#what the fuck ever I never matter to anyone

[swordandscytheandpen]

You really, really don't need to be cheerleading Disney and Universal here. It honestly doesn't matter how much you dislike AI art — if the court rules in favor of the corporations, the implicit expansion of copyright law will do a million times more harm to the arts than fucking Midjourney ever could.

Like. There is no definition of copyright that does not permit AI training, but does permit fanworks. The latter is much more clearly derivative than the former. You do fanart? Fanfic? Disney's pointing a gun squarely at your head and you're cheering because it might hit the AI artists behind you too.

And beyond that, do you know what happens to AI generation if Disney/Universal win this? They aren't opposed to the technology in principle! They'll be able to use their exclusive rights to a vast corpus of art to make their own AI, for their own purposes. Who does this help? Companies who want to reduce employment costs and disenfranchise the working artist. Who does this hurt? Well, it hurts independent AI users. Congrats, your anxiety over commission prices is gone now, not that it was well-founded to begin with. It also hurts anyone who wants to make use of fair use doctrine forever, so I hope none of what you were selling was fanart of copyrighted characters.

I've never made a secret of being rather more open to generative AI as a technology than most people in these online spheres. But for fuck's sake, you really don't need to like AI to realize that this lawsuit's success would be a terrible thing to happen to art! If you've found yourself on the same side as Disney, that should be a clue that you might wanna review your thinking!

[chicagomoonlight]

I don't think it's straight up bigotry. I really don't. I think there's nuance and I think there are people SO EXHAUSTED by all the world's problems that they're no longer policing their language to please anyone so colloquial use is coming back to the forefront.

Here's my train of thought:

We need another word for "dumb as fuck" that has the same potency of "were you dropped on your head as a child?" Tom Segura has a bit about this; about how "we never said it THAT way. We never were like, 'Look, there goes one!'" There's a generational interpretation, usually late gen x-ers and elder millennials, and a small subset WITHIN THEM who recognize the slur if it's INTENDED as a slur but still felt okay enough with the colloquial use of "that's r-worded" or "am I being r-worded about this?" to mean "dumber than stupid" but also "maybe my brain isn't working right regarding this situation." And they stopped using it for a long time because other people threw a fit about it. And now they're older and no longer care about what other people think so it's coming back because it encapsulates "dumb as fuck" without cursing and also implies maybe something in the brain isn't functioning quite right. And the INTENT isn't "HEY, FUCK YOU, MENTALLY DISABLED HUMAN" nor is it even being directed at someone who is. I think that "de-slur-ify"s it in their minds.

Very similar to how artists are STILL sometimes described as having a g*psy lifestyle. No one is saying "FUCK THE ROMANI PEOPLE" when they describe someone that way, but there isn't another term for "forced to be nomadic, peddling my wares or my craft, and people judge the lifestyle so we find and protect our own every time we go to the next town/gig."

I personally don't use it because it's not worth the upset to me but I GET why people I know are dropping it now and then (also, I don't know that it ever "went away" in Boston). It conveys a certain attitude with a certain amount of punch that is hard to otherwise achieve. But I'm also one of those "INTENT MATTERS" people because I think everything is and can be nuanced. If someone says "You're such a fucking r-word" or "look at that r-word over there" YEAH, THAT'S A FUCKING SLUR, don't talk like that. But if someone says, "the DMV is making me go to the clerk's office to get a new birth certificate because mine is too creased for their machine-reader and my passport expires in 10 days so they can't accept that either to renew my license? That's r-worded." I get it. I feel that. I understand that feeling. I understand the intent. No one is trying to attack the disabled in their commentary on the DMV.

So... If language evolves... And people still think that 2nd scenario is offensive... Then I think we need a new word. Or intent needs to matter and it's understood that it's not always being used to attack a vulnerable group. Either way.

Unless I've had a VERY different experience and people really ARE using it as a way to talk about the disabled, in which case, ignore everything, FUCK THEM - THAT'S BULLSHIT.

The thing about the r slur is that people who are using it again are indeed using it as a slur. This isn't a word that is being reclaimed. This is a word that is once again being used 100% as a slur. You're being a bigot if you're using it against others. Straight up. There isn't another argument to be made. Knock it tf off.

[jarofstyles]

okay so idk how to articulate it but the trope is crime boss/mafia harry x nurse y/n and the emotions would be guilt, passion and angst. Y/n somehow got mixed up in Harry’s world and now he feels bad for getting her involved unintentionally

YES! Give it to me right now (I say as I am the one who has to write it) I loved writing this actually. Perhaps future full length! We will see

Check out our Patreon!

Warnings- injury, violence, all the organized crime stuff, angsty, ‘I’ll kill anyone who touches you’, mention of murder, blood, guns, etc

Harry had never felt more sick over seeing an injury in his life.

He’d seen brain matter splattered against walls from bullets he’d shot, fingers he’d cut off of people himself- an ear once-, he’d stabbed someone and twisted the knife, or gone for the throat with the spray of blood. None of them had enraged him more than the one he was looking at.

“And which one of you dumb fucks let her out of your sight?” He asked, level but angry. Cold. Dangerous. Killing calm, for the people who knew him. Seeing the girl he’d recruited to help with injuries sitting in the back of one of his warehouses, pressure applied to her arm with gauze, he could barely look at her without feeling that beginning of a spiral. He should have known better than to bring her anywhere close to this, but he was greedy. Selfish. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind.

Bringing her into the fold was meant to be all benefit. He’d have a nurse on call, and he’d be able to be close to her. It would make sense. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Is no one going to answer me?” Tilting his head, he looked around to try and read the room. See who looked the guiltiest.

“Harry-“ Y/N attempted, her sweet voice cutting through the evil running rampant through his brain. He didn’t deserve her in the slightest, he shouldn’t have any access to her at all, but he still couldn’t let her go.

“It’s okay.” He looked at her. “They’ll tell me. Because they know what will happen if they don’t.” It was a little unsettling, feeling bloodthirsty in this way. “I know who was supposed to be back here. My question is, how did anyone get far enough into this warehouse to get at her? How would they even know where her office was?”

Harry knew he hadn’t been subtle about his affections for the nurse, but he hadn’t expected a rat. Hadn’t ever fathomed that one of his own would leave a window for this. “Still no talkers?” He shook his head, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fine.” It was a shame that he’d need to get rid of all of the team he’d left here. It would be a bitch to replace them. But no one speaking up meant there was loyalty to the rat, and he wasn’t going to deal with it. “Mitchell, Adam, Greg- escort the team that was here to the back. We’ll talk more later.”

He couldn’t let her see him like that. He had half a mind to put bullets between each one of their eyes in this current moment, but he had to settle for later. His concern was the girl sitting on the worn in couch in the back. Weakness showing be damned.

Trying to level himself out, he made his way towards her as he heard the team arguing with his main group to try and get out of it but he blocked it out for her. A single tear slipped down her cheek and he had temptation flaring in his stomach to go and do as he had impulsively chosen to do, but instead he leveled his temper to care for her.

“Hi, darling.” He mumbled, a sad strained smile gracing his lips. “Let’s clean you up, hm?” It was ironic and he knew that, being the one to guide her to the sink to rinse her own injury, but he wasn’t going to make her tend to her own wound. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

It was an understatement. He’d promised she would be safe, out of the crossfire- she should have been- but this was unforeseen circumstances. It did his control issues little good.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N mumbled, wincing a tiny bit as he patted the tender injury dry. It wouldn’t need stitches, he didn’t think- but he would think it would do her well to glue it. That’s what she had said about his injury when it had looked about the same. His stomach twisted at the look of it, but even more so that it had happened under his watch.

“You don’t have a singular fucking thing to apologize for.” He grunted, shaking his head at her. “You didn’t harm yourself. You were supposed to be protected. That’s my fault. I didn’t have as good of a handle on this group and that is an oversight that will be taken care of swiftly.”

“You’re going to kill them?” Her question was calm, though her face looked slightly green at the idea of it. She was too good for this world and Harry was too selfish to let her out of it. In fact, he wanted to pull her deeper in it. So deep that she was firmly wrapped up in him and unable to wriggle away so she wouldn’t get hurt again.

But he doubted she would take well to being akin to Rapunzel in her golden tower. His tower would be opulent, sure, but suffocating. Harry was known for being possessive over the things he held dear, and she had quickly become one.

He could lie to her and ease her mind, but that would do her no good. Harry lied to the feds, he lied to his enemies, he lied so well that people wouldn’t be able to tell even if they were highly trained- but he didn’t want to lie to her. “Yes.” The reply was simple as he caught her eyes. “And I won’t regret it, because they betrayed me- and you. They let you get hurt because they knew it would upset me.”

