… about time, Ranpo." The noirnette in question whined, flicking his tongue repeatedly over your clit before dipping back into your hole.

"Fuck– good boy… -" You breathed out. Meanwhile, Ranpo keened from your praise, using your words as another reason to pull yet another orgasm from you— and perhaps more praise. He kept your legs spread, brows furrowed as he stuffed his face impossibly further into your sweet pussy.

"Feels s'good, keep going- shit. M'gonna cum-" You whined, and just when you thought the pleasure couldn't get anymore overwhelming, Ranpo decided to slip two fingers inside your sopping cunt. He immediately found that gummy spot inside of you, curling his fingers with precision. Your jaw fell slack, moans spilling from your mouth faster than you can register them.

"Fuck! Cumming, Ranpo!" And not even a full second later, you felt the rope in your tummy snap, white hot pleasure overtaking your senses as Ranpo's tongue pushed you into overstimulation as he lapped up your release like a starved man. It became too much, resulting in you tugging him away from your sloppy pussy by his hair.

For a moment you swore you could cum again just by the look on his face. Those gorgeous green eyes were half-lidded, his hair was disheveled, your juices drenching his chin, and he was panting like a dog. Unfortunately, you didn't get to admire the moment for too long. Ranpo pushed you back onto the bed, climbing atop your body and planting himself on your waist.

"I think it's my turn to have my fun, doncha think, sweetheart?" He grinned, and you knew that smile all too well. A familiar flash of mischief, and he was definitely going to use it against you eventually. You watched as he snatched the can of whipped cream off the nightstand— the same one he was eating before you forced the man on his knees the moment you entered the bedroom.

"You're not seriously going too- Ah!" You were cut off by your own gasp, the coldness of the sweet topping enveloping your breasts. "Oh but I am. After all, I'm still the birthday boy." He grinned after he had applied a generous amount to his liking, he tossing the can aside on the mattress before he practically buried his face in your mounds.

A whine left your lips as he swirled his tongue around your areola, teasing you for the earlier treatment. The whipped cream was smeared across your chest—he was a messy eater after all. His free hand reached for your other breast, groping it before rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

You couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was making you feel good in such a way. As you bit your lip in an attempt to muffle the noises that threatened to spill from your lips, the birthday boy wasn't having it. She pinned your wrist above for head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Tsk tsk. That's no fair is it? I moaned for you, its only natural you do the same in return."

That was your only warning before two fingers were plunged into your warmth, tearing a moan from your throat. Ranpo seemed pleased with himself, pumping his fingers inside of you before removing his slick-coated fingers from your pussy. You whined at the loss, only to be shut up once he slipped his fingers in your mouth. The first thing you noticed was that your juices weren't the only thing you're tasting.

Ranpo had dipped his fingers in the whipped cream before he forced them into your mouth. He held back a groan from the sight, waiting until his fingers were sucked clean before pulling them from your mouth. "I think you sound much better than me with your mouth shut."

He chuckled before taking your nipple into his mouth, warm tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. "Ah-! Fuck, Ranpo-" You choked out, straining against his grasp on your wrists as you arched up slightly. Ranpo didn't relent, instead focusing on your other nipple as he licked your breasts clean.

"Mmhph-." That was all you got in response, him being too busy stuffing his face to give you a proper reply. The heat that pooled in your tummy was becoming hard to ignore, yet that was another story once Ranpo pulled away from your tits after what seemed like hours. "Y'know, I've been dealing with this for a while, baby. Wanna help me out?"

It took you a moment to figure out what he was talking about, that was until you felt something hard poke your thigh. Ranpo smirked as he released your wrists, tugging down his sweatpants just enough to reveal his hard cock. His tip was flushed an angry red, precum seeping from his slit. You were shocked to say the least, you'd never seen him this worked up before. The power of aphrodisiacs, you guessed.

He crawled forward, his cock practically taunting you as it stood against his pale stomach. It had more girth than length, a perfect mix that pleased you on multiple occasions.

"Well? Open up, pretty. M'gonna shut that filthy mouth of yours." He mused, cupping your chin with his free hand before forcing his thumb into your mouth. Once you finally parted your lips, he wasted no time in shoving his length down your throat.

"Mmffph!"

You couldn't get a word in. Literally. Your mouth was stuffed full of his dick, gagging and choking around his length. He sighed before shaking his head, reaching for the whipped cream that was once forgotten on the bed. "Were you so busy moaning like a slut to even spare some spit? I can't even move like this, baby."

The audacity of this man. He still scolded you when it was his cock in your mouth. His ego was far too high to ever come down, and you couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing.

He pulled out of your mouth, giving you the rare chance to breathe before spurting the whipped topping into your mouth. It was somewhat melted, but it aided the dryness in your throat. "There we go. Now stay just like that…fuck!"

He slid his cock back into your mouth, the whipped cream surrounding him and the warmth of your tongue pressing flat against a vein along his shaft drove him insane. He began thrusting into your mouth, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat each time, causing your eyes to brim with tears.

"Haah– fuck. This is a perfect use for that…ngh pretty mouth of yours." He ranted, entangling his hand in your hair and forcing you to take more of him. You snapped out of your trance, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him off. Your tongue swirled around his tip, teasing his slit just how he liked. The taste of his precum lingered, the saltiness a stark contrast to the sweet flavor of the whipped cream

"Yeah, good girl– keep going just like that…damn." His hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth, his trimmed pubes tickling your nose with each thrust. It wasn't long before his grunts and whines became more breathy, a telltale he was close. You brought a hand to lightly squeeze his balls, pushing him closer towards the edge. The action tore a throaty whine from his throat, tossing his head back as he neared his climax.

"Just a little more… please, I'm so close, 'm g'nna cum-" You could feel your lungs screaming at you, desperate for the oxygen that he denied you of. After a couple more thrusts, he released his warm load down you throat to which you swallowed every last drop. He pulled out of you mouth not long after, leaving you gasping for air.

"You're so dramatic, y'know that, baby?" He teased, shifting off your trembling body and adjusting his sweatpants before leaving the room. He then returned with a glass of water— that you graciously accepted. You sat up straight, downing the water like a lifeline.

Once you finished off the liquid, you set the glass aside on the nightstand. "You're mean, Ranpo." You grumbled, pouting at the man. However, you couldn't use his own tricks against him.

"You're the mean one. Feeding me aphrodisiac chocolates knowing I can't resist snacks!" He retorted, climbing onto the bed with you before kissing your cheek. His words shocked you. So he was aware the entire time? Then how come-

"Feel grateful. The greatest detective in the world felt bad for bossing you around, so I ate your stupid candy." Despite his words being a bit egocentric and whiney, you still appreciated his little 'sacrifice' to please you. With a smile, you snaked your arms around his neck and pulled him down beside you. "Thank you, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, sugar."

