#under even ideal circumstances

[naranjapetrificada]

I'm sorry but I just need to yell into the ether about how Ed was totally ready take Stede in his arms so they could die together when it looked like Stede wasn't eligible for the Act of Grace

[orcelito]

Thinking again about my plans for Vash and Knives in ITNL

Which I can't really get into the specifics for How I'm going to do things w/o going into spoiler territory. But I Do have Vash & Knives tagged on the fic for a reason. I set up in the first chapter that Vash is determined to try to save Knives too.

Which. That choice, as well as the entire basis for all of this, depends so much on that final fight in trimax. The one that was literally a scene away from where ITNL Vash went back in time. His mentality just a hair's width away from that...

At the end of trimax, there was reconciliation, however brief and incomplete it was. In ITNL, my question to myself was How could I induce that again? Under different circumstances, How Else could we get there? And that is the long-game in ITNL.

[yubriamakesart]

Hey, this is probably a dumb question, but after huvyre mentions being genderless, what are his pronouns? does yin have pronouns? if huvye does were they chosen for or by huvyre?

They're both he/him! Yin because that's what he was born with/grew up with, and he wants to stick with familiarity as much as possible. Huvrye was assigned he/him in more or less the same way he got his name. It hasn't occurred to him that he could just pick something else if he wanted, but he's also pretty ambivalent about it and wouldn't care enough to change if he did think about it. He's more frustrated with the generally dehumanizing way he/other homunculi are treated than with the pronouns specifically.

[sing-me-under]

There’s something that rubs me wrong about the headcanon of Dick being ethnically and culturally Romani. It’s a good headcanon. I like the fics that use this well…. But it’s very often not used well. It feels like forced diversity sometimes, like a unique thing for people to gawk at and prod.

I imagine that maybe a grandparent on one side may have been Roma, but it’s almost entirely absent in Dick’s upbringing. Alternatively, I personally prefer a Dick Grayson who was born in Europe but raised from a young age in America. Or a Dick Grayson whose parents recently moved to North America from Europe with Haly’s Circus and he was born in like Indiana or Alberta, Canada or something. Culturally, he was raised with a whole melting pot of European cultures from the adults of Haly’s Circus. Maybe he was the first born in America, and as a result, the adults intentionally chose to have him integrated into US culture.

(You probably can’t tell, but I’m projecting hard onto Dick Grayson. I grew up with my parents’ culture and it was my second language for so much of my childhood, but I’m in my mid-20s and so distant from it all that I can barely even remember basic mannerisms and vocabulary. When people ask me what I identify as, I say American because that’s about all it means to me now. I like Filipino food and music and stories, but it’s only about as much as I like the food and music and stories of say Japan or Italy. I love food history and anthropology and the like, so it’s just a thing I’m interested in rather than something I feel connected to. It’s incredibly hard to keep your cultural identity alive when there’s no one to share it with, especially if you’re detached from it at a young age (lots of family either passed away or married into white families and adapted). But there’s something oddly comforting about hearing Tagalog or even just the accent from a stranger.)

[beauzos]

been thinking about Mimi Augustus today and damn. Vincent really fumbled a bad bitch to chase a manic pixie dream boy that can't hold a job down longer than a few months. and also kills people

[skillzyo]

if Warrior Nun doesn’t get a third season after breaking records even though there was no advertising from Netflix, I am going to scream. I can’t even get my hopes up that it will get a third season because everything with Netflix and streaming services in general has been so shitty. 

[marshmellowtea]

tbh i feel like my interest in willmartha would skyrocket 200% if it wasn’t treated as the fandom’s Golden Fluffy Healthy Ship

[theeternalseptember]

like ive only gotten a handful of sketches and one (1) finished piece out this month. and that sucks to me. that sucks. thats far below par.

[memorymessage]

consider: turgon

-king of gondolin

-wife died on the ice of the helcaraxë

-only had one child, a daughter

-did not ever consider remarrying

-was happy to just have his daughter, even though arda follows the idea of "only male heirs"

(glares daggers at finwë)

i suppose elenwë was reincarnated in aman. but still—a world away from turgon. never saw turgon complain about it. he was content to raise maeglin as his own.

almost as if finwë could have easily been content with fëanor's sons, who all bore his name, to further his lineage. since that was his main driving force in remarrying—furthering his line by having more children.

to this day i continue to find further reinforcement in which the story of finwë and míriel becomes even more offensive than its already baseline offensiveness.