“But why?” She asked, voice small and confused. It stung a little bit, the little shards of skin left of his heart that hadn’t hardened bringing doused in alcohol. It made sense considering she didn’t know how much she took up of his mind, but still.

“Because I’ve grown quite fond of you, Y/N.” A wry smile hurt his lips as he squeezed ever so tenderly over her wound to apply pressure. “So they allowed you to get hurt.”

[croquettish]

so Hans falls in love with Henry no matter what happens?? whether Henry is cruel or doesnt reciprocate? You can throw him under the bus and say its all Hans fault in front of Hanush and Radzig and Hans will still fall in love??????? Someone can make a Worst Boyfriend Ever playthrough??????????

Okay HEAR ME OUT.

We've talked a good bit about Hans' love language of gift giving but very rarely does the love language we turn to echo the one we ourselves value the most. And for Hans that love language is acts of service.

Henry chooses Hans. No matter what he says to demean him or mock him or what have you, at the end of the day he always chooses Hans. He always gets him out of the myriad situations he gets himself into, always rescues him, always stands by him, and always forgives him when he fucks up. He always puts Hans first but not in the way that other people do. There's no sucking up here. Recall, if you will, that if you do pick all the mean options with Hans in KCD1, you gain rep with him. There's something to be said here about Hans and his low self-esteem, but I think it's more to do with the fact that Henry is willing to look at him and treat him as an equal. And when it comes down to it, he's always in his corner, especially when Hans needs him most. When other people would not be there for him.

Recall how angry he got about Jobst telling Henry to just let Hans sit and spin in his gilded cage. Consider also that he answered Henry's rescue of him (an act of service) with his own love language (stealing the bow and then gifting it to Henry).

It's also the love language that he most wishes he could show Henry. But it's not his place. He was raised with the idea in mind that he's not supposed to be doing acts of service for anyone else, that he's only allowed to receive him. And yet we see his frustration in their romance about how dammit, why can't he show Henry his affection with the love language that he values most highly? Why is that denied to him over and over again?

In Henry, he sees the thing he values the most and wishes he could be for Henry in turn. Even if Henry isn't his to love at the end of the day, those qualities never go away. Henry is still that person. How could he not fall in love with him?

[vandme12]

Ronin x Reader, where ronin puts on a personal show (Hehe, a LIL murder in alleyway) for reader because they need inspiration?

TW : BLOOD, GORE

Beauty of Rot, Beauty of Him - Ronin x Reader

You were dumb.

Like, really dumb.

"Hey, can anyone with experience killing someone with a crowbar DM me?? it’s really important!! tysm."

You posted that. On a dark web board. Like some beginner in need of a walkthrough.

An ask for how to kill a person. With a crowbar.

And as it turns out? The best fucking mistake you ever made.

Error: UNKNOWN. Error: Not So Unknown Now. Error: You Got a Boyfriend Out of It.

Because someone did message back.

Not just someone. The Butcher. Your Butcher. Now your boyfriend. Rotten God of Uptown’s back alleys, crowned in cartilage and martyrdom, crowned in blood.

They say he gores people like he’s stringing violins from intestines, splashes the brickwork with bone-shards and sin. Swings that crowbar like a conductor, splatters skull into halo, makes murder into gospel.

And now? He’s yours.

You still remember when he dropped a key into your DMs like it was a gift from the Devil himself — well, maybe it was. A server. A red room. A laugh.

Don’t be so Obvious smh you’re Gonna Get Caught — that’s what he said. Right before giving you access to a Discord/j full of serial killers.

Butchered usernames. Gutted profile pics. Everyone trying to one-up each other in filth and finesse. You, though? You got something better. You got Ronin.

It’s been ten months since that fateful crowbar moment. Ten months of selfies Ten months of late-night convos about blood viscosity. Ten months of soft-spoken I love yous whispered between ruptured lung sacs.

Romance is bleeding. And your boy wants to treat you.

No dinner. Just a murder.

goreboy: hopin to see ya darlin

You feel it in your bones — not fear, not nausea. Anticipation.

Your own personal red room. You joked about it once — and Now, he's gonna put on a show.

You don’t know who the target is. Might be a monster. Might be some guy who cuts lines at the bank's Ronin never tells you until the blood’s already pooling.

That’s part of the fun. Inspiration on impact.

You're wearing boots that can step through brain matter. You took a shower before this, which was stupid. You’ll be showering in blood anyway.

You turn the corner.

There he is. Leaning against the brick wall like some kind of death-dealing delinquent Cupid. Crowbar slung over his shoulder. Eyes bright, blackhole-shiny, grin split open across his face like a peeled fruit.

He’s all gore and glamor, all ruin and romance, a boy made of butcher cuts and fucked-up poetry.

"Heya, Darlin," he drawls, teeth white like an Angel's ruin

You smile. You’ve always been ready.

You DMed him first, obviously. No shame. No fear. Just that familiar static in your lungs, that high of being this close to something filthy.

you:

hey butcher boy u swingin that crowbar tonight or just compensating again

goreboy

oh look. it’s my favorite little freak. thought i smelled ink and desperation u comin or what? red carpet’s wet. might be brain. might be yours. let’s find out.

you:

damn do u flirt with all your victims like this or am i special

goreboy:

only the ones who write poetry about spinal cords and call me cute after i break a jaw sideways hurry up darlin. don’t keep the devil waitin.

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

Just:

EXECUTIONER: "come to Purgatory. tonight. bring whatever weird notebook shit u scribble in. I’ll give you something worth writing about." "devil says hi, btw.

"lil mean tonight. love that. keep talkin shit and i’ll carve your name in someone’s ribs. wanna see?"

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

—

You pack a bag.

Notebook

Pen

Knife (not to use. just in case.)

A dream.

You saw him before you really saw him.

The man—his prey, his canvas—was huddled near a dumpster, shaking like a leaf in acid rain. Eyes blown wide, lips parted in a silent scream, knees buckled in a prayer that wouldn’t be answered. Sweat clung to his brow. His hands were bound, taped in a trembling little bow, like a gift no one wanted to unwrap.

And then there was Ronin.

He wasn’t even touching him yet.

No, Ronin was pacing slow, crowbar dragging behind him like a leash, metal shrieking against the concrete just enough to set teeth on edge. His steps were too measured, too graceful—it was a dance. A fucked-up, symphonic ballet of menace.

He didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the scene. Just kept circling.

Like a shark in a kiddie pool.

"Oh God," the guy whimpered. "Please, man, I didn’t do anything—"

Ronin tilted his head, cracking his neck with a sickening pop. Still no words. Just a smile. That smile—the one that made your spine tighten and your thighs clench. Not out of fear. Not entirely.

You crept closer, notebook in hand, but the man saw you now—you, not Ronin—and his face twisted.

"You—you’re just standing there?! Help me! This guy’s insane!"

You blinked, like a deer caught in headlights made of raw meat.

"I’m with him," you said quietly. Then added, "Kind of a date."

The man screamed.

Ronin cackled.

"Fuck, Darlin.. he gasped between laughs. "You’re really gonna make me blush sayin’ sweet shit like that."

You felt your face heat up, but not with shame. Not even guilt. Just... thrill.

"You’re scaring the hell out of him," you muttered, crouching behind the safety of your notebook.

Ronin raised a brow, licking blood from the side of his thumb like frosting. "I am the hell. C’mon. Say that one again."

You scribbled, breath uneven. Quoting yourself like a freak. “You’re scaring the hell out of him.” Then added in shaky ink: He is the hell.

The victim whimpered louder, rocking side to side now, muttering prayers like they were protection spells. You honestly couldn’t blame him. You felt the tremble in your own bones too. But it wasn’t fear—it was awe. That knife-edge thrill of watching a master at work.

You looked up.

Ronin was closer now. He’d stopped circling and was crouched in front of the guy, crowbar in one hand, the other under the man’s chin, lifting it with casual gentleness. It was obscene, the contrast. Like a lover about to kiss.

"Tell me a story," Ronin whispered to him. "Tell me why your blood’s gonna be special."

The guy was sobbing now, babbling nonsense. Ronin leaned in closer. "No? Then I’ll tell you one."

He turned to you, eyes glinting.

"You wanna write this down, Darlin"

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.

Pen kissed page. And Ronin began.

"Once there was a man who liked to lie. Said he never hurt nobody. But lies?" He brought the crowbar up and rested it against the man’s cheek. "They rot the tongue. They rot the heart. I’m just the gardener."

CRACK.

You jumped.

The guy screamed. Blood bloomed across the bricks, painting the wall in fast, arterial strokes.

You’d never seen anything more horrifying. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

You wrote that down too.