.

.

.

"I'm still horny. Wanna another round?"

"Ranpo!"

[siriusremusblack]

(Yes I'm sending another ask) I heard someone say that the Malfoys were the best parents, what are your thoughts on this? And could you make a rank from the best parents to the worst?

Hm, the Malfoy’s did genuinely love their son and shower him with affection, so they are definitely up at the top of the list I’d say! Now I won’t make this list very long only a couple will be ranked-

Best to worst Harry Potter Parents:

Up at number one we have Aragog and his wife. Alright, alright- hear me out- yes, I know they were spiders- Aragog kept his children in a cave. Safe and away from any threats. He would get them food, and if anyone or thing entered their cave by their own volition- he allowed his children to have a snack. Aragog the spider always seemed to put his children above all else, intruders? Well. Now they’re food, no longer can they be a possible threat to their nest-

At number two we got Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy! Both of them shower Draco with love and affection. They genuinely love and care for him, while they are DE’s they still put their child before Voldemort’s plan as seen with Narcissa lying to him for her son!

In third place we have Neville’s grandma. Neville’s grandma, while harsh and scary to Neville, she did genuinely cared for her grandson. She took care of him while his parents were.. unable to. She was harsh and strict because she cared, she was scared he’d end up like his parents. We don’t see much of her though so we can’t say for certain how good of parent she was, but I think she was pretty ok so she takes spot number three on this list.

Fourth place goes to the Weasley’s. They did genuinely love all their children- but at times it did seem they chose favorites. They didn’t have a lot of money while having a big family, but that was because of their beliefs in muggles and muggleborns. They were not pureblood supremacists but they were pureblooded. They taught their children to do the right thing and to stand up for what they believe in. That is some good parenting but the favoritism and seeming to care more about outsiders than your own children- that’s what brings them down in this list. I’m not saying they were necessarily bad- they stuck to their beliefs and brought up their children to do the same.. they were genuinely caring but sometimes it showed more through outsiders than through their own children.

Fifth place goes to the Dursley’s. Their parenting methods were pretty bad. For both Harry and Dudley. Dudley basically got helicopter parenting, making him full of himself and arrogant. He was rarely ever told no or reprimanded. That doesn’t help a child grow up maturity wise. Harry on the other hand, while not being their child was still in their care. They absolutely despised him- because of him being a wizard- yet they wouldn’t tell him the reasons he was so hated or why things would happen on their own. They left him in the dark, they often abused him emotionally and verbally- and let Dudley bully him. So they’re pretty low on the list.

At the absolute worst parents award on this list goes to the Prince’s. Snape’s parents. Tobias Snape was abusive and neglectful. He lost all their money causing the family to be poor and live in a run down neighborhood. Eileen, while better than Tobias, was still pretty neglectful. While she didn’t outright physically or mentally abuse Snape, Neglect is counted as a form of abuse. Childhood Emotional Neglect or CEN can be the cause of disorders- (but I won’t get into that right now). Because of how they treated their only child who had done nothing but existed by their doing- it puts them at the very bottom.

[myloveismineallmine]

Part 4!

back to claire and carmy. and this one is.... very funny to me actually

Song: Vega Tables - Brian Wilson

On fak walking in on sugar in the bathroom:

I tried to kick the ball but my tenny flew right off I'm red as a beet 'cause I'm so embarassed

fak walks in on nat, an embarrassing situation, fitting lyric here.

fak walks away, camera focuses on carmy serving claire & co, carmy tells claire she looks great:

(Mom and Daddy says)

Sleep a lot eat a lot brush em like crazy Run a lot do a lot never be lazy (boy)

carm walks over to sugar and asks if their mom came, and then asks why she's covered in water:

Sleep a lot eat a lot brush em like crazy Run a lot do a lot never be lazy (boy)

carmy hallucinates his previous boss:

(Wordless Vocals)

the song then fades away as carmen re-enters the kitchen.

so, yeah, that's it.

on the surface, this is a weird song choice. the only super fitting lyric is the one that's on fak about being "red as a beet." but considering how on the nose a lot of the music is, it would be strange for them to choose this song for that one singular line. like, this song isn't even popular enough to justify it being randomly played in the restaurant.

so, we gotta really use our brains and think about the context here.

plot recap time:

richie tells carmy that claire is on 31 and that he needs to say hi. carmy is like "Uhhh... eventually." richie insists he does it right away, carmy tells him no, they argue a bit, and eventually richie backs off.

some time passes....

carmy says he needs hands for table 31. syd is like "yeah, that's claire." (this bitch ALREADY forgot where his gf was) carmy's immediate reaction is "fuck, yeah, that's right. uh...."

he reluctantly says he'll do it, syd is like "is now the best time for that?"

he pulls THIS FUCKING FACE:

which he keeps on the whole walk out, like, this man is clearly terrified.

now let's look at the context of the song:

brian wilson was kind of a health nut, so the song is about how eating vegetables is good for you. while he actually enjoyed vegetables, the song is more satirical, and more about doing things your parents tell you to do (such as eating your vegetables.)

this is especially apparent with the lines on carmy and claire:

(Mom and Daddy says)

Sleep a lot eat a lot brush em like crazy Run a lot do a lot never be lazy (boy)

sleep, brush your teeth, exercise and work hard like your parents tell you to.

this in conjunction with richie telling carmy to go see claire, along with him, mikey and fak continuously telling him to pursue claire, really makes me think this song was chosen to reinforce that carmy feels obligated to be with claire because of expectations of others rather than out of his own volition.

like, think about it. a song about how you should listen to your parents and brush your teeth? while a character is supposed to be serving his girlfriend a nice dinner? for what reason???

i made a whole post about how carmy and claire's dates are literally just things that are technically chores. coincidently, doing chores is another thing, like eating vegetables, your parents will make you do.

the whole theme with claire seems to be doing things you don't really want to do, but others do want to see you do. which is ironic, because it completely contradicts carmy claiming that being with claire is for "fun and amusement."

i feel like carmen is just plagued with... doing everything everyone else wants him to do. he thinks claire is fun and amusing because people are telling him that she is good for him. he is literally panicking so many times he's confronted with her, but people say he needs a girlfriend, so he thinks they must be right.

on a happier note. the writers/editors were probably giggling and kicking their feet when they chose this song. like, oh the dumb song about eating your vegetables? by the beach boys? and we're gonna use it to represent how carmy doesn't feel happy with claire? hehehe the viewers won't get it but it'll be funny for us. i'm onto you guys, i see you...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

[dextixer]

The hypocritical Woobification of Raven Branwen

I dont think it is a secret to anyone who has followed any RWBY discourse, that female characters are treated VERY differently from male ones in the wider fandom, especially in regards to the morality of their actions. I dare anyone who wishes to enter the words like "Raven" "Ironwood" "Adam" "Cinder: and the like into the search bar of websites like twitter and even Reddit to some extent. What you will find more often than not, besides fan-art and porn are discussions about these characters.

