#who only wanted someone to love her enough to kill her

[smalltownduck]

tw discussions of su1cide and death ideation

Sometimes I think about this post and others that shed light on Vecna's (albeit twisted) compassion for struggling living beings, particularly the four victims of '86. Obviously he had something to gain from those murders (compared to the 79 massacre, on top!), but 1) it has never been explained why and how exactly those killings created so much energy to open gates and 2) in a not too similar parallel to those animals caught in traps and eventually killed around the Creel house (put a pin on whether you think Henry, One and Vecna -hell, or even show Henry and TFS Henry- are one and the same or if you subscribe to the Edward/Henry theory), perhaps the whole 'prey on the weak' wasn't necessarily 100% malicious, but rather (in Vecna's mind) a merciful act.

Aligning to the "vecna's curse was a sui allegory", he might have thought that each of the '86 victims were hopeless in regards to their living situations AND their inner strength/coping mechanisms to deal with them and their own futures. In fact, that might have probably been the only reason why he could create a psyonic connection with them in the first place. For example, even if Chrissy's or Patrick's parents, "the ones" (obvs not the only) that were causing them pain, were removed from the equation, their impact and presence would still remain in everyday life and haunt their children forever. They didn't really have anybody (seems like therapy wasn't working either, or they might not have commited to that process by openning up) to rely on, and they weren't in a place to willingly look for companionship at all.

The sad reality is that sometimes, even in a supernatural universe, it's impossible to make trauma and triggers dissapear for good and begin anew with a clean slate. For instance, it wouldn't be enough to undo Billy's death for Max to heal, but also undo his previous abuse of her, her mother not protecting her, her dad emotionally abandonning her, and so on, or stopping Fred from running off after the accident, the accident in the first place, him having done anything prior to prevent him losing control of the vehicle in the first place, etc. It's a cycle that would go on with them lacking a support system and/or not having developed have the skills to cope and seek for community and love on their own terms. I guess that, for Vecna, that was just the system (everybody around you) being rigged as usual -those four were not only dealt a bad hand, but they didn't (and would never have) have what it takes to play and come out on top.

Turns out a very powerful supernatural being is as capable of rewriting the past (or at least he can't yet), along with all its individual strings and webs, as us normal humans are irl. It's natural to wish that getting rid of those things, those people who seem like the biggest obstacles between someone and a fullfilling life would fix everything, but there are too many variables at play; it takes changing too many minds for real and for good. Perhaps Vecna, underestimating/ignoring the power of a support system and willpower (hence why only Max escaped the first time and continues to cling to life -because, unlike the others, she had a chance and the support to realize that she did want to live and that there was a way out of the darkness), thought that the four couldn't make it on their own into the future anyway. They were weak, isolated by their own doing, too broken, and in so much pain to go on -it was pointless and more cruel for them to continue to exist. Like the trapped and wounded animals in the Creel house, he "facilitated" the ending of their suffering in earnest-ish.

or maybe he thinks that far too many people are lazy cowards for not putting time and care into committing to make systemic changes nor break the cycle of abuse so he doesn't have any faith in anybody and they were easy targets idk

sorry this derailed so far away from will's vanishing. all i can say is that i, too, don't believe in that the "main villian" of ST is 100% evil. that'd reductive and scapegoat-ish to the ideas that began it all: forced comformity, perpetuating cycles of abuse and systems that fail everybody.

Deducing what may have actually happened to Will Byers on Nov 6, 1983 using evidence from the show.

Trigger warning: M*rder, s*icide.

part 2. part 3.

Before I begin, I just want to remind everyone that this show has many layers to it. What I mean is, if you watch carefully, a piece of dialogue can actually mean two (or more) things. The dialogue can be meaningful for the specific scene (surface level) and it can be a sneaky way to foreshadow something else entirely (subtext).

From this specific moment, we can assume that moving forward: any and all mentions of JFK’s assassination will actually be about Will’s disappearance (subtext).

So when the writers gifted us with these mentions, they are actually referring to the conspiracy surrounding Will’s disappearance. So let’s investigate, shall we?

Here’s the briefest overview of the JFK assassination: Oswald was convicted of assassinating JFK. Oswald denied his involvement stating that he was “a patsy”. Many conspiracy theories believe that Johnson was actually the one responsible.

Both Mrs. Driscoll and Dustin do not believe that Oswald assassinated JFK. Mrs. Driscoll is an outcast; she’s an older woman with schizophrenia. The guys who work at the newspaper are quick to dismiss her for these reasons. Now remember, this is Stranger Things, the show about outcasts being right and those fitting the norm being wrong. Then there’s our beloved Dustin, who states that “Oswald was a patsy”. Thus we can conclude: Johnson assassinated JFK, and Oswald was a patsy.

So… who if Will is JFK in this equation, who are our “Johnson” and “Oswald” counterparts?

Well right now, I assume most people believe Vecna is responsible for Will’s disappearance. He is our “bad guy”. So my guess is that he is our “Oswald”.

Who is our “Johnson”? Now remember, Johnson was someone close to JFK, he was the vice-president. He had something to gain in this. I believe Lonnie fits the bill the most for our Johnson.

So many clues surround Lonnie that tell us he was actually responsible. Plus, remember, he has something to gain from Will’s death: life insurance.

Though to be far, I am definitely not ruling out Brenner and Hawkins lab being involved in this too.

So… what happened exactly then? I’m not certain but this is my theory:

Lonnie was prepared to kill Will that night, but his plans were thwarted by our “Oswald”. Vecna swooped in and saved Will from his fate. His “come with me if you want to live” moment.

Moving further into the theory territory… here is a prediction:

- Our characters believe that the only way to defeat Vecna is to travel back in time and “stop him”.

- They travel back, stop him, then return finding out that the alternate present is much worse. By this I mean: Will was murdered, Mike ended his life by suicide, Joyce got admitted to Pennhurst Asylum, Jonathan was struggling with addiction, Lonnie got his payout, etc.

- Thus realizing that “killing” Vecna is and never was the solution here.

Now you may be thinking: but Vecna is 100% evil, why are you trying to redeem him? Well, the thing is, he’s not. Vecna is a villain but he’s not 100% evil. The show isn’t that simple friends. Plus, remember, nothing is exactly as it seems in this show.

[ponderingmoonlight]

And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

 “Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

 “But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

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[mohntilyet]

I want you to know you’ve indoctrinated both my friend and I into your path of thinking when it comes to Illario and the Envy demon.

I raise you this, since Illario isn’t even a mage before the Ossuary, consider the fact that Zara convinces Illario into also harboring Envy (like Spite, since Lucanis says he just ate something and he was stuck with Spite after that. Like she tells Illario he needs that dawg in him to become first talon, a double edged knife there (you aren’t good enough on your own you need that dawg in you aahhhh)). That would add a level onto why he kills her, Lucanis taking a crack at Illario and asking if he’s is good enough (I would’ve crashed out too tbh), and the lines in at the party with a romanced Rook (since that man also doesn’t have a healthy love life)

Envy is also twisted form of admiration/generosity/contentment, like how Spite was a spirit of determination, and the freak out Lucanis would have over his little brother’s admiration for him (an admiration he would NEVER admit to his big brothers face) becoming so twisted (by the same person!) that it’s also destroying him from the inside out.

Also Spite and Envy shenanigans would’ve been so fucking funny

YEAH!!!!!! i have been rotating this around in my mind and had the idea of that admiration v. envy thing for illario, especially if we're thinking about wigmaker's job where they cover for each others weaknesses. like a week ago i googled what the corresponding virtue for envy was and it was kindness and i was like yeahhhhh illario does not have that. we're going to have to go with something else. and i was thinking of admiration so this ask kind of made me cheer <3 thank god i am making some sense and someone else agrees because at any point i'm checking myself going 'actually would he do that'

i think they both have some level of 'i wish i could do that like them' but illario's is negatively tinged because their fuck ass grandma is right there saying all that too . like regardless of how great i think my brother is, there is no fucking way his accomplishments don't start looking twisted and unfair if my only parental figure obviously likes him more than me

i also like the idea of in some world where illario is less of a traitor and didn't set lucanis up (i have a rewrite powerpoint going on for my friends. so this part makes perfect sense to me but maybe not as much to you. i'm so sorry), and they both get kidnapped and possessed, spite-envy are the ones with serious beef vs. their unwitting hosts, who would actually prefer not to kill each other.

this messy au i have assumes a very fraught house dellamorte, trying to defend treviso while the crows splinter and follow either son. caterina refuses to let lucanis give up power and names him first talon, while illario has consolidated power in the year lucanis was gone and has several other loyal houses pledging to him instead. spite and envy exacerbate this situation, spite refusing to give up power + envy coveting it. this hypothetical plotline ends with uniting the crows under a single first talon (welcome back bhelen v harrowmont), and reaching an agreement with the others to work together. crow-on-crow violence you cannot be solved but you CAN reach a momentary tense agreement to protect antiva and the world <3

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Six)

Summary: She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she? Word Count: 3942 Warnings: still no smut (but Ghost has explicit thoughts), non graphic mentions of past abuse Notes: This chapter is pretty fluffy/funny actually! It's one of my favorites that I've written. Triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

There was no food in the cabinets of the house, nor of the next five—though there were several other infected that Ghost had to kill. But in the seventh, they got lucky.

