#why choose trope

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: 3P {1}

Title: 3P {1}

Lewis Hamilton x Famous Singer Reader x Aaron Pierre

Warning: Angst, 18+ Mature Content, Language,

Words: 2.6k

Summary: “Sharing is caring”, “The more the merrier”, “Love knows no bounds”. There are so many quotes that circulate that can be tied to love and relationships. Two of the many you like happens to be “Two is better than one” and “The more the merrier”. Now it wasn’t like you particularly and purposely went out your way to collect men. That wasn’t the case at all. It’s just that there were two gorgeous faces in the sea of bodies at Coachella that you couldn’t decide which you wanted more. So you decided why choose. That was 4 months ago and now everything was much more complicated than you’d ever intended.

Note: I am the hugest advocate of the “why choose” trope and "why choose" relationships when it comes to women having more than one man (of course while being responsible and transparent). So, we are gonna have our cake and eat it too y’all. Not sure how long this will be, but I’ll write it until it isn’t fun anymore. LOL.

Note II: Do y’all know what 3P means? Hehehehehe! I guess we should thank Ms. Brittany Spears.

As always, thank you guys for reading. I hope you enjoy this.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!

****NOT Edited/Proofread*** ***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: Break Down

"I can't share you, Y/N. I--I can't--share you with him", Aaron said.

His voice was small as if he didn't even know if he truly meant the words. You picked up something else in his voice too--pain. Another thing you picked up was his refusal to look at you. But was it refusal or something else?

You sighed softly. It wasn't like you hadn't slightly prepared yourself for this. You had. You wanted to be realistic. The likelihood of both or even one of them being okay with what you were offering was always slim. You’d tried not to allow yourself to get comfortable enough where something like this knocked you out of kilter.

"I know it's not what you want to hear and it's not what you want but I can't. I won't."

Silence. He'd drawn the line in the sand. It was a bold line too. This was him saying that this was his hard limit and no matter how he felt about you he wouldn't cross this line. He was on one side while you were on the other. It had been shaping up to be a beautiful day. The sun was out, birds chirping, the flowers were out in full fragrance and the winds were gentle. It was a beautiful Paris day. Was.

"So that's it?"

Aaron didn't speak immediately. Instead, he kept his head down, elbows on the cafe table with one hand clasped inside the other, both making one large tense fist. You could see the tension in his shoulders and practically feel the discontent rolling off him. You were disappointed by his words, but you couldn't help but feel bad for him too.

"Look at me Aaron," you said softly.

He didn't.

"Come on--please."

He clenched his hands into a tighter fist which made the veins in his hands protrude even more. You tried hard not to imagine those strong hands around you holding you close to his body. You tried even harder to not reach for those hands. Hands you'd held tens of times, hands that had so gently caressed your face, possessively cupped your ass, and even protected you from encroaching paps.

So instead of doing any of that, you laced your fingers together so right not even a wisp of air could infiltrate them, then leaned forward with your elbows resting at the edge of the table so you were now in a mirroring posture to his.

"Aaron," you whispered.

His sudden jerk back took you off guard, as did the outburst that followed, "I can't Y/N! Goddamn it! It's taking everything in me right now to say this to you. If I look at you I know your eyes will make me second guess myself and I'll be right back where I started and that's being in love with a woman who isn't only mine. Sharing the only woman I've loved--truly loved."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. He'd said them out loud. There was always an air of love surrounding him and his dealing with you. Whether it was gestures to show it, presents to highlight it, thoughtful deeds to insinuate it, or passionate kisses and frenzied body groping in the dark to cement it, but never words to confirm.

Neither of you had spoken them. Now that the words hung between you, you didn't know what to say or do. Did you reach over and pat him on the back? Somehow slip your hand into his Fort Knox-like clenched hands and give them a reassuring and sympathetic squeeze? Lean forward and give him a comforting hug?

You spent so much time trying to think of the right response or reaction that you missed the window to reply or react and unintentionally catapulted this entire meetup into the proverbial toilet.

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to see pictures of you with someone else? I can be scrolling through socials minding my business and bam a picture of you and him out together comes across my feed with so many comments on how good you look together. That shit sucks especially knowing you were with me maybe 2 nights ago looking just as good with me."