After browsing through these discussions one can quickly notice a pattern. Ironwood and Adam are either demonized or have complicated discussions surrounding them. While characters like Raven and Cinder, while having their detractors mostly have discussions focused on shipping or on justifying/excusing their actions.

Raven Branwen is of course, the most iconic example of this.

Raven Branwen in Canon

In the canon of RWBY, Raven Branwen and her brother Qrow both hail from a bandit tribe. They were sent to Beacon to learn how to kill hunters where they learn the values of family and friendship, with team STRQ becoming close. Raven even marries Tai, her teammate and has a kid with him, then ditches him with the child and leaves Summer to come into the picture while Qrow remains an eternal bachelor.

It is revealed to us that Ozpins tendency to keep secrets is what lead Raven to losing trust and leaving the side of good. That, and feat of Salem who she knows is immortal and thus cannot be killed directly.

She returns to her bandit tribe and becomes a bandit queen, killing entire villages for loot and plunder. One of which we can see in the show.

Her becoming a bandit is not something that was thrust upon her, she was not forced to do it or anything of the sort. She chose to do it under her own volition.

Her only "redeeming" point is not being allied to Salem and having a "I will save you once" rule with those she knows and nothing more.

And yet...

Raven Branwen in Fanon

If we were to follow the most common discussions of Fanon then Raven is a tragic lesbian who could never be with Summer, a mother who understood her limits and wanted her daughter to have a better life than with her and who was forced into the position of providing for her tribe and had absolutely no choice but to raid villages for survival of her poor tribe.

If people arent thirsting over Raven herself and or her "romance" with Summer then one can always find many excuses and people calling her a "tragic" and "understandable" figure. They will say that "Shes not perfect" and things like that when in reality, Raven Branwen is just a straight up evil person in the story. Complicated? Yes. Evil? Also yes.

Her only saving grace is that most of the time she is not an antagonist. And she is not related to Salem and in fact would oppose her if she wasnt a coward. And yet, her actions, her being a literal murderous bandit seem to be ignored by a lot of the fandom.

The same fandom that will give shit to Ironwood for bringing 3 airships to Vale and calling it a "military occupation" and Adam wanting to blow up a train (with its crew) will then turn around and pretend that Raven killing innocent villages for shits and giggles on her own volition never happened.

They will cry about how Ironwood and Adam never deserved redemption! How they are deeply evil and have always been deeply evil people, while convincing everyone that Raven is perfect for redemption and was just "forced" to be a bandit queen.

The hypocricy of the RWBY FNDM is staggering, but not news.

What is worse however is how Raven is seemingly receiving the same if not even faster way of redemption that Emerald has. By now most people have probably seen both the RWBY:Beyond first episode and of course the ending animatic. And who else is there in Vacuo if not Raven. Shes just there. Like she just belongs amongst the heroes despite being a literal BANDIT QUEEN.

Despite Ironwood and Adam turning evil they had a good cause at the end of the day. A cause they wanted to fight for.

And instead the people praise and want the redeption of a terrorist who worked for Salem and a literal bandit queen, both of whom did the things they did out of selfish needs? Seriously?

Whats worse is that it seems that CRWBY is more than okay with that. It seems that this is at least currently one of their goals. Which to me is just staggering.

Conclussion i guess

Sorry for the ranty nature of this post. I know that im preaching to the choir but i just needed to get this out of my chest after seeing 10000000000000 posts about Raven and Summer fucking on twitter. Because yeah, THATS Ravens most identifying feature, being a girlkisser. After fucking years of being called a fascist and a bootliker for simply saying that Ironwoods heel turn was shittily done and that SOME of his plans were good it fucking maddens me to see people simp for a literal BANDIT QUEEN without push-back.

[medlarmeadows]

Sparknotes version of qBads lore?

(us Ghosties have multiple thousand pages documents trying to put shit together soooo we don't know EVERYTHING about qBad but we know some backstory so I'll just give you the basics)

qBad was an angel, what type of rank we have no idea, however at some point a couple millennia ago he fell from Grace and became a fallen angel, aka, a demon, just not a hellborn one like qMrouse.

At some point after his fall he took on a job position as a Grim Reaper after training for centuries with one of many other Grim reapers

He's dropped tons of random lore bits about his life throughout time but they're not really relevant

I'm talking, shit like; he knew Darwin, he and Foolish were both in Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted (he was on vacation, he has no idea why Foolish was there), he witnessed the extinction of the dinosaurs when he was in heaven and had a hand in it, etc.

THEN he decided to take a vacation on Quesadilla Island of his own volition to take a temporary break from his Grim Reaper responsibilities since he hadn't had a break in centuries

Although he obviously got stuck on the island and oddly enough, he still didn't even manage to escape his responsibilities having canonically been the one to help Trump, Tilin, Juana, Bobby and Max cross over the river, to guide them into the spiritual plane.

Lore on the island wise, it's mostly a lot of little things but the I'll summarize the current storyline

When the eggs disappeared qBad began torturing himself with soul vultures, having them eat at him, which caused his soul to leak out of his body and decay.

During the nuke at the end of Purgatory qBad shielded Dapper with his body, tanking a nuke hit to the back since neither of them made it onto the boat on time.

This radiation rapidly increased qBads physical decay and for MONTHS Bad was walking around practically dead but was forcing himself to keep it together because he was still needed but eventually his physical body just gave out on him.

Because of this, qBad recently died and returned to the place he visits every time his physical body dies. Although this time he was given a chance to re-enter the heavens after millennia as a demon, however he chose to return to the mortal plane because he couldn't bear to leave 'the little ones' (all the eggs) alone.

As a high ranking demon qBad is able to die and come back without physical issues but every reincarnation he has to recollect his memories.

Also, fun fact, when he dies to something he comes back immune to the thing that killed him! qBad is canonically immune to decapitation (French revolution), being burnt at the stake (Salem witch trials), being drowned with his feet in cement (the mob), falling down stairs (we don't ask) and now the soul decay+radiation poisoning combo!

His current reincarnation remembers absolutely nothing of the past year, but he does have memories.

He remembers him and Foolish in somewhere similar to Egypt (the summer home), he also recognizes qPhil although hasn't specified how and remembers qCellbit from the Hunger Games which canonically happened 10 years before the island so he has memories but they're not up to date.

