#thinking about how so much of his fear response is CONTROL because of it. His ridiculous skepticism was him trying to control it

[katanahime]

Okay so I know I've blogged and reblogged about this page before, but it usually concentrates on the "And you're not in charge of me. I don't even wear a bat." bit that ends it and I want to back up from that and talk about how the initial response relates to Tim's development since he was a kid that I think gets overlooked:

Bruce: What are you doing? Tim: The same as you: my job. Look, I know you're worried, but the doctor says I'm fine to- Bruce: No. You're not ready. You should have assessed the situation at the gala. Seen the gunman before turning your back. Tim: Are you serious? I was saving people! Wait...does my getting shot remind you of Jason? Of Alfred? Is that it? Look, I didn't start yesterday. You're mad about a different thing.

In particular the power behind saying "You're mad about a different thing." in this specific context.

Because Bruce just blatantly criticized Tim's ability to do his job, his handling of the situation. And since this comic has been from Bruce's pov, the reader does know that's a cover. For his real-world fear of losing his son. And Tim is right, he was thinking about Jason, comparing that situation on the way to the hospital.

But anyone who is a long-time Tim reader would know that Tim as a kid? Would have taken the criticism to heart. Would have worried about it, questioned his abilities. Young Tim had a lot of fear and worry about not being good enough, not making the right decisions, etc.

So while the final "you don't control me" declaration is kind of more universally Tim, I love this "I didn't start yesterday", acknowledgement that Tim isn't the same insecure kid constantly worried about being fired.

You're mad about a different thing. You aren't actually mad at me. And I know you're not actually mad at me.

That particular type of confidence? Is so much newer, and so long-term hard-earned.

Yelling at Batman? Not new. Drawing a connection to something else Bruce would be upset about? Also not particularly new. Being confident Batman isn't actually mad at him? Damn, okay, Tim, I see you.

*chef's kiss*

(Also Bruce is definitely actually mad at himself. I know the slightly later Harley Quinn comic with Tim I've also blogged about mentioned Tim is apparently seeing a therapist now, and I don't know how long he has been, but it's enough of a fair assumption that he was already here, so I think someone properly learned what "projecting" is. Good for him.)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[candy-ing]

you don't really know where the seed of insecurity took place in your brain but it's roots are so in deep you can't do anything about them. it's not that you can't moan, you want to but you also don't want to ruin your boyfriend's mood. everything about your relationship is new and you don't really have much of an experience in bed so you hold back the sounds of pleasure that try to escape your throat everytime because you're scared, so scared that he'll not like how you sound. you never initiate things in the fear of being too needy. what you don't know is that it's driving your boyfriend crazy. you're the love of his life, someone he's willing to die and kill for and not hearing your voice while he's pleasuring you makes him think he's.. not enough. that doesn't stop him from giving it his all.

it's a normal evening, you and him cuddling on the couch. though now you don't remember how you're on your back with his face between your legs, lapping at your cl¡t like he needs it more than you do. you're holding your voice back, biting every whimper and moan instead of focusing on the pleasure. "you okay baby? want me to continue?" he asks because he's unsure now, you want it right? he doesn't want to hurt or force you and the nod you give isn't enough for him. "use your words, pretty". if you speak now you might let a whimper slip so you take deep breaths, "yes, please, don't stop" you manage to squeak out. with the verbal consent he's back at it with urgency this time. his longest finger rubs around your slit causing you to writhe and bite your bottom lip so hard you think you taste blood. "can I?" he rumbles between his licks, and you know better than to just nod "please, ..please" you beg and he slowly enters his digit in your warm heat leaving you to arch under his ministrations. his tongue swirling around your puffed clit as he curls his finger in, its too much but not enough, your fingers grasp his hair to ground yourself though you don't get a chance to breath as he enters another, cooing sweet nothings, you're overwhelmed as he keeps a steady pace, he's desperate to hear you, to know he's doing good. your grip on his hair causes him to moan around you and you let a whimper slip, he freezes, you freeze too. just when you're about to spiral, he kisses you so hard it's like teeth clashing, you don't get to overthink as you taste yourself on his tongue and he starts to curl his fingers in you again. he keeps his pace steady though all he wants rn is to hear you moan because goddamn that whimper leaving your pretty little mouth had him cum in his pants if he hadn't controlled himself. he trails kisses along your thighs, then makes you hold them as he adds the pleasure of his tongue on your bud to the pleasure his fingers are giving you and all you can do is writhe and gasp as he knocks the breath out of you by finding the spot that drives you insane. "I'm so close" you gasp out and the way he growls in response around your clit has you arching. his constant movements push you to the edge and as your vision whitens, you gush out around his fingers moaning his name and he helps you ride it out. the after effect is that you're shaking, rightfully so. once you've calmed down you realise simon hasn't lifted his face, you gather last bits of strength to lift his face up to see he's.. embarrassed? and when you ask if he's okay, he confesses, "i.. came, you moaned my name for the first time and it made me-" you don't know how to process his words, they somehow heal your insecurity and drive you crazy with arousal at the same time.

here's a plate of smut y'all requested, it's rushed and not my best but yes snjdj, not proofread and also if there are any mistakes please hmu bc english isn't my first language. likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

@lauratang @honethatty12 @sir-heichou-smith @kentuckyhobbit @acoopsahoy @tysukier @robinfeldt98 @nexthyperfix @cryingoverafictionalcharacter2 @hajixmee

@mvstercvrd

[fursasaida]

This article is from 2022, but it came up in the context of Palestine:

Here are some striking passages, relevant to all colonial aftermaths but certainly also to the forms we see Zionist reaction taking at the moment:

Over the decade I lived in South Africa, I became fascinated by this white minority [i.e. the whole white population post-apartheid as a minority in the country], particularly its members who considered themselves progressive. They reminded me of my liberal peers in America, who had an apparently self-assured enthusiasm about the coming of a so-called majority-minority nation. As with white South Africans who had celebrated the end of apartheid, their enthusiasm often belied, just beneath the surface, a striking degree of fear, bewilderment, disillusionment, and dread.

[...]

Yet these progressives’ response to the end of apartheid was ambivalent. Contemplating South Africa after apartheid, an Economist correspondent observed that “the lives of many whites exude sadness.” The phenomenon perplexed him. In so many ways, white life remained more or less untouched, or had even improved. Despite apartheid’s horrors—and the regime’s violence against those who worked to dismantle it—the ANC encouraged an attitude of forgiveness. It left statues of Afrikaner heroes standing and helped institute the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which granted amnesty to some perpetrators of apartheid-era political crimes.

But as time wore on, even wealthy white South Africans began to radiate a degree of fear and frustration that did not match any simple economic analysis of their situation. A startling number of formerly anti-apartheid white people began to voice bitter criticisms of post-apartheid society. An Afrikaner poet who did prison time under apartheid for aiding the Black-liberation cause wrote an essay denouncing the new Black-led country as “a sewer of betrayed expectations and thievery, fear and unbridled greed.”

What accounted for this disillusionment? Many white South Africans told me that Black forgiveness felt like a slap on the face. By not acting toward you as you acted toward us, we’re showing you up, white South Africans seemed to hear. You’ll owe us a debt of gratitude forever.

The article goes on to discuss:

"Mau Mau anxiety," or the fear among whites of violent repercussions, and how this shows up in reported vs confirmed crime stats - possibly to the point of false memories of home invasion

A sense of irrelevance and alienation among this white population, leading to another anxiety: "do we still belong here?"

The sublimation of this anxiety into self-identification as a marginalized minority group, featuring such incredible statements as "I wanted to fight for Afrikaners, but I came to think of myself as a ‘liberal internationalist,’ not a white racist...I found such inspiration from the struggles of the Catalonians and the Basques. Even Tibet" and "[Martin Luther] King [Jr.] also fought for a people without much political representation … That’s why I consider him one of my most important forebears and heroes,” from a self-declared liberal environmentalist who also thinks Afrikaaners should take back government control because they are "naturally good" at governance

Some discussion of the dynamics underlying these reactions, particularly the fact that "admitting past sins seem[ed] to become harder even as they receded into history," and US parallels

And finally, in closing:

The Afrikaner journalist Rian Malan, who opposed apartheid, has written that, by most measures, its aftermath went better than almost any white person could have imagined. But, as with most white progressives, his experience of post-1994 South Africa has been complicated. [...]

