#to maybe break people out or just destroy ??

[maybe-im-dark]

Reflection

Victor stood in front of the dirty mirror of the rundown motel room. Hitler and his dream of a world-ruling Germany had died 5 years ago, so there was no war to fight in currently. None that America was involved in anyway. Women were starting to wear pants and a new style of music had begun to take hold. It was called Rock and Roll. Victor found himself liking it. He and Jimmy were taking jobs, wherever work was needed. On construction sites, as harvester hands or stockmen. Victor was never able to hold a job for long, that didn’t involve killing. All too often he got on the wrong side of his superiors and coworkers with his sadistic streak and his ability to twist the knife into even the smallest of wounds.

The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, casting a sickly yellow glow over his face. His piercing blue eyes, the ones people whispered about, glared back at him. But it wasn’t just his eyes he saw in the reflection.

It was his eyes.

The grey hue, sharp and cold as a winter sky. The same flat expression that could turn to rage in an instant. Victor’s jaw tightened as he took in the rest of his face. The big forehead, the puffy cheeks, the thick, arched eyebrows, even the little double chin—all of it was his father staring back at him. Mocking him.

He couldn’t look away.

“You’re just like me,” the memory of his father’s voice sneered in his mind. “A monster. No good for anything but breaking and destroying.”

Victor’s claws slid out instinctively, scraping against the sink. He tried to suppress the sound of his father’s words, but they rang out clear as day. Every bruise, every cut, every scar he had left him with seemed to surface on his skin all over again, vivid and fresh.

No good for anything but breaking and destroying.

He snarled, slamming his fist into the mirror. The glass shattered, cutting into him, shards raining into the sink, but it wasn’t enough. His claws raked across the countertop, gouging deep grooves into the cheap veneer and leaving blood smears behind. The room felt too small, too suffocating, and the air reeked of mildew and stale liquor—a scent that reminded him too much of the past.

The past where his father loomed over him, reeking of whiskey, his fists raised. The past where he learned to cower, to flinch, to hide his tears because weakness was unacceptable. The past where the man who should’ve protected him was the one he feared the most.

Victor’s chest heaved as he forced himself to step back, his claws retracting slowly into the nail beds. He glanced at the shattered mirror again. His reflection was fragmented now, fractured into dozens of jagged pieces. It almost felt fitting.

When had he become him?

He could pinpoint the moment he stopped fighting it. The day he realized no matter how hard he tried to be better, people only ever saw the animal. The brute. The predator. Maybe his father had been right all along. Maybe that’s all he was meant to be.

Victor leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the grimy floor, his head resting against his knees. He’d embraced it, hadn’t he? The beast. The animal. If the world wanted a monster, he’d give them one. It was easier than trying to prove he was something more.

Because what if he wasn’t an animal but a man?

What if he was just like him?

The thought clawed at his mind, dragging him into a spiral he couldn’t escape. He didn’t cry—Victor Creed didn’t cry—but his hands trembled, and his throat felt tight.

The sound of a door opening snapped him out of it. Logan’s heavy boots thudded against the floor as he walked in, carrying the scent of rain and damp earth. He froze when he saw the mess, his hazel eyes flickering to Victor and the shattered mirror.

“You good, Vic?” Logan’s voice was rough, cautious.

Logan had always been the pretty one of them. With his crooked grin and his wind swept hair he sure was every woman's dream. No, he got lucky. He had inherited his mother's looks.

Victor didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the broken glass, on the splintered image of himself. Of him.

“I see him,” Victor said finally, his voice low and guttural.

Logan frowned, stepping closer. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Victor’s lips curled into a humorless grin as he looked up at his brother. “Every time I look in the mirror, I see him. Our old man. Same eyes. Same face. Same damn monster.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He leaned against the wall beside Victor, silent as he processed the admission. It wasn’t often that Victor let the cracks show, that he allowed anyone—especially Logan—to see the parts of himself he hated most.

“You’re not him,” Logan said eventually, his voice firm.

Victor snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Ain’t I? Look at me, Jimmy. Look at what I’ve done. All the people I’ve hurt, the things I’ve destroyed. Tell me that ain’t our old man starin’ back at me.”

Logan crouched down, forcing Victor to meet his gaze. “You’re not him,” he repeated. “You’ve done shit. We both have. But you’re not him. You didn’t get a choice back then, but you’ve got one now.”

Victor’s claws slid out again, flexing against his will. “Don’t feel like I got a choice. Feels like it’s in my blood.”

