#yes it is that big. she knows this. it's on purpose. the 'same mass in material' thing is true but also an excuse

[baradhiblue]

girlshark obsession continues

or, in case you're accompanying "electric sheep" over on ao3, some visual context so you can come to your own conclusions about the chapter 4 ass debacle

[vampirevatican]

Scrap the last one bestie!

The brothers with a black gf black n wash day, hair redone day, and styles they like on her!!

Enjoy so self indulgent content 😘

omg tytytyty so much!! since it's self indulgent, ima write (w/ my hair, 3b - 4a, and self in mind) my faves and what comes to mind uwu

Wash day, Styling and Fave Style

The ones who help w/ the process:

Satan goes the whole nine yards. Conditioning, rinsing, detangling, shampoo, rinse, and style. If braids, ofc blow dry then style but if not? Then he does everything to keep her curls intact. Usually sections the hair so it's easier on her. On days where he's pissed but it's also wash day, it soothes him. Seeing her smile as he shampoos her hair, the fact she trusts him with her hair. You know this demon did research, like heavy research.

Beel would help with the detangle but feels bad seeing her wince when he has to brush it out, so he helps with washing and lets her detangle but always reminds her to section it off so it's easier. Also helps with styling but there are quite a few snack breaks where she ends up doing it herself for a bit before he gets back to it. Belphie is usually there, seemingly knocked out, and will say something out of the blue like. "If you keep it sectioned off then it's easier." or "Beel she's fine, the braids are supposed to be tight." If im thinking black-hispanic twins? then they've got her set, no research needed. though Beel is still Beel, so Belphie does the detangling instead.

Levi would be able to help with a lace front and you can't tell me otherwise. It's the cosplay. I know this demon don't play when it comes to cosplay. Now if we're talking blasian levi, i feel like he could do the whole process w/o research but would have to slip into a hairstylist persona. Same goes for Levi as is, but once he does, seeing you trust him is enough to put his confidence through the rough. "Me? Really? You want a filthy, loser, shut-in, otaku like me to do your hair?" trust me he's good at it, would need to do some research to figure out styles and how but he's p good.

Asmo would do it no questions asked and fully eager too. Already has a list of styles ready, just needs you to pick though he definitely has his favorite.

The ones who give support:

Mammon is my silly mfer. my goofy ahh nigga. so he's here to keep her sane through the process, to keep her from doing the 'i remember you was conflicted' kendrick scream. ESPECIALLY when it's any hairstyle that has many parts/sections, like (god forbid) micro braids. Oh yes and although he is my black man, i like to think he only knows how to do his hair. Gotta keep up the appearance, after all his face card makes dollars so he doesn't have to make sense/cents. You'd let him comb through, detangle, your shit once and he immediately puts the brush down when you shout about the ouch because he fucked up the order.

Lucifer would literally pay someone to get it done for her and if they ever fucked up the process? May Lord Diavolo help the poor lesser demon, or human. Honestly I feel like he'd make a big deal out of it and even travel to the human world with her, especially if it made her more comfortable.

Belphie could do her hair... he just doesn't want to. He loves to touch whenever it's just out and mutter about how soft it is when it's washed then dried, but he is not dealing with that mass of hair. Hell even if im talking black-hispanic belphie?? he still wouldn't. He has Asmo do his hair for him, and as sloth why tf would he? So his purpose is to say something to encourage and reassure Beel, pull her out of dreams when Beel needs a break from styling or hold conversation with her to keep her awake while doing hair.

Their favorite hairstyles... and why! ☝🏾🤓:

Asmo loves french curl braids. They're very pretty, long, come in many colors and combinations, the curl!!! like, come on now. Versatile too because of how long it is, there's multiple ways to put it up and wear it. A second favorite is box braids but curling the ends when sealing them. Because it's just as pretty and versatile but sometimes shorter than the french curls.

Mammon likes loves fulani braids, bantu knots, jaded braids, triangle box braids, knot less braids, yarn braids and whenever she styles her fro into a shape. He love, love, love, loves seeing you being expressive with your hair. Second to that is whenever she wears a style that matches his. (yes actual black hairstyles, yes im talking about fan art.)