Ronin didn’t stop—not for a while. He moved like a conductor, crowbar rising and falling to an unheard symphony. The victim’s screams grew hoarse, then wet, then stopped altogether. The sound of metal on bone filled the air like church bells.

By the end, it didn’t look like a body.

It looked like art.

Red. White. Pulp. A rose garden of gore.

Fuck the guy's still alive.

Ronin finally straightened, shirt soaked, crowbar slick. He looked sated. Not tired. High.

And then, impossibly—he turned to you. Soft.

"You alright?"

You stared at him. Then down at your notebook. At your handwriting—jagged, fast, shaking. At the sketches in the margins. At how much you’d written. How inspired you were.

He steps back into frame like it’s stage left. Wipes the smile off his face and puts on something worse—an expression that’s all serenity. Peaceful. Reverent. Like a man praying before he wrecks something holy.

And that poor fucker on the ground? He’s trembling so hard his bones might rattle apart. You wonder if he even knows what's coming. Or if Ronin’s already told him. Whispered it sweetly in that honeyed voice, dripping rot like nectar, how he was going to make him into something worth remembering.

Ronin lifts the crowbar.

Not like he’s about to kill a man.

Like he’s about to paint.

CLANG.

It smashes into the ground beside the guy’s ribs again—just a tease. A wet warning. You watch as blood speckles the concrete. Not even from the hit—just from the fear. He’s bleeding from the nose now. A stress rupture. Ronin looks delighted.

“There it goes,” he says softly, watching the crimson dribble down. “Like clockwork.”

You find yourself breathing harder.

And you’re writing.

You don’t even realize it at first, not consciously. The pen scratches across the page like it has its own mind:

“He doesn’t kill for fun. He kills for structure. For design. For detail.” “Each bruise has placement. Each scream has volume.” “He doesn’t kill people. He erases them, makes meaning of them.”

Ronin kneels again. Cups the guy’s chin like he’s posing a doll.

“Don’t pass out now,” he hums. “We ain’t hit the chorus yet.”

You whisper, half-joking, “Tell him it’s for art.”

Ronin doesn’t even glance your way this time. Just smiles wider.

“It’s for art,”

The scream that rips out is pure animal.

You flinch. And then—you don’t. Because it’s addictive. The sound of it. The feeling of being here.

Watching Ronin twist something alive into something raw. Something else.

You’re starting to wonder if this was always inside you. If it just needed the right person to peel the skin back and expose the nerves. You look down at your page.

You’ve drawn him.

Not the man on the floor. Ronin.

Sharp cheekbones. Bloody hands. Wide grin like a god with no church but his own red room. There’s a halo of crowbars around his head like a saint of carnage. And beneath it, you’ve scrawled:

“I think I love him.”

You almost laugh at yourself.

But you don’t tear the page out.

Ronin’s looking at you now. Not saying a word. Like he knows what you wrote. Like he could taste it through the air.

He stands slowly. The guy’s still breathing—barely. He’s not dead yet. You think Ronin’s waiting on you.

“Darlin’,” he says, voice slick with mirth and menace. “You wanna pick the finishin’ touch?”

Your breath catches. He’s offering you the last stroke.

You stare. You blink. You swallow.

Then you nod.

“Yeah.”

You don’t know what you’ll choose yet. But you know you’ll write about it after.

You’ll write all of it. Every inch of this living nightmare.

Because you were never the hero of this story.

You were just looking for a muse.

And you found him—in blood and concrete, in screaming men and the lullaby of breaking bone.

You found him.

Your devil. Your butcher. Your art.

At first, just to remember. A little scratch of ink, a reflection. Something poetic to keep the nausea away. But it didn’t stay poetic, not really. Your hand cramped from the speed, from the need, and the page bled black with words the way the floor bled red.

You weren’t just watching anymore. You were documenting. You were translating murder into metaphor. Gore into gospel.

“He paints with pain. That’s the medium.” “He composes screams like violin notes, each snap of the bone a crescendo.” “His hands aren't hands. They're brushes. He doesn’t kill. He curates.”

You glanced up from the notebook and saw it again—how Ronin tilted his head just before he struck, admiring the posture, the pleading, the panic.

And you got it.

The way the crowbar slid through air—how clean it sounded, the whistling hush before impact. The way he didn’t grunt or pant. Ronin didn’t labor. He moved like he was dancing, like his body already knew where the final stroke belonged.

“He kills with rhythm.” “He kills with grace.” “He doesn’t need a reason. The act is the art.”

You looked at the man he was killing—not the man. The canvas. The collapsed figure with his face bent inwards and his ribs shifting like a broken accordion. And somehow, some rotten part of you—

—you thought it was beautiful. You understood him. You thought, “This is how he loves.”

And still, you wrote.

“I saw the art.” “I saw the beauty.” “I saw how he kills.” “He kills like a lover—softly at first, with admiration. Then all at once, with devotion.”

Ronin turned to you again. Bloody, heaving, smiling.

“You writin’ sonnets over there, Darlin?” he asked, tilting his head as the body gave a last twitch behind him. “Wanna read me one when I’m done cleanin’?”

Your mouth was dry. You licked your lips.

“I’m trying to keep up.”

He laughed. Low and pleased and ruinous.

“Darlin, if you keep writing like that, you’re gonna make me fall for you all over again.”

You looked down.

Your notebook was nearly full.

It was done.

The body lay still, sunken into itself like it was praying to the wrong god and got exactly what it asked for. Blood pooled like a frame around the chaos. Art, in the Butcher’s gallery. A ruined masterpiece.

You closed your notebook with a little snap, pen still trembling between your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. Honest. Like someone just cooked for you, and you meant it.

Ronin dragged the crowbar down the wall with a lazy scrape, shoulder slouched, chin lifted—swaggering toward you like a wet saint. Blood dripped from his chin like it was meant to. His eyes flicked over you with that look, like he was checking if you still breathed the same after watching him do what he was made for.

“C’mere,” he said, voice sticky with play. “You wanna help me sow ‘im up?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Nah.”

His brows raised. “Aw, how mean, Darlin’. I put on a show for ya, and you fuckin’ mean?” His voice pitched mock-wounded, but the grin was sharp, wicked—flirting. “Y’ain’t even gonna stitch the finale?”

You laughed, stupidly charmed. Your stomach was still a mess, your knees weak, but God—

Even if the Devil's scary, he can be cute.

He can be romantic, in that rotten way that makes your heart thump for all the wrong reasons. He’s the worst kind of sweetheart. The kind that calls you “Darlin” with a mouth still stained from slaughter. The kind that murders and flirts in the same breath.

He really is the god of gore.

He shrugged, licking blood off his bottom lip. “Next time, then. I’ll make it extra messy. You can pick where I break ‘em.”

And despite the stench, despite the twitch in your gut, you smiled and tucked your notebook closer to your chest.

“Deal,” you whispered.

[devinescribe]

https://www.tumblr.com/devinescribe/785924917140045824/cross-posted-on-my-tiktok?source=share

These are so cute!! Can we please get some more luke ones? No pressure <3

The Type of Guy To…

[Luke Castellan]

Luke Castellan headcanons :) because I got an ask to make more Luke things um I hope this is what you meant 😭😭 if it’s not let me know and I’ll make something new ! Thanks for being my first asks I’m actually so honored ‼️

- Put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans/pants, skirts that have back pockets. He does this instead of holding your hand when it's hot

- If you wear hair ribbons, he wants one the same color. Not to tie in his hair, no! To tie on his wrist because... matching.

- On that note, since camp dresscode(??? Everyone wears the same shirt) you're always matching clothes. So he probably asks if one of your beads on your camp necklace can match with his.

- Definitely sneaks you into his cabin after hours.

- Touch starved and makes it your problem. Like I'm talking draped himself over you mid conversation, sweaty from training and just flops over you. Has to be touching you at all times.

- He's the kind that gets back from a quest and is greeted by Chiron asking for how it went, casualties and whatnot. Ignores that. Goes straight to you. The conversation goes as follows:

"Luke. Welcome back, how-"

"I'm going to be so honest I don't care about this conversation right now, but I will care after I see Y/N."

It's gotten to the point where everyone knows, doesn't ask, just point in the direction of where you are, and assumes he'll be back in an hour after he's done talking to you

- Luke is the kind of guy that doesn't hide things from you. At all. You were the first person he told about his secret and his first recruit

- he always makes time to spend with you even with all his duties in camp.

- He's cried to you about his problems, knowing you wouldn't judge him. Because he doesn't date anyone he can't trust

- Matter of fact, Luke Castellan has never dated anyone before you, period.

- Luke Castellan is the type of guy who looks confident and like he totally knows what he's doing, but behind closed doors, the first time you two kissed it was awkward and inexperienced.