Logan’s hand shot out, gripping Victor’s forearm. “Maybe it is. But you’re more than your blood. You don’t wanna be him? Don’t be. Prove you’re better.”

Victor stared at him, his mind a storm of rage and doubt and pain. He wanted to believe Logan. Wanted to believe he could be more than the monster his father had made him out to be. But the mirror was still there, broken but unyielding, reminding him of the truth he couldn’t escape.

“You don’t get it, Jimmy,” Victor said finally, his voice raw. “You don’t see him when you look in the mirror.”

Logan’s grip tightened. “No, but I see you. And I know you’re better than that bastard ever was.”

Victor didn’t respond. He just sat there, his gaze flickering between Logan and the shattered glass. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until Logan finally stood and offered a hand.

“C’mon. Let’s get outta here,” Logan said. “You can sit here and hate yourself, or you can stand up and prove that asshole wrong.”

Victor stared at the hand for a long moment before taking it. Logan pulled him to his feet, and together, they walked out of the room, leaving the broken mirror—and the ghost of the man who haunted it—behind.

But as Victor stepped into the night, the scent of rain washing over him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever truly leave it behind.

[fisheito]

i am still sulking about no aster. (give me a few days and a couple watermelons and i'll be back to normal)

[morgana-ren]

Astarions version of date night is breaking and entering into some nobles palace, stealing everything, and drawing mustaches on all the expensive portraits. And you know what, I’m here for it.

Not even for the money. Not even to prove a point. Not for any of that.

It's solely for the challenge and the thrill. He's finally able to live his life the way he chooses with the person he chooses, and I'm sure he fully intends to cause mischief simply because he has the freedom to do so. Finally, he's not bound by law or heritage or some absurd career that dictates his behavior.

Why go back to the prim and proper when he can live on the fringe and make his own rules? No guidelines, no bosses, no leash. For once, he's truly free.

He's a rascal at heart, and I think being a rascal is better suited to a petty thief and rogue than someone playing at prestige by trying to be a Magister.

After everything they've seen, maybe there is an inkling of bitterness towards the upper class. Seeing their arrogance, their indifference, their sanctimonious bullshit— okay, maybe there's a little wanting to lash out at them and cause a fuss. Just a little bit of wanton destruction. Just a tad, you know? Plus, it's just good, clean, honest fun.

Breaking into those stuffy nobles houses, making off with their trinkets and boasted treasures, laughing and vandalizing all the while, leaving them a lovely mess to come home to. Just for funsies!

Sure, on some level, he's a hypocrite. But whatever. He saved the city. He can have a bit of fun with the cowards who run it.

Really stick it to those bastards, you know?

[gentlethorns]

you know what? i'm gonna say it. i miss being seventeen. not for the "glory days," bc they weren't, by a country mile lol. if i had glory days i'd say they were in 2020. but i miss the electricity, the constant undercurrent of euphoria and deep plunging black. i miss the fight i had. i was literally known for being scrappy. i was self-destructive and coping poorly, but goddamn if i didn't burn bright and long. it took me until my twenties to finally start to fizzle out. does the candle with its wax melted down to the base of its glass cage miss when the wick was lit?

[black-and-yellow]

Oh unfortunately I mainly play on Playstation otherwise I'd totally offer to online play with you!

The PS online play isn't much better. It's pretty hard to get matched up but I have had a few successful ones.

I think Playstation is probably the most popular platform honestly, that and Steam.

Well if you - or anyone here - ever gets your hands on the Steam version, let me know, because I am in dire need of icons and backplates and I like it when the little heart number on my profile goes up. I'm really bad at it so you can get your ranked score up too.

[caffeinatedopossum]

I just saw a tiktok (that probably originated as a YouTube video or something because it was long) trying to theorize that humans evolved on Mars and I'm honestly just devastated. Like I feel old. We shouldn't be on the internet.

These are grown ass men, with degrees, being so sure of themselves that the reason we are so poorly evolved is because we're not made for this planet and not just that like... evolution sucks? Like have they studied nothing but humans their entire lives? There's too many animal species to count where they literally die over stupid shit like evolving without a stomach so they die of starvation (see: all moths after their caterpillar stage) We aren't built different.

[neverendingford]

.