[bernie-jsyk]

teslas are kelpies

form of transportation

false sense of safety/control

drowns you

[ranticore]

some thoughts about Clothes For Horses

out of practicality the average ironwall citizen wears a blanket made for horses (even if they are not horses). the blankets are bulk-ordered by specialist ironwall tailor shops and modified on the premises, sometimes while the customer is waiting. the modifications lengthen the straps so that they can be easily reached. this is considered okay for casualwear but tacky for formal occasions.

the upper body can usually just wear whatever mass produced human clothing they like. the only item of clothing which is made specifically for these guys is the waist sash (sometimes with an additional cloth drape on the front, which can smarten up an outfit). these are people whose culture has a deep seam of embarrassment at being part animal, and this fact should be hidden if at all possible even though it isn't possible but you just have to try. the junction between fur and skin is always hidden. the orange blanket pictured above is about as skimpy as you could get away with in public. mane hair is usually shaved off for practicality's sake.

for practical work where harnesses and tack are required, these are usually worn over blankets and modified to include no reins/other control apparatus. for those for whom it is possible, horse-shoes are worn on the front feet for daily city life, and on all feet for hard manual labour or any activities/hobbies/etc which require good traction on the hind legs. shoes are usually not made of metal but of a composite into which grip studs can be inserted if necessary. the imagery of hard metal shoes is associated with counterculture movements and sometimes if you wanna look hard you can have your shoes spraypainted to be shiny. barefoot is actually fine in most circumstances

dedicated centaur clothing is stupid expensive because very few manufacturers produce it and the fabric yardage is insane so it is a class signifier. the garment shape & purpose is unisex though due to influence from dominant human cultures in the area, there's still a difference between a Stallion's Manly Robes and a Demure Filly Dress. ideally the full body is covered and the overall impression is of a human strapped to some mysterious shape idk what could possibly be under there. normal human legs i bet.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

this is so absolutely adorable. love me some good old witch x werewolf romance. love me some whipped, goofy jisung

[2.22]

― pairing : Han Jisung x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst, fluff, implied smut, wolf au, reader is a witch, soulmates, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ; for the witch hunter part I kinda got inspired by the Merlin and Freya story but without the tragic ― word count : 2.670

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

Branches roughly scratched your face and your arms, the sound of the dry leaves breaking under your feet as you desperately ran through the woods, trying to save yourself in what had started as a quiet and cool autumn morning.

Gritting your teeth as every limb in your body started to ache, your left hand was tightly pressed on the bloody wound on your right side, disheartened by the fact that you couldn’t use magic to heal your wound. You felt your own blood wetting your trembling fingers, and you wanted to cry, both by the pain you were feeling and both because you didn’t even have time to rest for a few seconds.

So, you kept running, a hunter following you close behind. You have been hearing rumours spreading through your village that the King had called for a hunter to investigate presumed supernatural events that started to happen at the court, but you had never thought that said hunter would have chased you as soon as he arrived. You did not have anything to do with the alleged magic episodes happening in the Castle, but you have heard from your mentor witch that hunters never stopped in front of anything.

Witches, werewolves, shapeshifters; the hunters would hunt everyone, trap them, and execute them on a public square. Therefore, their weapons and methods of capture improved through the years and adapted easily to every need.

This was the reason why you could not use your magic to defeat him, nor to heal yourself; your wound was caused by an enchanted blade, which would neutralize your magic unless someone else healed you.

A small clearing opened in front of you, and your heart sank at the view. Two wolves, one with ginger fur and hazel eyes, and the other with white fur and blue eyes immediately snapped their eyes towards you, both alerted and wary at your state and sudden appearance. Your eyes met hazel ones, and between all the pain, you felt a confusing warm sensation invading your senses.

«R-run,» you tried to say, but it came out as a raspy, weak whimper, «hunter.» you managed to add, pain clouding your senses, feeling as you were about to faint. You saw the wolves sharing a look, before the white wolf stopped the other from walking towards you, pushing him towards the woods behind them instead.

This was the last thing you saw before darkness enveloped your senses.

The dark night sky met your eyes as you woke up feeling sore due the metal bars against your back. Pain immediately shot through your side as you tried to move, blinking few times to gradually take in your surroundings as you weakly managed to breathe. Large, heavy metal cuff adorned your wrists, connecting them to the metal bars of the small cage you were trapped in. You were in one of the streets of the village, so that cage must have been the one that the hunter carried along with him, pulled by his horse; you hesitantly looked around, but did not find any trace of the hunter. With slow movements, the shackles rattled as you lifted the hem of your skirt, noticing that at least, your ankles hadn’t been tied up as well.

Tears blurred your vision, realizing that, that was it. You would have died like that, since you did not know any other witch who could heal you, let alone someone who could save you. Judging by the pain you constantly felt, the effects of the enchanted blade were still active, and you suspected that the handcuffs were enchanted too, if not the whole cage, meaning that you could not save yourself.

Basically, you were doomed. You closed your eyes as the hunter exited the tavern, leaning against the cage bar with a gloved hand.

«I hope you’re not feeling too cold, witch.» he spat, with an obnoxious and gruff voice. «They’ll warm you up soon enough.» with a merciless laugh, he walked away from you, and your heart sank even deeper.

“At least, for now they’re both safe.” You thought, your mind briefly recalling soft hazel eyes and fur as white as snow pushing him away.

You most definitely lost count of days; you could not stay awake, and you could barely sleep. You were stuck into an impasse. Night fell once again, hasty and sneaky whispers suddenly catching your attention, along with few low growls. You tried to identify the shadows approaching your cage, trying to help yourself with the light the full moon provided, wondering if the hunter changed his plans for you.

Fear spreaded through your body and the shackles rattled loudly as you attempted to press yourself even further against the metal bars, the desperate attempt to somehow save or shield yourself even if you were helpless and trapped. A boy around your age with white hair and long white eyelashes suddenly jumped on the carriage, in the front of the cage’s locked door, his index fingers in front his lips signalling you not to make any noise. You nodded at him, still trembling, just to notice another boy with light brown hair effortlessly climb on and kneel next to him.