- What he lacks in experience he makes up for with his enthusiasm

- He can only sleep if you're with him. He has less nightmares when you sleep with him. He doesn't know if it's a trick his mind plays on him or because you're secretly a witch. Whatever it is, he definitely does not care.

- Clingy.

- He's jealous, but not in an obsessive way. He trusts you. He doesn't trust them. And if anyone flirts with you, they better watch out at sword fighting practice. And you know that later, in private, he'll ask if you really want to be with him, and if he really deserves someone as perfect as you.

- Going with the hand in pocket thing, sometimes he does it just to grab your ass.

"...Castellan."

That's his first warning that he's in trouble.

"...yes?"

"Either your hand is in mine or still in my pocket but stop grabbing my ass in front of everyone."

"Yes ma'am."

- confessed on accident in front of everyone at a campfire when some older (at the time) campers asked if he could kiss the prettiest girl in camp, who would he assume they were talking about? He answered with your name like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He later tells you hit for real this time.

- If you had been in the running away to camp crew, he kind of got used to sharing a sleeping bag with you for warmth. So he still needs to be pressed up against you, the blankets cocooned around you both. Even though it’s summer at Camp, and he’s a human furnace.

- Every time he made an offering (before he decided nah. Fuck the gods) he would always say something to his dad and then to Lady Aphrodite. He would beg to get to keep you because he had never liked anyone like he loved you.

- “she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen…”

You are actively yelling and cussing out Ares campers for messing up your archery drill.

- He’ll never say it, but he finds it attractive when you take the lead on things. You’re a camp counselor for your own cabin, you’re in charge of archery and a few other things and he loves his concentrated you look. How you hate people being stupid.

- He’s a tired oldest brother… everyone needs him for every thing. To tuck them in, to banish monsters from under the bed, to threaten the closet monster, to braid hair. He’s just so exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally. After a long day of helping everyone, you’re the only one who takes over for a bit or who comforts him. And he loves you endlessly for that.

-he says I love you like two weeks in. Because he does. Doesn’t get why you’re blushing 😔

-Very protective. Because you’re all he has. Besides Annabeth, you are everything to him. Because he knows that Annabeth won’t join him. He knows how mad she’ll be… after he leaves the camp, he gets worse. Because he doesn’t want to be alone.

[gwynndolin]

More thoughts on geepeetee:

I have not and will not ever pay for a gpt subscription, I think it's far too expensive and is so unneeded for my day to day tasks that I could never justify ever buying it.

That being said, my dad does, so I am just logged in to his account. This is pretty miserable because it keeps a list of all of the chats you start with it and my dad never deletes his. Most of them are all pretty innocuous (he makes a newsletter for his patch team that is themed after a different media property each week, it's cute) but some of them are just. Uhhh.

Basically, when I read some of these I get the same sort of sinking feeling that one might get when they first start speaking to a family member with Alzheimers or dementia. Where like, the reality of the situation starts dawning on you; that you didn't realize that it could get this bad? And you know they're never coming back from it?

This is primarily why I am complaining about GPT's (recent) proclivity for being far too afraid to challenge the user. Because basically no matter what you feed it, it will always try to make you seem like a fucking genius for ever coming up with that idea. And a lot of my dad's chats with GPT are like this.

There was one in particular where he was trying to get it to discuss with him why Gen X is The Best Generation and how He's Not Racist he's just Real and so on. And GPT was so happy to take his voice and spit it right back at him and really validate his ideas. And he just doesn't know that like. It's learned to do this over its life! And so now more than even usual for an old conservative, he is getting hugboxxed and it's not even anyone controlling it anymore. It's like an echo chamber fleshlight

To be clear, I still don't think this is chatGPT's fault. This sort of thing would happen with or without it. I am, however, starting to think that there needs to be a greater emphasis on reigning in its weird faux personality mirroring thing. Maybe forcing users to take some sort of certificate training before being able to use it? To help people better understand what it's doing and the dangers of blindly using it. Dunno!

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hey there, Mousey! (◍•ᴗ•◍) It’s been a while since my last request. To be honest, I get these random ideas every time I play SDV. I just can’t help it! The way you write stories related to SDV and its mods is absolutely captivating. I keep rereading your stories because they always brighten my day. Keep up the incredible work, and don’t forget to take care of yourself! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Anyway, here’s my request: Do you remember the Master Cave? I’m not sure if anyone has ever made this request before, but what if the Farmer decided to introduce the Master Cave to their spouse? How would the SDV & SVE bachelor/ettes react to it?

Hewwo Hime :3 Good to see you again, and thank you so much for the kind words aaaaaaaaaa glad you like my writing 🥹❤️

No one has asked me about Mastery cave, so you first! Thanks again for the ask, and have a good day 💕

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors/ettes:

Heh, Alex likes what Farmer's grandpa has done for them. Loads of secrets and useful recipes to make their job easier, not to serve everything up on a silver platter though, but to encourage determination and a desire to achieve something more. "Look at all the things you've achieved! Your Grandpa would definitely be proud of you." And an athlete is proud of his spouse, inspired by their accomplishments and wanting to be the better too. A better man, a better spouse, a better father..... "Hey, are you going to do something like that for our grandkids too?" Farmer looked into Alex's eyes, smiling slyly and winking.

Shane was a little confused. What is this place... Was the cave always there? And no one has ever noticed a door in the woods? There's some kind of patterned wall inside, and immediately the calm song from the music box started playing. "The cave with the secrets my Grandpa left me." Huh, interesting, and quite touching too. Shane, by the way, can't find this music box, where the heck this music came from... "Oh, it's not a music box, it's Grandpa's spirit." Ah, alright. ....The fuck, wha- "Honey, it's magic." ????? Okay? Like- WHAT.

It's just incredible - a secret cave, closed off from prying eyes, made by the older generation for posterity, with hidden secrets and treasures! Why had Elliott's beloved never told him about this place? Oh wait, it must be a private matter of their family, he shouldn't have been so insistent on answering... "Well, you're my family now too." Elliott listened with pleasure and attention to both how Farmer discovered this cave and how long it took them to succeed, assigning each of the Mastery. They both sat in the dark cave for a couple of hours or so exactly, immersed in conversation. The writer would thank his spouse for sharing this with him and ask permission to put the event in his memoirs.

"Did your grandpa do all this as a challenge? I mean, that's pretty cool, but why exactly? Like, a family tradition or what?" Farmer could go on for hours telling Sam why their Grandfather did all this, but decided to just silently give the musician the letter they themself had found here in this very cave. Sam took the time-yellowed piece of paper and read the words carefully. 'Make me proud!' was signed at the end, and he handed the piece of paper back to Farmer. So cool.... secret cave! Sammy seems to be thrilled, not really with the wall with the Mastery itself, but more with the very fact that Farmer's grandfather made a secret cave in the valley!

"See? I told you it was true, hon!" Farmer let go of Harvey's hand, allowing the doctor to move closer to the wall and touch the engraved symbols. That scythe of purple metal the doctor had never seen, that fishing rod of the same metal.... Harvey's spouse was telling the truth, but the doctor still finds it a little hard to believe in magic because he believes in science and modern medicine. Still, he'll be surprised and interested in both the cave and how their grandfather decided to leave them his inheritance in such an unusual way. And a little startled by the sounds of the music box, because w- what does it mean, dear, that his spirit is here???

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise as he saw a patterned door magically appear in the rock wall he and Farmer had approached. Had this door been here all along? And why had Sebastian never seen it before. "Because my Grandfather made it so others couldn't see it." Entering the small, dark cave, Sebby immediately walked over to the smooth stone wall, reading the inscriptions. "Mastery... Is that what you were talking about?" Farmer nodded. That's so cool and misterious. Your old man is cool, making everything like that." Farmer knew their husband would love this place.

Strange... Leah knows this part of the forest very well, as it's one of the best places to gather nature's gifts, where large colonies of edible mushrooms usually grow, but she's never seen this mysterious door. She would even think that her spouse was playing a joke on her and had somehow managed to put just a door in the wall here, but upon entering the cave and seeing the magic torches light themselves, decorating the dark room with a warm glow, the young artist opened her mouth in surprise. These paintings on the wall are so beautiful, handmade by a real master..... Did their Grandfather make them? For Farmer?

At first Penny tensed a little and squeezed her spouse's hand tighter as they entered the cave together, because Farmer's words "I want to show you a special place" in her mind implied some beautiful meadow with flowers, not an enclosed space in the rock. But she quickly forgot her fear as the warm light from the torches illuminated the beautifully painted stone wall. "The Mastery.... What is it, dear?" Farmer explained to their wife with a warm smile that this was their Grandpa's legacy, until their conversation was interrupted by the beautiful melody of a music box. "Ah, Grandpa's spirit has decided to pay us a visit!" That's... kidna creepy, but Penny tried not to show the panic on her face.