Lelia practically cried when they opened the pantry in the basement to find a shelf fit to bursting with canned veg and soup. She opened a can right then and there and devoured it like he had the buck, desperation in every swallow. He’d tried to stop her, to get her to slow down, but she wouldn’t listen, dancing out of reach every time he tried to clumsily take her spoils from her. Of course, she had thrown it all back up not two minutes later.

Ghost awkwardly held her hair back as she heaved, careful not to touch any other part of her, no matter how badly he wanted to rub her back soothingly.

When his dove finally stopped retching, she straightened up with a groan that sounded like one of his, her small hands clutching her belly. He reluctantly let go of her hair—or tried to. His stiff fingers got stuck in a tangle, and when he began to move his hand away, it pulled on it, startling a yelp from Lelia. He let out a panicked, apologetic gurgle, and tried again to free his fingers—only to pull her hair once more. This time, she whimpered, and for one delusional second, he thought it sounded like one of pleasure.

“Simon,” Lelia gasped, hands reaching up to grasp his own. He jumped at the sudden warmth, fingers twitching, wanting to curl around hers and soak up their heat. “You’re going to pull my hair out if you're not careful. Just— just let me do it.”

Ghost obeyed, going still as he simply savored the feeling of her skin against his. She carefully collected each strand of hair from between his fingers, sometimes grasping the cold, stiff digits and guiding them out of the bigger tangles. It took several minutes, and those minutes were the very best of his undead life.

He couldn't help but hold onto her hands for a few seconds even after she was done. She looked over her shoulder at him with a raised brow, thankfully amused and understanding rather than disgusted. She was so kind. She was far too kind.

“Did they lock up again?” She asked him. He groaned out a no but it sounded like nothing and so she took it as a yes, just like he knew she would. She gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hands lightly and—oh. He— he felt that.

He stared at her in awe as she twisted awkwardly around, her hands still in his. He knew he was being selfish, stealing her body heat when she needed it more, forcing her to touch him… but he could feel it. Not the softness of her hands, but the warmth and the pressure when she tightened her grip. Unbidden, he thought of another part of her that could give him the same sensations…

Ghost quickly let go, feeling guilty and terribly ashamed with himself. He kept having these dirty thoughts about her, and that would have been bad enough back when he was alive, an old man creeping on an innocent young thing like her. But now? When he was dead and decaying? It was foul. He was foul.

“Better?” His dove asked, oblivious to the disgusting images of her in his mind, of her beneath him, on top of him, on her knees, bent over a table—

He turned around with a noncommittal grunt, putting his back to her. He grabbed the rucksack they’d found in house number four, and began swiping the cans of food off the shelf into it. Several missed and fell to the floor, but he ignored them, not wanting to risk catching sight of Lelia if he went chasing after them.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

“You’re making a mess,” she scolded lightly, with no real heat behind it. He wished there was. He deserved her censure. “Let me do that. I’m not feeling nauseous anymore. Though if we stay in here much longer that might change.”

It did smell quite bad, the dust and mildew overpowered by her puddle of sick. But as always, Lelia’s sweet scent was the most prominent to him, delicious and tempting. The vile part of his infected brain that he couldn’t seem to shut up wondered if eating her out would be enough to satisfy his hunger for her.

He ignored just how enticing the idea was.

Ghost was silent as Lelia took over packing up the cans, hanging back, but he did take the rucksack from her once she’d zipped it up. She gave him a surprised but grateful look, eyes wide and a little smile on her face. He wanted to kiss her. But his fucking lips had rotted off, because he was a walking gods-be-damned corpse.

He was all out of sorts just from her holding her hand, like he was a virgin touching a tit for the first time. If his blood was still pumping, his dick would be hard as steel in his trousers. It was pathetic. And if his little dove knew, she’d run screaming for the hills.

For once, he was glad he couldn’t talk. It made it that much harder for her to tell that something was wrong.

***

Lelia walked next to her zombie as they searched the rest of the house for warm, sturdy clothes that fit her—a surprisingly difficult task—sneaking worried glances at him every few minutes. Something had upset him, but she wasn't sure what. Was he still embarrassed about the drool incident? He’d seemed to put it behind him, after they’d left that first house. She wished he could talk so she could just ask him…

They didn’t find satisfactory clothes in the next few houses. Simon had vetoed the pretty dress she'd wanted to bring with them—”I’ll only wear it inside, Simon, I promise! Just look how beautiful it is!”—pointing at the full rucksack to show they had no space for it. Lelia had eventually given in and put the dress back with a sad sigh, and they'd continued their search.

The sun was setting by the time they found something Simon didn’t growl disapprovingly at, but at least he no longer seemed so bothered, anymore.

The clothes—and the room they’d found them in—looked like it had belonged to a young teenage girl going through a very intense emo phase. Her jeans were skinny enough that they didn’t immediately fall off Lelia’s hips, and her shirts were incredibly tacky, full of what Lelia assumed to be band logos. She wrinkled her nose when Simon shoved one with overlong sleeves and thumb holes at her, aghast.

“You want me to wear this?” She asked, disbelieving. “It has thumb holes, Simon! Thumb holes!”

Simon’s face almost always looked blank, but right now, she had the distinct impression it was because he was trying not to laugh at her. She huffed, but didn’t protest any further. She did complain, though.

“A fashion travesty,” she mumbled under her breath, not caring if Simon heard her. It was strange. She usually didn't complain—complaining always made things worse, in her experience—but she felt safe with him. It made no sense—he was a zombie, and he'd admitted to wanting to eat her earlier that same day—and yet it was true. Simon, her undead companion, made her feel safer than anyone else in her life ever had. “I understand that it's the apocalypse, and options are limited, but thumb holes…”

When she returned from the toilet after changing into her new clothes, Simon held out a black leather jacket with studs on the shoulders to her. She physically recoiled. And to think, she thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Absolutely not,” she said instantly. He shook the jacket in her direction, and she crossed her arms stubbornly, turning up her nose at it. “I said no, Simon! That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Simon rolled his cloudy eyes, and then gestured at his face and grunted disbelievingly. She didn’t understand what he was saying at first, and she looked at him in consternated confusion, before it dawned on her.

“That jacket is far uglier than you,” she replied honestly. Though Simon couldn’t be described as handsome, she’d grown used to his visage in the last few days. Ironically, seeing his sunken, colorless face, with its permanently bared teeth, broken jaw, and milky, white eyes brought her comfort, now, since she knew it meant that she was safe. That she wasn’t alone.

A face that was now looking at her with a distinct air of skepticism, despite its lack of expression. She could just tell—she was getting better at reading into the slight narrowing or widening of his eyes, his body language, and each noise he did or didn’t make. It was still impossible for him to communicate more complex ideas to her, but she usually understood his reactions to her own words.

“I’m being serious!” She replied to his pointed silence. “Leather jackets are vulgar. I would never be caught dead in one.”

Simon growled, stepping closer and shaking the jacket at her more aggressively. She made no move to reach for it, arms stubbornly crossed over her chest. Her zombie growled again, louder this time, closing the distance between them and draping the jacket over her shoulders. She let out a noise of protest, but one quelling look from Simon had her shutting up. He was very close, close enough that she could smell the ever present scent of rot and death that clung to him. It was worse now than it had been after he'd first cleaned himself back at the cabin—likely because of whatever animal he'd eaten earlier—but not nearly as bad as it was when they'd met. Besides, she had started to get used to it. It wasn’t pleasant, but it no longer made her nearly gag every time she caught a whiff of him.

Undistracted by his scent, all she could think about was his proximity. She’d known he was tall, but he’d never been so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look up at him, even when their hands had been locked together back in the basement.

Inexplicably, she found herself blushing. Though his hands had been cold and rough, and he’d not actually been holding them of his own free will, they had cradled hers so gently, fitting perfectly around her own. It had felt nice, and she wanted to hold them again. She was just so starved for gentle touch. She had been her whole life, with parents who didn't love her and a husband that found joy in her suffering.