«How’s it, Lix?» the boy asked the one with white hair, as they both studied the padlock.

«It’s a piece of cake.» the boy’s deep voice startled you, and he started picking at the padlock with what you thought was a thin fragment of sharpened iron. «Let’s say I expected more from a hunter’s cage.» he smiled to himself as the padlock opened with a soft “click”, and they both opened the door of the cage with slow movements, in order to prevent any squeaking noise from the rusty iron.

«We’re not going to hurt you,» The boy with light brown hair smiled warmly at you, two dimples appearing to corner his smile. «I’m Chris, and he’s Felix.» he gestured to the white haired boy which was now picking at the locks of the heavy handcuffs around your wrists. Felix looked up with a soft smile at the mention of his name. «There are others outside the cage. Me and my friends are here to save you.»

«Let’s save the introductions for later,» Felix mumbled, placing the handcuffs on your side, away from you, and your first instinct was to rub your red and sore wrists, «we’re running short on time.»

Chris nodded, and with a gentle «I’m so sorry for this.» he leaned towards you and picked you up as gently as he could, as you tried to suffocate another wave of pain running through your side. Chris effortlessly jumped down the carriage while holding you tight, and you noticed that “the others” which he was referring to were indeed a pack of wolves.

«Han, Seungmin, get her home. We’ll take care of him.» Chris said, and obediently, two large wolves slowly walked towards you. Your eyes met hazel ones, and the ginger wolf you saw few days earlier was looking at you as he was feeling your own pain.

«You’ll be fine now, your mate is here.» You heard Chris say once again, his gentle voice reaching your ears distant and muffled. The last thing you remember was being helped climbing on the back of the ginger wolf, which partially leaned down to help your movements, and you caressing a small fraction of his soft fur, feeling somehow as safe as you have never felt. You let yourself trust your saviours enough to close your eyes, and darkness once again enveloped your soul.

The feeling of dizziness was the first thing that welcomed you as soon as you woke up. An unfamiliar wooden ceiling met your tired eyes, and you realized that you have been laying on a soft mattress, instead of a metal cage.

Feeling an unfamiliar sensation of warmth around your right hand, you glanced down, just to see an asleep boy sitting on the floor with his head on the mattress, as he was still holding your hand. A strange sensation of familiarity pervaded your senses as you saw his delicate features cornered by long blondish hair.

You tried to sit up, but pain shot through your side again, and you whined, collapsing back on the bed, involuntarily waking the bow up. You were confused by the pain you were feeling; it was definitely different from the one generated by the enchanted blade. Could it be that your saviours found a way to heal you?

The boy blinked twice before noticing you were awake, and his eyes widened immediately.

«Here, let me help you.» he offered, his hand hanging in mid-air, waiting for your approval. Due to a strange pull you felt in your chest you found yourself nodding, and he delicately helped you sit up, your back lying comfortably against the fluffy cushions.

«I’m Jisung,» he smiled, reaching out to your nightstand to offer you a glass full of water, which you gladly accepted. «I’m part of the group that saved you last week.»

«Last week?!» you shrieked, your voice hoarse and your throat burning due to not having spoken with anyone not having drank anything for apparently, more than a week.

A sad smile adorned Jisung’s pretty lips, «We’re very lucky to be both alive.» he said, confusing you, but proceeded before you could ask. «There are other witches in the pack, they’re my friends’ mates.» you nodded, recalling Chris’ saying the same word that night. «They healed you, and took care of you.» due to you still dizzy state, you noticed only in that moment that you had been completely bathed and you weren’t definitely wearing your clothes anymore. You nodded, slowly taking in everything that happened and everything he said. You most definitely owed them your life.

«Thank you,» you offered Jisung a sweet, sincere smiled which he immediately mirrored. «But… How did you know I had been caught?» You furrowed your brows, waiting for Jisung to confirm your thoughts.

A pack of wolves mysteriously showed up after you’ve warned two wolves you randomly found on your way, and coincidentally, one of them had human features which reminded you of the white wolf you saw, so, this meant that-

«You told me yourself,» Jisung’s soft voice intruded your thoughts, and for some reason, your heart sparked up at the confirmation to Jisung being not only the ginger wolf you’ve seen but there was a probability of you being his mate. «I was going to pick you up immediately, but Felix convinced me it was probably better to alert the others and to come up with an actual plan to save you.»

«How am I even supposed to repay this debt.» you mumbled to yourself, throwing your head back and meeting yet another fluffy cushion. Jisung chuckled softly at your reaction.

«Come live with us, with me. I mean-us.» he said, blushing as he stuttered on his sentence and you softly giggled at him, rubbing your eyes with one hand.

«Whose house is this?» you asked, weakly, feeling yourself getting drowsy once again. «Mine.» Jisung said, taking away the empty glass from your hands. «Okay then,» you mumbled, «I’ll move in.» «I’ll be here when you’ll wake up.» was the last thing you heard Jisung say, before you fell into a peaceful sleep.