He just couldn’t forgive Black people for forgiving him. Paradoxically, being left undisturbed served as an ever-present reminder of his guilt, of how wrongly he had treated his maid and other Black people under apartheid. “The Bible was right about a thing or two,” he wrote. “It is infinitely worse to receive than to give, especially if … the gift is mercy.”

[flawseer]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your art and work over all

I’ve been wondering, since I’ve seen you give your thoughts on some other dragons, what are your thoughts on Clay?

On Clay...

Clay. I’ve talked about him for a bit in a previous post somewhere. He is the first protagonist in the entire series and thus serves as our introduction into this world. While he enters the story with his own emotional baggage, he pretty much resolves all of that within the first book and mellows out from then on, fading into the background as a quiet support character.

Because of that it is maybe easy to dismiss Clay as that big guy who talks about food a lot and doesn’t do much else. But I do think he’s a bit more complex than that and is a well-rounded character with things going on in his own right.

CW: Discussion of physical abuse.

Formative Years

Clays early years were molded heavily by his belief that he almost killed Tsunami while she was hatching. He believed this because his guardians, mostly Kestrel, insisted this is what happened. Of course at the end of the first book we learn that this wasn’t the case and that they were just misinformed about how Mudwings work.

To us, this may all seem absolutely ridiculous. We look at Clay and see this obvious gentle giant without a malicious bone in his body angsting about being a blood-crazed monster. But for Clay himself, this was a very real, very horrifying situation. Suspend your disbelief for a moment. His entire childhood was marred by the crushing guilt of almost having murdered his surrogate sister at birth, and he couldn’t remember why he did it. He understood nothing about this situation, and didn’t know if this secret violent side could even resurface one day. Basic things like going to sleep would become terrifying; he may have laid awake, wondering whether his body might act on its own as soon as he fell unconscious. Just like back then, when it acted before he could even form coherent thoughts. The fear of losing control to the monster and waking up on top of a loved one’s mangled body was always there.

This perception of himself as a violent killer was at odds with his social nature as a Mudwing. He loved his surrogate siblings with the same intensity that any Mudwing would love their own, and thus he hated the part of himself that threatened them. As a direct response to this dissonant view, Clay developed a desire to protect them. If he willed himself to shield them from getting hurt with all of his strength, he would never be able to harm them again. This was his way of coping with the fear.

It is pretty apparent from the text that at least Kestrel was physically abusive towards them. Dune was possibly too, Webs I don’t think so, but he also didn’t do anything to stop it. As Clay grew older I think he began to recognize the patterns. He would start deliberately acting in ways so that most of Kestrel’s ire would be redirected towards himself instead of the others. This is why all the Dragonets of Destiny have such deep respect for Clay; they remember him always standing between them and Kestrel, even as he ended up with more and more scars for it.

Luckily, he is able to reconnect with his Mudwing heritage at the end of book 1 and learns that he never was that blood-crazed murderer the guardians insisted he was. But even so, the scars and memories would never fully fade, and he’d never lose sight of the need to protect his loved ones.

Personality and Interests

Clay’s love of food and eating is well-established, to the point where it sometimes seems like it is his only character trait from book 2 onwards. This is normal; he’s got a big body and I assume the self-regenerative properties inherent to Mudwings burn a lot of calories, so he needs to eat a lot to refuel them. I think there’s a bit more to him still though.

Clay is at his happiest when he can either prevent someone else’s pain, or take it away. Conversely he becomes distressed when he sees someone suffering. I believe he is incredibly earnest and built close to water. He cries easily, though never in response to his own pain or suffering. He feels positive emotions very strongly and can get overwhelmed that way, especially when he sees his loved ones happy. When he cries, he does so openly and without shame. It is very unsatisfying to tease him because he will usually just take what people say to him at face value and thus make them feel bad.

He’s also very physically affectionate and huggy.

People who meet Clay often get the impression that he is book dumb, or just stupid in general. This is not the case, as Clay does have a capacity for learning even complex subject matter. I just think he struggles with subjects he can’t see a practical application for, or aren’t relevant to things he wants to do. He has little interest in memorizing ancient figures or learning how to measure the sides of a triangle

When Glory fights Deathbringer in book 3, she makes mention of a “dragon anatomy class” which I assume was taught by Webs. Clay, as much as he struggled with history and numbers, excelled at this particular class because its insight could be used to keep people safe. As such, whenever the need for it arises, Clay is usually quick to act as the group’s primary healer/medical advisor.

(Excerpts from WoF graphic novels 2 and 3, censored for blood.)

This notion is further supported by the fact that, once they all become teachers at the Jade Mountain Academy, Clay is the one to lead an anatomy class, just like the one he attended before.

In conclusion

Clay is pretty much everyone’s big brother. While he isn’t as eccentric and colorful as the people he is surrounded by, his earnestness and general benevolence make him the backbone of the Dragonets of Destiny. Whenever anyone has a deeply-rooted, serious problem they are hesitant to bring up with others, Clay will usually be the first person considered as a confidant. Tsunami and Starflight know he would never judge or shame them no matter how ridiculous the thing they approach him with. Glory trusts him with her emotions whenever her stoic facade cracks. And Sunny has an incredibly strong bond with him.

I think that makes him pretty cool, even if he doesn’t really have much to do anymore once he overcomes his personal demons. I’m happy that he gets to be happy in the end.

[deepspacenova]

figured you out

That had always been your biggest mistake, though. Thinking that he’d ever allow something as trivial as mortality to sever what bound you to him. 

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 1900 words. caleb x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | pining. possessive behaviour. sexual tension. obsession. light stalking.

{Dedicated to @mythblossoms and @spiderlilypetals aka the enablers of my mental instability}

Note: This entire thing is me basically calling out @rose-tinted-kalopsia, @unluckywisher, and @starmocha for setting off a Caleb-sized inferno in my brain and keeping the fire going for weeks now. All of you on my feed combined with the lyrics of this song are entirely to blame so here’s me getting Caleb out of my system (liar) xoxo

The barrier between focus and obsession was glass-thin and shaped like a trigger. One decision, one small flick of a finger away from shattering. 

Obsession was an itch, fleeting, temporary. But focus? Focus was ambition, determination, winning.

That’s why Caleb had always been a creature of restraint, the very picture of self-control. As a boy, when he set his sights on something, he never burned with want. Wanting was purposeless.

Instead he would set his focus on whatever it was — sweets, trinkets, secrets, toys — until he found a way to make it his. Until he carefully maneuvered the object of his desires right into his little grasp. 

Caleb didn’t wish, he didn’t desire.

He conquered. 

Only this time, his focus wasn’t on a conquest. It wasn’t on a mission, or a lab data report, or a secret he could use to his advantage. It wasn’t power or strategy or survival. 

It was you. 

From the very beginning, you’d been the object of his focus. Your affection, your thoughts, your wit, your emotions. Everything that made you tick, he’d picked up and studied like the rarest gem.

And now? Now your fingerprints were sewn permanently into his heart, holding together the thing that beat in his chest. Now, he was light years apart from the boy he’d been, and yet you still gripped it tightly, your hand too small to keep that shriveled and charred, bloody mess together.

But the taste of your laughter, the sound of your skin, the feeling of your scent? Every moment of disorientation you created within him only served to reinforce his lifelong focus on you.

Military training, tests, experimentation chambers, nothing upended the center of his gravity like you.

From the dim hallway, Caleb watched you. His gaze — deep purple with motes of gold, an iris bloom washed in sunset — mapped the coordinates of your smile, measured the radar of your thumping pulse, calculated the precise trajectory of your movements as you fluttered around the small group of Hunters you were meeting with at the Association for a late night UNICORNS debrief.

You’d never understood entirely how you affected him. No one did, he’d made sure of it. Not your mutual friends growing up, not the woman who’d raised you, not the laughing fool you were talking to right now. Not even your Hunter partner across the table from you.

Caleb knew you better. Treated you better. He always had.

It’s because none of them actually took the time to see you, not really. Not like he did. And no matter how far apart you two got, that would never change. 

You were an enigma to them, a cluster of ridges and buttons in a cockpit, unfulfilled in an amateur's grasp. Dormant without expert handling and care. 

But Caleb had long ago solved you — your wants, your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your fears, your weaknesses. He'd seen you bared before him and had figured you out. Down to the very core in your heart.

Even within the darkest depths of the universe, with no sense or feeling, he would know exactly where to trail each of his fingers. How much pressure to apply to every delicate divot. The precise combination and rhythm to elicit a response.