You lowered your eyes now, unable to hold his gaze. An emotion similar to shame washed over you and you hated it. What did you have to be ashamed about?

"Or how it feels to see you smile at him the way you smile at me? Or to sit and wonder what you are doing with him if you say the same things to him you have to me. If you let him touch you the way you let me touch you, if you're kissing on him too or something more? Do you know what it does to me when we talk and suddenly you tell me you have to go and in the back of my mind I know it's because of him? Have you ever thought of these things Y/N? Because that is all I think about. These last 4 months have been..."

Aaron released a hiss of breath as he shook his head for emphasis. Silence stretched again. Throughout his outburst, the feeling never left you and it even brought a tight knot in your throat. You swallowed for the 10th time trying to clear it but failing. Grabbing your glass, you finished the Prosecco that had been abandoned ever since he'd first spoken.

"I get it," you quietly said.

"You get it? After all of that?"

"I don’t know what you want me to say, I mean you--this whole time you--"

"I know," he interrupted.

He shook his head again then looked at you with the coldest eyes he'd ever laid on you. If looks could kill you might have been on life support right now.

A resentful smirk spread his face before he spoke again, "You did say love was messy, that it knows no mercy and only one can win never two."

Aaron scoffed then nodded. "Sometimes it lasts in love but most times it hurts instead. Ha! When you said that to me I found it so odd and cynical of you and I found that slightly cynical part of you endearing especially in this world full of blind optimism. I get it now."

You reached for his hands wanting to touch him...needing to. However, abruptly he cleared his throat loudly and then sat back in his chair somehow teleporting himself oceans away though he was still barely 6 feet from you leaving your hands now the ones in the center of the table without his.

"I wish nothing but the best for you, Y/N. You deserve everything good in this world and that includes happiness. Remember that."

He stood then walked away only to stop after a few steps and come back.

"One more thing. It doesn't have to be just 1 person winning in love, it can be 2."

You saw the pain in his eyes, the disappointment, and felt like he was pleading with you to see the truth in his words. With that, he walked away leaving you sitting there to watch his back get further and further away. As he walked away, you were surprised to feel the urge to run after him, surprised by your desire to make things right. However, once his frame disappeared in the Parisian crowd those feelings disappeared, as did the shame.

You weren't the bad guy here. You had no reason to feel ashamed. You had done all the right things. Digging into your Chanel purse for some cash, you slipped the bills under your empty glass and then walked in the opposite direction.

One of the many things your mother drilled into you and your siblings growing up was life kept going and it never slowed so while you were stopped and paused on one hiccup everyone else had gotten 10 steps ahead of you.

"Buck up buttercup," you said to yourself hearing your mother's voice rather than your own. It was something you were used to by now. You carried her voice everywhere.

The rest of your day went on as it always did, quickly. Work always was your favorite distraction and now was no different. As you sat in the creative meeting that was set up to start off the long stretch of shoots you had scheduled all for a concert you were putting on, your mind battled between focusing and drifting.

When the meeting closed and location scouting began, your group went from place to place scoping out the best places for shots and you made sure your voice was heard to be taken into consideration for the final locations. It was slightly hilarious because you had remained so quiet earlier. You hadn't spoken up to Aaron or even said half the things on your mind.

Thankfully, the hectic chaos of the day made it so you didn't really have any time for yourself to allow your thoughts to wander. You'd always preferred being busy though it made it difficult to have a real life but now you were thankful for it.

Your disappointment carried you through the day and though it wasn’t forefront for you, but during your silent moments, it all came fluttering back. When you scrolled through your phone his name was still the last contact you'd texted and that brought back memories of him.

By the time you got back to your hotel, you were ready for a bottle of wine and a bubble bath filled with every one of your favorite essential oils. When you got safely behind your doors, you wasted no time doing just that. Not even 5 minutes after you sank into the piping hot water did your phone ring with a Facetime call.

Seeing Lewis' name on your screen made a wide smile spread across your face. At least things were okay there.

"Hey you," you said as soon as you tapped the accept button.

Lewis smiled but it didn't reach his eyes like it normally did. Those same eyes looked tired and something else that you couldn't place.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Are you okay? You look bad."

"Ha. Thanks, love."

"No not like that. You know you are always fine as fine can be, but you look off tonight."