And how ironic was that? That a zombie was the first person in months—years, had it not been for the occasional shoulder squeezes from her governess Ulyana when Lelia did particularly well at something—to touch her with no intent to hurt her?

Spurred on by the memory, she uncrossed her arms and slid them into the sleeves of the ugly jacket, looking up at Simon hopefully for his approval. Another thing she had been denied constantly, growing up. She had never been good enough for her parents, no matter how well she did in school or how perfectly she behaved. She had tried so hard all her life to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, in hopes that maybe someday, someone would love her. But that day had never come, and now it never would. Because who could ever love a dirty, broken thing like her? She had never been a person, only a piece of art—beautiful and silent, to be enjoyed and admired, but easily replaced. She had been traded from her father’s private collection to her husband’s, and he had knocked her off the gallery wall, had smashed her frame and ripped apart her canvas, destroying her value and leaving her with no sense of self. Who was she, if not the pretty, proper little thing the men in her life could show off and gain approval for? Who was she?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever known.

Suddenly, she felt cold fingers brush against her cheek, and she was pulled out of her spiraling thoughts. Simon was looking down at her with what she could swear was concern, and he groaned softly, head tilted to the side in question. It was then that she felt the wetness on her face. She was crying, and she hadn’t even realized. And now Simon was gently wiping away her tears.

Her eyes grew hot and she could feel a sob building in her throat. She resisted the urge to lean into his kind touch, sniffling as she reached up to scrub at her face harshly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed. Simon tugged lightly at her jacket, like he was trying to carefully pull it off, clearly assuming that was what had made her so upset. She let out a wet laugh, though there was very little humor in it, and shook her head, gently pushing his hand away. She hoped he didn’t notice how she let her fingers linger against his for a few seconds longer than necessary. “It’s not the jacket. I just—I was thinking about something sad, is all. I’m sorry I worried you.”

***

Ghost felt like an arsehole.

The second his dove had looked up at him with those big brown doe eyes of her all shiny and wet, his undead heart broke. He’d never meant to make her cry—he just wanted her to be safe and warm, and the jacket he’d found would help do just that. The tough leather would protect her from glancing bites, as well as conserve her body heat. He hadn’t expected her to put up such a vehement protest at the thought of wearing it, though he supposed he should have. She was clearly used to the finer things in life, and her style was quite feminine. He remembered the look she’d had on her face as he’d presented her with the hiking boots he’d found back at the cabin, and she’d had to leave her dainty ballet flats behind. She’d seemed sad, then, but also relieved—though he figured that had more to do with the painful looking blisters on her feet than approval of his fashion sense.

Nonetheless, he hadn’t been about to give into her—admittedly adorable—pouting. He’d draped the jacket over her shoulders, and had been trying to figure out how he could get her arms into it without crossing any lines when she’d shrugged it on herself. For a second, he thought she’d come to her senses—and then he’d seen the tears.

Instinct—human, this time—had kicked in at that moment, and he’d reached up to tenderly wipe them away. The distant look in her eyes had disappeared, and it almost seemed like she’d leaned towards his touch before she’d pulled away, but Ghost knew he had to have imagined that part.

He let out noise between a groan and a gurgle at her apology, waving a hand dismissively as he tried to communicate that she had nothing to be sorry about. He was the one who should be apologizing—he’d clearly touched some sort of nerve, to remind her of something that made her cry. He only wished that he knew what it was. He only wished that he could ask.

They didn’t spend much longer at that house, using the last dredges of daylight to search the one next door. And it was a good thing they did, because they found a half empty water cooler in what appeared to be a home gym. Lelia, who hadn’t had anything to drink since they’d run out of boiled stream water, was overjoyed. Though thankfully, she did listen to him this time when he warned her to take it slow.

Ghost handed over a can of veg, then rolled up one of the yoga mats on the and shoved it into the backpack. If Lelia had to sleep on the ground again, which he knew she would, the mat would make it a little less uncomfortable… or so he hoped.

When his dove finished eating and had drunk her fill, she reached over and tugged the zip he was having so much trouble with closed. He grunted, half annoyed, half grateful, and she patted his hand soothingly. It made him jolt, that shock of heat, and as always, he struggled not to grab ahold and pull her as close as physically possible. She seemed far touchier today than usual—though that wasn’t saying much, as she had only ever briefly brushed her fingers against his hands before when removing his wet gloves—and he wondered if it had to do with him running out on her earlier to hunt. Like she was trying to show him that she did want him around, that she was glad he’d come back.

Or maybe she was just in a good mood now that they’d found food and water.

Yeah, that seemed far more likely.

“Do you think they’ve got toothpaste here? I’m sure my breath smells something awful.”

Ghost jerked his shoulders up in a shrug, but when she moved to stand, he did too. He straightened from his crouch with a creak and a pop, muscles locked from rigor mortis protesting the movement.

He followed Lelia into the toilet, her hulking, undead shadow, and his eyes crinkled a bit in a smile as she crowed happily over finding a mostly empty tube of toothpaste. She put some on her finger and began to brush her teeth with it, wisely forgoing the dirt covered toothbrush next to the rusting tap. When she was done, she turned to him, reapplying the minty smelling paste to her finger and holding it up to his mouth.

“Your turn,” she said, but lightning quick, he grabbed her hand, stopping her. She jumped, but didn’t pull away, just looked at him with those big brown doe eyes of hers. He grunted, shaking his head as he gently pushed her hand away from his face. He could feel drool collecting in the corner of his mouth again. He was floored by just how much she trusted him. He knew she had very little survival instincts, but even she had to know better than to go sticking her fingers in a zombie’s mouth. And yet, she’d been about to do just that. And he had no idea if he’d be able to stop himself from trying to bite down the second he tasted her hot, sweet flesh on his tongue.

He clumsily grabbed the dirty toothbrush—he was already dead, what were the germs going to do? Kill him?—wiped it off on his tactical vest, and then handed it to her with a pointed grunt.

“You want me to brush your teeth with this?” His dove asked, cute little nose wrinkled up in disgust. He would have nodded, but he could still feel the drool on his chin, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of earlier. So he just continued to stare at her until she gave in with a sigh. “Fine, then. But sit down. You’re too tall.”

You're just short, he thought but couldn’t say. Instead he let out a grumbly huff of laughter, and then sat down on the closed toilet seat. She stepped closer so she was right in front of him, and his gaze was perfectly level with her small, perky breasts. The shirt he’d found for her clung to her tightly, accentuating the slight curves of her chest and waist. She was far too skinny, ribs showing through the fabric, but she was still beautiful.

He started to drool again.

She wiped it away on her sleeve, mumbling about thumb holes apparently being good for something, and then gently—more gently than he ever remembered being touched in his undead life or the bits of his actual life before that—cradled his broken jaw in one of her small hands. He blinked up at her slowly—not out of an actual need, but out of shock—and let out a strangled groan. She paused, looking at him in concern.

“Did I hurt you?” she said, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it still caused you pain…”

She moved to let go of him, and he lightly grasped her hand again, bringing it back to his jaw. In truth, he could barely feel it. Just a scant pressure and her addictive heat. But it was the fact that she was willingly touching such a destroyed part of him, and so tenderly, that undid him. She was… ethereal. Everything that he had ever been denied—softness and warmth and light and kindness. He didn't remember very much of his old life, but he knew enough that he had never experienced something like this—like her—before. Her existence was proof of heaven. He just didn’t understand what an angel like her was doing down on earth. Especially after it had turned into Hell.

And he certainly didn't understand why such a pure being would deign to touch a wretched monster like him.

He should have moved her hand away, should have stopped tainting her with his undead skin. But he was selfish, and so he just shook his head, tilting it back a little to look up at her.

His dove smiled at him, caressing his broken jaw sweetly for a second. His eyes went half lidded in pleasure, watching her as she carefully brushed his teeth.

“Your breath smells even worse than mine,” Lelia said with a little giggle, even as she grimaced in disgust. Somehow, she made the expression seem adorable, and her pure laughter took the sting from her words. She was teasing him, like she would a friend. The thought made his eyes crinkle slightly in a smile. She was being playful, and it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her, but happiness most of all.

His dove took her time cleaning his teeth, growing quiet as she focused. He could feel bits of flesh and fur unsticking from between his blackened gums, and he knew it must have disgusted her from the little wrinkle of her nose, but she didn't complain. She just let him spit into the sink before applying more toothpaste and continuing her task.

“There we are,” she said nearly fifteen minutes after she’d started, finally removing the brush from his mouth for good and letting go of his face. He mourned her touch, but her bright eyes made it a tad easier to bear. “Minty fresh.”

Ghost groaned quietly in thanks, and she wiped her hands off on a towel—he’d drooled quite a bit during the cleaning process, but she hadn’t even flinched—before yawning. He stood up, gently nudging her towards the door with his elbow.