The way he could guide you, command you, the way he could make you take flight for him? It would be… explosive.

The melody of your sudden laughter extinguished the heat that had started to lick its way down his body as he watched you give them the version of yourself they expected. Amiable, innocent, polished. 

As your meeting came to an end and you and your colleagues stood to leave, the shadows shifted around Caleb as he pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against. Pulling the DAA clearance card that had kept the door behind him open, he took a step into the corridor that would lead to his quiet exit. 

Only he knew where your smile dented into your cheek. Only he knew the cadence of your breaths when you spoke. Only he knew what you looked like when your guard was truly down. When you sighed, cried, hurt, and slept. Only he was worthy of seeing it.

Only Caleb had forged himself into a man worthy of loving you.

The night was thick with fog when he watched you step out of the Hunter’s Association, your shadow dancing across the concrete under the warm glow of the street lamps.

As you parted ways with your colleagues, Caleb studied the elegant line of your throat, the way it expanded and contracted around the hum of your voice.

He knew the exact shape of it by memory, — all those times you'd looked up at him to smile at him, to talk to him, to argue with him — the softness of the delicate skin there, the way it would feel under his palm, under his mouth. Fluttering, warm, alive.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, not away from Skyhaven, not in a darkened alleyway by your workplace where the lamp light barely even reached.

But as the sound of your footsteps ticked over the hum of the city, as each of your movements brought you closer to the corner of the building, to him, the oxygen funneling into his brain seemed to thin, and the rational part of his mind, his focus, took a backseat. 

The sight of you walking toward him was so right, so inevitable that Caleb barely even realized how far out of the shadows he was leaning, how quickly he’d snapped himself back into your orbit. 

He, the metal, you, the magnet.

The fist of his right arm clenched as he forced himself to stay in place, to stop leaning toward you on the off chance the sweetness of your skin would enter his nose. The connection between you was so physical, pulled so taut, that he almost couldn’t believe you'd never sought to close the distance, that you’d ever accepted his death so easily.

That had always been your biggest mistake, though. Thinking that he’d ever allow something as trivial as mortality to sever what bound you to him. 

He shouldn’t reach for you. He knew that. And yet, as you closed the distance, he stepped closer. Just enough to feel your presence pull against him.

His evol stirred, faint but insistent, brushing against the edges of your space like a ribbon. The pull of you was so familiar, so tangible, he could feel every cell, all the matter that made up your beautiful existence. 

Suddenly, without his permission, his hand shot out, gently enveloping your wrist as you passed.

You spun around, your instincts awakened, and in one fluid motion the barrel of your gun was aimed at his chest. He almost chuckled at the sight, but the intensity on your face kept him quiet.

Your eyes widened, shock and incredulity clicking into place when they finally registered Caleb’s presence. “You…” the sentence withers in your throat.

“Hello, pip,” he said softly, raising a brow at the gun. “Still using that move?”

Your eyes flicked across the contours of his face like a laser, his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, his jaw, no detail escaping your notice before you stuttered, “C-Caleb? Bu— You’re supposed to be…”

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as the letters of his name curled around your tongue for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “I still might if you don’t put that away,” he said mildly. 

Your grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but it didn’t lower. Interesting. 

Moving with military-like precision, too quickly for you to counteract it, Caleb’s hand shot out, hitting the gun and dislodging it from your grasp. 

You froze, hooking your gaze into his as he tested the weight of it in his hand, the barrel pointing at your chest for one second, two seconds, three... before he aimed it at the ground.

“Tsk, tsk. So careless.” The soft click of the safety flicking on pierced the air between them. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt, pipsqueak.”

“How did you… how are you…?” there’s a faint tremor in your tone and your eyes turn glassy. 

“Shh,” Caleb stepped closer, close enough to feel your shaky exhale against his throat like a wave of summer air, close enough to reach around you to place your gun back in the holster on your hip. Close enough that his forehead brushed yours. “I missed you too.”

For half a second, he saw your guard slip, your face caught between disbelief and longing. 

And then, like feeling an engine ignite, he knew exactly which of your buttons he’d just flicked. Before the anger even had a chance to crackle across your irises. Before your palms came up to his chest and shoved at it. “I went to your funeral.”

“My funeral, hm?” His body had barely swayed, but his amused, love-drunk smile never wavered when he decided to press another button. “Did you cry for me, then?” 

Caleb’s evol flared, and he had your hands lowered — eyelashes fluttering in surprise, back and palms pinned to the building behind you — before you’d even finished the thought of shoving him again. 

With your hands out of the way, as you struggled against the bindings of his evol, Caleb finally took the chance to cup your face in his hands, cradling it like it was the very nucleus of his life force. 

“Hey. Hey,” he soothed, re-familiarizing himself with the contour of your jaw beneath his fingers. “I’d never leave you in a world without me, pip, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” you gritted out, the confusion and betrayal in your voice slowing your movements. "Now, I'm not so sure."

He took advantage of your hesitation, brushing the bow of his upper lip against the bump of your lower one.

“You do, though,” he reassured.  “Just like I know you. Better than anyone ever could.” Caleb reached out, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “Your anger, your love” His hand went to the steel-chain tag that hung around his neck. “Wants. Needs.” His nose traced the bridge of yours and he reveled in another one of your shaky breaths. “Outside…” His voice roughened, “Inside.”

Just as you quit struggling, just as your confusion fissured and your body turned languid against his, just as you gave in, Caleb released you, taking a step back to enjoy the sight of you trying to find your footing.

“Now you’ll never doubt that I’ll always find you.” His mouth curved into the charismatic smile he was known to flash at his general when he gestured toward the street. “It’s late, pipsqueak. Get yourself home.”

Your chest heaved with what were no doubt a dozen of your favorite insults, but you didn’t voice any of them. Instead, you clenched your jaw, straightened your shoulders, and bit out, “I’m going to— I can’t believe— No, I can’t do this right now. This isn’t over, Caleb.”

You turned sharply on your heel, your footsteps echoing in the silence as you walked away, steps stiff and uneven. And Caleb watched as the shadows swallowed your figure and you disappeared from view. 

He’d wait, he decided. he could play the long game. He already spent all these months away from you, what were a few more if it helped you realize the raw, unfiltered truth — that he belonged to you. 

And that was the moment the glass barrier shattered, a pulled trigger that splintered his focus into shards of obsession. 

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[lvl109]

summary.ᐟ when they realize they love you. caleb, zayne, & sylus. established relationship.

tee says.ᐟ this is more notes? than actual fic, more so things i've noticed (that may seem obvious lmfao, bear with me i'm new here.) i was thinking about how they'd fall in love with someone who doesn't have shared trauma with them.

as a caretaker at heart, caleb’s love comes in the form of being as useful as he can be—from carrying your bags when the two of you go shopping to being a barrier between a hard surface so you don't hit your head to making sure your hand never touches a handle. chivalrous at best and a bit overprotective at worst, all he wants is for his partner to rely on him.

so i think he appreciates the little things a lot more than the average person would. flowers that appear on his desk ‘just because’, kneading the tension from a long day at work out of his sore shoulders, or just simply holding him when he needs it but can't bring himself to be ‘a burden’. would come to seek it out even, once comfortable enough. acts of devotion he doesn't come to expect, talk less of deserving.

caleb loves very openly without expecting much in return. so when you not only reciprocate his feelings but add gestures of gratitude and affection no matter the size, i think he'd take care to preserve the feeling it brings him and mull over it carefully. even if he keeps telling you that you don't need to 'prove your love' to him. he’d allow himself to relax in your arms a little bit. knowing he has someone to come back to might make him seem a little soft to the ones bold enough to even regard him as such, but it fuels his determination in all aspects of his life tenfold.

having a reason to put himself through everything he does. as long as he has a reason to continue on. and as someone who believes having the reason is all he's afforded, having his affections returned is everything to him.

˖ ࣪ ୨୧

to be high in demand as a vital member of society means zayne rarely has any time outside of long grueling shifts, equally as long meetings and conferences, traveling to give aid, and squeezing in even a few minutes of shut eye. there are times where it feels like he's been awake for three days straight, bone tired but pushing through because he's needed. there are people who rely on him and look to him for support.

not that you don't need him, and not that he doesn't love his profession either, but with you he's come to realize he's allowed to let his shoulders drop and let himself be taken care of, even if it takes him a while to relinquish that kind of control. he knows he can be vulnerable in front of you and the weight of his worries and fears aren't just for his already burdened shoulders bear alone.

i think zayne would realize he loves you very quietly. a quiet realization that dawns on him not with a bang, but in a slow moment of clarity. you bring peace to a hectic routine. peace he cradles to his chest with tender hands. a respite comfortable with the human being behind the renowned surgeon.