You have been falling in and out of sleep few more times, and Jisung had always kept his promise. Sometimes he would be awake, sometimes asleep, but as soon as you woke up, he would be the first thing you would see.

Something brushed against your shoulder, and you woke up to find Jisung laying on top of the blankets and cuddled on your side, his forehead brushing against your shoulder as he tried to occupy as little space as he could. Following your instinct, you turned on your side to face him, happily noticing that finally your side stopped hurting, and scooted closer to him, so that you would fall asleep once again with your forehead against his.

You woke up few hours later due to the feeling of Jisung’s fingers delicately brushing few strand of your hair away from your face, his eyes burning into yours from up close. During sleep, you managed to intertwine your hands, and neither of you tried to move from the contact now that you were both fully awake.

«Jisung?» you mumbled, and he hummed in response. «Why did you say we were lucky to be alive?» you saw his eyes soften, and his hand reached out to gently caress your cheek.

«You and I are mates,» he explained, «if one of us dies, so does the other.» Jisung’s voice made your heart sank in realization that you unknowingly almost killed your mate and, feeling your emotions, he re-adjusted your positions so that he could hug you close to his body.

«I’m sorry it took us a while to come and get you but, everything is going to be okay, now. We’re together.»

You quickly adjusted to your new life. First of all, you were happy you could use magic once again, and consequently, to finally have friends with the same gift you had.

The pack welcomed you, but they simply acted as you had always been there, nothing changed in their routine, neither in yours, and you felt home and safe with them accepting you so easily and making you feel one of the family. Jisung was the goofiest and most caring mate you could ever have. His loud personality always made you feel at ease, and so did his natural desire for contact and skinship. Despite the two of you acting like a lovesick couple for the whole day, you and Jisung shared your first kiss a month after your arrival.

Due to what happened, he spent the day walking you around the woods, both in his human and wolf form, showing you that there was no more reason to be afraid, since the hunter had been taken care of and from now on, he would have been there to protect you.

And so, your first kiss was shared under an old oak tree, after you’ve been playing hide and seek all afternoon, and finally, you felt one with the nature and you were no more afraid of the dangers that it could hide.

«Found you!» you excitedly jumped in Jisung’s arms, which held you up immediately, his hold unwavering.

Jisung chuckled. «You did, again.» you inched down, closing the space between you and capturing Jisung’s lips in a soft kiss. Effortlessly keeping you up with his right arm, his left hand reached up to tenderly cup your jaw, gently angling your head to have a better access to deepen the kiss. You kissed him back with equal fervour, feeling as your souls were now connected at a whole, different level.

Eventually, Jisung carefully laid you down on the soft grass, peppering your body with sweet kisses as you made love under an old oak tree, shielding you from indiscreet eyes, as you were lost in each other’s touch. Jisung’s hands and the promised of undying love he whispered against your skin made you feel like you were on fire, as you both tried to adapt to the new sensation of completeness that inevitably came as your bodies rocked and grinded together, chasing your release while tightly intertwining your hands together. Jisung’s left hand intertwined with yours and his right hand cupped your jaw once again to kiss you as you came together, absorbing each other’s moans with a tender kiss, your left hand hanging loosely around his right wrist.

«I think I really love you,» Jisung mumbled in the crook of your neck as you both shared the bliss of your post orgasm state, and you felt your heart soar. «And I’m really glad you found me.»

«I love you, too.» you mumbled back, feeling Jisung’s hammering heartbeat right against your skin, «And I’m really glad you found me right back.»

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

↳ BACK TO NAVIGATION 💫 ↳ BACK TO MASTERLIST 🔮

[star-anise]

Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART FOUR

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, kidnapping, angst, blood, 141 are still mean pirates ): kind of, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

There were no ifs, ands, or buts about sleeping arrangements. Price, the Captain that he was, would have it his way, and his way was keeping you secured in the stuffiness of his own quarters.

It was uncomfortable, the way you shared the bed with him. He was a large man, much larger than you, and his bed only had so much space to fit the two of you. In the midst of the nights, you’d feel his leg brush against yours, or feel the soft rumble of his quiet snores from where he laid beside you.

It was far from ideal. As much as you hated it, it was an upgrade from your cell down in the brig. Price’s bed was softer, more plush, and it sank you in every time you slept on it. The situation was no better, but it wasn’t any worse, either.

The downside, though, was that you were just as much a prisoner as you were in the cell. Price made it known that you weren’t to leave his quarters under any circumstance.

They brought you meals in rotations. Sometimes Soap would show, cracking a horrible joke that left you rolling your eyes. Or sometimes it’d be Gaz, who hardly spared you a word of conversation, though you could see the faint glimpse of pity in his eye.

Then there was Ghost. A pure enigma, darkened by shadowy demons that were hidden beneath his mask. He never uttered a word to you, nor looked at you. He did his bidding by slapping down a bowl of poorly made stew and immediately making his exit before you could get a single word in.

Price wouldn’t bring you your meals, though you convinced yourself it was because he was avoiding you. You thought his original plan of having you sleep in his quarters would be for something diabolical and sinful, yet he made no effort to touch you nor get to know you. It was nice, knowing he wasn’t there to do things against your will, but it was also confusing, wondering what his real plan was for you.