Beel doesn't have much of an opinion, she looks pretty no matter what in his eyes. However there are styles he thinks are cool or add to her cuteness like: afro, bantu knots, jaded braids, bubble braids, goddess braids

Belphie also doesn't have a preference, protective style or just out he loves it... BUT he likes it when it's easier for her to put a bonnet on or just lay down so he's biased to: twists, braids, faux locs, and box braids

Levi likes twists of all kinds and snake braids, or as i like to call it zig zag cornrows. He also likes whenever you just wear a wig/weave/sew-in because he has a hand in making it look like your actual hair, again cosplay lace front skills to the rescue. But also because he enjoys the ease of taking it off, depending on installment, and switching it out. Loves you being able to cosplay at the drop of a hat or embodying his favorite visual novel girls. "She gon' be black today." her and blasian levi say in unison.

Satan loves anything that shows off her natural hair. Not like adding hair ruins it for him, he loves her in any style but adores seeing it with little manipulation. With that said, afro or poof(s). Find it endearing and thinks she's adorable whenever she fashions the fro or twin poofs into cat ears. He also loves it when she does that with her box braids but just adores the floof.

Lucifer wouldn't say he has a preference but it's just known he loves elegance so: goddess braids, box braids with curls, french curl braids, micro braids, sew-in, lemonade braids, and nubian twists. Because he's pride, he loves to show her off and regardless of the style? whenever he decides to take her out and show her off he's gonna make sure she looks stunning.

[zillyeh]

Sundowning

CW: violence, mentions of self harm, very brief bit of gore

“Can you just go over it one more time? Like I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know Zee, there’s only so much stupider I can go before I start making animal noises.”

The smaller troll threw a handful of water from the swamp shoreline at her purpleblooded friend. The taller of the two giggled, splashing her back. She pulled her twin braids over her shoulder, picking up a stick from the ground. As she spoke, she drew in the mushy mud between them.

“Okay, so. It’s basically astral projection-”

“Stupider than that, En.”

Endara let out a huff, drawing two circles with lines coming out of the top on top of two triangles.

“The stuff that keeps you awake,” she said slowly. “It’s like if that got up and left… it’s the same thing as when I teleport, except it’s not as hard. Y’know, cause my body doesn’t need to come with me.”

“So it doesn’t make you cough up blood?”

“Anyway-”

“En-”

“Anyway,” Endara insisted, “Other people can do it too. Subconsciously. Not on purpose. People with powers because of the brain stuff.”

You miss her. You don't know if it can fully register to you how much you miss her. Your mind is used and broken, and hardly your own anymore. It's these lucid hours in the daylight when all you do is miss her and hurt yourself and everything around you. The walls. The floor. Everything. You don't know who she is- you hardly know who you are- but you know you need her.

“Brain stuff,” the anon repeated with a scoff. It was a rare moment where her friend could see her face fully, uncovered by its wraps. It was hot in the swamps that night, both from sulfuric vents below and the season beating down on them from above. Her teardrop pupils were barely visible in her eyes, too dark for her age. It was a game to find where the line of her pupils started and the dark gray ended. She also eyed the hardness of her jaw, too skinny to hold too much of the roundness that was quickly leaving Endara’s face. Then the rest… She couldn’t keep her eyes there for too long, or she’d cover her mouth with her hands.

There was something tugging at Endara’s heart as she scratched more lines into the ground.

“Yes, brain stuff. I haven’t met her yet, but my ancestor up in the mountains uses her powers to get the big dragons used to her.”

The long horned anon bit her tongue to the disparaging remark she always made when En talked about her ancestor. She was too invested in her lesson.

"Is it hard to get into people's heads?" the anon asked earnestly. "Do they have to let you?"

"Sopor leaves people more unguarded than you'd think," she said with a sage nod. "Animals are harder, people who just like, deal with the nightmares are just as hard."

"Fucked up," the anon said, furrowing her brow. "You're the only one who can do that though?"