(that and enabling his poorly hidden sweet tooth, but more on that another time.)

˖ ࣪ ୨୧

there aren't many people that would talk back to sylus upon seeing him and the way he holds himself. lazy grin, the confident set of his shoulders, his impeccable style, the cadence of which he talks—the list goes on forever. most people would be scared to challenge someone so sure of themselves yet can't help but be drawn in by his mysterious and alluring presence.

he commands attention at will, filling the room as soon as he walks in. so when you talk to him like he's just another human being, it intrigues him. 

not rude, but unwilling to back down. your banter is charged with wit and sass and he enjoys it so much to the point of deliberately riling you up just to bask in the full front of your responses. he loves it. he loves… you.

the way your expression shifts when you're about to tell him off, yes, but also the way you study him closely as if trying to peer past the several fronts put up. the way your relationship shifts from charged responses to care that lingers long after you've parted ways. i think he'd start to seek you out beyond that kind of thing, inquiring about bits and pieces of your life that you're willing to share, and in turn, giving pieces of himself to you. wanting to know more about the person who'd chosen to look at him and really see him when others haven't.

[rainrot4me]

Rot! I read the cnc post and that has me wondering, would the creeps know when the s/o is genuinely saying stop or saying stop just to say it. Would they have a safe word?

~ 🪓🎀

P.S. amazing writing!

Such a good question!! I think they’re all dumb and horny and rarely listen, but they have a good heart about it.

๑ Warning: Use of safe word during sex

── .✦

✦ . JEFF THE KILLER

Jeff is terrible at reading when something is too much, because the line between play and panic is blurry to him. He thinks it’s all a part of the fun. If you told him “stop” during a rough scene, he’d grin and keep going—maybe even speeding up. But if your body started getting panicky, pulling away not out of brattiness but out of genuine fear, saying his name fully.

“Jef-Jeffrey. Jeffrey—stop—”

“What? Oh—Oh, fuck, okay—”

He would absolutely hate having to stop. Stopping means he went too far, means that despite your love and trust in him, he pushed you far past the point of known comfortability. He gets uneasy and nervous. He’d help you clean up, help you come down from whatever headspace got you worked up—but afterwards he’s zoning out, picking at his fingers, and giving gruff apologies every couple of minutes.

✦ . TICCI TOBY

Toby is hyperaware of people’s emotions because of how he grew up and his trauma. Even in rough play, if your breathing changed to panicked huffs or your tears were way too heavy, he’d immediately snap out of it. He’s usually intense and overzealous, but the moment you lock onto his eyes and tell him to stop it’s over.

“Toby—Hah—Toby, re-red—red—”

“Shit—Sh-Shit, okay—o-okay—”

He needs a safeword for his sake as well as yours, because he’s genuinely terrified of crossing the line and hurting you for real. He’d choose something easy to remember like “red” (classic stoplight safe word). It would be a no-bullshit dead stop, him pulling off you immediately without complaint. After he’s calmed you down, he’d nervously look around, rubbing the back of his neck and asking if you want to pick up where you left off.

✦ . EYELESS JACK

Jack is deeply in tune with the human body. He could tell the difference in your voice, your heartbeat, your scent, everything. He’s extremely responsible about rough scenes and would always negotiate it beforehand. No matter how deep he is into it, he’ll slowly pull himself out of that trance, easing both of your bodies to a stop before sliding out.

“J-Jack, m’done— I-I’m done, I’m done—”

“Okay, okay. Easy, catch your breath. It’s alright.”

He’d have a safeword—something blunt, because he’s practical, like “I’m done” or “I’m finished.” He’d respect it instantly. He usually picks up on your bodies tells that you’re overwhelmed before you even get the words out, but he likes to have verbal confirmation just in case he gets too lost in the moment.

✦ . MASKY (TIM WRIGHT)

Masky is a rough lover, and controlling, but he has a very protective streak. If you were genuinely in distress, he’d pick it up from how your body goes stiff, or how you stop reacting. He’d still want a safeword, though, because the trust would help him relax and be able to fully unleash himself without worry.

“Hahh— Fuck— Pi-Pineapple, Jesus Christ— Pineapple—”

“Alright— Shit— I gotcha, I gotcha—”

He’d pick a simple word, predictable word, probably something like “pineapple” or “banana” because they’re easy to remember. Actually really good at winding you down. He’s very gentle in contrast to his roughness during a scene, very easy with his hands and gentle with his words despite having cussed you out moments before.

✦ . X-VIRUS

Cody is a little harder to read because he loves messing with your head and pushing your limits. You’d have to have a safeword with him, no exceptions, because he genuinely likes hearing you scream “stop” or “no” and might keep going otherwise. He likes to feel like he’s breaking you, likes to feel when you panic and try to get away—so a blunt stopper is necessary.

“Red, Cody— Red, red— Fuck— Fuckin’ RED—”

“Ah, dammit— Fuck, okay— Sorry, sorry—”

He’d also agree to use the traffic light system because it’s easy and unmistakable. He gets very lost in scenes, very into the hurting you part of it—so blatant stops and hard lines are needed to reel him off of the pain train. He’ll be sorry, but he will definitely laugh and tease you about needing to stop, bragging that he outlasted you.

꩜ .ᐟ

[sithextant]

Everything about Maul makes a lot more sense when you realize that despite being an extraordinarily powerful and deeply talented force user, he is still extremely insecure + fear motivated.

Not only is he from a culture that inherently devalues him, but he grew up being told he was good for very little. Maul, at his core, is unchanged from the little boy who was given away by his mother. How would that not inform a core aspect of your thought process? That you are worth less than ehat you were traded for even by your own mother? He spends a great deal of the series still trying to prove himself, to Sidious, to Talzin, even to Obi-Wan, that he is worth something (not that he believes that himself).

He expresses the fawn trauma response when Sidious comes to collect, saying that he did this for him, he built this empire for Sidious, and when that doesn't work, he finally gives in and defends himself. Crucially, this is not true. He built that empire to defend himself because Sidious frightens him so much. He uses the defensive Soresu. I know people say that his fight against Sidious is one of thr biggest beatdowns in the show and he spends the runtime getting mollywopped, but I disagree. He puts up (in my opinion) a damn good fight against Sidious. I don't think he loses because Sidious is necessarily the better duellist, I think he loses because ensured that Maul specifically would never be able to surpass him. Maul couldn't have won that fight, because he was terrified.

When he's captured by Ahsoka, him begging to die is one of his most enlightening scenes. Death is preferable to being handed over to his master - maybe because he knows nobody will be coming for him this time.

He is desperate for People, but the only metric by which he knows to have a relationship is through that of master and apprentice. Everything else is out of the question because he was repeatedly punished for having friendships. He doesn't know how to be anything else. Not a brother, not a son. Maybe an ally.

I don't actually think power is his biggest motivator. He already is powerful. From the moment he's introduced in TCW, he displays a masterful grasp of the Force. His manipulation and control of physic matter is probably among the most impressive out of all the characters. He builds his body and uses the Force to ambulate, he throws starships around without breaking a sweat, all that preeminent duelling talent comes out in full force even without a lightsaber, and he holds the record for the strongest Force push in the show. He's one of his generations premier duelists (even if his arrogance costs him). And what does he do with all that skill? Fucks off to work from the shadows. Lets Dryden Vos take most of the credit.

He's already learned what being too open about power will cost him, and he already knows that nothing he can throw at Sidious will stop him, but amassing power is literally all he knows. It's what he's been taught since he was a child, despite the fact that that philosophy is actually damaging to his needs and desires. He's just using power as security. He has bodies to throw at his problems. If he needs to make a quick getaway, he can send some goons out to take care of it and leave, biding his time until he gets lucky enough to die.

At his heart, Maul is still the scared boy being handed over to Sidious.