It was as if sleeping with a wall, which you weren’t sure whether to be grateful or not. These men were far from people you wanted to be a part of, but the desire for a friend was beginning to outweigh your spite.

You were an outcast aboard this ship. Secluded from the world, and isolated from the only people you were surrounded by. It was a dreadfully lonely life to be living. Your only friend was the sea, and even that was something you were torn away from, locked away in the quarters with only a small window to offer a view of it.

The door of Price’s quarters barged open, disrupting you from your woe. None of them ever bothered to knock. They were savages, bred with no proper manners in the presence of a woman. But really, you weren’t a woman to them. You were labor. An inconvenience.

“Get up,” Ghost grumbled from his stand in the doorway, hand knuckling the rusty knob. “Goin’ shoppin’.”

“We’re on land?” you asked, standing from Price’s cot. Ghost grunted in response. “And I’m to… join you?”

“You need supplies, don’t you?” he gruffed, eyes narrowing in on you. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

The door abruptly slammed shut, leaving you alone in the quarters once again.

Land? They were allowing you to join them on their journey to land, to aid you in getting supplies necessary to work as a proper medic? It seemed surreal, yet bittersweet.

Gaining new supplies set your position on their crew in stone. They intended to keep you as theirs, and only trusted you enough to let you get off of the ship under their watch.

Yet, you’d be able to feel the grass between your toes once again. To feel the summer sun soaking in your skin, to hear the chatter of villagers fill your ears. You’d feel the liveliness of people apart from these heartless, savage pirates.

You’d be able to escape.

If you remained clever, you could leave the hands of Captain Price and create a new life far from their ship. This was your one and only opportunity to venture towards the life you always wanted for yourself.

You appeared as neutral as ever when you left the quarters to join the four men where they stood, clearly speaking amongst each other. You couldn’t show the rushing adrenaline coursing through you, not if you wanted to get away alive.

“Ach, there ye are, dove,” Soap huffed in annoyance, grabbing hold of your bicep to surge you towards him. You collided with his side, knocking the air out of your lungs. “Yer with me.”

“Stick with Soap,” Price ordered. His glare sent chills down your spine. “You are to get what you need under his watch. Try anythin’ funny and he won’t be so kind with you.”

“She’s fine, Cap, no need to worry. She won’t do anythin’ silly. Ain’t that right, dove?” Soap beamed, a touch of crazy leering down at you.

The plan in your head was beginning to feel too soon and too dangerous. You could only swallow nervously, giving a firm nod in return before they helped guide you off of the ship.

The town was lively around you. It was nothing like your home. Where you had grown with the quiet chirps of nature and gentle conversation, you were now greeted with an angry bustle of rushing townsfolk, brushing past you as if you were a ghost.

You felt out of touch with your surroundings. Others were dressed in fresh fabrics, altered to their frame. The women were pretty, hair unmatted and braided to frame their lovely faces while the men were covered from head to toe with the finest of coats.

Not all were as fortunate. There were a select few you caught glimpses of as you passed who were as dirty as you were, shoeless and hopeless. Begging for scraps of food or cheap coins, only to be spat on like the scum of the Earth.

You were no different. Next to Soap, you looked like a helpless, little mouse with dirty bags of fabric that fell loosely on your body, with your feet blackened from the lack of cover. It was utterly humiliating.

Soap kept a solid grip on your arm as he led you through the heaps of shoppers. He kept his eyes forward, scoping out any possible threat. You could see the hardwired focus geared in his brain, as if working on pure muscle memory.

“Pretty neat of a place, aye?” Soap asked, attempting small talk. He glanced over at you, wearing that boyish grin of his.

“It’s wonderful,” you replied, taking in the sights.

You meant it. Shops lined every corner of the dirt paths, windows displaying pretty dresses or tailored suits. Where you expected the town to look depressing, you found color, filling you with a warm dose of serenity.

This was a town you could grow to love. It was busy and loud, but the opportunity seeped out through every corner, calling your name. Your freedom rang out like a bell, offering you a place for your dreams to come true.

You had to escape if you truly wanted it. Your plan would have to unfold, even if it meant being patient.

“Yer bound to see a whole lot more towns better than this one, dove,” Soap boasted, grinning with pride. “Ye will grow to accept us one day.”

You stared up at Soap while the two of you walked. It was a shame, really, that he was the only one decently kind to you. Kind was far too generous of a word to describe any of these men, but it was the closest thing to what Soap was being towards you.

He was still a pirate, though.

“I am not so sure of that,” you confessed, unsure of why you did.

“Ach, ye will. The rest are secretly a bunch of softies,” he claimed, waving a dismissive hand. “We’re still human even if we’re pirates.”

“You’ve kidnapped me,” you stated.

“Mm. Yes.”

“You burned down my home,” you continued.

“Perhaps.”

“You killed my people,” you finished.

“You know nothin’ of what we do, dove. How about we keep shoppin’ for ye and stop worryin’ about the past?” Soap asked, not unkindly. He was surprisingly composed despite your accusations.

You stared at him for a moment longer before looking away. There was no point in arguing when the plan was to escape the moment you had the chance. Today would be the last day you’d ever have to converse with Soap and his men, if you played your cards right.