Lewis sighed then moved sending the camera into shaking chaos. When the movement stopped, he was sitting up, back against something that looked plush and metal and showing plenty of tattooed skin.

"Just getting to bed too?"

"Yeah. It's been a long day," Lewis said rubbing the back of his neck, his braids handing around his face.

"Same. Longer than it needed to be."

He nodded as he stared at you as if he had something to say but didn’t know if he should.

"What is it?"

"I didn't expect you to be as great as you are."

You snorted and laughed. "Oh yeah? Expected me to be a bitch on wheels?"

"Funny. Not that just--different. Everyone knows you and there have been so many stories of you that everyone has their own version of you in mind and the way I thought you were made it easy, no not easy, but sensible or bearable for things to be how they have been with you--and him."

Choosing what to focus on right now, you momentarily ignored the nugget of info that sounded awfully close to him admitting he thought you were some brainless tart who was after fun, drinking, and money. Ignoring that for another conversation, your stomach dropped for the 2nd time today and you knew what was coming. It was quite possible there would be no other conversation.

"Uh-huh."

"And now that I am so great and not a nightmare?"

Lewis remained quiet for several moments and you sat there staring at the screen waiting for him to continue.

"And now...now it's not sensible and sure as hell not bearable to think about you and another man."

"I wonder if this is how your harem feels?"

Don’t start the bullshit Y/N. You know it's been months since I had anything to do with any of them"

"It was just a hypothesized assumption. You most likely just voiced what they can't because they don’t want to fall out of favor or be replaced."

"This has nothing to do with them or any of that," Lewis countered.

"Then what does it have to do with? This is coming from left field and I'm feeling pretty blindsided."

"I saw you guys today."

"What?"

"At that cafe together. There are pictures all over Daily Mail of the two of you today. Pictures of the two of you together after we texted, after you told me you were having drinks with a friend."

You closed your eyes then dropped your head back onto the stylish padded rim of the modernly luxurious freestanding tub.

"Wanna talk about blindsided now?"

The dry sarcasm in his voice was evident, "Did you want me to say I was having drinks with Aaron instead?"

Lewis hissed first, then spoke, "Shit I don’t even know. I just know I felt blindsided today and it's not the first time."

"Everyone wants to act like I am this bad guy when you knew from the beginning."

"Wow. This isn't about who is the bad...you know what never mind. He can be cool with this and your antics but--I--I can't do this anymore."

You sighed as a plethora of emotions filled you, annoyance, disappointment, sadness, anger, and hurt but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Rather than allowing each of them to blossom across your features, you steeled your face instead. More of your mother's words filled your mind.

"Don't let them see that they have an effect."

"Ok. I understand,” you said, voice even and hopefully strong.

Lewis stared at you now with a confused expression and eyes so intense it felt as if he were staring into your soul. This man and his intrusive eyes, you thought to yourself.

"You understand?"

"Yep."

He scoffed, shook his head then rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. Good luck to you and him Y/N. You--." He sighed then dropped his eyes before looking back at you. "I wish things were different, I wish I felt differently about you and that your mother's voice wasn't so loud inside your head. I hope you find happiness."

With that, the video ended, and you were left sitting in water that was piping hot a few minutes ago but was now as frigid as Scotland in December. For the second time today you'd been dumped and for the second time today you were tempted to go after another man with hopes of changing his mind, this time by calling Lewis back, but again--you didn't.

You sat there quietly for several minutes letting it all sink in. Then a hysterical laugh started, it was a laugh that came from the depths of you, making your entire being shake as it filled the room. The thought that brought it on lingered in your head making you laugh longer and longer. Before you knew it, your cheeks were wet with tears, and you were winded.

"Everyone wants me to be happy because I deserve it, but no one wants to stick around and actually make me happy. How ironic. How absolutely... ridiculous."

It was all too loud right now, too loud, and too much. Slipping under the water, you allowed the world to slip away and your brain to quiet, but it didn't completely. One looping thought remained.

"Were you in fact, the bad guy?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[socalwriterbee]

Could any of your couples be polyamorous? If not in your headcanon than even in an AU?

Hi Nonny!

I’m digging this.

Quick Answer: YES!