[lassieposting]

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

[zaynesgirlie]

omg I liked your last capitano fic so much🥹🥹 maybe you can do nsfw alphabet with him? thank you:3

Capitano smut alphabet:

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At first, Capitano leans back against the pillow with a soft groan, trying to catch his ragged breath. His arms are tightly clasped around you, holding you close as he kisses the top of your head. He prefers to just lie quietly with you for a while, and then he’ll carry you to the shower. His favorite thing to do is sit with you in the warm water and gently lather your back with some sweet-smelling gel. He also loves it when you help him wash his hair, the feeling of your soft fingers sliding through his strands is so comfortable that he practically falls asleep every time you do it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The Captain is the type of man who loves absolutely everything about his woman, but if he had to choose one thing, it would be your tummy. He loves to put his head on your lap and bury his nose in your tummy after long missions. He also likes to run his big and cold fingers over your tummy, teasing you on purpose and not going lower, where you crave his touch the most. He loves when you impatiently grab his hand and put it between your legs, squeezing him tightly there.

In himself, Capitano loves his hands. They are big, strong, and can easily make your legs tremble in 2 minutes, and oh, there is nothing more pleasant for him than to first make you weak from his hands, and then carry you to the bathroom on those same hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Capitano is a very responsible man, he will not cum anywhere without your consent. If you want him to be in protection, he will definitely be, but to be honest, doing it inside satisfies him more, but don't worry, Captain is a man who will not run away from responsibility, so if you get pregnant from him, he will only be happy to become a father.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He is not the type of man who will use girls for one night. He didn't have time to think about relationships before, so I dare to assume that he has no experience. Of course he had little intrigues with women, but it never came to sex.

He does not really know what he is doing, he just does what he thinks is right, closely watching your reaction to know whether things are going well or badly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Capitano is a pretty simple man, he prefers traditional positions like missionary. He likes to be in control, so being on top suits his nature. He likes to throw your leg over his shoulder to make the angle of penetration even deeper, or to gently hold your hands above your head so that you can't cover your embarrassed face or your mouth.

G = Goofy (are they more serious at the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

At first, he will be very serious. His main goal is to satisfy you. The first few times, he will be serious because of his own inexperience and fear of hurting you, but even as his experience increases, he will not become more relaxed. He is simply not used to showing much emotion, and you will have to talk to him about it, and then he will try to be less serious during this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Capitano doesn’t see much need for daily shaving, and he doesn’t bother much about it. The hair on his partner's body is also not a problem for him, and if one day you suddenly tell him how tiring it is to shave every day, he will simply raise an eyebrow and look at you blankly.

"-…Then why are you doing it? I mean... Doesn't everyone have hair there..."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not the most gentle person, but he tries very hard. Long years of training and battles made him a very closed person who is not used to taking off his tight facade in front of everyone, but he will try to learn to be more romantic. His care and love is more likely to be shown in actions than in words. For example, changing dirty bed linen after you make love, or helping you wash up+ changing you into clean clothes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He didn’t really do this before, since then any physical intimacy even with himself seemed to him to be something not particularly necessary. But then, as the relationship with you progressed, he realized that this is a pretty good way to relieve tension and it is generally pleasant. So, like any other man, he does it. He just never devotes you to the details of this. It happens that the longing for you during long missions becomes so aching that he has to touch himself, imagining that you are here with him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As I said. Capitano is a simple man, and he prefers to do it traditionally on the bed. He doesn’t really want to risk his status, and just the possibility of being caught in such a position doesn’t really pleasant to him, so doing it at home for him is the best solution.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You don't really have to do anything to get you going. Capitano is always hungry, but he won't admit it. He likes it better when you pull him into bed, because sometimes he finds himself getting turned on too often. It's not that it embarrasses him, it's more that it makes him think he's forcing you, but when you drag him into the bedroom yourself, it turns him on even more.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Something that involves pain. The Captain knows he's big and strong, and the thought of accidentally overdoing it and hurting you while doing it drives him crazy.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

There's nothing more beautiful in the world than the nervous nibbling of your lip and the trembling of your thighs as his tongue deftly circles your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your thighs squeeze his head between them makes his cock press hard against the fabric of his pants. He throws your leg over his shoulder as his fingers slide from your entrance between your labia, feeling like he could cum just from the look of you needing him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He'll go slow at first, giving you time to get used to the pace. Once you've more or less spread out around him, he'll go harder, but not faster. Capitano prefers sensual sex, trying to enjoy every moment with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers more full-on sex, with foreplay, a relaxed atmosphere, and the likelihood that he won't be disturbed. But if you're really needy, he won't mind doing it. If he wants it, the Captain will rather wait until you get home.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The Captain can go as long as he wants. He just never wants to burden you with it too much, so don't try to find out where his limit is. He'll be hungry for you forever.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He's not really into this, but if you bring a toy into the house, he might be willing to try it. He'll probably like handcuffs to finally prevent you from covering your face and mouth during this.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on the situation. Normally, he might be willing to stretch out your pleasure a bit, not letting you cum until he thinks you've asked him nicely enough. But if he's coming home from a long mission, there's no teasing. He's been waiting too long and he needs you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The Captain is quite reserved during this, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is quiet groans. This is rather because he is not used to being emotional, so he needs time to stop holding it in.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It is quite big and thick. With a bright pink tip. (sorry, I don’t know what else to write here😭)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before, he didn’t feel any desire for sex at all, and probably the amount of excitement and desire that he feels now is all accumulated over those years when he didn’t experience it, well, or rather didn’t notice it. But now… He feels like a wild animal, especially after a long separation from you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

For Capitano, the most important thing is to make sure that you fall asleep first. He tries to make up for his taciturnity with actions. He will put a glass of water on your nightstand, fluff your pillow so that it is softer, and wrap you in a blanket. He will stroke your back and kiss your forehead until you fall asleep, and only then will he fall asleep himself.

[memezs-corner-of-the-osc]

Memez theory analysis ramble #2:

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF TPOT 17.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’m dedicating a entire post to just the scenes with One and Doughnut because it tells us so much about One as a person:

Her demeanour throughout the altercation is something I’d like to bring light to.

One as a character is a manipulator who weaponises gaslighting by learning the characters psychologies to put them under pressure using her facade to sign as we’re all…..very aware by now.

What we learned here is are her downfalls: Temper and ego.

This is the face of someone who’s overly confident in everything she does, here she was not anticipating any failure in her plans.

I mean how could she possibly fail right, after all she’s tricked so many contestants-

And then reality hits.

Her egos down, she didn’t rehearse for this.

Now: let’s observe who one actually is under her act.

She resorts to violence to start with, trying to get a fear response from Doughnut.

Success: Ego back up tenfold.

She feels safe, like she has the upper hand.

So she starts her downfall: She starts giving Doughnut more information than he should know.

After all he’s going to take the deal, they all take the deal.

He can’t possibly escape and tell everyone after he just signs that little contract.

And so like the hawk she is she swoops back in to claim her prize, here she thinks she’s won in crushing the tough nut.

……unfortunately for her Doughnut is smarter then that and questions her, she hates being questioned as it ruins her whole shtick.

“Ughhh don’t worry about that Doughnut, after all is it so crazy to believe I’m just trying to help you?”

Mocking, condescending, setting up her “finishing blow”.

“Those friends of yours all agreed to it and look at all the fun they’re having!”

She can’t help herself and besides he’ll never get the chance to tell anyone so why not take the chance to unconsciously gloat to someone about it?

But it doesn’t work, he keeps questioning, second guessing and not trusting her act.

So she snaps and goes nuclear and goes to what she thinks everyone is can’t resist, themselves:

She tries acting like his friend one final little time, going with her plan B she set up.

She lays it all out, everything she knows about him and all the things in his life she rigged to happen in one last desperate attempt to regain control.

“Everyone gets to be a little selfish, it’s only fair.”

This is the line I’m going to go on a tangent on, it shows why One can do this guilt free.

She’s self justifying it constantly in her mind with a positive feedback loop, through her own delusions she sees fact.

It makes you wonder why she’s doing this and supports what I said last time, I still theorise she’s not here for the power, she’s here to make sure Two is powerless for her own pettiness.

One is a heavily Toxic abuser type person, she has warped morals that she bends to justify their own behaviour to herself subconsciously to get her own goals satisfied.

She has a ego or (at least acts like she has one to further her agenda) and will stop at nothing to the point of almost ending the universe to satisfy her needs.

And if she was friends with Two it would make sense if she used these manipulative tendencies on them and the other algibralians.

The scene with Six I will now circle back to basically confirms what I’ve been theorising with one quote: “She was supposed to be gone.”.

We have half her motive, this seemingly confirms One was exiled from the playground.

For what is yet to be seen.