[rietveild]

@vicioushope — ❛ sorry, did you want to be alone? ❜

kaz taps a gloved finger atop the rim of his glass and glares over at jyn as she makes herself comfortable in the seat across from him. ❝ i believe i made that clear when i had the last rebel dragged out of my club by his throat. ❞ the words slip out like a snarl. the rebellion couldn't afford him and he refused to help them as some act of charity. quite frankly, he didn't care if it would help dismantle the empire's grip on the galaxy. he'd done plenty fine for himself without fighting some pitiful war.

❝ if you're here to convince me to give you the plans, you already know i won't unless you have a compelling offer. ❞ he narrows his eyes and sits forward, ❝ so... let's skip the small talk, why don't we ? what can you offer me, miss erso ? ❞

[cavitychemicals]

what am I supposed to fucking do

[hoshifighting]

staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.”

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

[emmyrosee]

“Hey.”

“Hi?”

This is the first time in four weeks you’ve answered his phone call. He never thought he’d be the one to break no contact first.

Sukuna tried, god he’s tried so hard to keep no contact, but there’s something about your saccharine voice that lures him back like a siren. He can’t get enough of it, and the lack of it in his life drove him crazy.

What you don’t know, is how often he clicks on your contact, how many times a day he dials your number, how much his fingers long to text you.

Even if after four weeks, he’s gone without it.

It’s hitting the call button that he hasn’t done. Until tonight, of course.

His mind scrambles to find an excuse for calling you, jaw opening and closing like a fish, and eyes darting around, even if you don’t see it. His gaze falls onto his sleeping dog, and he sinks his teeth into his lip.

“I just wanted to let you know, I finally got Titan to do that trick. You know-“

“Wow. Thanks for letting me know,” you say sarcastically. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah,” he says, gnawing at the tip of his thumb. “Yeah. Sorry to bug you. I just… thought you’d like to know.”

But neither of you make a move to hang up. He was positive you would immediately, sick of his voice and his attitude, but you don’t. Maybe you needed this as much as he does.

“No,” he finally croaks. “No okay? I’m not done. I fucking miss you.”

“Sukuna, stop-“

“No, you stop,” he snaps, voice tight with emotion. “Because if this is the last time we talk, you’re going to listen to me and you’re going to listen good.”

You go silent. He hears you breathing, and you don’t make any noise to indicate you’re going to hang up. He lets you sit there, pondering, he wants to leave the ball in your court, even if ending the call is his worst nightmare right now.

“Speak.”

He shudders at the coldness in your voice, he rolls his shoulders and slumps back.

“You… are all that I think about,” he says firmly. “You and I, we are golden. I can’t imagine my life with someone else, I fucking hate to, there’s no one for me but you, and the fucking fact that I have to wake up to a cold bed because of something I did, is something I hate.

“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, I miss your voice and your laugh and your eyes. I miss your cold hands sneaking under my shirt, and I miss the way you fit against me when we cuddled. I miss you so fucking much, I hate this, I hate it so fucking much, and if I could fix it I would, I want to, please let me fix it-“

“You can’t.”

You shut him up.

“There is no fixing it, sukuna. You broke that trust, shattered it. You think I don’t miss you? You’re crazy.”

He calls your bluff, “you’re full of it. You want to get back together so bad it makes you sick. I know it does, I know you.”

“And how exactly have you come to that conclusion?” You scoff.

“Because you picked up the phone.”

You’re silent at that. He sinks his teeth into his lip, “you’d never answer the phone on someone you want out of your life. You’ve ignored people for less, you don’t fool me for one second.”

You’re still silent. He hears you breathing, as if waiting for him to keep going, read you like a book and prove you wrong.

He rests his head on the wall and shakily calls out your name, letting the vowels feel foreign on his tongue from lack of use. Pet names became so popular, his mouth almost forgot how to say your name. “I can fix this, if you’ll let me. I fucked up. But I know I can fix this.”

“You can’t fix shit,” you scoff. “You would’ve never let it get so bad in the first place if you cared.”

“I couldn’t fix what had already been destroyed,” he snaps. “But we know where we went wrong. We knew what went right. We can do this, do not send me away.”

There’s hesitation on your end. He feels it, he feels your reserve crumbling as he speaks.

“Please… don’t send me away,” he whispers.

You sigh. He sucks in a breath in preparation.

“I miss Titan,” you confess. “If we’re going to talk, we’re doing it at your place, so I can see your dog.”

He smirks.

“And I make no promises,” you hiss. “You don’t get the satisfaction of thinking we’re automatically getting back together because I don’t want to do this over the phone. We’re not. Not yet. Not now. But this isn’t a conversation to not do face to face.”

He closes his eyes and lets his body relax.