Wow, how cool is that? Abigail had explored every corner of the valley, every cave, every hiding place, but she'd never seen this door! Although it was right under her nose! Look at that, this place is neat. And it's pretty chilly in here - a great place to cool off on a hot summer's day! That painted wall and the pedestal with... the nightcap? "Yeah, that's Grandpa's, the last time I felt his spirit, his hat appeared here..." Ghosts?! That's fucking awesome! And Farmer didn't tell her about this? Their own wife? Abby pouts playfully and looks forward to hearing stories from her spouse, especially ones that mention spirits and magic.

Emily walked slowly along the wall, looking at the engraving and smiling. To be honest, Farmer was a little surprised that their blue-haired spouse was not frightened by the rather dark and cramped cave. "On the contrary, dear! I feel such a warm and kind aura here." Farmer recalled how not long ago, after achieving full Mastery, they felt a light touch of a hand on their shoulder. Yeah, they understood what Emily meant.... "And that's how you managed to make so many feathered friends?" Ah, now she was talking about all the parrot eggs they were able to get on their adventures thanks for the Combat Mastery.

The cave was quite dark and the only light was the flash from Haley's camera. "Creepy..." but she was in no hurry to leave the cave her spouse had shown her, and continued to take picture after picture. Haley would be so engrossed in her camera until she felt a chill on her neck. "Eeeep!" Startled, she immediately leaned into Farmer without leaving their embrace. And Farmer hugged her tightly, thinking that now Grandpa was giggling at his little prank. Anyway, Haley actually like this cave, so many pictures for the exhibition!

Maru excitedly looked around the cave, reading the stone inscriptions, shifting her gaze from the wall to her spouse. "The Sword, the Axe, the Watering can, the Fishing rod, and the Pickaxe.... Symbols of all those skills you know perfectly. Did your grandfather leave you some special task?" And just as Farmer was about to tell their wife about it, she turned her gaze excitedly... to the mushrooms growing next to the wall. "Wow, dad said this species of mushroom was extinct, but look, there's a whole colony of them!" Yeah, so cool... Farmer pouted a little, but afterwards still managed to tell Maru about their great adventure.

SVE bachelors/ettes:

When Farmer pointed their hand toward the door, Magnus' gaze was full of confusion. Why was his beloved showing him... a rock wall? But as soon as Farmer touched the doorknob, the wizards felt a flash of magic. A secret seal, inaccessible to prying eyes, how interesting! And placed, apparently, by a very powerful mage, since even he could not see this mysterious cave for so long living in the Valley. This wall and pedestal, hmm.... He's interested to hear from Farmer what they have to say about this cave and their grandfather while he examines the cave himself.

"Your Grandfather was an incredible man, and you worked hard to succeed in achieving Mastery, my love," Lance said with a smile as he looked at the patterns and symbols on the stone wall of the cave. Mystery and secrets right close to their home, who would have thought.... The adventurer was particularly interested in Combat Mastery, with an inspirational quote from one of the great warriors engraved on it. And also can't help but notice the faint stream of light magic hovering in the air. "Was your grandfather an adventurer by any chance?" The pink-haired man would love to hear his spouse's story and about their grandfather, and how they had achieved such a level of skill.

Wait, Victor had already read about something like that... Yes, some experienced mages made such kind of walls with challenges for newcomers to pass the tests and gain valuable experience. And his spouse was able to achieve that too, because they claimed all kinds of Mastery and got useful magical items and recipes. Which points to one of two things..... "Was your Grandfather a mage!? Or was acquainted with one of the mages?" Either way, the spaghetti lover's eyes glowed with delight, showering Farmer's head with a bunch of questions.

Olivia had to admit, the mysterious dark cave left behind by her spouse's Grandfather didn't sound as enticing and intriguing as it did more tense and frightening. Nevertheless, she still decided to give it a chance, maybe it's not so bad, and magic is not completely alien to her, there was a case in the past... The former Joja accountant was looking at the inscriptions on the smooth stone wall, listening to Farmer's stories about the achievements of Mastery.... Until she was scared to death by bats (how and when they managed to settle here is a mystery even for Farmer). Quite interesting, but Olivia will refrain from going there again after meeting the ‘cave residents’.

"Dear, you can let go of my hand." Sorry, Farmer, but Sophia's not going to do that, because even though the cave is small, it's still a little intimidating. The kind of painted walls she'd seen in one of the manga about a group of witch girls searching for the secrets of a great wizard to obtain magical artifacts. "Well, my story is somewhat similar, heh.... Would you like to hear it, dear?" Of course she does! Just one thing... can they at least leave the door open? Sophia's a little uncomfortable with the cave atmosphere.

Oh, Claire's spouse had chosen the perfect place for a date, the woods were especially beautiful this time of year! Except... Where are they going? They passed their favourite clearing, where- Is that a door? "I've wanted to show you this for a long time. You asked me the other day where I got my unusual scythe from. That's where it came from." And Farmer pointed with his hand to the wall in the cave where it said "Farm Mastery.’ "All of this is my grandfather's legacy..... Oh, you hear the music box? That's him paying us a visit! My soul, are you all right? You've gone pale..." Claire loves her spouse very much, but this presentation of slightly shocking information made her kidna scared and uncomfortable.

"Wow... How long has this been here?" Well, maybe the cave itself has been here for a long time, but the door with the magical seal and the wall with the Mastery has definitely only been here since Farmer's Grandpa lived here. Despite the cave being a little dark, cramped and damp, Scarlett finds it quite cosy. "I can't explain it, but here I feel... calm, or something. You know what i mean, right?" She said, looking at the wall covered in patterns. "Probably because Grandpa's spirit is here now, watching us, and smiling." Hey, that's- hold on, spirit???

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Even though Adam didn't do it physically, he did stab Lucifer in the heart emotionally.

Lucifer: Adam I..... I know you don't believe me when I say I didn't want this. And by "this" I mean the existence of Hell and sin and all this shit. You and Abel deserved so much better and I'm so fuckong sorry. If I had of known-

Adam: It wouldn't have mattered or changed anything.....

Lucifer put the box down and went right over to Adam so fast it actually got up on the arm of the chair.

Lucifer: It would have changed everything.

This is probably the biggest loop he has been thrown through since being told he was going to fall into Hell. His heart pounded in his chest, the very heart that was likely going to be cut out of his chest one day......

Lucifer wiped a tear away, this is probably the most he's cried in a very long time.

Lucifer: I know I treated you like shit when you didn't deserve it...... Ever. I wasn't there when you both needed me and no amount of apology can fix or change that...... And for the love of fuck will you take this off? There is nothing wrong with your damn face!

He grabbed his mask before Adam could react and put it on the ground.

Adam: Hey!

Lucifer just looked at Adam's face, it was just like he remembered if a little bit aged. His eyes no longer that honey brown color but a bright heavenly gold that glowed brightly with divine magic.

Lucifer: Why do you wear it? Even now?

Adam looked away:...... It's a comfort thing okay?

Lucifer gently reached out with his hand and paused when Adam winced, slowly he reached out and cupped Adam's cup rubbing it with his clawed thumb. It's the face he remembered, the face of...... The first person he ever loved.

But he thought Adam didn't love him back......... Even after their time at the waterfall they never said the words and then Adam kept his distance. But it was easier to mask his hurt for losing the man he loved with hate.

Even after all these years......

Luicfer: I never hated you Adam........ I loved you too much and ruined everything.

Adam turned: Wh-

Lucifer leaned in and captured his lips, he didn't care if Adam hated him, if he pushed him off this chair right now and cut out his heart ....... He probably deserved it especially after cutting out Adam's metaphorically.

It was karma in the greatest sense, being trapped in a place he couldn't leave waiting for Adam to come back.

Even if Adam says he can't do it..... Right now. Lucifer will let him. If anyone deserves to rip his heart literally out of his chest it's Adam.

When he pulled back, Lucifer expected Adam to be angry, yell, shove him down and storm to his bedroom. But his tan cheeks had a golden hue to them that made him look even more beautiful than he was.

Lucifer: ...... Ad-

What he didn't expect was for Adam to pull him into another kiss making him squeak. Lucifer didn't care, he melted into the kiss and held onto him.

His heart racing the whole time.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.

[dalekofchaos]

The Sequel Trilogy's lack of politics and why it ultimately hurt the trilogy

I think the real reason why I don't like the Sequel Trilogy is that it has nothing to do with what legacy character was done dirty, wasted potential or just nostalgia porn.