Now let’s talk about the ending of the scene: What happens when someone defies her.

Let’s watch shall we:

She’s failed to make this man stoop to her level proving her psychology is wrong so she snaps, she’s never encountered this before.

She wants to feel like she’s won so she turns to a power trip, in a moment of rage she rips Doughnuts legs off and kicks him off to affirm to herself that she got the last laugh here and that letting him go is no issue.

I mean what can one man do without limbs-

And this right here is where I theorise Ones downfall begins, she got greedy adding Doughnut: a person who she knew could be a problem into the plan.

And where did it leave her?

With a wild card with context clues about what she was planning and with information about what’s behind her act on the loose, in her own greed I theorise she set in motion her demise.

And the kicker is even at the end she’s still affirming to herself that she didn’t really fail here by flying head first into the sun and that Doughnut was “just for good luck.“.

So I end off this essay of a post with a question: If this is how she treats her victims how did she treat her “friends”?

Thank you viewer for reading, the follow up to this will contain an analysis on Pencil (probably my favourite contestant by now) along with a few other misc things I want to talk about as this is already pushing it for this ted talk of a post.

[michanvalentine]

Astarion’s quotes that make my heart race!

Ok, maybe you’d expect something extremely romantic—but that’s not quite it. Or at least, not just that. There are moments when this vampire spawn truly drives me crazy—and not in a sexy way. Let’s just say that part is the cherry on top! But let’s not waste any more time…

"You deserve something real. I want us to become something real." Can we talk about this? This is the very first time Astarion truly opens up. Willingly. Officially. Even at the risk of being kicked out of the group, even at the risk of being told to fuck off—because yes, everything he did before was purely out of self-preservation. He used Tav/Durge and paid for the favor with his own body. And yet, he takes a risk. He puts everything on the line—even the very mechanisms that have protected him for centuries, allowing him to keep going without stopping, without thinking, without letting himself get emotionally involved. Because if he hadn’t dissociated, it would have hurt too much. But this time? He’s done pretending. This time, he really wants to try. He wants to take a chance—for the one person who managed to crack through his armor, who lowered his defenses. He wants to be real and experience something real, for the first time in over 200 years—with everything that comes with it. For someone who has always worn a mask, this is a massive, deeply important concept. Especially because, as I said, this confession goes against everything he’s ever believed—about love, about sex, about relationships. It goes beyond control. Beyond using emotions and feelings as weapons. Beyond self-preservation, which is what pushed him to act like a piece of shit so many times throughout Act 1. Here, Astarion takes a step away from selfishness and toward altruism—toward the other, beyond himself—and spits out the truth. He shows himself, stripped bare and flawed, and braces for the consequences. He takes responsibility for what he’s done. He makes himself vulnerable. And that’s an even more powerful, meaningful act when you remember just how hard that is for someone like him—someone who’s made fear his primary driving force for so long.

“This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” What can I say? It begins in Act One and ends at the conclusion of the Pale Elf’s quest in the “good” ending. The callback is incredibly powerful—revisiting the concept of the gift shows just how much he’s grown, how he’s come to genuinely appreciate what is offered to him. Even when it’s not what he expected, or what he claimed to desire. And in this case, we’re talking about trust. He is grateful for the trust he’s been given. Just like in the bite scene, where those words are first spoken. Trust in him as a person, not a monster. Trust in his qualities—the ones lying beneath the bitter, hardened, sarcastic façade. Trust in his potential. In the depth of his soul, where something much more profound is hidden. Something more delicate and vulnerable, too. And trust—or rather, certainty—that all of this has immense value and is worth nurturing. And for this, for the opportunity he’s given to finally explore that side of himself in his future, he is grateful. He considers it a gift. And that’s something that quite literally melts me.

“I did it. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” I’ve never experienced it in my playthroughs—I always freed the vampire spawn. Except for one time when I damned them, lol. But here, you can clearly see Astarion's growth and sensitivity. Not only that, but it also emerges in a context that doesn’t involve Tav/Durge, the safe harbor who has accompanied him on his journey so far. Instead, it involves the Gur tribe, with whom Astarion has a history that’s nothing short of turbulent: the law enacted against them, his own death, the kidnapping of the children. All violent and terrible events that left a mark on him—marked by hatred, anger, and shame. In this scene, there’s everything: forgiveness, reconciliation, redemption, leaving the past behind, and facing the future with a stronger, more determined spirit. Here, Astarion opens his mind and heart to someone he once despised, hated, and hurt. He acknowledges and embraces their pain, grief, even their resentment, and does so with compassion and newfound maturity. What else can I say but that I’m so proud of this mischievous little bastard?

“Even I deserve something better.” This is a moment I absolutely adore. I never cheated on Astarion with Mizora—just to be clear—I’ve only watched the cutscenes on YouTube. The she-devil just doesn’t do it for me, unfortunately for her. Lol. If I have to throw myself at someone with horns, I’d much rather pick Wyll or Karlach! <3 But back to why this scene makes my heart race… This is where you can see all of Astarion’s growth. All of it. This isn’t about jealousy—he makes that clear right away. We know very well that the spawn isn’t against open relationships; he’s even open to including Halsin in the mix. This is about betraying the trust of your partner—something he’s only just begun to claim for himself. To trust someone, and in turn, to be worthy of their trust. It’s a deep and incredibly important concept. If Tav/Durge attacks him with the idea that he would’ve been the first to jump into such situations and betray others, Astarion quickly replies that maybe, once, yes, he would have. But things change. People change. Another powerful concept. And the most beautiful part of all this is when spawn Astarion chooses to leave Tav/Durge, because he finally has enough self-respect and strength not only to keep going on his own, but to fight for himself. To say “No, thank you.” He’s no longer willing to settle, to bend, to swallow the bitter pill—even if that means parting from the person he loves more than anyone else in the world. Because yes, damn it, he deserves something better than that! And because, in that moment—just as he himself says—Tav represents everything he’s trying to escape from in order to become better: someone who only thinks about themselves, without caring about the consequences or who gets hurt along the way. Simply beautiful. Especially when compared to the tragic words of Ascended Astarion, who—when Tav/Durge suggests they had a bad night and regret it—responds by telling them not to dwell on it and to just focus on the next conquest. He doesn’t face anything. He runs. And deludes himself that next time, it’ll be better.

“You. I want you.” Okay, this is where my heart just can’t take it. Awwww. I mean—finally, after everything we’ve been through in the game, after all those times we’ve asked him “What do you want?” and all the times he wasn’t able to answer… At last, Astarion gives voice to his own desires and replies: “You.” Not power. Not control. The relationship. That deep connection with another person, without any more doubts, masks, roles (master, slave, vampire, human), or ulterior motives. Pure and simple, from one soul to another. It’s a conscious and free choice. From someone who, not that long ago, couldn’t even put a name to what he had with Tav/Durge—“What are we, to you?” “I don’t know. But isn’t it nice not knowing?”—I think he’s now fully realized how warm, comforting, and fulfilling it is to know. To be able to give a name to what binds him to another. And the “I love you” that follows not only warms our hearts—it shows us just how far this small, desperate vampire spawn has come. He’s achieved the unthinkable: reclaiming his shattered identity, freeing himself from the curse of vampirism—not physically, but spiritually—and rediscovering his right to be, to choose, to express himself, and to feel something real. But most of all, he’s found the ability to recognize it and name it, without fearing the consequences anymore.

I think there are more, but I’ll stop here for now. Every single line from Astarion deserves to be analyzed, if you ask me! I have a feeling my next list will be about the Astarion quotes that piss me off. Lol

[nutmegtales]

Alive again - Part 8

Jason finished serving up tow bowls of dinner, setting them out to cool as he gets the dishes done. The Safehouse he’d chosen to bring them too was decently sized, but not so much that dishes piling up wouldn’t start to bother quickly.

He steals a glance at the boy slumped on his couch - the boy who had asked to be called Danny, the boy who was a king of the infinite realms with powers like a god, the boy who could sooth his rage - and frowns. After Constantine and Danny had sorted out all the magic bullshit, Jason had watched as the King transformed, shedding his power like a coat, and becoming much more human. His hair had settled as if just remembering what gravity was, and a deep black color had bled through the white until there was nothing of the shimmering snowy color left. The glow that had clung to him dimmed, and the shining green eyes had faded to a piercing blue. He’d almost looked like he could have been part of the family.