"Nah, plenty of people can mess with dreams if they try to. There's only one way to tell if someone's actually in there or not." Endara made a crude drawing of her friend's face, including the wraps she usually wore. "Most people's brains can't fully reconstruct a face no matter how much they look at it. There's always something off.”

“I dunno, En,” the anon said with a tch, “That thing in the dirt is shitty looking enough to match the real thing…”

Endara threw mud at her. She wondered if she could tell. Those occasional fleeting touches that gave her access to Endara’s nerves firing off. Nevermind her pulse. She wondered if she thought about her half as much. 

“Shut up, Zee,” Endara scoffed. “You’re so annoying. Basically if you're awake enough, you can tell when someone's in your dreams if you see them. Their face is too real.”

“If I show up in someone's dreams do you think I'd have my mask on? Or if someone came in mine?” It sounded like a genuine question. Genuine worry. Endara bit her lip.

“Hard to say. You wear that nasty thing enough that it's basically part of your face now…” 

A mass of ugly gray wraps, eyes that look so tired for her age. The scarring she’d given herself after you two did something, you two did something terrible. You did so many terrible things. The worst thing you did was convince her to die. The worst thing she did was want you to live. How long ago? The sun streaming through the cave mouth wants you to remember. The comforting darkness wants you to forget. You know you should, you know you want to, but something coherent rings through your head like the clear gonging of a bell.

If you survived, what if she had?

“Have you ever been in my dreams before?” she asks, her dark eyes searching her’s for something. A purple flush warms the other troll’s cheeks. She would notice her if she did again, wouldn’t she? Now that she knows?

“A couple times. Just to see.” 

I could probably do it half dead.

It’s daytime. If she’s alive then she should be asleep. Trolls sleep during the day. Your memories return enough in the daytime for you to know that. Your memories return enough to know that if she’s alive, you’re this thing for nothing. The part of your soul that is still a troll makes you sit. Makes you close your eyes. You can still see the sun through your eyelids, but it doesn’t hurt. Or maybe it does. You can’t remember if you feel pain or not.

A look like Endara hadn’t seen from her flashed across her friend’s face. The color she so desperately tried to hide dusted her own cheeks before she looked back down into the dirt.

“I always wondered why you looked like that in my dreams,” she grumbled, “Nobody else ever looked like that.”

Zippie’s insomnia always gave way to the worst nightmares she could possibly have. One of these nights she was worried she’d hurt Bess in her sleep, even despite the precautions she’d taken in her bedroom. Bed was more comfortable than cupe by a long shot. It was a rare night where she practically couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Were you that strong? That you could find her? Force her to sleep from this far away?

Of course you could. You have part of her. Stability that It thought you needed but she didn’t. Why would she? Treating her like a person and not a battery would have been more energy than either of those two monsters would expend to her.

A the crack of a branch sounds off like a gunshot not too far from the pair at the edge of the swamp. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone out there. Not at the edge of Zee’s property. She can’t help it. She looks up. Hoodless. Maskless. Her face on full display for the adult violet that had wandered too close. Her slow eyes kept her safe, but her lower face?

There was a reason she never took the wraps off.

Endara had always wondered what would happen when she got found out. How much of her fear was justified. How badly an adult troll would hurt what they understood to be a child at first glance.

The answer was very, very badly. 

She didn’t even hesitate before barrelling towards the two. Like a predator that knew this was it’s only chance to strike. Before Endara could move, she’d been shoved roughly aside and Zvejia hauled off the ground by the shoulders. She’d guarded her throat, but the adult was struggling for it. Zvejia bit anywhere she could find purchase, down her arms and on her face. The violet winced and swore whenever her bare skin made contact with her hands. Zee must have been using her powers on top of tearing as much skin as she could.

As much as this troll’s face was burned into Zippie’s memory, she’d never see it properly in her dreams again.

Endara coughed up blood even before she’d teleported behind the troll mere feet away. She hadn’t perfected the art of rematerializing while partially in an object, but this would do.