Which Couple? Tessa and Ethan, probably not them (or maybe 🤔 you never know)

If I had to pick a couple, definitely Sam and Marie!

Thank you for the ask!!!

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[chirpsythismorning]

Ya'll catch the final rose ceremony at the end of s4?!

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[loudmound]

i think where people are losing the plot in terms of making james and jim characters that have suffered more than what is initially apparent in the narrative of sh2 is that it tends to absolutely consume how they see those respective characters and takes that shit to the absolute extremes. james and mary having a tumultuous relationship when she was sick turns into "mary was james' abuser when she was sick." conversely, for jim, it's entirely possible that she was institutionalized and sa'd while she was there, then that somehow turns into "none of what she experienced in silent hill was real and she's been locked in that mental hospital for 20 years, actually." it's deeply unserious.

[yusuke-of-valla]

The thing about mean rivals is that like there's kinda a reason we stop having them the second the plots started getting world-ending in scope and that's because you do not have time to deal with some whiny asshole who you've beaten over and over again's shit when a space chinchilla is about to suffocate everyone in the region

Like if they're a dick to you the entire way through they quickly become all bark and no bite because narratively they're going to keep losing to you, and again progressively destroying the ego of a small child is second to whatever this year's eldritch abomination is (and if they went so far as to help the eldritch abomination it raises questions about why they're friendly enough to battle you in the post game).

So like. It's simpler if they're just nice? And have arcs where the fact that they keep losing to you is the point? Your rival isn't the final boss anymore you don't have to build up to finally being able to defeat them for good (except not really) (I guess Hau in USUM arguably but LBR the final boss is Ultra Necrozma)

Like I guess I get annoyed when people don't acknowledge there's a point to how the rivals have been handled since gen 3. You don't have to like it per se but there's a reason the rivals are like this and it's not just the devs don't want to upset little kids.

The fact that the adults care about your safety on the other hand...

[kindlingkeen]

I need to know if I’m alone in this or maybe missing something.

It always bothers me when people say Tim’s childhood was so much worse than Jason’s, or even says they’re the same kinda thing. Am I the only one in this?? (More specifically when they compare them) Like it feels like they’re minimizing Jason’s story to nothing, when it makes his character up as much as his death does. (I’ve even seen people compare Tim’s childhood to Jason’s death, which is. A choice.)

Granted, I’m not a big Tim fan (he’s a cool character, just not the one I focus on) so maybe I’ve missed some part of his canonical backstory or ive subconsciously got something against his character idk.

But from my understanding, Tim is a rich kid who was taken care of (as in, he always had what he needed), just his parents were neglectful? Or away? (Not to say this isn’t bad, of course wouldn’t wish that on a kid either)

But Jason’s lived surrounded by crime and poverty, hell we see panels where he’s hurt and generally not havin a great time.

And I’m fine with people making angst worse because like, favourite character. I’m sure I’m guilty of doing the same to Jason (fave character bias and whatnot) it’s just something that strikes me as odd. But hey, maybe I just don’t know about some canon panel that shows Tim’s childhood as a tragedy where he almost died countless times (another thing I’ve seen fans use)

So yeah. Generally, what do you think about this? I am not too great with character analysis & whatever else, but I like the stuff you’ve said in regards to characters. I know you’re a Jason fan, unsure about how you feel about Tim/how much you know, but curious about your opinion anyway. Thanks.

You are not alone, anon.

You’re also not missing anything in canon, Tim’s childhood was not a tragedy (his parents traveled a lot and he spent his time in boarding school). Were his parents on the neglectful side? Yes. Does that equate to being parentless and living on the street before the age of 12? No. I answered an Ask about Tim a little while ago explaining why I don’t really care much for Tim in the comics or a lot of fanfics. And I only ranted a little about how projecting Jason’s trauma onto Tim is Not. Cool. So maybe check that out.

As for my opinion on this … *takes a deep breath* Let me start by saying that everyone should like what they like, read what they want, write what they want, etc. No judgement or shame intended at all.

But … my opinion is that the enemy-to-caretaker trope is to blame for the over abundance of this dynamic in the fandom.