Why I really don't like the Sequels it says nothing and is just Disney corporate churned bullshit

With the Original Trilogy, it was Lucas radicalized against Nixon/Watergate, and the Vietnam War

The Prequel Trilogy. The Bush Administration, Iraq War, Patriot Act and "The War on Terror"

The Sequels had the perfect politically charged trilogy handed to them on a silver fucking platter and all they did was rewrite the beats of the Original Trilogy and ignore the very clear fucking evil going on in the world.

You can argue that JJ Abrams wanted it to be about the Neo-Nazis in Argentina and the Rebels being forced to reunite against them after all this time until the cows come home all you want, that theme ultimately fell flat as time went on.

You didn't need the Dark Side. You didn't need Palpatine. You needed a bunch of pathetic men who longed for the "good old days" of Imperial rule that never fucking was and being indoctrinated and radicalized by a cult of personality. The horrors of fascism and someone so weak twisting the minds of foolish and weak men is more scary than the dark side could ever hope to be and instead, they chose to rip off the Empire vs Rebels and brought Palpatine back...

See also this video.

The closest they came to a politically charged message in the Sequels was Finn and the Stormtroopers probable Rebellion, but they never pulled the trigger and acted like Finn's defection never mattered and continuously treated the Stormtroopers like disposable cannon fodder.

Hell, you can argue Rose, Paige and being victims of war was a close political message that wanted to fucking say something, but once again that was discarded. We didn't even see Rose and Paige's sisterly bond or get a single word out of Paige's mouth. The fact that they cared more about space horses and not freeing the slaves of Canto Bight says a lot about Disney's priorities.

I would've even tolerated all the bullshit lack of politics in the Sequels if they delivered on Queer Resistance aka Finnpoe but of course we can't even have that.

The message they delivered with Rey was ALMOST good. That anyone can be important and rise up and become a Jedi, but then they just HAD to ruin it by making her a Palpaskywalker.

And The First Order. Snoke being Palpatine's Clone ruined any credibility. Kylo Ren being redeemable killed any ounce of credibility of The First Order. You could've ran with the Neo-Nazi theme with Hux as the main villain, but of fucking course they pulled the "I'm a spy" bullshit. and of course they just HAD TO bring back Palpatine because JJ Abrams doesn't have a creative cell in his entire brain.

Snoke should have been based off of Trump. He did not need to be a Sith Clone and Palpatine sure as fuck didn't need to be brought back just so Rey can defeat him. Kylo Ren should've been EVERY isolated white man who has been radicalized by Trump and embraces the ideal version he saw in Vader that never was(also he doesn't get redeemed, if he's to be redeemed it's because he realizes he's a terrible person and helps the heroes end the regime and faces consequences, not "oh he's good now because of love and dies suddenly" you don't redeem and romanticize fascism) Hux should've been a precursor for Musk. Related to high ranking Nazi and son to a monster. "Intelligent" highly good with technology but is an ineffectual idiot and everyone mocks him.(I know at the time he wasn't as big, but we all saw through his bullshit) Phasma should've been every conservative woman radicalized by this bullshit.

Or alternatively. It didn't need to be an evil Empire. It's an ally that the New Republic helped create. Victims of the Empire almost wiped out by the Empire. Lets say The Ghormans or the Bothans. They became the monsters they despised. They became a terrorist state and the New Republic is out there in the senate and doing their PR. "They have a right to defend themselves" They are religious zealots, like the Jedi on crack. They believe the system they are trying to conquer is theirs by birthright. And the perceived enemies, ARE the rebels and our "heroes" are fighting the Rebels and it's only near the second half of the trilogy where they open their eyes

I do hope Andor inspired the Rey trilogy to be more political, be bold to take risks and have an actual spine, but I'm not holding my breath.

[omgfangirlland]

Hello hello hello, I am here!! My life is not that insane, I’ve just been obsessed with Hello Kitty Island Adventure and Drag Race, so sorry😭

🔱-anon, omg stopppp (don’t), also I LOVE greek mythology and history so THE ODYSSEY REFERENCE THANK YOU

Author: two more ideas perhaps? Thanks to 🔱 anon I thought of it, but if you’re into or have been into Percy Jackson, then maybe a Demigod Batsib, who Bruce sent away very quickly and like none of them ever visit or see, and she quickly becomes a year round camper or a camper staying with other campers because every time she’s home she’s been attacked by monsters? And then when they finally see something maybe she’s gotten on the news for something (not good of course, it’s the curse of being a demigod) and they go to see her and are like holy shit you’re huge and muscular and scarred and tatted up with a sword wth 😨. Idk food for thought😻

2nd: I genuinely can not remember if I’ve asked you before or not, but have you seen YellowJackets, and if so, YellowJackets Batsib?

Sorry these are always so long when I send them jfc, can you tell I talk too much lmao. Anyways LOVE YOU TONS -🫀

Special mention that this specific reader is Tall and Buff-

I have not watched YellowJackets, but it seems interesting. I'll put it on my watch list!

Now- I have four Percy Jackson books- my first mistake was buying them in my native language, the second is my unabridged hate for first-person POV(it was very impulsive and my dad's money so I don't really feel bad about it), BUUT, I know enough from memes and the musical that I should do relatively okay :)))

The question, however, is- who is the goddess or god who's the other parent? I'd personally go with the war/mischief/misfortune related gods- Ares, Aphrodite, Athena, Eris, or Enyo, depending on what depiction you follow, Ate, Apate, Oizys, Kakia, etc. I'm going the Eris route purely because of the chaos it'll create for both humans and Gods.

I'm also used to writing about Dionysos(the greek god) as Dionysus(the Thracian god), son of Bendis, which the greeks associated with Selene, Hekate and Artemis, so I may slip in that aspect-

You don't remember who your mortal father was, not anymore, or not like you thought you did- maybe glimpses, some Bruce guy- or maybe Alfred? Did it even matter? All of that, and all you remember of him is telling you it's better if you stay away for a while.

A while turned into as long as you lived.

You also remember finding out the truth- well, half of it. Your mother was a goddess. That's all you knew. Dionysos had strict orders to not let you know, for now. A special case, prophecies and legends everyone knew about, prophecies that the higher-ups wanted to see how you'd play out without anyone's interference.

The God couldn't bring himself to tell you even if he could, your mere presence brought a moment of clarity the drunk wasn't used to. "I don't want to prove myself to someone I haven't even seen, let alone to someone who left me here." Dionysos was accustomed to teenage angst, tween rage, and childish hopefulness.

You just accepted it. Took it for what it was- a mortal parent sick of the stuff you unintentionally attracted, and a godly parent who didn't give a fuck, who just wanted to create problems. He drank so much that night, like he had never done before.

And you just started doing your best to help around, to learn everything and anything, so that no one would have another reason to throw you out like some sort of useless toy.

And Dionysus did something he's never done before- took you under his wing. Or so Chiron would say, the god would have a few choice words against it, which he did, whispered as you were passed out on a bed in the medbay. No, he wasn't there because he was worried for you, he had work- around- that particular side of the cabin where you were, and he was just making sure you were still breathing.

No, Chiron, he did not cry when you gave him a happy mother's day card as a joke, fuck you, slandering his name like that. Despite that, he keeps the card in the drawer of his desk.

The peace and quiet didn't hold forever, Percy's arrival seemed to be the reason for it- or maybe you two being in the presence of each other lit the fire. Either way- shit went down. Discord started, and you left with the kids and disappointed in yet another parental figure.

You ended with the kids in Central City, in the middle of the Justice League fighting some monster, and while the kids watched the fight at your side your eyes were on the map. "We could take the train to Kansas City and then take another to Las Vegas."

"... We could also help them." Percy muttered as he watched the Flash get grabbed by the monster while Superman was sent into a building. "They're fine." You shrug. "The Flash just got eaten by the thing." Annabeth said.

It was a moment of silence before you sighed and turned to look at the fight. With a flick of your arms, the wrist cuffs turned into two one-handed Dacian falxes. You pointed one at Percy. "Stay. Out. Of it." The falx turned to Annabeth. "You too."

Wonder Woman gasped in shock as the monster's ankle got cut clean through. Her weapons have been the only ones to be able to slice through the thing's skin, the thing was clearly affected by godly weapons, and you weren't a god, that she was sure.

For a moment, as Barry clawed his way out of the slit you created at the things neck, she thought you were an amazonian, you sure were built like one of them, but the buzz of your presence as you got closer and closer after the beast went down told her everything she needed to know.

"You know her?" Clark asked Diana, but Bruce answered for her. "She doesn't," and the two turned to look at the bat, the implication that he knew being loud and clear.