She wasn’t strong. She was weak. Sickly. Worsening by the day. But she didn’t need strength to do what she’d intended to do if this night ever came. The reason she’d stolen so many of Zvejia’s medical books. The reason she’d practiced to the point of bleeding eyes at all was for this.

The muscle and tissue being displaced made a more horrific noise than either of them had ever heard. It took the violet seconds too long to realize where the lanky purple’s hand was, too long for her to try to formulate a shriek, long enough for her heart to crush all too easily in the hand that had been delivered through her back. 

“Endara!” the anon cried as the violet released her, not dead but certainly not alive for long. When the soon to be body tumbled to the ground, she slid right off of Endara’s arm. Like a glove. Leaving her the gory prize she’d won, and a purple haze around her vision. 

“Why is it always this?” rasped a voice where Zvejia would have fallen under the violet. Where she did fall under the violet, when the two of you actually lived through this. The part of you that is the troll holding that adult’s heart understands immediately. She’s on her feet already. Hornless. Maskless. Lacking the black that once hid her from danger, and the fins she’d nearly killed herself cutting out of her face. The scars were just as ugly, covered in the other ones she’d given herself as well that handn’t healed. Her wounds never healed right. You two always thought it was part of the mutation. 

The rivets in her wrists match your own. Tattoos cover every inch of skin you could see exposed. On her upper arm you see a band of purple that makes you choke out a sob.

She glances towards you. Then she double takes. You can sense her fear here, standing on either side of the first body you two ever made.

Her breathing is shallow. All she says is:

“No.”

“Zvejia…” Your voice is not the voice of the young woman that just killed for the only friend she ever had, but of a monster. Guttural and too big to ever have come out of that girl before she was made into what you are now.

Her next “no” comes as a plead as she drops to her knees. She’s so much bigger and so much smaller than you remember her being. You approach and she stumbles back. That hurts the part of you that forgets what you look like now. The black claws of your toes dig into the soft swamp dirt to keep you from doing it again.

“You can’t,” she said, her razor soft voice begging as if this were a nightmare she could beg her way out of. “You c-c- that’s not- I’m so sorry, En. This has to not be real, this has to not be real.”

You tilt your head like the animal you are. She grips her head. She refuses to look at you. Not like you look at her.

“The… sun… is… going… down…” you murmur, the part of you connected to your body still feeling the cold of the night start to settle in. A shiver runs through the incorporeal dream, making it feel cold within. She looks at you again. She grew up so handsome. So tired. She got to live. It’s what you wanted.

It’s what the part of you that lives in the daylight wanted.

The part of you that lives in the darkness hunches you back over onto all fours, chitinous claws digging into the hardening dirt underneath you.

“What did he do to you…” is the last thing the troll in you hears. Whatever thing you’ve invaded the dreams of this time you are going to tear to shreds like all the rest of those who dare trespass your territory. Except this time something is different. 

This thing smells like you. 

Enough to stop you long enough for it to rip itself awake, leaving you too unstable to stay dreamwalking like this.

You wake with a wet face, howling in what could have been pain or could have been agony, if you were the sort of thing that could understand emotions that weren’t territorial or hungry. The new black of the sky outside helps you reorient yourself. 

With any luck, you won’t remember what you’ve seen come sunrise.

Neither of you will.

[junebugwriter]

Loki Season 2 Doesn't Understand Loki

The fundamental flaw in a season that means nothing

Spoilers below.

I think we need to talk about Loki.  

People who know me know that I don’t like superhero and comic book movies. I love them. And that’s why I’m so critical of them. I can blame my brother on getting me into comics in high school, but the fact that long after that I keep coming back to the well speaks to what I love about them. Comics are the blending of prose and visual artistry, of character and medium. Every comic is a conversation between artists. Television and film, likewise, are another variation on that same theme.  

However, like any other kind of media, its greatest strengths can also fall victim to their greatest enemy: the companies that own them. 

Marvel Studios and the Marvel Cinematic Universe began as a simple concept: translate the idea of comic book universes onto the big screen. Let the comic company own the movies that bring their stories to the masses. When Disney bought Marvel, lock stock and barrel, it also brought truckloads of cash and prestige with it. This proved to be a Faustian bargain in the end, because what happens when the infinite money machine begins to grow too large to handle? Things begin to break down. 