It seems like this trope grew out of/is a Gen take on enemies-to-lovers. I have absolutely no problem with this trope in general. In fact, I quite enjoy it in certain settings. But the thing is, lovers can be equals. But a caretaker, that has an inherent power imbalance to the relationship. A caretaker takes care of a person who is in some way weaker or less able than them.

So, to make Jason a caretaker for Tim, you somehow have to make Tim weaker, and with time and repetition that’s gotten amplified to much weaker.

The easiest way to do this is to jack up the angst and trauma of Tim’s origin story and increase his overall vulnerability. Because in reality, the inherent power imbalance between Jason and Tim is not that significant. Jason is only two years older than Tim. They’re both supposed to be badass vigilantes who can fight and solve crimes. Tim’s home life was loads more stable and supportive.

Play a few games of fanfic telephone, and all of a sudden you have a baseline of touch-starved Timmy who was made to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs as a wee little niblet and then Lazarus-mad Jason came along and tried to murder him repeatedly (nope), slit his throat (‘twas but a scratch), and generally traumatized him beyond repair (Tim is Robin, pretty sure he’s been beaten up before). 🤦‍♀️

That’s my opinion, anon! Thanks for the ask! 💙

[sukibenders]

Something that still doesn't sit right with me while being a part of the HOTD fandom is how Laena was done so dirty, from being placed as a "second" option for Daemon and having him keep her from returning home, from having her daughters see Driftmark, from seeing her own brother and parents before she died! That added on to the fact of how Daemon just sucked at loving her the way she deserved makes my blood boil. And to make matters worse, to drive the knife further, is during her funeral (added on to him laughing during it, which wasn't appropriate at all no matter the context or what anyone says) where she and her unborn son were only just recently placed at the bottom of the sea, Daemon and Rhaenyra sleep together and then marry each other all within the span of the same episode (don't even get me started on how they went heavy into the romantics of the moment but couldn't even bother to show Daemon be affection with Laena like he was in the books I believe).

And some in the fandom reaction to all this can be such a turn off. Because you can have people, mainly black fans, rightfully call out problems with this plot change, with Rhaenyra and Daemon sleeping together only right after Laena's funeral and will be met with so many heinous responses (a lot in which tie in with centering Rhaenyra and going "oh so you hate her" type beat) and it's so frustrating. That, and how we barely see Daemon interact with his daughters, let alone be affectionate as well as protective over them---that scene where the girls are bruised from a fight and clear in distress and yet Daemon doesn't even move to check on them nor go into a rage at the fact that his daughters were harmed, let alone the fact that his now dead wife's dragon was claimed by another on the day of her funeral. None of that. But will stand protectively by Rhaenyra and her sons' side without second thought. Make it make sense.

[beastsovrevelation]

I like that Yellowjackets went the "actually, the supposed mental patient is, in fact, a prophet" route.

It's the true horror for Lottie, the Wilderness being real. It's something inside, yes, but it's also a mystical force. It's everywhere. It's the true God (well, Goddess). It's so poetic, I love it. I could write a litany about it. The show executes the "actually, insanity would have been a comfort" trope so well.

I think, the Wilderness is a Lovecraft-level eldritch primordial entity, but folktale instead of sci-fi.

[avrorean]

i am taking the origins crew and holding them all in my hands. its about taking people who have given up in some shape or form and helping them back on their feet just by being willing to understand them. by reminding them of their agency and that they deserve to live. acknowledging their choice. the warden touches them in some way or another but it's not about devotion to the warden as a person, the arcs are always about rediscovering what pushes them forward. love is a motivator to want better for yourself and knowing that you're worth living for and in this essay I will-

[13eyond13]

Idk what it is about fanfic soul mate trope stuff where you're living in a world waiting your whole life for your soul mate to appear that matches your soul tattoo or whatever that creeps me out but it honestly just makes me go 😱 instead of 😍 every time

[sieglinde-freud]

i miss claude so badly im already planning my golden deer maddening run while still in the middle of black eagles. i just want my guy. my favorite guy. unfortunately i just love the black eagles as a group/cast but i am mourning my man (i never kill him btw)

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[rxttenfish]

HEARTBREAKING! i finally realize that not everyone else has the "shitsucking rapist" as their favorite way to write vampires.

[aahsoka]

when people watch a horror movie and complain that its bad because its gross and scary like those arent the top two adjectives to describe the genre