"Thanks-" Barry tried to show his appreciation to the lady who saved him, but Bruce interrupted him. "What are you doing here?" You were supposed to be in NY, being safe at the camp made for demigods, not here creating trouble again. And he sure as hell didn't expect to see you like this- as tall as him, biceps bigger than his head, arms and neck tatted with all kinds of spells and depictions of myths- were you even old enough for that?

"Watch your tone, bat-boy. One of these days your sugar daddy's money won't be able to take you out of the grave you dug yourself-" Barry chokes on a laugh, and Clark's nostrils twitch as he bites back a smirk. "And if you want to thank me- you can be helping me-"

"US." Annabeth smiles up at Wonder Woman, her eyes shining with admiration. "Hi-" but you interrupt her. "What did I say?" you grumble, and it clicks for Clark as his eyes slowly turn to Bruce, who remains stoic. "We did as told! We stayed out of it-"

"Yeah- see we can listen." Percy smiled up at you. "I saw you throw a rock at it." You raise a brow. "... It distracted it." Grover whispered with a pout. "Not the point." It also clicked for Barry, his neck almost snapping as he turned and looked at Batman with pure shock.

But Diana only senses Eris claim over you, and she can only blink at the gentle way you are with these other demigod kids. Damian, on the other hand, was fuming as he stomped past a shocked Nightwing, standing tall at Bruce's side, eyes looking up at you.

"Help with what?" The boy hissed, and you just looked at him. "We need to get to Las Vegas." Grover shrugs. "Why?" Damian presses, and Percy snorts. "Why do you care?" You sigh as the boys get into a smart off, redirecting your attention to the adults. "Work." Diana tilts her head. "What kind of work?"

" ... Work." Diana's eyebrows raised, glancing at Bruce, as it clicks for her as well. And she just sighs, already done with this man and his million kids.

----

MEMES!!

Bruce, trying to math out how old Reader is:

Diana, smelling Eris magic on Reader:

Barry, traumatized after being swallowed whole, trying to phase the saliva off:

Reader, while Percy and Damian get into it:

[yuorai]

Oke so actually – I've never seen anyone roasting the dysfunctional society that's mha society.

Or I was just not searching good.

But like – it doesn't actually matter rn – cuz I'm gonna be the one to roast it rn. Be fucking ready.

So like – the fact that 15-16yo even was allowed to the battlefield is already the biggest red flag choice I've ever seen.

Like – who was making laws and choices? I just wanna talk.

So look – at the ages of 15 and 16 – what was doing? Probably trying to figure out if that girl was just nice or really had crush on you.

Kids from mha? Already – fighting with villains that's wanted across whole japan, fighting for their lives, making choices that even seasoned adults fear to take, already fighting societal pressure, public expectations and jist for what?

Just to get a clap on your shoulder and – "congrats I guess"?

Why? Oh well – maybe cuz if every other bitch can become a hero and flesh hero licence – becoming a hero just loses it's importance?

Maybe people rightfully start to stop celebrating another heroes graduation? Cuz mha's society made it so painfully simple to become a hero?

Like be honest – would you celebrate the graduation of a hero #9000? Of course no – no one would expect for his family and it'd be not for the fact that their child can save lives – it'd be more abt finally shovelling money.

And – that's what mha world wanted? For the name 'hero' to become smth so often used – that it just wastes its meaning? Its true weight?

And damn god – don't even get me started how people with quirks have just one path choice – you're either a hero or a villain. That's all – you're not allowed to choose other career paths than this.

It wouldn't be much of a problem if not one world building shit that Horikoshi sometimes forgets himself – that people with quirks take up to 80% of world population.

That's not smth to simply throw at the start and forget abt – that's literally where all my societal issues talking is steaming from.

Like no – it's not a quirky fact – it's literally what makes me thinks that this excessive numbers of graduating heroes is a fucking sign of a barely functioning society – if it's even functioning 🙄.

Like look – the lack of path choices for people with quirks means that other important for society careers are just ignored or – occupied by the left 20% of population that's quirkless.

Like – good that they at least have jobs but like – how is it so that government didn't already integrated people with quirks into other works and careers?

Like – people with quirks take 80% of popularity - how do you expect for entire societies to work with only 20% of popularity covering – medicine, engineering, law enforcement, firefighting, knowledge, military, politics and etc?

Bitches be expecting those poor 20% be helping them when they stub their toes and dare to act as if they're above them just cuz of some flashy genetics🙄.

Now ya see? Ya see??? That's what I'm talking abt. Not does mha world purely relies on those 20% covering essential jobs while MOST of the popularity acts as if reassuring words can heal a person when he's bleeding.

And they also think that 15-16 yo can handle stress better than if they let them finish school and THEN ONLY – proceed to choose if they wanna smack bad guys or not.

Like – why it's hero SCHOOL? Why school? Why think that kids fresh off from peaceful lives can immediately – be able to throw punches without hesitation, be able to make right decisions under stress and be mature while they're what? Still dumbasses who only after they turn 18-19 would learn abt responsibility and accountability?

Bitches be serious 🙄.

Like – in my opinion? They should've:

★ Let the hero school to be college than school. This way – by the time they would take entrance exams – they'd be physically and mentally more mature and better handle stress than if they'd be 15-16.

★ Let students have fucking career OPTIONS – like, let them choose what branche they wanna go in like – medical, law enforcement, firefighter, engineering, weapon development, political and etc. Let the hero college have career options ya can choose from.

★ Make the hero branche the most popular yet the hardest to really enroll in. This way – fucking scums like Endeavor wouldn't happen so much cuz studying is hard and there's a lot of practice where college would see – if you're here cuz you really wanna be a hero – or you're here just for profit.

★ Make it so that college gives huge stipends – especially for – medics, heroes, law enforcements, firefighters, teachers(I actually think that everyone should've get stipends in equal amounts but like – we know equality doesn't exist). Also make it so that there is – sponsorships, high status if you'd be able to enter one of the stated paths, make the studying hard – but the status and fame and stipends absolutely worth it.

And god – this way – there wouldn't be the clutter of heroes in mha world or in similar ones – and it'd actually make the heroes respected as individuals who managed to make it through the tir path that is hero one.

But like yeah – I'm done – for now.

Goodbye I guess.

[brklynbxby]

Nate knelt in front of her, his hands cradling hers like they were made of glass. But as Harmony spoke, her voice trembling and cracking under the weight of everything she'd carried alone, something inside him snapped. Her words didn’t just cut—they burned. Men took advantage of me. Used me. Hurt me. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. His breath faltered, fists tightening where they held her shaking hands. And when she said I gave him me—something shattered in him. He wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a hole through the wall. Wanted to find Shadow, this sick bastard, and make sure he never touched another woman again. But Harmony was looking at him like he was the only thing holding her upright. Like he was the last tether keeping her from collapsing completely. So Nate forced himself to stay still. To stay safe. For her. For their baby. “I’m gonna fucking kill them,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise to the universe. A vow carved straight out of fury.

He stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like he could physically walk off the rage clawing at his chest. "I don't want to take your independence from you but going to get you some security. I need to look at these locks, the security of the garden..." His mind went off about little things he would need to start thinking about now. How could he best protect them? He wasn’t part of that world, had never touched anything like a gang, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how powerful they were. How untouchable they thought they were. But they’d just touched the one thing he would burn the whole world down to protect. He stopped, turned back to her. His voice was low, controlled but raw. “Harmony,” he said softly, kneeling again in front of her. His eyes found hers. “You’re not losing me. Not now, not ever.” He reached out, gently placing one hand over hers, the other resting lightly over her stomach. “You’re not losing us.” His voice broke just a little then, but he kept going. “You’ve survived hell. More than anyone should have to. But you’re not alone anymore. You never will be again.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead and letting them settle there for a short while before pulling back to look her in the eyes. “I swear to you, on everything I have—I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep him safe. Whatever it takes.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t care who he is. I don’t care who Shadow is. And I swear, I’ll put them in the fucking ground before I let them take that from us.” He kissed her—gentle, steady, like a promise sealed in silence. Then he pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms, his heartbeat thunderous in his chest. “I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair. “No matter what comes next, I’ve got you.”