It was kind of like looking at a totally different person, and for a moment Jason had panicked that the King might have lost his strange ability to soothe Jason's rage with the transformation. Thankfully that fear was quickly abated as the pits seemed to be muffled more and more as he spent time in Danny’s presence.

Most of the heroes gathered had seemed relieved, not only at the kings transformation into something with a less intense presence, but at a decent deal being struck, and at Red Hood being the sacrifice so to speak.

B hadn’t looked relieved of course, and the pits whispered to Jason all sorts of things about how the Bat would be jealous of Hoods new position of power, how he would be angry Hood had stolen His opportunity, how he would be glad to be rid of Jason if this all went south, how the old man wished it was him dying again instead of his other… instead of his real sons.

Maybe B didn’t look relieved because he… because Jason was… because…

His mind wouldn’t form the thought, muffled by the pits before it could be realised, his longing for his father drowned out by rage and indignation and pride.

Whatever.

Jason brought the bowls over to the small table and set out some cutlery. Danny was still sprawled on the couch where he had been since they arrived. Jason had taken off his mask sometime after they got here, figuring he was freaking soul bound to the guy, there probably wasn’t much point in trying to stay masked around him. So, it was his unmodulated voice that spoke up as he said “Hey, I don’t know if you like, eat food or whatever, but there’s a bowl for you if you’re hungry”.

Danny let out a long groaning MMmmmmmmmmmm in response and for a little while Jason thought that was all he was gonna get, but when he sat down to tuck into his own meal he watched Danny half tumble half slide off of the couch and onto the floor. He groaned again longer this time before pushing himself up enough to sit, resting his back against the couch, his head tilted up on the cushions staring at the ceiling “ugghhhhhhhh, physical bodies Fucking Suuuuuuck”.

Jason had to agree with that, bodies surely did fucking suck, but he assumed having a real physical body probably did mean it needed to be fed. “C’mon, you’ll probably feel better once you get some food in you, what’s the last thing you ate?”

Danny stared at the ceiling for a long moment, and Jason felt a complicated wash of emotions from the other boy, a sensation that both thrilled and terrified him. Damn he’d need to figure out what’s up with that soon and learn to control it otherwise that’s going to catch him at the wrong time at some point.

“a Nasty Burger about 50 years ago I think” It had been with Tucker, their last meal shared before he’d taken a turn for the worst.

“… a fucking What??” Jason wasn’t sure if he’d misunderstood, but the mental image a Nasty Burger conjured was decidedly unpleasant “get your arse over here, this will be Much better than whatever the fuck a Damn Nasty Burger is”. He’d had limited supplies in this safe house, but he was still confident it would be good enough.

As Danny stood though Jason watched concerned as the boy swayed on his feet and had to steady himself on the wall. Jason was by his side in a second “Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?” It came out harsh and accusing and Jason winced knowing how it would come across.

Danny just shook his head and took a few deep breaths “just not used to being human is all. Forgot I had to use my lungs in this form…. Food sounds good”. He gave a brief reassuring smile, the kind Jason had seen on Tim sometimes when he was trying to dismiss how many days he’d been awake. It was cute, it was worrying.

Jason had planned to interrogate Danny for every scrap of information he could, but… maybe that could all wait till the guy was able to stand on his own again. They settled down at the table, and Jason was relieved to see Danny actually had an appetite.

----

Prev | Start | Next

Subscribe to updates

If you enjoyed this post please leave a comment, I really love getting them! If you're not sure what to say just comment a lil emoji, I'd love to get one of these guys ❤️🥹🔥☠️😯, or one you feel suits the post.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

A/N: This is probably one of my longer writings and it was all I could think about for so long! I really worked hard on it, and I hope you like it <3 Please like, comment, and reblog if you do enjoy my work because it means the world and helps keep me motivated.

I know this isn't exactly how Void works but let's pretend for this writing 😬 I couldn't think of another scenario

Notes and Warnings: This is angst to fluff I swear! There's talk about insecurities and not being wanted/feelings of being worthless. Please don't read if that is a hard subject to read. The red font is the void talking.

The full fic of this idea

Bob Masterlist

Summary: Void takes over one day and uses everything you've told Bob against you to try and get you to leave Bob's side. When Bob remembers what happens he has to make it up to you.

Word count: 2,930

You and Bob have been close since the vault. The team had assumed you two became a couple from how you acted together. If you were running to the store, Bob was going with you. If Bob was making a mug of tea or coffee, he would prepare one for you as well. Every Tuesday the two of you would watch old cartoons and every Sunday the two of you would meet to have your little book club meeting. You reminded him to eat and drink water daily and he did the same for you. You two just found it easy to take care of each other. 

Since the two of you were so close you shared everything with each other, having someone that close to him was helping him gain control in every aspect. He was more confident in himself and his abilities, Bob had never felt such ease before, the two of you had your routines, had your little bubble where nothing but peace and comfort seemed to reach either of you. Even when Bob was having a dark day, a day where he started to feel himself slip, you still stuck by him to bring in the light again. He felt invincible when he knew he had you. 

Then he dreamt he didn’t have you anymore. 

Bob was having a good day that day, honestly, he was close to having a month of nothing but good days. The team had no mission, no debriefings. Everything felt calm in the tower for the first time. Everyone was off doing their own thing and enjoying the calm before the next storm. You were up in your room when he came in asking if you knew where he could watch Scooby Doo, so instead you invited him to stay and watch it with you. The two of you spent the day sitting closer than two “friends” usually would. After a few hours went by Bob left to go back to his room feeling lucky that he got to spend his day with you once again. 

So why did his brain have to fuck things up? Why did he have to make a whole dream sequence of you leaving him, of you distancing yourself from him, of you saying he was too much to handle, of you confirming his biggest fear. Why did he have to witness you telling him you’d never love him? 

When Bob left his room the next morning the entire tower seemed to stand on edge. No one was aware of the presence yet, but they could tell something changed overnight. He sat motionless at the kitchen table just staring at his mug while replaying the most vivid moment from his dream. “I don’t love you like I loved you yesterday.” Those words echoed, your voice filling every crack in his soul. Was it a dream or was it a haunting memory he had suppressed… “Bob? You okay over there buddy?” Yelena asked uncharacteristically timidly. All she got back in response was a stabbing glare. “Good talk, I’ll go talk to the wall now for more of a response.” 

You walked into the kitchen completely unaware of the situation at hand. You greeted him with your usual sleepy smile and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes before making a cup of coffee. “G’morning” you sighed, “Do you have plans today? I thought we could go to the bookstore to find some new books for book club this month.” His heart almost went out for you, how sweet…how innocent…how pathetic you were. 

“That doesn’t seem like a good use of my time.” He said in an abrasive tone. He could see you physically flinch, your eyebrows furrowed together, and your nose crinkled slightly. He noticed you blinked once…twice…a look of pure confusion washed over you. Was it from his comment or was it his tone. Whatever it was made him perk up Oh…This will be fun. This can be a good use of my time. A sick and twisted smile appeared across his face when you looked over and witnessed it form +++++++++++++++++++++you could feel your stomach drop. “Oh fuck” You mumble realizing Bob was gone for the time being. This won’t be fun. 

You weren’t having the greatest day. The rest of the team needed to meet with Valentina to go over their last mission but since you and Bob weren’t a part of that mission you two stayed at the tower. Alone. For hours. You tried your best to keep the day going as any other day, you made the two of you food, something that you knew was one of Bob’s favorites. When you went to give him his plate, he took the plate, gave you a short-harsh smile and dropped it to the floor. “Oops.” He muttered as he walked around you and the mess “I gave you an opportunity to finally become useful you should be thanking me and taking that opportunity. Now clean up your disgusting mess weakling.” His voice continued to echo through your head all day. It didn’t matter if you were in the room with him or on completely different floors he somehow got into your head.

You would never regret your relationship with Bob, you could never regret letting yourself get close to him. You never feared him, that's why you allowed him in, allowed him to learn everything about you-- including your biggest insecurities. Usually, he would hold you on those dark days, the days where your mind fed into your darker thoughts, and he would whisper reassuring words with such care that it seemed that he was afraid if he spoke loudly everything would crumble. You could never regret loving Bob… You did however hate Void. You hated how he was taking something pure, something safe and making you fear it. He was taking the cheapest shots at you, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

You still tried to stick to Bob as much as you could throughout the day. You knew he needed the reminder that people were here for him, that you were here for him. You refused to abandon him just because Void wanted to fuck with your head. You wouldn’t give Void that satisfaction. But that didn’t make it easier to listen to everything the Void was telling you and he was getting more and more irritated by your presence. The more annoyed he got the sharper his words hit. 