BADBOYHALO LORE!!!! THANK YOU ANON (also are we canonically married bcos im a tubbling? hehe)

roughly i was aware about q!bad's immortality plus the losing of memories when he came back, but ohohoho this gives me so much more depth

fallen angel bad? what an interesting tidbit of information. and the fact that this immortal being became so attached to the eggs that he chose to stay on the mortal plane for them

funniest bit i know is bad trying to get foolish involved in immortals lore and foolish just avoiding it like his life depends on it KEK

wait does this mean q!bad as the grim reaper saw when q!tubbo died? does it count i can't remember if q!tubbo has a soul because of Creation and all that

[maddiebiscuits]

Poor Scotch, he wanted to say hello and sniff Smokey but Smokey was too scared…nobody care him…

Do not worry! Obviouslg I am supervising them both, but Smokey and Scotch actually get along well, Smokey is a naturally skittish cat. He chose to enter the room of his own volition seeing Scotch inside, and leave when Scotch hopped over for sniffing - Smokey’s not stressed, and Scotch is safe…just dejected…

[decadentpandawasteland]

Hi, here is the next part of my Revenge Series. Please feel free to leave any and all feedback, and as always, thanks for reading :)

---------------------------------------------------

Everything was dark. Everything hurt. It felt like he'd been run over by a caravan.

“What… what happened?” Nicolas thought to himself. He opened his eyes only to be met with the exact same darkness as when they were closed. He could tell he was on a bed. Nicolas moved his arms and legs. They weren't shackled, but they hurt a lot. The last thing he remembered was, what? Arguing with Master Quin. Following that pull that took him…

Nicolas shot up in bed. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he immediately regretted the sudden motion. Ragnar. The chalice. The pulses. Suddenly a ring of light appeared around him, rushing out on all sides of him. It created a wave of light, giving him a few precious seconds to take in his surroundings. He was in an old section of whatever place the pull had taken him to, maybe a dungeon that had been converted into living quarters?

Nicolas tried to send out another pulse of light. It came and went more quickly than the last one. He tried again and again, each time slowly getting pieces of the puzzle together. A thought occurred to him. The ring of light always came out through his torso, spreading outward in all directions. Instead of pushing it through, he tried to hold the light in place. To his utter astonishment, it had worked.

“Good…” an ominous voice called in his mind. It was deep and gravely, like how a mountain would sound if it could speak. It was an alien thought.

“Who are you?” Nicolas asked out loud. His voice was so harsh it almost didn't sound human. The voice gave no reply. The only door in the room opened, someone drawn to the noise.

A man entered the room. He was dressed in crimson robes with a long hat that almost caught the on the door frame. There was a familiar crest on his robes. A black dragon with a person in one claw and grains of wheat in the other. The Brood.

“Finally, you've awoken,” the man said through red stained lips. Ragnar.

“What did you do to me?” Nicolas asked. He remembered pieces of it, but couldn't put them together. It was as if the memories themselves had been cut and mixed together.

“Me? I did nothing to you child. You chose of your own volition to partake in the drinking of the holy relic. A gift for us mortals by our Great One,” Ragnar said simply.

“And what exactly was this holy relic?” Nicolas asked, frustration in his voice. It reminded him of Master Quin. Always beating around the bush. Always hedging or even just flat out ignoring him. He wanted the power to make them listen. No, he needed it.

Power. That's right. That's what he had been searching for.

“Child, it is a gift for us. From hi-” Ragnar was cut off. The light encircling Nicolas shot outward, passing through Ragnar. Suddenly, Nicolas could feel it. A feeling that he had only felt within himself before, but thanks to his study of astral magic he knew exactly what this was, Ragnar's soul.

“The soul is like water. It takes the shape of whatever vessel it is housed in. The concentration of where the soul mostly resides will tell you your magic affinity. In theory, if the soul takes on a human form, pieces may be torn from the whole…” Nicolas remembered from his studies.

“So you're going to do this too?” He asked, suddenly seething. “You're all the same, thinking only about yourselves, never daning to teach, just barking orders and expecting me to follow. No. Not anymore,” he said, lifting his arm up, palm towards Ragnar.

“Do it. Strike back against those who hold you back. They are afraid of you. They will stop at nothing to keep you from your goal,” the Voice said. It was stoking the flames of violence.

“I'll make them all listen,” he thought. He closed his hand into a tight fist. He could feel it now, Ragnar's soul. It was old and tainted, almost feeling greasy. Nicolas pulled hard, feeling the tension of Ragnar's soul attempting to stay attached to his left arm.

“Do it.”

He pulled harder, his muscles felt shredded, his joints filled with glass. He didn't care.

“Take what's yours.”

Niclas used his other hand now, too. Pulling desperately as Ragnar screamed.

“Make them suffer.”

Nicolas felt part of Ragnar's soul rip. An inhuman screech filled the dank dungeon, echoing off of the stone walls. It was something so horrendous it would stay within the stone walls until the end of time.

Grunting with effort and through clenched teeth, Nicolas grunted out the words.

“You! Will! Listen!”

Just like that the soul residing within Ragnar's left arm was torn away at the shoulder. Nicolas was screaming. Ragnar was screaming. The Voice roared. Something within Nicolas came forth. A carnal hunger for power. He felt the presence greedily devour the segment of soul, savoring it. The pain within his body lessened. He could feel it now. Power flowed through him, an unstoppable wave rushing through his very existence.

Nicolas stood and walked over to the whimpering man who laid on the ground. Nicolas created light again and was surprised. He could move it now from his torso to his left hand. Nicolas could only see part of Ragnar's left hand. It was shriveled and blackened.

“Now I'm going to ask again. What did I drink?”

[m4gp13]

I know I joke about how Ethan would have loved Mitski but some of her songs do fit so well for him, particularly Working For The Knife.

"I always knew the world moves on I just didn't know it would go without me" he wanted to make a change in the world and lived his life under the belief that he would be the one to make a difference, he would bring balance to the unstable order of the universe. He did everything he could to achieve this but he ended up as just a footnote in someone else's story. When he died, he was only remembered by a handful of people and the world carried on hardly any different to how it was when he entered it.

"I used to think I'd be done by twenty Now at twenty-nine, the road ahead appears the same Though, maybe at thirty, I'll see a way to change That I'm living for the knife" Ethan was quite young when he got his mission from Nemesis and, like most children, probably really underestimated how long it would take. The years dragged on and he joined and the army and everything was happening but he still appeared no closer to his goal. But he stayed put and kept his head down and kept working, probably hopeful that by the end of the war it would all be worth it. By the end, he might finally have something to show for all his work and he might finally be able to live for himself because Nemesis will have no further need of him.

"I always thought the choice was mine and I was right but I just chose wrong." His mother asked him to but he still joined the war of his volition. He did it to get respect for the minor deities and their children but near the end of the war he realised achieving that goal on Kronos' side was impossible because Kronos had no plans for that and was just using Ethan and those like him for his own ends. Ethan spent the war backing the wrong horse.