“Yes yes, it’s bedtime, I know,” she said playfully, nudging him back. She looked excited. “There's a king mattress in the master bedroom—it will almost feel like home.”

Ghost huffed a laugh as he walked her down the hall. He took up his post outside the door, and her hand brushed against his as she slipped past him and into the room.

“Goodnight, Simon,” she said quietly, giving him a sweet smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

And once again, he was alone.

[azlovesem]

If i dtay with her ill kill her eventually. She is cold hearted and blooded i should have knoen. I kind of always new. I dontvwhat happened to her msybe its me. It fiesnt matter. If i ho to Wi ddor for xmas im never coming back anywhere. My dhotgun is somewhere no one will ever find it. My other weapons are with someone in thevwest end. Ibtold him to keep them i font need em. Ive got fiifty grand stashed im coming over there. I never intend to return. Its a one way trip. I never aantvsee north america again ever. This place….fails wveryone not just me. It is not up to my standards in any wsy shape or form. I dont want to worknwith these peoole or ever defend them ftom anything again. They font help me at all none of em. Not enough irs a wasted greedy ass society i want no part of. Il not ssying ots different thete but its somewhere different. I dontvwanna die here i dont want any of these bastards touching my body. I dontbwantbanythi g yo donwith these people or this loace snymore. Itsca drag here and yhe people ate the biggest drags about it. Sure not sll but theres not enough. Maybe its just my experience. But Americans wrent the only ones besides that lymie fuck who got cali incinerated. No im seripus indid allnthat and killed sll those people. Om not serious it involving you or that im actuallybreally mad at you. I dont know toubwrll enough yonhate you and whst i can see i love. If i dont see you or this is all an illusion or youre on with a good life im not hoing looking for you. I justvwant to see England and France before i die. But im never coming back here.

Emma Watson

[rhymeswithchronic]

*shimmies up to the mic*

*gently taps on it*

*clears throat*

Episode 6 just solidified PvP Civ as being better then Parkour Civ

*runs away as fast as possible*

OKAY LISTEN I will literally commit war crimes for EMF, my scrungly, and Parkour God Evbo, but to be perfectly honest most of the things that make the characters so lovable is headcanon or fanon. Parkour Civ is loved for the story, the light hearted nature and humor, ~the yaoi potential~ and the messages

Episode 6 alone has just solidified almost the entire cast of PvP Civ as individual, thought out characters. Really, the only one in ParkCiv with that kind of thought was Seawatt, with his tragic motivations followed by his death.

Parrot and Tabi have become SO MUCH MORE interesting because of the reveals, and I think Tabi has just immediately become one of my favorites because she’s just so INTERESTING. Someone who is so determined to reach a goal that she doesn’t care if she kills people in her way, but who also consciously *did not permanently kill Evbo despite having the ability to do so*. There’s still SOMETHING there that caused her to use the axe instead of the Eternal Sword, and THAT is the part of her that I think is truly her.

She was talking to someone towards the beginning (our great Parkour Villain himself can’t wait for PvP Villain ClownPierce) but there was something off about their conversation. Clown suggests that she shouldn’t be the one to do this because she’s younger and she “doesn’t deserve to die yet”. Something about their plan does not end well for the one who has to carry it out. Tabi is doing something and possibly sacrificing herself in the process.

Now here’s the thing: Why did she kill Evbo at all?

It could be for the reason that is presented to us. Because she doesn’t care about him. Because he was a tool she used to get what she needed and she didn’t care what had to happen to him for her to get there. She only brought up the literal torture he suffered FOR HER as a way to manipulate him further into following her orders, and now he’s just an obstacle

But that *doesn’t make sense*

If he was just an obstacle, WHY did she let him respawn? We can assume she didn’t know that Prince Zam was waiting since if she wanted Evbo to be killed and not respawn, she easily could’ve done that herself. But she DIDNT. She actively chose to use her axe on him and let him respawn. She has to know that Evbo is going to come after her. She has to know that Evbos continued existence, especially as a Natural Born Sword, is detrimental to their plan. She knows this and she chose to use her axe anyway

That leaves us with the other possible reason:

Tabi did it to SAVE Evbo

Hear me out on this. Talking about her discussion with Clown, here’s how it goes:

“Let me be the one to do it. You have a longer life that I do, and you don’t deserve to die yet.”

“We’re all gonna die if we don’t get that sword, and you know I’m the only one good enough to get it.”

Clown suggests here that somehow, this plan will end up with someone dying. He is offering himself because she “has a longer life”, which could mean he’s older and has lower durability than her, or something else entirely, but that’s up in the air.

Tabi is SMART. She knows exactly what she’s doing and why. She knows that there’s a solid chance that she will die, but she’s willing to risk that for immortality. “We’re all gonna die”? Because of the other kingdoms?

Whatever it is, whatever she meant, she did not want Evbo as a part of this. She told him to move first. Attacking was not her first priority. She didn’t want to kill him, but she knew one thing:

Evbo could not go with her.

If she stayed true to her word, if she left together with Evbo, she knew he would want to stay with her. He would stay by her side no matter what. And she just couldn’t bare the idea of leading Evbo to his own death from their plan. Maybe she was hoping giving her the time to flee would allow the Diamond Swords to convince Evbo to not leave at all. Not like it would take much convincing (in her eyes) since he was already attached. Inside of the civilization is the safest place for someone as trusting and naive as him. She wanted to keep him safe, and if he came with her, the same thing that would kill her would end up killing him.

Tabi killed Evbo to save him I rest my case

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: good morning, my loves, how do we feel about scheduled posts all the way through the holiday? (if you're in america)

part 14: the waking nightmare

word count: 2,053

tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The morning after the fire, the air in Birmingham still carried the acrid scent of smoke and charred wood. Arthur, John, Michael, and Finn stood before the blackened husk of the bookshop, their expressions grim as they surveyed the damage. The once-cozy place, lined with stories and secrets, was now a gutted shell of ash and rubble. They didn't know what they'd find, and they didn't know where to start looking. All they could think was that, maybe, there would be something in there that survived, something they could bring back to you.

“Damn shame,” Arthur muttered, stepping through the splintered doorway. His boots crunched against debris of blistered leather and paper. "Who’d go after a bloody bookshop?"

“Someone who wanted her out of the picture,” Michael said coolly, running a hand over the soot-streaked frame of the doorway. He glanced at Finn, who remained silent, his eyes scanning the wreckage as if he could will it to yield answers. "Or they thought this was the only way to draw her out. They could've killed her."

John knelt by the remnants of a desk, brushing away ash to reveal twisted metal and scorched wood. “Whatever’s left, it’s not much,” he said with a grimace, standing and wiping his hands on his trousers. “Place is done for.”

Finn, determined, ventured further in. The steps up to your former office creaked beneath his feet. He walked through slowly, assessing each stair as the cracks from the fire revealed themselves.

When he stepped inside, his face fell to a somber frown. The chair where he once sat was withered down to bare bones. The pictures were all black and their frames cracked.

His gaze caught on a blackened drawer barely clinging to its hinges. Something about it felt off—as if it had stubbornly resisted the flames’ grasp. With effort, he pried it open, revealing a charred stack of papers, a silver pen dulled by soot, and a faded leather-bound book, its edges singed but intact. He removed the items from the drawer, and from the book, a photograph fell, landing face down on the floor.

The picture had been protected, shielded from the worst of the fire, though the edges curled slightly from the heat. Finn picked it up carefully, revealing the image of a man in a sharp suit with a dark, knowing smile. The background suggested another time, another place—your world before Birmingham and the Peaky Blinders.

“What’d you find, Finn?” Arthur asked, his voice low. Finn handed the photo to him, and Arthur studied it, his brow furrowing. “Who’s the fancy lad?”

Michael leaned over Arthur’s shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Could be a family member. Maybe, a former lover,” he said. "This was locked away, wasn’t it?"

John, who’d been sifting through another pile, turned his attention to them. “So y/n had a secret,” he said, smirking. “Don't look so surprised.”

Finn, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, said, “You think it’s why this happened? Him?”

Arthur shook his head. “I think we've learned by now not to make any assumptions about her.”

“You gonna tell him about this?” John asked, nodding to the photograph.

Arthur hesitated, his gaze lingering on the face in the picture. “He’ll need to know.”

Finn frowned, taking the photo back and slipping it carefully into his coat pocket. “We could just leave it alone. For all she knows, it burned up with the rest of this place.”

John scoffed. “Finn, someone torched this shop. Shot at her in the dark. Someone went through a lot of trouble just to rattle her.”