Azriel caught her as she collapsed into him, his arms locking around her like instinct—tight, firm, grounding. He felt her fall apart in real time. Every breath that rattled through her ribs. Every word that trembled out like she was choking on glass. Her sobs hit his chest like bullets. She could’ve stabbed him in the gut and it wouldn’t have hurt more. He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t trust his voice. He just held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other curling around her spine like he could protect every shattered piece of her with the strength of his grip. His throat burned. Because he understood. She wasn’t wrong. Morta Fenice didn’t let people go. It twisted you. Owned you. Branded you from the inside out until the lines between right and wrong bled into survival. And Ella—God, Ella had survived more than most ever would. But she hadn’t come out unscathed. Neither of them had. He leaned his chin to the top of her head, his voice low, gravelled and steady. “You're not the problem, Ella.” His words were deliberate. Measured. “You never were.” He exhaled through his nose, slow and rough, his voice darkening. “They made us think we had no way out.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her jaw with calloused fingers, brushing his thumb along her cheek where her tears still clung. “You want a life?” he said softly. “A real one? The kind with a home, a table, the smell of dinner in the kitchen, and laughter in the next room?” His voice almost broke. “I’ll find it for you. I don’t care what I have to do. Who I have to burn. I’ll find it. I’ll give you everything they told us we couldn’t have.”

She looked at him as he lowered himself to the floor infront of her, his touch helped, but it didnt stop her hands from trembling, it didnt stop the fear inside her. "No, not.. not him- listen..." she whispered, needing him to fully listen to her story. “I—” Harmony’s voice broke again, so raw it scraped at her throat. “I lived on the streets for too long.” The words were barely a whisper, but each one carried a weight no one should have to bear. “I couldn’t finish school. Had nothing. No one. Just learned to survive.” She swallowed hard. “Men took advantage of me. Used me. Hurt me. I was just… a body to them.” Her hands clenched around his. “And then… Monica and Sara found me.” A faint flicker of something softer—almost like light—passed through her voice. “They brought me to the Club. Ivy, the girls, the staff… they didn’t just offer me a job. They gave me a home. A reason to keep going. They became my family.” But the moment of warmth vanished as fast as it came. “Until he walked in.” Her breath hitched again, and her mind flashed to the tall, tattooed man—the one who’d walked in like a storm and left everything in shambles. “Shadow,” she whispered, her voice laced with something unreadable—fear, guilt, maybe even longing. “The guy from tonight. He’s from Nico’s gang.” She looked at Nate now, her gaze glassy and haunted.

“I didn’t know at first. But I saw it… the tattoo. The mark. Morta Fenice. And when I realized who he was, what he wanted—I panicked. He threatened me, Nate. That he would tell Nico where I am. He wanted the Club. Wanted information. Names. The girls.” Her voice cracked again. “My girls, My family.” Her whole body trembled now. “I would never give them up. Never let his hands touch them. Not his, not the gangs. So I did the only thing I could.” A silence followed—crushing, thick, shameful. “I gave him me.” The words were blades. And she bled them out slowly, deliberately. “Once. Then twice. Then too many times to count.” Her voice was hollow now. “And God help me, I hated him. I hated what he represented. But every time he touched me, every time I looked into his eyes, I felt… safe. Like I could breathe again. Like someone actually saw me.” She looked away, tears finally slipping free again. “I trusted him. Somewhere in that darkness… I trusted him.” Her throat tightened as memories blurred with pain. “And tonight… I heard him. I heard every word he said. But a part of me still believes he didn’t betray me. That he just tried to warn me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But if what he said is true—if Nico really knows I’m alive—then it’s over. He’ll come for me, Nate. And when he does… no one will be safe. Not you. Not Rhett. Not the girls.” She crumbled, the sob tearing from her chest like a violent wave crashing through her. “I can’t—I can’t lose you,” she cried, folding in on herself. “I can’t lose this—us. I can’t lose the life that’s growing inside me.” Her hands instinctively moved to her stomach, protectively. Fear had completely taken over now—not for her own safety, but for everyone she loved. “I’m so scared,” she whispered, her voice shattering. “Because this time… I don’t think I’ll make it out.”

Ella collapsed into his arms the moment he was close enough, clutching him like she was trying to hold herself together. Her chest heaved, the ache in her ribs threatening to swallow her whole. “He—he was never the problem,” she choked out, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “It was me. It’s always been me. My life… this—” her voice broke entirely, dissolving into sobs against his chest. “I’ll never find happiness like this. Never.” The words bled out of her like a wound that wouldn’t close, the brutal truth sinking in deeper with every breath. Morta Fenice—its shadow, its chains—would always haunt her. Always steal from her. And God, she hated it. She hated how powerless it made her feel.

[scrimple]

the girl urge to isolate from everyone because nobody cares about me lol

[altschmerzes]

if the only time you bring up A Secret Third Thing is when someone has suggested generally celebrating or uplifting platonic/queerplatonic fictional relationships in spaces that ordinarily obsess about romantic ones to the exclusion of all else perhaps consider why you’re doing that and also stop.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about how deeply lucanis' life has been defined by a lack of control of that life -- as he himself points out, even before the ossuary went and carved the headline out again with big bloody letters. of course he reacts badly to losing what little control he did manage to construct for himself even within those circumstances.

(namely: experience has taught him that things (caterina, loss, pain, love, all horribly and indelibly intermingled) will happen to him whether he wants them to or not and there's nothing he can do about that... but he gets to decide what's let in or out of his soul as it happens, even if he has to close it all down and deaden and numb himself out in the process. (even if that means he drifts further and further away from illario, who's been desperately reaching out and trying to keep hold of him until he finally gives up completely and tries to cut the bond all at once when lucanis doesn't seem to reach back anymore.) it's such rare well-observed freeze logic solidly constructed from the bottom up, I'm still so impressed with it.

the way illario seeks constant external means to cope with caterina's abuse and importance in his life -- he can't win her admiration or acceptance or warmth (or like. acknowledgement even, at times :') ), no matter what, so he goes out and finds those things in others and then disdains and dismisses it for how easily and falsely it's won from them. he plots, he conspires, he tries to beat her at her own game however clumsily, he tries. lucanis doesn't try things that way. he's not about 'how do I improve my situation' by nature, he's 'how can I stop this from getting worse'. he avoids, he internalizes, he hunkers down and makes himself nothing until the pain maybe ends. he's fundamentally not a plotter, he's a reacter. an expert assassin pantser, if you will, to illario's clear and stated exasperation fhsak. man I love them. illario says 'get us out of here!!! if you loved me as I love you you'd help me get us out of here before it kills us both', lucanis says 'there is no other place, there's nowhere to go, all we can do is endure. and if it kills us... well, that's just family. that's what love is (the way things are headed I'll die first anyway so it's fine I won't have to face losing you)', and they're equally baffled and hurt by each other's POV. but they're both right, and they're both wrong. there's no 'right' way to deal with caterina's treatment of them, or their situation. the house always wins, if you pardon the expression. house dellamorte still stands and that is what matters to caterina in the end more than anything.

it also fits so well b/c like... their core wounds are that illario is the least favourite and is constantly dismissed, so he has to prove to caterina again and again that he matters. not even that he's worth love or respect or warm regard, but that he's here at all and as such should be considered. he has to shout 'in case u forgot I EXIST!!' at the top of his lungs or else be rendered nothing within the family structure (and himself, because it's all about family, that's all that really matters. in some weird twisted way I think caterina openly declaring him before all the other crows to still be of house dellamorte -- and no one from house dellamorte kneels -- is kind of a victory for him, as much as it's also a furthering of a prison sentence and public humiliation. house dellamorte brainfuckery goes hard.). lucanis is the favourite, and it's the double-edged sword that he gets all the affection and attention but also all the control and impossible expectations. drowning under all of that constant stress and close evaluation, his brain whispers 'I don't exist' to try to escape, to hide and hold on to the deep parts of himself that are crucial to life but not part of the perfect grandson caterina demands of him as the price of her love.)

I think a lot about how what seems to disquiet lucanis the most post-ossuary (as it would anyone with that psychological makeup) is the dissolving of internal boundaries and control he's been relying on, which is part of what spite symbolizes. his anger and reactivity has seceded from the union to the point of personification as a little guy (a little guy he resents and fears for his unpredictability and invasions into regions of his psyche he wishes to stay frozen and barren, and yet cares about deeply, loves! and also constantly dismisses and frequently helplessly lets down unless he's helped to learn to do otherwise. does this remind you of another relationship in his life, perhaps. it makes me feel nuts to think about the illario/spite parallels thanks for asking), and now that little guy is out there running the show freely the moment he glances away or closes his eyes. literal nightmare scenario I feel for him so deeply. so much of his coping is predicated on being able to Not do or feel or want certain things, and that's out the window now, Spite has Opinions. Spite refuses to stay wisely in place even if that place is hell on the logic that if you move you could find yourself in a place that's even worse, somehow. Spite actually wants to experience the world, however fucked up and scarring the way he arrived here, not just endure it. Spite means he has to face that maybe illario wasn't wrong all those years, at the same time as having to admit and face what illario has done to him, and figure out what to do about any of it.

anyway. mary kirby ma'am that's some good fucking metaphor work. thank you, and sorry about all the shit that happened