"I start the day lying and end with the truth that I'm dying for the knife" the dawning realisation that his mother's balance will take a lot more than his eye and he's wasting a year working and dying for Kronos, the very thing that will spell his doom and get him killed.

[tenjikyu]

𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 - 𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘬𝘪

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ angst/comfort , male!reader throughout the entire series , reader is 2 years younger then the boys. reader is 20 whilst the brothers are 22 .

PART II • GENSHIN M.LIST

being diluc’s biological younger brother is defiantly a hassle.

a mischievous soul as a dear child he was, and he got you and your dear brother caught up in ALL of it. from terrible haircuts that ended in tears to hiding from crepus after diluc knocked over a wine barrel, life at the ragnvinder household was never peaceful, and i guess i’m a sense, that never changed. you loved your brothers and they loved you.

until they didn’t .

“DILUC!!” you cried out, screaming as you held your beloved fathers late body in your arms, heart aching like it had been ripped from your very being. your head was spinning, vision blurring with the rainy skies as the sounds of pure betrayal fall upon your ears. your brothers were screaming at eachother, but all you could hear was sound.

only the sounds of diluc’s weapon against kaeya could be heard.

“DILUC NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PLEASE STOP IM BEGGING YOU” your voice was loosing itself.

“HE’S A TRAITOR, HE DOESN’T DESERVE PITY” diluc’s voice peaks, his vocal cords slowly dissolving into his throat, his heart shattering in his chest.

you couldn’t bear to hear it, you wouldn’t believe that your ever so timid and loving brother could ever want to hurt your family. HIS family.

and then, diluc attempts to strike.

and you strike back.

like adrenaline itself shot through your body, you picked yourself and chucked your body over kaeya, protecting him from diluc’s clash.

then, like another blessing from the gods, a blue vision gleams brightly in front of the both of you and creates a force field around you both.

like a familial instinct had overcome him, kaeya’s hands gripped tightly around your waist and brought you into his chest in one last attempt to protect you, gripping his new cryo vision close to the both of you.

the glare in diluc’s eyes broke your heart. to him, you chose kaeya.

the prayers in kaeyas eyes broke your soul. he prayed that diluc could forgive you for this.

the scars on your body broke your two brothers bond. they should have never allowed you to enter their dispute.

the funeral was a difficult one, to say the least. you said not a word to either of them, and neither had made any attempt to speak to you. diluc was livid that you had tried protecting kaeya. kaeya was fearful to talk to you in case it would cause diluc’s seething rage to rise and you didn’t talk to either of them, still in shock of what had just happened.

not talking to you that day was a grave mistake.

you were changing, and it wasn’t for the better.

by your 18th birthday, you barley felt like yourself anymore. your brother diluc was missing in action, your other brother kaeya was almost too busy to check in on you, as well as being too fearful of what diluc would do to you if he found out that you both reconnected whilst he was gone.

you became a lot more reserved since the passing of your family, a constant scowl on your face. the maids and workers around the winery did their very best to aid you, but they became more irritating then helpful in your every day life.

you hated almost everything around you. you missed your old life, your dear brothers and with their absence, a void in your core had formed and was slowly enveloping your body.

you ran away multiple times after diluc had left, each time you were gone for days before being caught by jean herself the majority of the time. (kaeya begged her to help him find you, too much of a coward to face his little brother despite hurt how much you needed him)

the only time you came home by yourself was not entirely of your own volition, but you had been convinced to return to the ever so worried maids.

that man would soon become your dimly light candle in the overwhelming depressive state you just barley survive every day.

the guy was a slim fellow, and appeared to be around the same age as your brothers, just a bit shorter in height. he wore two twin blue braids loosely hung by his rather long hair, his green cape blew with the wind, almost in sync with eachother. he adorned an anemo vision and a soft tune seemed to follow him wherever he went. it was almost like a melody hummed in the wind and trailed behind him as he goes about his day.

he was the only one left in this world you felt as though you could relax yourself around. after all, he was the one there when you gained your electro vision.

you were scared, running away from a lawachurl that you could absolutely not defend yourself from. you had only very basic defense training that kaeya had once taught you and you did not bring a weapon with you before you had run away.

you didn’t have a chance at survival at this rate.

and you were running of of space to run.

your heart was pounding, realising all that was in front of you was a waterfall and only the moonlight and the stars above you were the only things illuminating your way. you had two options : jump into the lake below, or turn around and pray to the archons that the lawachurl would not harm you so badly you might not make it.

i’m a sense, both had occurred.

deciding on the former, you jump.

you’re falling.

and then you’re struck by lightning.

well, not literally. in a way you were. i’m reality, your prayers had seems to reach celestia’s ears and had given you a second chance at life by providing you with a vision to call your own, as well as an archon to aid your way.

lord barbatos himself held you gently in his arms, his pure white wings wrapped around you as you clutched your newfound vision in your hand, the electro still swirling around your figure but is seemingly harmless to the godly being before you.

“are you okay? i saw a beam of light flash from awhiles away and came to see if anything was wrong” his soothing voice sung into your ears, your eyes gaping at him in pure awe.

he was GLOWING.

THE lord barbatos, the seemingly absent god of mondstadt held you comfortingly in his arms and was soothing your racing adolescent mind.

and so, as any normal 18 year old teenager would after running away from his crippling home life, you burst into tears.

sobbing into the gods chest, barbatos rested onto the ground and held you in his lap, your face nuzzling his neck in a comforting way. this form of comfort has become foreign ever since your brothers had abandoned you and left you to your lonesome, as if pretending that you don’t exist.

you missed your big brothers, and the lord of anemo could sense it. he had been watching you ever since the dispute had broken up your family, and had secretly kept you from harm on all of your previous escape attempts.

but just because barbatos had come forth to you now, does not mean that everything will magically solve itself. after all,

your brothers hurt you just as much as they had hurt eachother, and their negligence on it would cause a strain of hatred and betrayal to flow through your veins and into your head. not only had you been betrayed by kaeya, diluc had essentially abandoned you with neither of them updating you on how they’re doing. your mind could not properly process what had happened to you and therefore you ended up reacting to all your issues with immense anger and sadness, having it boil and overflow into your body.

if they truly cared so little about you, why should you give them any mind? they never bothered beforehand, so even if they come crawling back to you for forgiveness, should you really give it to them?

[butwhatifidothis]

There’s two lines Claude has - in his C support with Dimitri - that perfectly encapsulate why the “He’s like this because he didn’t have Byleth/his time in the academy to guide him to being good” reasoning makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, that he says regarding the Central Church/Rhea: “Who steals your freedom and gives you an endless list of duties and obligations simply because you have a Crest? Who forces your friends into a bunch of unwanted marriages and positions of power?”