“This is pathetic. You’re truly so miniscule, I don’t understand how anyone can put up with your constant presence. Do you not read the room? Do you not know how to take the hints that everyone is leaving because of you? I mean the entire team left you alone today, not only that they left you alone with me with complete and utter darkness. If that doesn’t scream ‘get lost’ I don’t know what would.” 

“How could you just sit there and act like you're fine? Doesn’t it get lonely? Knowing no one has ever truly loved you, never wanted you? Your parents put up with you but that was only for so long, your first team couldn’t work with such a freak and who could ever love someone…something like you? I mean Bob told me everything, well more so you told Bob everything. Again, fucking pathetic, what’s next you tell your diary all you little problems? Dear diary, no one even took a glimpse towards me today. Dear diary, everyone avoided me again today.”  

“How could you survive this long alone?” He asked while slithering closer to you, “Don’t you ever just want to sit in the dark? I know what is in you little weakling I can sense it; you’re just another Bob. It won’t be long til you surrender to me. Won’t be long at all until everyone shows how utterly terrified, they are of you.” 

He glared at you as the only response you gave him was a clench jaw and a slow nod. “No, you’re completely right.” you muttered unfazed by him. You saw his glare fluctuate. Before you could do anything, he was in front of you. “You think you're so strong, so smart, don't you? Nothing is stronger than me, especially not a worthless being like you” his voice deepened as he got angrier. Time seemed to still as you watched his hand jut out and wrap around your throat. He leans in and whispers in your ear “Why aren’t you listening to me? I’m telling you the truth that you are struggling to accept…Bob knows that he deserves better than you. He will never love you. Someone as ridiculous as Bob doesn’t even want you.” A whimper falls from your lips as you stop the fighting. Pride fills his chest knowing he finally found your biggest insecurity. 

The last thing you hear before it everything went black was the elevator chiming and the team yelling your name. Void drops you to the floor without a care and saunters off to his room before the team could get to him. 

Bob wakes up the next day in a haze and with a headache. He slowly got out of bed, aware that he doesn’t have a steady footing just yet. Memories of yesterday kept flashing in the back of his mind. He doesn’t remember much, just that it was only you and him in the tower. He sighed disappointed that he obviously lost control of that side of himself again and missed having a day with you. Hopefully you could fill in the missing pieces for him. 

He pulls at the end of his sleeves as he wanders to the kitchen. The air in the tower felt tense, it was thick, uncomfortable. Something clearly happened. His mind spirals: what happened yesterday? What did I do yesterday? When he gets to the kitchen his shoulders relax seeing you at the counter stirring your cup of coffee still in your pajamas. The peace that you bring him started to settle in his bones once more, but it quickly vanishes when he sees bruises on your neck and shoulder. His eyes rack your build trying to find any more injuries. You wore your hair in a clip and had on a pair of his shorts and one of your tank tops, you knew it might be risky wear clothes that showed the marks that void left the day before but you thought you had time before Bob woke up, last time void took over Bob slept nearly the entire day afterwards.

“What happened!? Those can't be from the last mission you were on that was weeks ago! These - These are fresh.” Bob’s voice echoed, the panic in his voice was clear to anyone who heard. His heart shattered seeing you flinch at his words. “Bob!” Your voice hitched before you forced yourself to relax your shoulder, reminding yourself that Bob did nothing wrong, that he has never and would never hurt you. “How um - how’d you sleep honey?” 

He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t. Don’t do that, what happened? Why aren’t you answering that question?” He clenched his jaw slightly. “Bob it really isn’t as bad as it looks…the med bay already cleared me.” His eyes widen slightly hearing the words med bay. “Let me see.” The tone in his voice made it clear that there was no room for arguing. He walks up to you; his fingers trail the bruises he can see with a feather-like touch. 

As soon as his fingers touched one of the bruises all the memories from yesterday came rushing back to him. All the hate filled words, all the way Void used your insecurities against you. The way his hand wrapped around your throat before dropping you like you were nothing. All the lies you were told and convinced were true. Bob flinched as if you had struck him with lightning, his hand pulled away from you and he staggered back. 

“I-Oh God I’m going to be sick. I hurt you. He hurt you!” He swallowed harshly and looked around the kitchen frantically. “How long were you left with him? Why didn’t you leave? You should’ve left!” His breathing picked up as he started to panic. "You know none of that stuff is true right? That everything he said was a lie? Fuck I can't believe this. I-You are amazing and and I..." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head as he tried to find the words, "I don't know what I'd do without you"  

“Bob” you said in a soft but force tone, walking over to him you remembered how he explained that feeling you there helped calm him. You grabbed his hand and put it on your chest for him to feel your heartbeat. “I will never leave you. He didn’t do much damage; he didn’t put me in any room or force me to witness anything. All he did was take cheap shots towards me before leaving a few bruises. It wasn’t you, I know that and so do you. It was just a bad day.” 

His mind continued spiraling as you reassured him. One of his bad days shouldn't warrant you getting hurt.

“I never want you getting hurt. I don’t care if it’s a papercut or Void doing the damage.” Bob relaxes feeling your heartbeat, but the look of distress was still on his face. “Let me make this up to you…where did you want to go yesterday? The um the bookstore, right? We can go and stop at that cafe you like so much. Whatever you want I'll get you whatever you want whenever you want.” He rambles before nodding, “No yeah that’s what we’re doing.” He says with a newfound confidence. “Go get dressed and we’ll head out. Don’t bring any wallet or anything I want to handle it all today.” Before he realized it, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head, the feeling of your head against his lips made him freeze before slowly pulling back. “I’m going to go get ready.” He said quickly before rushing off to his room before you could respond. If only he stuck around to see the blush that bloomed across your cheeks. 

The bookstore smelled like lavender and dust, the sunlight streamed through the windows and the bell above the door gave a high-pitched chime as you stepped inside, trailing behind Bob. He held the door for you but didn't let go of your hand once.

It had been a quiet walk over, but it was the kind of silence you both understood. Not heavy. Not strained. A silence filled with small squeezes of reassurance, glances that asked are you okay? and received silent nods that said I am with you here.

You wandered through the aisles together, the space between you practically nonexistent as Bob leaned in to show you a mystery novel he thought you'd like, or when you held up a book with a dragon on the cover and smile just to see him roll his eyes. He still added it to the stack, of course.

After walking through every aisle, the two of you sat on a bench in the corner, your knees brushing against each other. You were flipping through a book of poetry when Bob spoke quietly, his voice soft like he was still afraid of breaking something.

“I, um… I remembered everything. From yesterday. You know? I just can’t stop thinking about it.” He swallowed hard, but didn’t let go of your hand. “What Void said. What I said.” His knuckles went white, holding the book too tightly now. “I know it wasn’t me, but… it came from me, and I just…I hate that he got to you. That he said those things. I hate that I was a part of the thing that hurt you.”

You turned, placing your hand gently on the side of his face. “You came back. That’s what matters to me. I know the difference, Bob. I always know when it’s you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. “I love you.”

You froze. His eyes blinked open, wide and scared now that the words had escaped him. “I didn’t mean to say that out of nowhere, I just" He shook his head in disbelief shocked by the way the day was turning out. "No. I did mean to say it.” He laughed nervously, looking down at your entwined hands. “I’ve loved you for a while. It was easier to try and pretend it was friendship. But yesterday scared the hell out of me. It still scares me. And today watching you stand there, just being you after everything…” He exhaled shakily. “You’re my person.”

There was no dramatic music. No grand declarations. Just warmth. Just you leaning in, your forehead resting against his.

“I love you too, Bob,” you whispered.

His eyes shimmered, and he smiled a soft, boyish smile that made him look like he wasn’t holding the world on his shoulders anymore. “You do?”

“I do,” you nodded. “I always have. Even when you steal my favorite mug.”

He chuckled and leaned in even closer, his lips brushing yours gently. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, it was safe, it was warm, and full of all the things neither of you had ever needed to say out loud until now.

And for the first time in a long time, Bob didn’t feel like he had to brace himself for impact.

You stayed curled up in that corner for a while longer, books forgotten beside you. The world outside your bubble could wait.

This moment, this peace, it was yours and nothing could ruin it.

Tagging:

@lexanator3000

@moompie

@shiningdyingmoon

@itsjustisa