Michael, still surveying the remains of the office, added, “We should tell Tommy first then. I don't think we're going to find anymore answers here.”

The four of them stood for a moment longer, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. The charred remnants of you life felt like a puzzle, each piece telling a story they were only beginning to uncover.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

You woke with a twitch, your breath ragged and your body trembling. The room was dark, but there was warmth surrounding you, steady and grounding. For a moment, you couldn’t place it. Your mind was still tangled in the remnants of the nightmare that woke you. The warmth wasn't a claw from the dream. You weren't alone.

Tommy’s arms were around you, firm but not confining. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding you like he was afraid you might break but unwilling to let go. His face was close, his breath brushing against your hair.

He said your name softly, his voice cutting through the haze of fear.

You stiffened, instinctively pulling back, but he didn’t let you go entirely. His hands moved to your shoulders, anchoring you as your breathing slowed.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was rough with sleep and embarrassment. "Why are you still here?"

“You were...” he started to say, his tone calm but edged. He gently brushed the hair laced with sweat from your forehead. “You were having a nightmare. Couldn't wake you.”

You couldn't explain yourself, but the thought of him seeing you in the middle of an episode that haunted you nightly was unsettling. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the blanket.

“It was just a dream,” you whispered.

“That would be putting it lightly.”

You nodded reluctantly. “It’s nothing. They come and go.”

“Since the fire?”

“Before that,” your admitted, so softly that he could barely hear it.

Tommy’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought he might ask more. But instead, he shifted slightly, leaning closer without crowding.

“What were you dreaming about?” he whispered.

Your chest tightened at his gentle prod, a part of you wanting to lash out, to push him away before he could ask something much more invasive, but you were exhausted. The wounds were still fresh, and your mind was stretched thin. It had been that way for a long time. Any second now, and the fine, tensed wire that kept you from revealing everything would snap.

“I have no answer for you now that would satisfy your curiosity.” You desperately wanted to feel the pillow but rested your head against his shoulder, momentarily accepting the close quarters and the feeling of safety in his hold.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. When he did, his voice was softer than she expected. “What's his name, then?”

The simplicity of the question caught you off guard. “How could you possibly—”

“Because I see them too,” he interrupted, his tone sharper. “The ones I’ve lost. The ones I’ve killed. It doesn’t go away, y/n. Eventually, we all end up this way. Haunted. Even if it's only while we sleep.”

His honesty disarmed you, but you felt his honest comment with something more than annoyance. Tommy was showing you that he understood. That he, too, felt the weight of a hundred souls that never let him sleep without the constant reminder that they have yet to move on.

“Does it ever stop?” you asked after a long silence.

"I have yet to lie to you since we've met, and I don't plan to lie now."

Tommy's thumb gently stroked your shoulder, and it brought comfort to the aching throb beneath. The urge to move away from him subsided. For now, you would accept his company because it was better than being alone with the dreams that could so easily return the moment he left.

“You were screaming." Tommy's voice hung low as he steadied himself to admit more than he would usually care to. “And I can’t stand to see you like that.”

Like a reflex, your cheek met his chest, and the scent of him washed over you like a comforting fire. You leaned into him, and he shifted beneath you until you rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. “Why?”

As if he felt the change in your body, he pressed his lips to your hair and sighed. He closed his eyes with the last of his admission. “I don't know.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“Two people in pain are no good to each other, Tommy,” you said softly. "Maybe it's best we be alone."

“You're right,” Tommy replied. “But this doesn't seem so bad.”

The seconds of being alone in the safety of Arrow House hit the both of you like a warm light, blinding you from the doubts that you knew would eventually return. But, for now, you and Tommy accepted that if either of you were truly better off alone, then one night wouldn't do much to ruin you anymore than you already were.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The room had settled into a stillness that seemed fragile, as if one wrong word or movement might shatter it. Tommy sat propped against the headboard, his arm wrapped securely around you as you rested against his chest. Your breathing had slowed, teetering on the edge of a deep sleep, but he could tell by the faint tension in your body that you were somewhere just before it.

Tommy glanced down at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His hand idly brushed over your arm in a gesture so unfamiliar to him it almost startled him to realize he was doing it.

“y/n,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the night outside.

You hummed in acknowledgement, the sleep finding you quickly.

“Bingham,” he whispered. “What happened?”

Perhaps, now wasn't the time, but at this time of night, the thought that you might be so exhausted that you wouldn't be able to hide it anymore encouraged him to keep trying. At first, he thought you might not answer. But then you sighed, your voice soft and gentle, your real voice beneath all that you'd let others hear until now.

“He knew,” you said, your words slow, as if you were piecing them together in your half-awake state.

“Knew what?”

“About him.”

Tommy’s chest tightened, his grip on you tightening slightly. “The man you loved?”

You nodded against him, leaning into him just gently enough to make yourself more comfortable. You didn’t elaborate, and he waited, knowing that pressing too hard would push you back into silence.

“What did he know?” Tommy asked after a moment, his voice even quieter than before.

“That it broke me."

Tommy leaned his head against the bed. He stared into nothing as he braced himself for whatever you would reveal. He didn't know if he'd be ready for any of it, but not knowing would sooner drive him to madness.

“What happened to him?”

When you finally spoke, your voice was distant, as though you were reliving the memory. In your head, all the visions you kept at bay coursed through your mind, seeing the man Tommy so reluctantly asked about.

“He was so sad... And I couldn't fix it. It was all my fault.”

Tommy’s mind raced to piece together what little you were giving him. He wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but your voice cut through his thoughts.

“I wanted to die,” she muttered, the words so quiet he almost didn’t catch them. “So fucking badly.”

The admission hit Tommy harder than he expected. His fingers tightened slightly on your arm, grounding himself in the present though he felt himself being pulled into your nightmare.

“I couldn't,” you continued, breaths slowly deepening as sleep pulled back your speech. “I tried.”

You were quiet for a long time, and he thought you might have fallen asleep. But then you shifted, your nose nuzzling into his chest like a place of comfort. Your voice was drowsy but filled with a quiet resolve.

“Death scared me, too,” you said against his shirt, your words slurring as sleep began to take hold. “And dying didn't wouldn't mean I'd get him back.”

Tommy let the silence stretch after that, his mind a storm of questions and emotions he wasn’t ready to face. He glanced down at you, your breathing evening out as you drifted into sleep.

He held you a little tighter, his hand brushing against your hair in an unconscious gesture of comfort. The weight of your words stayed with him until he, too, found sleep. Though it would not be so comforting as he would have wished.

[bogor-o]

mother rambles ahoyyy

i think ive said before, but a lot of crowns "influence" on Mother is almost entirely just dulling emotions and it usually does this by means of scrambling their head a little just to disrupt whatever is causing the disturbance and usually its just memories

very early on it's not as bad because they're actively trying not to think about their life before becoming a vessel and as time goes on and they're trying to live in a "virtuous" way that means giving mercy to people who don't deserve it, the crown just softens the wave of emotions that only gradually build up and its what keeps Mother balanced enough to handle a lot of the early years of cult management

the lingering survivors guilt will always chip away at them, ovidia wants to believe they would have done things differently but the reality is that every choice they made before their capture and death was deliberate, and they faced the consequences. being caught and inadvertently led to the deaths of her little sisters was a butterfly effect of ovidia never really letting go of the fear of death, and for a very long time in her denial convincing herself it was because if she didnt look out for herself how could she ensure that her sisters would be safe?

mentally he frames everything as "i did it for their sake" when the reality was "i wanted to live by any means necessary"

ovidias want for a future he envisioned for himself was always a priority in the back of his mind and fueled all his choices: the way he looked for food and how it was divided, always taking a little more than her sisters because "i need the energy to care for them" and it makes sense of course, but it meant they would never have enough

when the hunger made them malnourished and sick that one could no longer stand, the most risk she took was looking for anything to ease her dying.

the youngest was still young enough to lie to, young enough that if she said she would be okay that she would have no other choice but to believe ovidia, she was their caregiver what reason would she have not to.

and the only selfless thing they'd done was still carrying their sister as they ran, but was it just an act of love done too late? or was it because finally now when their moments of away from being caught and killed, did they want to have the appearance of a person who would have done anything for their family?

the thoughts and the guilt are what eat away at his psyche to most and its why the crown has had to intervene so often and numb them.

the way they treat their followers is an idealized version of who they wish they could have been, they wished they could have been virtuous and selfless, loving and caring, a Mother to someone. this also meant becoming ruthless to the opposition and taking out any anger boiling inside out on the bishops and heretics

Becoming Mother is the "best" version of themself and to one day "lose" him and becoming themself again is another challenge entirely that takes a toll on them mentally all over again.