Now, keep in mind, this is what Claude says are two of his core motivations into taking down the Church and/or killing Rhea (mostly the second). The problem with that tho is that it goes directly against what Claude has personally experienced; just about everything we know about him should not just not have him have this belief, but actively believe the opposite of it.

And no, not just because of 3H. I’m talking about it doesn’t make sense for him to have it according to 3Hopes, as a standalone game, as well.

So, like, hey, um, how do we know Claude? Like how it is that we, like, physically see Claude at all? Why is he in Fodlan? Oh, yeah, it’s because he chose to come over here, of his own volition:

And he chose to come over here to become the leader of the Alliance so that he can make his dreams come true:

As in, before he met Byleth or entered the Academy, Claude came here because he wanted to come here. No Crest forced him to take up this position, or to take up any list of duties and obligations, he literally chose to do all of that himself. And in fact, even with his Crest, he still needed the help of Crestless Judith to even be legitimized as heir, even though he logically would’ve been tested for having a Crest once he came over. And the way we know this is... because Claude says so, explicitly:

(and because I’m just nice like that we’re also gonna ignore how Lorenz literally says that having a Crest isn’t enough proof for Claude’s legitimacy for being heir and that it’s his noble disposition that is more important - keeping strictly to stuff that happens before Byleth/the academy)

So, like, cool fundamental aspects of Claude’s background go directly against what he is saying is true about this shit, that’s fine. Sure, yeah, he complains about being forced to take up an unwanted position of power that he literally came to Fodlan to get because he wanted it, that’s cool cool that’s fine that’s WHATEVER I guess. But that’s 3H - what about 3Hopes as a standalone game, like I said?

Well, regardless of either game, Claude is. Like. Almyran royalty. You know, Almyra, that place that isn’t Fodlan and so does not have Crests and yet still has a nobility system of some sort. Like, there’s a reason Claude never talks about Crests causing noble troubles in 3H like many other characters do, he’d have experience as foreign royalty with the idea of Crests, like... not causing royalty or nobility. So, uh, there’s that lil detail. But let’s go even further!

There’s a few little details about the world of Fodlan that 3Hopes throws at us, right? Some might, uh, directly go against canon of 3H, but whatever - talking about strictly 3Hopes here! And what is revealed in strictly 3Hopes? Which important figure is revealed to not have a Crest? And which important character does have a Crest?

Holst and Hilda.

Crestless Holst and Crested Hilda.

Heir of House Goneril, guardian of the border, renowned general known about all of Fodlan, Crestless Holst, and “seems like she had a pretty cushy life growing up. Which means she’s gotten into the habit of slacking off and making others do things for her” Crested Hilda.

Holst, the Crestless one with all of the duties and obligations, the one with the position of power, and Hilda, the Crested lazy slack-off who does nothing AS DESCRIBED

BY CLAUDE HIMSELF.

SO, COOL, HE HAS DIRECT EVIDENCE AGAINST THIS BELIEF OF HIS AND ACKNOWLEDGES THE EXISTANCE OF HOLST’S LACK OF A CREST IN THEIR SUPPORTS AND YET SAID BELIEF IS A CORE MOTIVATION AS TO HIM KILLING RHEA AND TAKING DOWN THE CHURCH. He himself does not embody this belief. He himself is also, technically, proof against this belief. 

And IN 3HOPES, he takes on more responsibilities than his position warrants from him! In his supports with Leonie he asks her to keep him in touch with what the commoners of Leicester have problems with, because his position stops their voices from reaching his ears. HE SAYS THAT. THAT COMES FROM HIS MOUTH. His position prevents him from taking on this responsibility, and he WILLINGLY CHOOSES TO TAKE IT ON ANYWAY. It’s something that he says is his priority above winning the war DESPITE it not being something his position allows! THAT DOESN’T SOUND VERY FORCED TO ME.

And none of this is addressing the completely out-of-pocket accusation of forcing marriages, which not only does literally no one accuse the Church of doing, IT’S SOMETHING THAT, ON AG, PEOPLE ACCUSE DIMITRI OF DOING. THE GUY CLAUDE IS TALKING TO IN THIS INSTANCE. That Dimitri arranges political marriages for the sole purpose of benefitting from the strengthened family ties - the second part is wrong, but Dimitri does in fact arrange marriages between families, at least once. But then Dimitri says that he agrees with Claude on his accusations against the Church?? But, whatever, not about that, dumb as that is.

So what, exactly, is the fuckin’ problem here? Where the fuck does this idea even come from? It goes against his 3H character, and it can’t even stand up straight in the game it is introduced in. It is shot down at about every single conceivable level possible, and most of the bullets are shot from the gun that Claude himself is holding. And all of this shit predates any meeting with Byleth or his time in the academy - that has nothing to do with all of the shit this attitude (and his behavior overall) contradicts in both 3H and 3Hopes. And again - core motivation here! These are the first two things he says are his reason to do what he does against the Church when asked about it - which include all of the terrible shit he pulls against Faerghus in GW. SO happy to know that he does such blatantly evil shit for reasons that HE HIMSELF proves are wrong!! Love that for him 💞💞💞 end me

[honorhearted]

"Not always..."

The defeat in her voice crushed him beneath the weight of her sorrow, and clinging more tightly to her smaller frame, Benjamin chose to merely listen while she spoke. There was a raw kernel of truth to her words -- she was right that some were forever scarred or mangled, and could never fully recover from their wounds. But Emma...did she truly believe herself so far beyond repair? Emma, the camp's one true beacon that shone as brightly as both the sun and moon?

"You're right," he finally allowed, his voice hoarse. "I should know better, given how my own men are walking, breathing testaments to such pain and sacrifice... We may boldly enter these horrors of our own volition, but that doesn't mean we always return completely whole. But with the proper love and support..." Trailing off, he tamped his lips shut, not wanting to flat-out confess he knew that she was the one of which she spoke.

Emma lifted her head and mercifully, he saw the first break of dawn amidst the clouds in her gaze, alerting him to the fact she was all right -- she was safe -- and then her arms were around him, holding tight and fiercely as she whispered her thanks. Closing his eyes, Benjamin fondly nudged his cheek into her hair. He couldn't speak, for fear of shattering her delicate resolve, so instead he merely held her, content with their closeness and relishing in the realization that she trusted him. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve such an honor, but some way, somehow, she did. And he treasured that more than he cared to admit.

After a moment, Emma slowly lowered to her proper height and wiped at her eyes, attempting to disguise any prior emotion. "Hey... in a slight change of topic... Still speaking of past experiences... Doesn't it... bother you that I have them?"

Benjamin blinked at her, genuinely baffled. "Why would it bother me?" he pressed. "That's the thing about experiences...we all have them."

Wincing, she clarified, "You know I'm... you know. But you seemed to be comfortable asking me about that sort of thing, and... I've come to learn that while men in my kingdom aren't exactly thrilled by... experienced women, men here and in some other countries are generally against it."