Loki Season 2 is this metaphor brought to life. 

Everything Will Be The Same Ever Again 

The first season ended promisingly enough. Loki and his alternate timeline gender swapped variant Sophie finally find He Who Remains, the man behind the curtains that the Marvel Cinematic Universe has been building up to. He’s the one who pulls the strings, paves the road, and decides the Sacred Timeline ™—in other words, this is the man who decides Marvel Canon.  

Season 1 ended exactly as I hoped it would: Sophie, tired of being controlled, did the thing that gods of mischief and chaos are supposed to do. She killed the man behind the curtain. In so doing, she unspooled the Sacred Timeline ™ in the name of free will, allowing for infinite universes to be borne from the infinite choices made every moment by every being in existence. She gave birth to the multiverse. She broke the system.  

Obviously, this could not last.   

Loki season 1 promised that the universe would be forever altered by the actions of Loki and Sophie, and for a while, this seemed to be the case. Most of the recent phase of Marvel output has revolved, for better or worse, with the introduction of the concept of multiple realities. This has been used somewhat as more or less a vehicle for Brand Integration ™ and less as a vehicle for, you know, good storytelling. Yes, we’ve been promised Fantastic Four and X-men movies, but those aren’t even really in the works currently. They’ve been stuck in development hell for years since acquisition. All we’ve gotten is a couple of winks and nods, a musical sting, and N’amor, which all things being fair, was great, but N’amor has always been his own thing and a mutant in name only, story-wise. Otherwise, it’s been fine, but far from the promised chaos that Loki season 1 alluded to. 

Additionally, there’s the problem of character. Loki in mythology is less a villain but more of an antagonist, a trickster character that causes problems and meddles in the affairs of others for little reason else besides “he wanted to.” He’s mercurial by nature, and that works very, very well for mythology. It works for the purposes of “this is how the world is, this is why things are the way they are, and this is how the world will end.” Loki’s presence is not malevolent, but rather genuinely chaotic. He will do what he wants, and usually only to satisfy himself. He often seems unable to really control himself, let alone anyone else. He does things because he loves just making things happen, and if he winds up with what he wants, it’s all the better.  

In the comics and the films, he’s much more cast as a villain. In the films, he desires the throne of Asgard, to be the rightful ruler of people. Failing to win Asgard, he seeks out Earth as an agent of Thanos. Failing that, he meanders long enough in the background to have fun when dealing with Thor, and that’s about it. He finally dies an ignoble death by Thanos, and that was to be the end of him. Loki the TV series is not the same Loki we saw die. This Loki is an alternate timeline variant, and after having his ego broken by the Time Variance Authority, he seeks out another variant, Sophie, who has been causing problems for the TVA. 

If all that gives you a bit of a headache, don’t worry. That’s just the comic fan experience. Comics, and superhero stories, are of a kindred spirit with Soap Operas: not only are they highly melodramatic, often made up on the fly, and filled with colorful characters, but they’re also designed to go on FOREVER. That’s the beauty of them. The characters, and the universe, frequently default to a certain status quo. Sure, every few years, something comes along that promises to Change the Universe Forever, but that often amounts to one weird tweak and then it's back to the races as usual. The bad guy comes along to challenge the hero, hero must thwart whatever plan the villain has, and all is well. That’s the rhythm of the comic book story, and that works quite well for executives... to a point. So, what happens when people start to get tired of the same old story? They change the status quo on paper, and hope nobody notices that the structure of it all is still intact.  

That was the promise of Loki Season 1. See? We have a multiverse now! Please, be distracted by this CHAOS long enough to not realize that we are still in control of everything, and everything is fine.  

That last sentence? That’s the plot of season 2. See, Sophie killed He Who Remains, and the multiverse exists. The TVA is designed by HWR to maintain the Sacred Timeline ™. With the Sacred Timeline ™ now in chaos, everything in the universe is going haywire. That means timelines are unraveling. The plot now follows Loki, his hetero life mate Mobius, and a cast of fun, colorful characters, racing against time to keep time from unspooling, and the multiverse from completely falling apart. 