They see themselves as a different person and even attribute all their bloodshed as a different entity all together because its easier than admitting it was always them.

post Mother, they only half accept that truth.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Do you think Katara could have loved Zuko before he got his scar? Let me explain: do you see the episode in season 1 where we discover Aang and Zuko's past?We have a Zuko we hadn't seen before: he wanted to save the crew, he showed himself as a hero, brave and compassionate. We know that Katara is attracted to people like that. Who seeks to help people (even if it was the Fire Nation), it was still a crew that was going to die for a vain sacrifice.

Zuko stood up to the leaders, just as Katara stood up to Pakku to defend the other women of the tribe; it's a small parallel that could have connected them. In that moment, I could say that maybe if Katara had met Zuko at that time, she might have been attracted to his devotion and his need to protect others.

Because I dug into the series to find out when Katara could have fallen in love with Zuko, and ultimately, I don't find any attraction between them. Because after Zuko's father disfigured his face, it created a trauma in him and changed him: not that the brave and compassionate Zuko no longer exists, but the trauma matrixed him, made him change... That's when I see the attraction between Katara and Zuko more clearly.

Zuko, after his banishment, became very angry, rarely smiled, withdrawn, and very emotional, which sometimes hurt those close to him. (emo, si je peux dire). But over the seasons, he gradually changes.

Even after he joined the gaang, he is still somewhat the same person, but with more sensitivity and more open to others.

Now, tell me how, in all that I just mentioned, Katara would have an attraction to Zuko with all the intrigues that have happened, Ba Sing Se, the North and South (1 s) and so on...

Maybe her awkwardness in communicating with others is charming in her personality?

His physique?

His way of being clumsily intentional?

But guess who is the person who was attracted to Zuko with the three points I just mentioned: Jin

I find that Zutara fans try too hard to force a connection so that Katara can fall in love with Zuko when there isn't one. Or it's because they themselves have a crush on Zuko, which is normal, but they want Katara to fall in love with him because he is the ideal model for a girl. While rejecting Katara's needs and her personality,

1 - Pre-scar Zuko was already raised to be an imperialist that would do things like laugh at a joke about Ba Sing Se being burned to the ground, and yes, objected to HIS soldiers getting killed, but not the literal war and genocide his nation and family had been engaging in for a whole century. Katara isn't gonna be impressed by his compassion towards the people of his nation when he has none for the other nations - including her own.

2 - Pre-scar Zuko was already being negatively affected by being raised by a parent that was emotionally and verbally abusive towards him (and agreed to MURDER him, leading to his mother's disappearance/"death"). He isn't being openly hostile to everyone around him, but he is already a victim, traumatized and coping poorly by trying to "earn" not only his father's love but the basic right to not be his punching bag - by supporting his evil actions. Katara's potential empathy for the unfair situation Zuko was in wouldn't blind her to the fact he is being unfair to others too, just look at how fast she turned against Jet.

3 - Lack of compassion might be a deal-breaker for Katara, but someone not being a cruel bastard is not enough to make her fall in love with someone - if it were, she would have had feelings for half the cast. Compassion is the bare minimum for her not to HATE someone, not for her to LOVE them.

4 - Katara likes effortlessly cool/charming guys, that's Jet (literally) sweeps her off her feet, and why she's all over Aang when he's being the cool guy in cave party in "The Headband" but is FURIOUS at his awkwardness and cluelessness in "Cave Of Two Lovers." She would NOT appreciate Zuko's dorkiness and he would not appriciate her getting mad at him for it.

5 - Katara met the new and improved Zuko, who, despite his flaws, was kind, regretful, compassionate and willing to do what was right and, more importantly, keep his own bad behaviors in check, which Katara does appreciate. Yet not only did she still not fall in love with him, she treated him the same way she treats Sokka, her brother.

6 - While Jin was certainly charmed by Zuko being hot, as well as pure of heart and dumb of ass, we cannot really use her as basis for comparisson to LOVE. She didn't even know his real name, let alone understand who he is a person. MAI loved him. When he was an innocent, sweet child. When he was a moody, kind of asshole teen. When he was an honorable, brave, wise young man. Mai is the one who loves every version of Zuko, not Jin, and surely not Katara.

[albinokittens300]

!Spoilers Under The Cut!

Last critical leaning post, but warning I am gonna boarderline vent here. Hopefully after this I can take up enjoying the vagueness the ending left us with but. Still gotta get this out.

Gonna say it: I swear they just were to scared to give Jinx a positive ending. Like they had such a perfect set up for it and plain and simple the writers were not brave enough to give her the ending she should have gotten.

I wholeheartedly disagree with this idea of her running away is a good ending. It's a terrible one, because it doesn't allow her to heal anything. It allows her to run away from what she needs to heal. It's avoidance not growth. Guess I can be happy she wasn't really dead but that's kinda the most positive thing I can say about her exiling herself by leaving. And this being what is probably a sacrifice for Vi's happyness when it also takes her away from whatever is very clearly being built between her and Ekko? Again. That's not good in my opinion. It's going backwards for her. Chooseing things based on what someone else wants, not herself.

And let me be clear: leaving behind the two people she loves and has a connection with? Is completely out of character for her.

So unless it is intentionally meant to be a short lived absence, which we have nothing inplying that to be the case, I think her leaving is only a few points better than her actually dieing.

It would have made so much more sense to show her coming back and joinning the Firelights and the others who were fighting with them. Her sacrifice, than her walking in amongst a group of Zaunites and Ekko noticing her and a laugh as she plays with him for a minute. It's an open ended thing- we don't know if she really is fully joinning them, how she feels about the new situation between the cities, or Vi- but she is there and faceing the new.

THAT would be so many worlds better than her just being assumed dead and leaving her life completely behind. Because doing that doesn't break the cycle of killing the way Silco was encourageing her to do- it just prevents her from having to make any changes.

Whew. Okay. There, off my chest.

I do have a whole post like this about Episode 7 that I might get the heart up to actually post. Though, I almost refuse just on grounds so many Timebomb fans are loving and enjoying it. The last thing I want to do is tear it down, even if I haveing a harder time of it.

But hopefully with this out I can play with some of the freedom this ending did bless us with. If nothing else, I can have any ending I want because they just let Jinx fly off.

[dyns33]

The Best Friend part 2

Yes I made a lil 3 parts series for Homelander and his bestie.

If Y/N had to give John one good point, it was that he had been honest.

He could have said nothing, and she probably would have never known.

But at the same time, he wasn't completely stupid, and it wasn't a good idea to keep secrets like that.

Because he himself didn't like being lied to, promising that it would never happen between them, but also that he was giving Firecracker power over him, who could have threatened to tell her everything if he didn't do what she wanted.

Maybe she was blinded by admiration at the moment, claiming that she was at his beck and call and that she wouldn't ask for anything in return, but John knew people. He couldn't trust her.

"I'm not attracted to her at all, I told her that."

"… That reassures and consoles me enormously, John."

"Look, I understand that you're angry. But it was just once, just once ! A moment of weakness. I was exhausted, a lot of things had happened, you weren't there…"

"So it's my fault ?"

"No." He growled before sighing, trying to keep his cool. "I didn't say that. She was very persuasive. How does she know that I… Anyway, it was a mistake. I can fire her, she's no use to me. That idiot is loyal, I can ask her anything I want, but one word from you and she's gone. I can even kill her if you ask."

A lot of people wouldn't know how to react in this situation.

Normally it wasn't a good idea to upset the Homelander. You had to agree with him, not cry, not yell, not talk back. It was already an accomplishment that he admitted he had made a mistake.

Maybe he hadn't apologized, but Y/N was probably smart enough to know that he was sorry and that she should forgive him.

Anyone else would have eventually said sorry, taking the blame on them and making excuses for his cheating.

But besides the fact that she had been his only friend during his childhood, John loved Y/N because she wasn't afraid of him. And that meant she wasn't going to give in when he had hurt her.

"Your solution to a problem always has to be murder. Really, John, we're not eight years old anymore."

"Exactly, that's why we're talking like two adults."

"I'm waiting."

"What ?"

"For you to act like an adult."

Then John chuckled. He put on his eternal air of a guilty child who pretended not to understand what he had done wrong, disturbed that someone dared to corner him in this way, him, the great Homelander.

But seeing that Y/N was staring at him without saying anything, waiting, he quickly regained his seriousness, hiding his embarrassment behind a mask of annoyance.

"I just told you that I wouldn't do it again. She doesn't attract me at all, she's pathetic. I only love you. I've only ever loved you, since forever. The others were nothing, distractions, puppets. You're the only one who really knew me, who made me happy."

"I'm waiting."

"You don't want me to cut her in two, and I can't go back in time by flying around the Earth in the opposite direction of rotation contrary to what some idiots think, I don't see what I can do."