The gravity of her allusion finally dawned on him, and for once finding it in himself not to blush, Benjamin offered a soft smile and a shake of the head. "No," he replied, surprised by the conviction of his own sincerity. "If I'd been bothered, I never would've lain with you in the first place. Do I wish that we'd both been untouched, and thus, had nothing to compare it to?" He shrugged, sheepish while he nodded. "Of course. But it doesn't bother me that you've loved, because to love is the greatest gift God allows. Each love is a blessing, and not lesser than just because it hasn't been sanctified by marriage." With a weak, flustered laugh, he added, "My father would kill me for saying that, but I don't know... Out here, surrounded by war and death and loss, I've realized you need to love where you can -- when you can. And I don't regret giving myself to you. Not even for a moment."

Reaching for her hands, Benjamin gave them a fond squeeze. "So yes, Emma. We're more than 'good.' The only thing I'm truly bothered by is your assumption that I wouldn't be."

"Brewster won't ever push..."

Oh, that sweetheart. In that moment, it killed her that she couldn't find the will to speak up, that she couldn't open up. But the pain behind that locked door was far too much, opening it would just lead to the whole wall coming down. And yet. He was going along with it, letting her choose what to say, how to say it, and there was something unbelievably protective in his willingness to let her lead.

She let out a small sigh when he decided to give her a kiss instead, holding her to him. Why couldn't she just be normal again? Why couldn't she be like any other woman who, yes, may have had a heartbreak or two in their past, but could speak of it and didn't need such hand-holding? Why couldn't she give him that? "Not always..." she murmured, her voice smaller, "Sometimes there is no healing. Sometimes you lose an arm... or a leg in battle, and you just... go on with a limp. But..." But he had just allowed her to lean against him, so she could limp her way out of it, and she didn't know how to express the overwhelmed gratitude. She tilted her head up to look at him in the eyes, opening and closing her mouth when words didn't come, and instead let herself soften into a smile, her hand letting go of his wrist to brush his already perfect hair back.

"Thank you," she whispered, finally relaxing and realizing just how rigid she had been until then; it felt as if she had run around camp a few times and was shaking after the effort, but without a second thought she stepped forward and simply buried her face against his shoulders, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Just thank you."

She knew she couldn't, but still wished she could have spent the rest of the day in his arms, whether talking or in silence it didn't matter, and that in itself was a nice kind of strange. Even the voice that wanted to beg him not to hurt her was almost quiet, while always there. "Hey... in a slight change of topic..." Emma said after a little, forcing herself to let him go and quickly wiping one eye after the other, but otherwise ignoring the fact that she had been so close to tears. Time to try to move past it. "Still speaking of past experiences... Doesn't it... bother you that I have them? You know I'm... you know. But you seemed to be comfortable asking me about that sort of thing, and... I've come to learn that while men in my kingdom aren't exactly thrilled by... experienced women, men here and in some other countries are generally against it. Well, I guess I'm too old to not have any by now, but still, do you not mind speaking of it? Are we... good?" That felt strange too, when asked to Ben - are we good. That little word to speak of them as if they were a unit, like her parents did. Felt right, though, and was one way to not entirely shut him out while not getting trapped into the previous topic. Because, surprisingly, she did not feel like shutting him out yet.

[weliveinapokemonworld]

Some headcanons for Raihan and some worldbuilding for SWSH:

- What does it mean that Raihan oversees the Vault (and the Castle)? Is it tied to the position as the gym leader of Hammerlocke? Does he have a degree or a certification in art preservation? If he does, is it an requirement or something he chose to do on his own volition? Who else is responsible for the care of the Vault and the tapestries?

- You know what? Now I think there’s not only a history department at Hammerlocke U, but also a visual arts department. Not only the castle but also the entire city has a rich history that I feel would inspire people.

- Nessa is in one of their online classes for figure drawing.

- I believe that most people were barred from entering Hammerlocke Castle for several weeks after the Darkest Day. Maybe even months. Only Raihan, cleared gym personnel, and experienced craftspeople were allowed to enter.

Even if only the tower received direct damage, the destruction Eternatus wreaked in the basement could’ve destabilized both the ground and the entire building. Maybe even across the moat to the buildings around the castle.

Also, with the damage done to the Tower? Vibrations from the impacts could carry over to any connecting wall, destabilize the stone.

- Did the Tower and the basement have to be cleaned of Poison energy?

- Imagine what Raihan must’ve felt when he saw the damage with his own eyes. I feel it’s one thing to know that the Dragon caused the sky to darken and Pokemon to Dynamax without control, when you never saw said Dragon. It’s another thing to have concrete evidence in immediate destruction.

On top of that. The damage done to Castle saddens him. He loves this building. He’s spent a lot time here, learned, trained, battled. He considers it part of his home. Now there’s the possibility that it’ll collapse.

A sense of loss persists. A lot what Raihan knew - or think he knew - has changed.

- Stories should focus more on Raihan’s feelings about this. Rose and Oleana hid Eternatus and their operation in Hammerlocke Castle’s basement. They endangered his city, his people. They endangered the entirety of Galar. They misused / hurt a dragon. They deceived him.

There’ll be people who’ll blame Raihan in some form. He’d be an understandable target because it happened in his gym, even though he’s not at fault. It would suck a lot for him. He already feels guilty for not noticing what Oleana and Rose’s people did.

[martyreasemymind]

this is ridiculous.

the fact that you are presenting the things he chose to do of his own volition with the things he did when possessed is disingenuous at best and victim-blaming at worst. billy was violent and treated max horribly, but acting as if the things the mindflayer/henry creel - an entity that murders people and singles out abused children - forced him to do are somehow definite reflections of his character and relationship with others is absurd. out of this entire post only ONCE do you acknowledge that billy was possessed during over half the incidents you describe.

you have completely removed the context from either of these incidents which calls their supposed parallels into serious question.

billy grabs max's arm to frighten and punish her for not obeying him (and before you accuse me of making excuses for him, this was one of the most patently abusive things he did in canon and anyone who says anything different is being an apologist), and he grabs el's arm... why?

when he lets her go she enters his memories. he has no reason to want to scare or punish her. if anything, he makes himself more vulnerable by allowing her to see into his mind.

i have ideas as to why he became violent with her prior letting her fall, but there is no absolute evidence in canon for any of them over another. however, there is even less evidence to suggest he somehow had a desire to harm her just for the sake harming her or to be punitive. billy's reasons for grabbing max are bad and don't justify him putting his hands on her, but they are still reasons. he doesn't lash out at random out of cruelty.

i fail to see how this is a parallel when billy is, again, possessed through both acts. the mindflayer hits max because she is in his way, and the mindflayer hits el to presumably keep her subdued and in place. neither says anything about how billy treats max prior to his possession.