“You’re right,” you said quietly. “I apologize.”

“There ye go, dove.” Soap returned to smiling, giving a mocking pinch to your grimy cheek. “Now, what all do ye need?”

Soap made escape increasingly difficult. His hand remained secure around your arm for every shop you went in, keeping you by his side. It was as if he had a secret sense that let him know of your plans. Or perhaps he was following Price’s orders.

He stuck with you with every purchase. You gathered herbs, freshly made medicines, and a new book and quill to jot down notes in a journal. Soap allowed you the pleasure of collecting expensive items, unwavered by the prices.

He paid for them in gold, little round coins he’d slap on to the counter and leave behind without waiting for the shop tenant to gawk at such a rare sight of payment.

It wasn’t until you passed a clothing shop did he falter. His steps had stopped, eyes peering into the window. You stopped with him, dissecting his reaction.

“Sorry, dove. Makin’ a stop for myself,” he stated, tugging you into the shop. To your surprise, he let go of your arm, leaving you standing near the entrance. “Stay put. I’m trustin’ ye, so don’t make me regret it, aye?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gave him a nod. He threw you a beaming smile before stalking off into the store, disappearing just out of sight. You remained firm in place, hands clasping in front of you.

The pit in your stomach twisted from the nerves that wracked you. This was your moment, your only chance of escape. If you didn’t take it now, you may never be lucky enough for another one.

As if fate was sealing itself, your eyes caught sight of a group of guards walking past the store, wooden rifles at the ready on their shoulders. They were speaking amongst themselves, oblivious to your inner turmoil from where you stood in the entrance of the shop.

A quick glance behind you showed that Soap was still occupied, unbeknownst to your plan. You could only see the top of his head, the messy mohawk sticking out like a sore thumb.

With the opportunity in front of you, you took it.

You moved slowly at first. Unsure, cautious. But once you made it out of the shop with Soap realizing, you amped your speed. Your dirty bare feet clambered clumsily along the dusty streets, digging into the little pebbles that littered them.

The dull sting of pain as you sprinted to the guards was disregarded. It was nothing compared to the ache of freedom you desired.

“Hello!” you shouted, garnering their attention. They turned, eyeing you with a judgmental glint at the state of you. “Please, I need help!”

“What can we do for you?” one of the guards asked, suspicious. His eyes were set on your feet, which were caked with months of filth. “A lass like you shouldn’t be out without a chaperone.”

“You don’t understand,” you gasped, catching your breath from the anxiety that rattled you like a drum. “I’ve been kidnapped by— by pirates and I’ve only just escaped. Please, I need your help, or they will take me back.”

“Pirates?” The guards perked up, glancing between one another as if sharing a secret you were unaware of. “How many pirates, lass?”

“Four,” you explained. “The Captain— his name is John Price. He is the one that took me from my village and I have been imprisoned on his ship for so long, I do not recall the days. Will you help me?”

You were frantic. Desperate. It showed in the way your voice shook, the way your frame shivered with nerves.

“It is not,” Guard Two said to his companion.

“It is,” Guard One said, the one who had spoken to you first. This time, they spoke to one another rather than to you, as if you were invisible. “There is only one Captain Price. It is 141.”

Guard Two looked over at you, face set firm. His eyes were piercing and cold, and it made you shrink down into yourself. They were not welcoming or kind like you expected a guard’s to be.

Guard One fumbled in the pocket of his britches before pulling out an aged paper. On it were the faces of the pirates with the exception of Ghost, covered by his signature mask. All of them were plastered on the page with a bounty over their heads, as well as a promise of exile for their arrest.

Execution. The pirates would be executed publicly if they were caught. The punishment was inked in bold letters beneath their pictures, and each letter was taunting you with the blood that would be spilled on your hands for turning them in.

An unsettling guilt began to gnaw at you. You were unsure of why. Captain Price and his crew had stolen you from your home and made you their medic. They had you sleeping in a cell for nights uncounted, eating slop out of a bowl like a dog.

Yet, to kill them was much too burdening on you. They were mean, heartless, and unworthy. Yet, death was unkind. You were not so shallow.

“Is this what they look like?” Guard One asked, holding the paper in front of you. It was undoubtedly them, down to every detail.

“Yes,” you confirmed, though not as confidently as before. There was now a weight in your tone, as if holding back. “Yes, that’s them. You— you will kill them once you find them?”

Guard Two laughed, though it was bone chilling. There wasn’t a hint of warmth in it, only distaste and rage. “Of course. They’re to be hanged for their crimes. They are savages.”

He took a step closer to you, leaning down to your level. His aura was threatening, and you could feel yourself cowering away. “You must tell us where they are at once. We will help you once we have captured them.”

You took a step back, deflating. Everything within you told you that you made a mistake. If you went through with exposing their whereabouts and having them captured, their deaths would be because of you. You would be a murderer.

“I—“ You swallowed, clenching your clammy hands into nervous fists. “I do not know where they’ve gone. I ran away as soon as I could.”

“Not a problem,” Guard One gruffed, taking hold of your arm, just as Soap had done before. Now, more than ever, a part of you wished it was Soap rather than the guard. “You will guide us to their ship.”