“It’s a date.”

“Don’t call it a date.”

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I hate the viper as the black divine btw I hate it I hate it I hate it

And no, it's not because it's a bad idea.

It's because it's an EXCELLENT idea, and the idea that they intended it to be canon (or planned for it to be) is quite frankly an insult to such a complex idea. Especially in the game series that used to explore religion quite seriously and which has decided, in the game about Gods and potentially disproving faith, it no longer actually cares about faith (the MAIN THEME OF THE PREVIOUS GAME).

Like. Firstly narratively the Black Divine being Viper could have had such an impact because you could have built to it. You meet Viper, get to know him... simultaneously you're meeting various imperial chantry officials. Maybe these chantry officials are even aligned with Venatori. They keep alluding to the Black Divine but you never meet him until ACT 3 when it turns out...the black divine was the viper all along.

And one assumes the black divine would turn to a life like the Vipers because they don't think their office is doing any real good. That's!!! Really interesting!!! Someone decked in glory and power realises their own office is a sham that is doing no good not stopping slavery or Venatori and so works to do it from the shadows...that's interesting!!! And has something to say about systematic power structures and how changing a system from the inside can be damn near impossible.

Or maybe he does this because he DOESNT want to risk his seat as the black divine but feels immense guilt about how he's not actually helping the faithful poor in his city. He wants to cling to his power because he believes he can nudge history in the right direction if he does, but simultaneously knows that by not speaking out publiclly on slavery or poverty he's potentially dooming people to death and so needs to sooth his guilt by going vigilanty. Maybe there's an interesting question in there somewhere about living in two worlds and trying to maintain the status quo in one and destroy it in the other.

Also it DIRECTLY parrellels previous characters like Cassandra and Leliana and is a continuation of inquisitions themes surrounding what good can faith ACTUALLY accomplish for people (this even goes back to da2 and Anders)? When does faith break/why? What

Also because it's not explained, it's just kinda stupid. Does Bioware think that high ranking religious officials do nothing all day? They're not billionaires sat in a mansion popping into occasional meetings, they're public figures and political leaders of giant organisations who regularly have to be on show to the masses and to their own advisors. I won't believe that they not only a) have time to be batman AND b) they also have time to just...sit around in some room in the middle of nowhere to be a performative faction leader to the protagonist of a video game they don't know they're in.

Also. Are you telling me. The venatori were going to execute the FANTASY POPE??? And nobody cared??? They were going to publiclly execute the FANTASY POPE and the viper wasn't going to reveal himself and he wasn't going to be recognised and that wasn't going to cause problems? Are you kidding me?

Tblr; the idea that the viper is the black divine is such a good idea it makes me so angry they seemingly couldn't be bothered to actually put the time into it to make it interesting

[catthestampede]

Danny Phantom is a red lantern oh no

Danny’s angry really really angry

About as angry as a dead teenager can get

Danny’s been slowly getting angrier over the last two years since the first time he called the justice league for help and he was told to stop making up stories

or stop freaking calling us kid

Or prank calls aren’t funny

or literally anything that they could come up with as long as it was not the truth

Because clearly Danny from Amany Park is a liar.

Because ghost aren’t real let’s not think about the justice league dark that exist but there’s no hotline to them

Danny just had to keep trying with the normal justice league he was stupid after the fourth time he should’ve just given up but he kept trying for over six months

And then his number is blocked

And that was the day Danny lost any and all faith that anyone would ever come to help

The next week Dan attacked

Two months after that Pariah Dark attacked

Two months after that most of his town was killed and destroyed

Two days after that he finally finds Tucker‘s body

Two days after that he’s breaking into a g I w base to get some of the people back and he finds Sam’s corpse

Approximately 40 minutes later he finds Ellie getting experimented on by his parents

No Dr. Fentons experimenting on his little sister daughter cousin

Approximately 14 minutes later the GIW base blew up

Approximately three days later Ellie was OK she looked to be about six months old and that’s a generous giving.