Mr. Loki’s Wild Ride 

“Loki” is a show meant to turn Loki from the god of mischief and chaos to... a hero, somehow. One who wants to fight to maintain an autocratic, bureaucratic organization that wasn’t very good at its job in the first place because the alternative is... chaos. According to the plot, this chaos takes the form of nothingness. Lack of existence. See, without an imposed order, nothing can exist! Therefore, reality NEEDS someone or some entity to maintain order in some way so that everything can keep on existing.  

But why is this the case? Why does reality need a temporal loom or a man behind the curtain? The show doesn’t do a very good job of explaining why everything ceases to exist the moment that the Temporal Loom, the machine that maintains the Sacred Timeline ™ other than “that’s just how it all works,” and really, it doesn’t even tell us that. It just shows time unraveling, sans explanation. How did time exist before the Temporal Loom, you ask? Loki, for all its technobabble and endlessly recurrent exposition, is not actually interested in explaining that bit. You see, it was chaos and war and death before, or it’s nothingness. Which is it? Why is it? It’s a nihilistic and frustrating bit of worldbuilding that leads to nothing.  

This nihilism is a kind of narrative reinforcement technique. By the end of it, Loki has figured out how to control time itself, after much trial and error, as well as another conversation with He Who Remains. Yet in that conversation, he learns a fundamental truth about the MCU: He who makes the difficult decisions gets to sit on the throne. He Who Remains is supposedly one such person. In his stead, at the end, Loki does the same. He wrests control of the timelines, bundles them up into a cape, and seats himself on the throne of He Who Remains. As such, he recreates Yggdrasil, the world tree of Norse mythology, the tree upon which all the realms rest. You see? Everything goes back to normal, now that someone is in control. 

But wait a minute. Why would Loki ever make this choice? Loki early in the show figures out he doesn’t want a throne. He doesn’t want control. All he ever wanted was to be loved and known and understood. That is the true desire at the heart of his character. It’s beautiful, and poignant, and speaks to my own heart. In Sophie, he found someone who does know and understand him. Is it narcissistic to love a gender variant of yourself? Probably! But it makes sense for him. Because he is a mercurial person. He doesn’t really understand even himself, and because of that, it results in mischief and chaos. That’s who he is. He is a chaos god.  

By the end of the show though, he’s learned and grown... what? To love order? To love bureaucracy? To love control? That’s what it’s saying when he takes the throne! I understand that this is Loki learning what it means to be a hero, but is that really what it means? To let go of your defining characteristic? To lose what makes you... you? To undergo true ego death so that the world itself can keep on spinning upon your skeleton? For all its over-explanation, Loki the show isn’t interested in answering much of anything. It’s poetic that he gives up his life so that reality can continue, but this seems rather pointless, in the end. Instead of embracing himself, he denies his identity to sit on a throne he doesn’t want. That’s no god of chaos and mischief. That is the god of stability, order, and the status quo.  

That’s not Loki.  

Pay no attention to the executive behind the curtain 

I understand the mercenary reasons for these choices. I understand that the universe must keep spinning, and the infinite money machine must keep on making money. But to do so, they need to kill the defining characteristics of their beloved characters, and that just makes it all so thin, flimsy and frustrating. There are some amazing moments in this show! Everything with Sophie, Mobius, and Ouroboros is excellent. The characters make this nonsense story shine, long enough to make you hopefully realize that it doesn’t even make internal sense. 

As someone who analyses stories for a living, it’s impossible to see this apart from the concept of capitalist realism, whose central maxim is this: It’s easier to believe in the end of the world rather than the end of capitalism. Substitute “capitalism” with “the underlying bureaucracy upon which the world rests and runs itself” and that becomes just the text of Loki. It’s easier to imagine the end of reality than the end of the TVA, and the end of the autocrat who sits on top of the pyramid. The Universe is run by a corrupt pyramid scheme, but it’s that or nothingness! So, you NEED someone to run things like this, otherwise it’s all void.  