this is conjecture.

billy (you mean the mindflayer) pointedly looks at max? how do we know that? the camera doesn't focus on her over lucas and immediately after the mindflayer tightens its grip the camera pans over to mike and will. there's no preference given to max over the other kids during this scene. could it be the case? maybe, but there's no hard evidence for it.

and i don't see how max is supposedly looking guilty when caring for el either. she looks sad, certainly, but again the focus isn't on her and her expression, which for the record reads to me as more somber than responsible. could she be feeling guilt? what would she feel guilt for? how would billy choking her when he's not possessed somehow translate el being choked being her fault? i know max has a tendency to blame herself over things she could not have stopped, but i simply don't see how that could be the case here judging by the actual situation or her reaction to it which, again, reads more as sadness than anything more intense like deep empathy from being treated the same way.

this confirms precisely nothing about the timeline. when jacey sink portrayed max in season 3 she was 9 years old. when belle henry portrayed her in season 4 she was 9 years old. there is no indication of whether the season 4 scene took place before or after max and billy met.

Runaway Max is not canon.

everything the scene itself (someone falling off their board right before we pan to her) and max herself (saying she knows first aid from skateboarding) says tells the audience she hurts herself skateboarding.

(also the fact that you think billy could get away with breaking an elementary school age max's arm when he was, what? 12? at the most 13? and they had known each for less than a year? back when he was just "a dick" instead of "angry...all the time"? and when he was physically assaulted just for not knowing where she was in season 2? okay.)

you're implying that billy is... abusing max with weights? blunt force objects that easily shatter bones with minimal force applied? really? seems you know how ridiculous this is given how you break your own pattern of presenting billy's possessed behavior as somehow analogous to his non possessed behavior with this "parallel", when "parallels" are supposed the entire point of this post

even what you have makes no sense. possessed billy throws weights at el which is a parallel to when he... got mad at max and put his weights down? if anything this goes against your argument

honestly i could ignore all of this as just you cherrypicking and constructing your own headcanons which you are perfectly within your right to do but this?

this is shameful

i will be the first to admit that billy's pattern of behavior prior to his possession was abusive, and that he gets a pass from many of his fans for instances where does not deserve one.

but you wanna know who else got dragged by the foot?

billy

you wanna know who else got spoken to in a calm, threatening voice when they were already subdued?

billy

you wanna know who else was physically brutalized and controlled in manner resembling sexual assault?

billy

there's a fucking parallel for you, since you're so fixated on them.

many people have made the connection between the mindflayer/henry creel's attacks on children and child sexual abuse. the intentional isolation of Will from his loved ones. The days long manipulation and emotional abuse of Patrick, Chrissy, Fred, and Max. the fact that he specifically targets children already struggling emotionally. billy and will's shared line of "he made me do it".

and yet you have somehow sidestepped all of that evidence from canon and meshed the mindflayer and billy into a singular entity. you have apparently completely omitted any part of canon that goes against this from your memory in order to support your ideas. for christ's sake henry makes billy drink bleach and you're out here acting like they're 100% on the same page.

billy's face at the beginning of this video not the face of someone in full control of their faculties trying to sexually assault someone. it isn't even the face of someone wincing in pain.

he turns and grimaces. his eyes roll back.

he's disoriented. he's struggling.

and what does el flashback to? the moment he grabbed her.

y'know? the moment you said was a parallel to him grabbing max? that is what el immediately thinks of when she looks at his face. not his childhood memories, that.

it is incredibly, incredibly irresponsible to wink-wink-nudge-nudge accuse any character of sexually abusing anyone but especially a child based on non-existent "evidence" that you insist lies in canon. there are already people in the notes who believe you because they can't be bothered to analyse the events of the show themselves. billy fans have already dealt with enough harassment from people upset with things he actually did in canon, we don't need you pissing people off more with blatant half-truths.

point out the terrible things billy did in the show. make a statement about how his abuse didn't give him the right to treat max or anyone else the way he did, by all means. but you do not get to casually misconstrue canon to paint him as a sexual predator.

El-Max parallels implying Billy's physical abuse of Max

quick mostly-gif analysis. we're told that Billy "takes his anger out on Max" and that he "made her life living hell." was he physically abusive to Max all along? nobody ever says that.

we see Billy physically abuse Lucas and Steve. but if we're talking strictly about Max, those phrasings leave room for people to argue that Billy might've been emotionally abusive, but didn't actually hit her or anything. that that arm-grab in the car is just sibling behavior and not necessarily indicative of abuse.

and, hey man, look, you're right that they never say. but there's lots of things this show never explicitly says.

note that we only see Billy hurt Max twice, and both of those are parallels to ways we also see him hurt El.

the Billy-Max arm grab is suspiciously similar to the Billy-El arm grab. surprise grab, struggle/yanking, and then a rough release. he makes the same face.

(I've seen the argument that Max's daring snark before, and surprise at, the grab suggests he's never hurt her before. but I think both could just as well be explained by the fact that they're in public, where she thought she was safer from this than at home.)

we also see El and Max take facial injuries from flayed Billy at Starcourt. these close ups of their injuries are in consecutive scenes:

and we see him hurt El lots more times than we do Max.

so if the only two we know about are parallels, it makes me wonder about all the other times:

Billy strangling El

the way Billy pauses to look pointedly at Max as he starts strangling El, like he's getting something out of her, in particular, watching this. and then the way Max later looks guilty about the bruise it leaves on El's throat. (I will be discussing this at length soon)

Billy throwing the weights at El

that scene where he's lifting weights and yelling at Max (who's duct taping the skateboard he's heavily implied to have broken as punishment about Lucas)... hmmmm.

hey it's almost like the skateboard is a symbol of / scapegoat for Billy's abuse, because remember:

baby Max with the broken arm

maybe she broke it skateboarding. she did tell Nancy and Jonathan that skateboarding is why she knows first aid, but they don't look like they're buying it.

however, we just so happen to have seen another flashback of baby Max before, which makes it clear that she already knew Billy around this age. (Runaway Max says Billy broke her friend's arm btw.)

Billy repeatedly leaning over El at Starcourt

the "stay still" shit and the way he's repeatedly, unnecessarily, on top of El in that scene, using his body to trap her in. (like. if he wants her to quit struggling, it'd be easier to kick her when he's already standing than to get back on all fours and headbutt her. why does he actively get in the way of the MF to keep Doing That.) we've seen Billy block Max in before with the silent threat of his physicality. a subtle taste of a commonly overlooked form of abuse.

those all leave me wondering about the ones I can't think of Max screenshots to pair with.

Billy slamming El by the face... throwing her into the wall to knock her out... dragging El by the foot as she tries to crawl away from him (only to get back on top of her once again)...

but hey. no worries. they never said any of that.