“Please let go of me,” you murmured brokenly, covering the guard’s hand with your own to pry his fingers off. They didn’t budge. “Please.”

Your pleas were shadowed by their greed. You recognized the look in their eyes, and it scared you to the bone.

Bloodthirst. They were hungry to capture the pirates, hungry to be the ones to guide them to their impending death. It was not about helping you. It was about the handsome reward they would receive for turning in the most wanted criminals of the sea.

You began to panic. The air in your lungs felt weak, and you could feel the world around you closing in.

This was not the outcome you wanted. You simply wanted your freedom, yet it would come with a cost that you weren’t sure you could afford.

You did the only thing you could think of doing. Your fist collided with the guard’s face with a nasty crunch, causing blood to spew from his nose like a spout. It speckled on your dirty cheeks, tainting them further.

The guard let out a shout, releasing your arm. When his companion attempted to make a grab for you, you bolted, legs carrying you back to the shop Soap had been left in.

Chaos ensued from behind you. You could hear the clamber of guards, racing after you, yelling profanities in the air. The townsfolk stopped to observe, women placing their hands over their mouths in bewilderment, men torn between watching or intervening.

It was a commotion you never planned on starting, and now, all eyes were on you.

Soap came into sight from in front of the store. He looked focused and angry, eyebrows pulled together, jaw set taut. When he locked in on you as well as the guards behind you, there was no relief. His eyes were as intense as the guards had been, if not more.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed pathetically, but he gave you no chance to pause your running.

Soap grabbed your hand in his, lugging you along the dirt paths. He swerved the streets, pulling your arm harder every time you fell behind. You struggled to keep up, spots of blood dotting the ground beneath you from the newly open wounds from pebbles that sliced open the soles of your feet.

You were pulled into a narrow alleyway with Soap, out of sight from the guards. Soap’s large hand shoved your head, urging you to crouch down behind a row of barrels that crowded the alley.

Your heart was nearly lurching out of your chest from your hiding space. Pounding footsteps raced past the alley, a cloud of dust filling the air and burning your nose. Voices could be heard shouting nearby, but not close enough for you to make out what they were saying.

Soap and you stayed put, his hand muffling your mouth, body smothering yours. He held his breath, ears listening in for the guards.

After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps grew farther away, voices fading into the wind.

“I trusted ye to stay put, dove,” Soap whispered, voice full of anger and betrayal. “I’ve been nice to ye. Why couldn’t ye just stay like I told ye?”

You whimpered into his hand, low and depressing. You felt defeated. Your fate was undetermined more than ever before, and you feared what the pirates would truly do to you now that you went against their word.

“C’mon,” he huffed, letting go of you and standing from behind the barrels. He grabbed hold of your arm, hauling you up and keeping you in his grip.

Soap crept the two of you through the town, slipping through every crack in the buildings to remain unseen. If people saw you, they remained silent, fearful of the pirate amidst their town.

The closer the two of you got to the ship, the more your heart sunk to your stomach. You were wracked with terror, horrified of the punishment you’d endure. The only thing you could do is let Soap string you along like a puppy on a leash.

“We need to go,” Soap barked at Price. The other men had long returned from their shopping, only awaiting your arrival with Soap. “Now.”

Gaz fluttered away without question, preparing to undock the ship and leave no trail in the town behind. Price and Ghost, on the other hand, were far more concerned.

“What the hell happened?” Ghost asked, voice gruff and dark, eyes narrowed on you.

“Dove tried rattin’ us out,” Soap hissed, throwing a glare your way. You shrunk in his hold, avoiding his eyes and bowing your head low. “Guards are lookin’ high and low. They know we’re here.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost grunted, leaving the three of you to aid Gaz in prepping the ship for sail. He walked with a looming shadow over him, black and scary, oozing out the mist of pure acrimony.

Price stood tall and terrifying, arms crossed over his chest, the lines of his face firm and tight. He stared at you with a guise of disappointment and resentment, and if looks could kill, you would surely be one of their many victims.

The Captain took a step towards you, leaning down to your height. His hand grabbed hold of your face, fingers digging into your flesh as he forced you to look at him. His eyes were glaring, stabbing you with millions of daggers.

He shifted your head from side to side, inspecting the specks of blood that dotted your face. He was silent, making everything much more unnerving, and when he let go of you, he spared you not another glance.

“Take her to the cell,” Price ordered Soap. “We’ll deal with it later.”

Soap nodded grimly, tugging your arm aggressively so he could guide you to the brig doors. The sight of them made you sick, and you fought in his hold, which did nothing but make you look like a fool.

“Stop squirmin’,” he hissed, irritated. Seeing him without his signature smile made your chest fill with sickening guilt, and it twisted your insides in a painful knot.

The cell welcomed you when you stepped down familiar stairs. It was a slap in the face, seeing it once again, and you wanted nothing more than to take back everything you’d done and apologize to Price until he let you back into the comfort of his quarters.

But there was no going back. The deed was done. This was your price for freedom, and before it was handed to you, it had been snatched right out of your hands.

Soap shoved you into the cell with enough force to ensure you went inside, but gentle enough to make sure you didn’t topple over. Even now, when you’d betrayed his trust, he didn’t aim to hurt you. The pill was suffocating to swallow.