Jazz was also OK somehow she’s still very injured but nothing life-threatening

That was also the day Danny realize he had a ring on his finger

(A year and a half later )

Denny’s created free distinctive Lee different identities

Is Danny Nightingale A tragic orphan who managed to get his grades up after he lost everything but his sister and his daughter

Danny Phantom The ghost king fair is a calm kind of humans and would never heard any of them currently negotiating with the government for peace

And dawn The red lantern Who has a great deal against three things

The GIW and any and all sympathizers

Vlad Masters

And the justice league

He separated those free identities to the best of his capabilities with the help of all of his resources

Now with the GIW on their last leg and Ellie said to start preschool soon

And Vlad was taken care of relatively fast lift the object of his obsession being gone he was so weak

So if all that taken care of there’s only one thing left

Crush the justice league one step at a time

And who knows what he’ll do after that maybe he’ll try to figure out how to ruin Christmas forever or something equally villainess because that seems to be the path is going down (:

Whatever he’ll figure it out when it comes time

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

More to it

I just love friends to lovers. ~900 words

Thinking about BSF!Jason Todd and how neither of you are willing to cross that line. You're both balancing on what's more and what isn't, both desperate for something you're not willing to name but so scared to risk losing it all.

What you have now is comfortable, safe, and if being more doesn't work? Could you ever go back to what you had? Is the reward really worth playing with fate?

It's honestly so dumb because it's obvious you're both a thread snap away from breaking the growing tension between you. You see the way his fingers twitch towards you when you walk past him, and he catches the way your breath hitches when he tilts his head down to meet your eyes.

You'd have to blind not to notice the way his gaze locks onto you from across the room. He'd have to be oblivious to not see how your knees go weak when he laughs at your jokes. You're locked in each other's gravity, drawn in by way your hearts slot together without the need for words.

Everyone already thinks you're together, even when you say you're not. There's no hiding the lovestruck look in either of your faces, the way he drapes his arm over your shoulder, the way you lean into his side like it's the only place in the world you want to be.

His family doesn't tease you as much about it anymore. Sometimes, you wish they would, even for the excuse to talk about it. There's no label between you other than he's your best friend. And maybe it doesn't need to be more. (But you'd like it to be)

Even strangers think you're together. The guy flirting with you is quick to turn on his heel with an apology on his lips at the sight of Jason. Worse is, you don't hate it. If anything, you like it.

There's almost a pride in it, how people fawn over how cute you and him are together. Neither of you ever correct them, even if you should, and it only continues to blur the line between friend and more.

But when you both finally break? You break hard. It's feverish, your fingers fisted into clothes and his hands cradling your face. You're not even sure what caused it or who moved first. You don't even bother to try to figure it out when he presses you against the wall to kiss you deeper.

It could have been the way you'd reached out to brush his hair back in the elevator to your apartment. Or it could have been the way he tugged his jacket over your shoulders when you started to shiver. Or maybe it was the way you both just stopped in the doorway of your apartment, lingering in the charged air and basking in the closeness the entryway provided.

It doesn't really matter how. What matters is that the kiss seems to pull the air from your lungs, and his heart is beating to the sound of your name. What matters is that when he pulls away to catch his breath, you chase him for another kiss.

Neither of you can focus on what happens next, because it's the warmth of your skin seeping into his and your fingers tangling into his hair that keeps you in the now.

Now, which is so big and so small all at once because his world is narrowed to the angle you tilt your head to kiss him again and you could care less what's happening outside of your apartment, outside of him.

He's your best friend, and you've always been his, but all it took is one moment to destroy any idea of ever being just friends again.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd and how he always kisses you in the doorway of your apartment because it's 'tradition'. Don't even think about trying to get out of it, not that you'd ever want to, his hand is already curled in the back of your shirt to tug you closer.

One kiss turns into five and it's probably for the best he kisses you like this when you're coming home because you'd never get anywhere if he kissed you like this every time you have to leave.

No one even bats an eye when he kisses the top of your hair or when you thread your fingers with his in public. There's a new softness in his eyes and voice, less of a weight on his shoulders, and your face never lights up as brightly as it does when he's looking at you.

It's instinctual, the way you seem to blend into each other's lives even more now. Your sheets smell like him, your things end up in his apartment just as often as his does in yours.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd, and how you laugh about ever being nervous to be more with him. It's not always perfect, but it's real, and him and you against the world just like it's always been.

There's still movie nights, still days you set out on your mission to find the best food in Gotham together. But there's also dates, also love-struck words, and needy touches.

There's still late night conversations, still whispered secrets and confessions. But there's also hopeful, hushed tones that talk about the future, a future together.

He's still your best friend, but you're partners too, so he doesn't stop himself when his fingers twitch with the urge to touch you anymore. You don't hide the way you seem to melt in his presence.

He's yours, you're his, and it was never going to end any other way than like this, souls entwined and smiles fond.

[erythristicbones]

.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

The lack of availability of anything besides panty liners that are more sustainable makes me want to commit violence.