"Apologize."

"… Sorry." he mumbled, looking down, showing a pout.

"No. Better than that, John. Give me your most sincere apologies."

At this point, someone else would already be dead, or at least facing a furious and threatening supe, ready to use his lasers to silence her.

But Y/N was really not just anyone. Realizing that she would not change her mind, John mumbled, hands on his hips, before displaying his fake stage smile.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm still waiting."

"… I should never have done that, it was pathetic of me. I love you more than anything and I shouldn't take it for granted, you deserve to be treated with respect. Forgive me."

"Hmm. Almost but not yet." she decided, holding back a smile.

She was still angry, but Y/N was ready to forgive him. After all these years, she knew how John was. She knew he would never have said the word "sorry" if he didn't mean it, and he wouldn't have confessed anything if he didn't really care about her.

But the moment was tasty and she wanted to make the most of it, so that he would learn his lesson well.

"What ? You want me to get on my knees ?"

"That would be a good start."

"… Fine."

Y/N had said that as a joke. In truth, she didn't really know what she was waiting for, only that she wanted it to last a little longer. It was impossible to tell whether or not she liked seeing John at her feet, staring at her with fear.

"I'm sorry. Don't leave me."

"Oh, John…"

"I know I can be difficult. You're always good and patient with me, even though I don't deserve it at all. I love you. If you left me, I would die, truly. The day they took you from me, I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn't breathe. I would destroy everything if you disappeared again."

It wasn't exactly a reassuring statement. It could even have been taken as blackmail or a threat. But John would never hurt Y/N, she knew that.

He would kill everyone else, leaving only them, but he would tear off an arm rather than hurt her.

Tenderly, she stroked his hair, then his cheek, before leaning in to kiss him.

"I forgive you, John."

"Hmm."

"I love you too, I'm not going to leave you."

"Thanks."

"Get up now."

"Hmm. I don't know, I like the view." he said with a small smile. She followed his gaze, still leaning over, understanding that this way he had a full view of her chest and crotch.

The small pat he took on your head made him snicker, as did Y/N's falsely outraged look.

"I know another way to make it up to you."

"It wouldn't really be a punishment."

"I'll just be a little sad if I can't find any milk. But we could also do something to change that."

"Why are you never serious ?" she sighed, rolling her eyes.

The apology ended like that, because she received a call that caught her full attention. Y/N didn't look at John either, who never left her, dangerously serious, and fixed on her stomach.

[foundfamilyblog]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ARCANES ENDING BELOW:

Now, this is off topic for my blog but I'd like to shed light on something.

Arcanes ending. Namely the end of Jinx's character arc is what I believe to be one of the finest pieces of writing in the modern world with no exception. When Jinx is born at the end of 103 we see what happens to someone who heals wrong, we see the kind of monster they become when they aren't nurtured and given a proper environment to heal in. Powder becomes a monster known as Jinx who goes on to commit multiple acts of terrorism against Piltover. The way she feeds into this idea of being a monster as a way of lashing out at the pain she's felt from being "abandoned" by Vi is so incredibly realistic and relatable that it begs the question what has happened in the writers lives that allow them to understand such a transformation so thoroughly.

Then, at the end of season 1 we see Powder/Jinx finally embrace her new self with no more qualms about her identity, truly and finally one. Without any need to hold back anymore, she does something truly unforgivable and without redemption in the form of 9/11ing Piltover. Even in this moment though, she screams and cries in pain at how her old life is well and truly gone. The emotional turmoil of what she's done and what she's doing is too much to handle. To violently tear a new life out from the broken and beaten body of your old one is something no soul should have to do, but she does, and she makes it relatable.

Once we see her again in season 2, she has become much more lucid and comfortable in her own body as Jinx, the hallucinations have subsided for the most part and her inner turmoil is appropriately dealt with. Additionally she has a goal in mind now, she's chosen who she is and she knows what she wants to do: Kill Vi. The new life she has built for herself is purposeful, deliberate, no more a mish mash of two clashing ideals.

She wants to solidify her role as a monster once and for all, which ends in an epic battle between her and her sister, and at the very end of the fight right before she's taken out for good? A single soul sees the value in her life and risks everything to protect her. A child. Everyone, even Jinx is shocked by this because how could anyone ever love an ugly, broken thing like her? Let alone risk their life for her? The shock this instills in everyone buys Jinx enough time to escape with the kid, Isha. Imagine performing such horrible, inconceivable actions with no remorse and being full of such hatred, and then one person decides you're worth it. Just one person decides you are worthy of love and that they do love you and want you around. Can you imagine how that would shatter your world view? Being full of such self hatred and hatred for the world around you only to be shown warmth even in those times? This is exactly what happens to Jinx.

When we see her next, some time has passed, and she's even begun to drop the name Jinx. Her new friend, Isha, and her have begun a new life together and they look out for each other. The way Jinx describes her new life is "like I'm looking through glasses, except I can't tell if everything's blurry or clear." And what's clear to us as the audience is that Jinx is FINALLY healing. She is finally beginning to find some peace after all she has been through, and all it took was ONE soul, one singular person to love her even after all she had done. We go on to see her reunite with her sister, and somewhat with her father. We get to watch her slowly rebuild the life that was stolen from her and reconnect with those she lost, and those she hurt. This represents hope and change, rebirth and love, that maybe your sins aren't who you are. That you can change and love and be so wonderfully you with those who love you!

Isha dies. Isha, Jinx's anchor to the world, dies protecting her. Yet again Jinx loses everything. Her father is taken from her yet again in the process and the exact trauma that shaped her into Jinx is entirely recreated. Except, this time? There's no insanity. There's no hallucinations and mania. There's no rage or hate or flames or explosions or chaos or screaming. It's just sad. Nothing but sorrow fills Jinx up as she loses her one and only friend. She intends to kill herself at this point. She looks back at her life and sees how everyone she gets close to dies, gets hurt, or she in some way is preventing from being happy. That she alone is the perpetuator of a cycle of violence that has plagued her families lives for years and years. So she decides to give them closure. She tells Vi she can stop feeling bad for being happy and move on, she tells Cait she didn't know her Mom was in the explosion, and she leaves. Nothing more, just leaves. Doesn't tell anyone what she's going to do, she just does it. The intense guilt she feels is palpable in every breath she takes, it's clear she just wants to quietly leave this world without hurting anyone, just this once. Then the time finally comes, to end her life and finally be free of it all. Only to be stopped. One more remnant of her old life comes back and convinces her to stick around a little longer. Somehow, she agrees, but we all know that this is only temporary. The guilt someone feels after doing something so terrible, so unforgivable, can't be cleansed by a single conversation. She hates herself and just wants to stop hurting people, but she still has a small spark, something in her that has hope she can do good. So she delays her death to try one more time to be kind.

Next we see her, she's got a new look and is fighting alongside Vi, instead of against. She acknowledges their connection and at a pivotal moment, takes the fall. She saves her sisters life and "sacrifices" herself in the process. At the very last moment, she understands that there's another way out of her pain and hurting everyone around her instead of dying. She fakes her own death to everyone and escapes the country quietly. She tells no one and quietly escapes, with everyone having the closure of her death.

No more chasing her, no more thinking of what she might be plotting, no more hoping the old her will return. It's just over.

Her final action in Arcane is one of kindness, and healing to those she hurt. It is not redemption, but it is understanding. She accepts she is a bad person and may very well still hate herself, however she at the very least opens herself up to a new life far from those she hurt. And I think that's beautiful.

Anyway this is just my personal interpretation of the ending, I'm open to new ideas and down to discuss though! Btw I didn't proof read this so if it seems messed up anywhere that's why.

[antispopausandstuff]

stans criticize antis for including the scene of Catra scarring Adora as a child in the cycle of abuse, going on about how she was just a kid, that a kid can't be abusive, etc., but here's the thing:

there's this kid i know and love. they're autistic, non-verbal // limited in speech, and are prone to emotional bursts. they always know more than people think, try to help you if you cry, and absolutely loves sharing food // treats with others and meeting new people.

but there are times i'm scared of them. hell, there's times i, admittedly, hate them.

i understand that they have little impulse control, that they're a child, a disabled one at that, and they don't understand the consequences of hurting someone or maybe even that they're hurting someone at all, but your "fight or flight", your anxiety, your fears, PTSD, etc. does not care who or what it is.

that and, honestly, i still resent my bullies. i know they were kids, too, but that doesn't take away from the pain and embarrassment i felt. for so long, i thought i was completely unlikable, and it was because of them. my ma tried to teach me the "ignore them", "kill them with kindness", "sympathy // empathy" lessons, but none of them worked.

bullying and abuse aren't that different, if they are at all. the victims always suffer, in one way or another, and bullying // abuse can lead to suicide, mental decline, physical decline, and overall ruin your entire fucking life for so long.

i understand that kids are little balls of energy and don't understand the consequences of their actions. my bullies likely thought what happened to me wasn't a big deal or was just a joke. maybe they didn't even have bad intentions in the first place. but that doesn't take away what i've gone through since then, because of them.