The cell shutting behind you rattled through your ears like a deafening shriek. The lock clicked, and Soap made no effort to move, not yet. Instead, he stood there, eyes boring into you through the bars of your cage.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. So, you stood shamefully, staring at the floor beneath your aching feet.

Something clattered on the floor, and when you shifted your gaze to find it, what stared back at you was a pair of shoes. New, unworn, and pretty. For you.

Looking up at Soap, his expression was unreadable. He no longer looked at you. He seemed just ashamed as you did. It was as if all the anger he had before had diminished, and he now looked like a hurt boy, betrayed and ridiculed.

“I hope they fit,” he said quietly. While you stared at him, he was now the one avoiding looking at you. “Didn’t know what ye liked.”

Soap turned on his heel, trudging up the stairs with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He made no effort to look back at you, to study your stunned expression. Instead, what greeted you was his back as it filtered through the brig doors, shutting behind him with a loud slam.

You looked back at the shoes, careful when you picked them up. They were bland in taste, yet the prettiest thing you’d been gifted in your life.

Soap trusted you to stay while he went to surprise you with a new pair of shoes, and you had only gone behind his back out of fear of his pirate crew that had taken you from your home.

You felt no better than a pirate.

[pwippy]

sua's such an under analyzed character but her mentality and presentation is really interesting!! to others (besides mizi), she appears reserved (very demure. very mindful) / cold but she's genuinely going through constant inner turmoil.

growing up, she was literally used as a commodity by her guardian. she's bullied by her sisters for being the guardian nigeh's favorite, but it's really only because she makes the most money. even after death, her guardian doesn't care that sua's gone, they're more concerned with the popularity and revenue that her fandom brings.

to the segyein, sua's essentially a doll and an ideal pet human. she's a top student at anakt, aka she sticks to a routine and acts easily brainwashed. when asked about her study habits, she just says "it's not really that hard... you just have to memorize what they teach you."

her objectification by others strips her of her identity and livelihood. it definitely plagues her perception of self worth/value, and manifests in her behavior (being quiet/not taking up much space, jealousy, apologizing often, being defensive - more on that later)

^ i think this whisper sums up her situation pretty well. her circumstances and the way she presents herself affects her relationships in anakt a ton if that makes sense ?

when sua meets mizi, such a vibrant, lively, and loving person, her focus and dare i say will to live completely shifts to mizi. in mizi's eyes, sua is seen as mizi's soulmate, someone she'll be with forever. someone who's always there for her. synergyyyy

although sua's feelings are mutual, she carries a level of self doubt and anxiety with her. sua believed her love for mizi would harm her in the end. she's stated before (EXPLICITLY) that she would die for mizi, and she does end up doing this in the form of sacrifice in round 1.

it's almost as if sua feels guilty for loving mizi. she knows they're doomed, and with their limited time, why should she be focused on? is it selfish of her to not tell mizi of their inevitable fate to live in their dream a little longer?

^ the lyrics of sweet dream can also serve as her mentality and point of view leading up to alien stage. she knows the idyllic world she's in is temporary, knowing her end is imminent yet praying to be saved.

although mizi views sua in a tinted lens, the other characters do not. at least, not in the affectionate sense. to till, sua's demeanor is offputting and uncomfortable

to ivan, he sees straight through to suas actions and (maybe unintentionally but i doubt it) exacerbates her doubts. he has his own events going on and genuinely does seem to want to be close to sua (graduation message + human relationship rating) but interacts in a way that makes her feel threatened. (in addition "he keeps crossing the line" in the relationship chart)

to the outside viewer its interesting to note sua often pulls mizi away from people. she pulls mizi away from ivan, and pulls mizi's attention from till to her in a short act of jealousy.

[superbat-love]

Clark: Uh, hi Bruce.

Bruce: Hey.

Damian: Are you two going to stare at each other forever? Because it’s getting awfully cold out here.

Clark: [clears his throat] I brought your son over. I think you left him behind at the zoo.

Bruce: Yes, sorry about that. I have Jon here, I mistook him for Damian. I’ve been meaning to drive him back to Metropolis, but you saved me a trip. Thanks.

Jon: Alfred gave me a huge bowl of chocolate ice-cream, dad! It was sooo good!

Clark: Thanks for looking after Jon. Well Damian, I’m glad to have met you again, even if it wasn’t exactly under ideal circumstances.

Bruce: What did he do?

Damian: Nothing! It was the stupid zookeeper’s fault.

Bruce: Damian…

Damian: The zookeeper’s still alive, okay? The monkey would have been happier here anyway.

Bruce: Damian, I told you to stop bringing home random animals. Don’t think I don’t know about the cow you’ve been hiding in your bedroom.

Jon: You have a cow?

Damian: Yeah! Her name is Bat-Cow. Do you want to meet her?

Jon: Wow, I wanna see her! Can I dad?

Clark: Um, sure, if it’s not a problem for you, Bruce?

Bruce: Go ahead. [Watches Damian pull Jon to his room] God, why did I decide to have kids?

Alfred: You have eight, sir. It’s a little too late to be having regrets now. [turns to Clark] Forgive us for our lack of manners, Mr Kent. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?

Superbat Family Fics