Catra was a child, yes, but so was Adora. why do you forget that? any child would be scared of someone, even their best friend in the whole world, if they just suddenly clawed them in the face just for asking "why did you do it?", any child. anyone, in fact.

there's exceptions, but generally speaking, we're afraid of what severely hurts us. Catra severely hurt Adora, just for asking a question that anyone else would've asked.

the cycle of abuse continued when Catra didn't care about Adora's health and safety, meanwhile Adora always cared.

now, after this, it's just speculation, but i had an interesting thought.

Catra punched Lonnie ( presumably, as there's no scar or implication that she clawed her, just that she hit her, and that typically means punching ), but clawed Adora. and hard enough to send her flying halfway across the room.

yeah, Catra was angry with Lonnie ( jealous ), but, ultimately, it's Adora who suffers the worst consequence. the writers obviously let Catra do what she likes, but i think this is just more evidence that she knew, even subconsciously, that Adora wouldn't fight back.

i originally thought that Catra only used her claws against Adora because of her hatred and knowing that Adora wouldn't do anything, but there's something else to consider.

she's clawed Octavia, disabling her, and almost did the same to Lonnie.

now, why would she do that to either of them, when neither have that much important to her, in comparison to Adora?

in the first scene, Catra did it just because she could. just because she thought Octavia was, more or less, ugly.

in the second scene, Catra did it because Lonnie pissed her off. but she's been pissed off before, many times, even to Lonnie, so why only try to claw her now?

to me, it reads as her using her claws on a person ( directly or indirectly ) when she knows the other is defenseless, in some way or form, or as a form of punishment. not necessarily because they have importance to her.

Adora just happened to be the one she wanted to punish the most.

[hom3land3r]

Mirrorlander drifted in and out of consciousness, fighting to stay awake. The room had fallen quiet save for the hum and sound of the cage radiating heat. His eyes tried to focus and take in the room, noting that Angela had disappeared. He was alone, left cooking in the cage. At least he had some peace and quiet, no more of her blabbering. He appreciated not having an audience either. Something Vought never gave him: privacy.

His mind drifted as memories played back in blurred visions, echos of the past. He saw him and James together, all those nights when the demon simply wanted to devour and claim his mate, stubborn to allow it to be seen as anything more. He saw himself helping John to save James from his own memories, with Commodore calling for his aid. Saw himself smiling as his eyes caught his brat from across a crowded room. Saw James’ face light up when being called leech shifted from a cruel taunt to the demon’s way of showing affection.

Each thought was filled with the vampire. Memories weaving into one another, blending together as they did. There was no him and John anymore. It was them and always would be them. His mind drifted as far back as to when they first met. James pettiness over a stolen meal being the stepping stone into what would entwine their lives forever. Their first scuffle on the beach, how Homelander had branded the vampire, at the time out of hate, unbeknownst that he had claimed the leech right then and there. Despite all the hate Mirrorlander claimed to have, he couldn’t…and wouldn’t kill James. Not then and certainly not now. He’s gone from someone the demon tolerated for John’s benefit to someone he couldn’t live without either. If he was to burn in this cage, he would do so with the memories that burned hotter than any oven. It’s what would keep him going until the end.

Mirrorlander had no clue what was going on between James and Angela. He was dazed, exhausted. Drained. So much so he had no idea how much time had passed. The heat was suffocating, skin glistening with sweat. His costume however continued to endure, able to withstand almost anything. Even though John was safely tucked away in the depths of the demon’s mind, he still held on and kept strong. For John’s sake. He did all he could to block out the pain, the trauma, and spare his other half. He just hoped it would be enough, that he could hold on enough until James got them out of here.

At some point Mirrorlander passed out without even knowing he had. The loud sound of a door being kicked open startled him as his eyes snapped open. He tried to focus on the shapes that appeared in his vision, though he already knew who it was. Of course he did. He felt it. Even before that familiar voice boomed through the room, he knew. An exhausted smile crossed his features. “B…out t…time, l-leech…” He choked out, voice barely above a whisper. It was impossible for the demon to tell whether this was real or part of his imagination. Either way, he found comfort in it. That against all odds, against everything, no matter what, James would always be there. His loyalty and love knew no bounds.

He did his best to keep his eyes opened, not wanting to miss any chance of seeing his brat. It was the distraction and focus he needed while being cooked alive, not wanting to give in to the pain. Not wanting to let Angela win. Whatever happened next would give Mirrorlander his answer as to whether this was real or imaginary. Though, nothing would change the fact that through it all, through the worst times, the only thought in the demon’s mind was of James. The only one who was braver and stronger than the world’s greatest superhero. Homelander might have that title when it comes to the public. But in his eyes, James will always have that title.

Perhaps now Angela would understand that Mirrorlander had only spoken the truth. That there were no threats, just promises. Perhaps now she would understand what he and James had went far beyond love. It was something else entirely. Something that couldn’t be explained nor shared. Nor severed. For she would bear witness to the wrath of an elder vampire, one that could be just as cold and cruel as he could be. She would learn the hard way that both men weren’t all that different from one another, especially when their mate was concerned.

Love always wins.

He didn’t expect her to understand. Not when she was this delusional into thinking she stood a chance with him. That he needed her, wanted her. Though her words cut deep. He was used to the hate, the way the world still looked at two men with disgust and contempt. Mirrorlander was used to having horrible things said to him, that he could tolerate. But what he couldn’t was how she viewed and spoke of James. “What does it…matter? Does it really frighten you, Angela? I’ve been…with men before. Sex is sex to me. As long as I…got off I didn’t care who it was with. …Till him. Nothing you do…or say…will ever change that. What we have…goes far beyond you mudpeople’s understanding. We…complete each other in every way. There’s no me anymore. Only us. We’re one and always…always will be.”

Mirrorlander huffed out through the haze, glad that his choice of a partner pissed Angela off as much as it did. Her words were useless, meaningless. They weren’t going to change anything. James owned John’s heart and whatever it was that the demon had in replace of one. That was never going to change. “You think…I’m that desperate to come up with a lie? To…pretend? Why? What would it get me…except on your bad side? It’s…the truth. And clearly truth you…can’t handle. Not that I…expected you to. But you’ll find out…soon enough. It’ll be the last…thing you realise before you die.”

The demon’s words weren’t a threat, but a promise. A matter of fact. He knew James would find him sooner or later. He knew the leech wouldn’t stop until he had. He knew, because he would do the exact same thing. He just had to hold out long enough, which was something he was continuously fighting for against the heat. He couldn’t afford to pass out, nor did he want to give Angela an opening. He had to remain strong and on guard, protecting John until James arrived. That was his priority. James would handle the rest. “I could…have any woman I want, you’re right. And I did for a while. But that was then…this is now, and I’ve found my mate. Regardless…of what you say or…what you think, I stand proudly by my choice.”

Mirrorlander scoffed at her plan, raising a brow. “That’s…it? That’s…your plan? Angela…I was put in the oven every single day of my life while growing up. …And I remember it clear as day. Your…pathetic little plan is only going to backfire and…burn you. I managed all…these years without you. I think I’ll be…just fine. I don’t need you. I…never did and I certainly…don’t now. There’s only one that I want. One that…I need. And it’ll never be you.” He was determined to keep hitting her where it hurt, his words the only weapon he has at his disposal. For what it was worth, it seemed to be working. Buying him time for James to get here. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer.

His gaze narrowed as he saw her hands glide over the controls. He knew what was coming. All he could do was brace himself as the heat was turned up even more, setting his nerves on fire and jolts of pain all through his body. He grunted, jaw clenched hard through the pain as he refused to scream. His brows furrowed with focus, trying to picture James through the haze. The image was weaker, blurry, as Mirrorlander panted with the remaining oxygen being eaten up by the heat. His vision grew unfocused, hearing dulled. Yet he felt the vibrations of those knocks. Despite it all a weak and tired smile crossed his features. Either he was delusional and hearing things or rescue had arrived. “J…a…me…s…”

He didn’t hear anything Angela said as his body gave in and he slid to the ground, back propped up against the wall of the cage. His lids were heavy as he stared out and saw Angela fretting, grabbing something as she headed for the door. The demon’s breathing was ragged as he fought with all the strength he had left to hold on just a bit longer.