That’s what this story is saying—but why does it need to say this? Why do we need someone sitting on a throne? For a character like Loki whose entire character is anarchy incarnate, this simply just rings hollow.  

And so, I am frustrated. I want to like “Loki.” It has some great moments and is a lot of fun. But at the end of the day, it does the character of Loki wrong but having to reinforce the status quo, and when your central character who is defined by causing mischief, maintaining the status quo is a terrible way to end your series.  

[dolceaspidenera]

Hii! when I read your post about bg3 and what could be better, it’s like you I’ve read everything on my mind. I love this game, it’s an absolute masterpiece, that’s an undeniable truth. I desperately wanted sth like this after I fell in love with DA games. the minute I knew I can romance Astarion I jumped at the chance - because LOOK AT HIM!! and they’ve given him the BEST voice actor, the BEST character backstory- better and richer than any of the DA characters had. he feels alive, everything in his behaviour and motivations makes sense, the whole breaking the cycle of abuse is incredibly deep. And really makes me crave for more..more party banter, more things to talk about overall. there are certain shining moments between him and Shadowheart, moments where she teases him or is curious about certain things. YES GIVE ME MORE OF THIS overall with all the companions!

100% agree about how it is frustrating that companion reactions get overridden. I romanced Asta and wanted to hear his reaction to the owlbear and he got blocked by Shadowheart. why??? if anyone has sth to say let them say it.

Now I’m gonna rant a bit about Asta’s content in act 3. there’s quite a big difference between act 1 and 3 in terms of camp cutscenes. while in act 1 you have to long rest pretty much constantly to see everything that’s queued up, in act 3 it isn’t necessary. act 3 feels much emptier esp when it comes to Astarion or Karlach. Cazador isn’t involved in the main plotline so there’s no incentive to deal with him unless you really want to help Asty. Karlach and her soul coins - i didn’t understand their purpose, guess it was scrapped. same as the possibility for Asty to explore different ways to release himself from Cazador’s clutches, to be able to stay in the sun. as it is now there’s nothing for him, just a throwaway dialogue option added last minute that you’re going to look for the solution together. that solution should have been available in act 3–another scrapped content—necromancy of thay. as it stands now - I think mainly because of this missing content, there’s only one option to help Asty see reason to refuse the ritual and even that requires high persuasion check. all that we’re given is one good choice (which you can’t probably pass with a non-charismatic character) and two bad choices with one of them being No I won’t help you which does not give you any additional chances to reason with him. which there should’ve been especially if he’s romanced and on the highest approval. lastly, we should’ve been given a waaaay more satisfying conclusion - once again as it stands now, it deeply hurt me to watch him run away from the sun with nobody expressing any sort of concern for him whatsoever. he deserves better. and i’m too old and tired to write a fix-it fic about this 🙈

the end of rant 😅

Hi! Thank you for sharing your opinions with me 😊 I agree with you, I would've preferred, for example, fewer shiny objects and more party banters/cutscenes with our companions. Especially when it comes to friendship interactions, you really feel a lack of content. They are all amazing characters and I wish we could spend more time with them, it would have been cool to have something similar to the Citadel DLC in Mass Effect.

Regarding the companions' reactions that override each other, if Larian is hell-bent on leaving it like that, I hope there will be some saint modder out there who will be able to get rid of this mechanic. I'd do it myself but unfortunately I know nothing of how mods work 😭

And Yes, after completing the quest for the characters there's 0 content after that unfortunately when it comes to interactions in camp. Don't get me started on our best girl Karlach, they really did dirty to her. Her confrontation with Gortash is the most anti-climatic thing I've ever seen. She gets angry, understandably so, for like 5 minutes, and then that's it, everything is back to normal. AT least give us a cut scene with her stabbing the hell out of Gortash, them staring in each other eyes while he dies, give me some pathos, something! It's supposed to be the climax of her narrative arch, c'mon!

There's definitely a lot of cut content, I don't know if it's because they ran out of time or they were having budget issues, maybe a bit of both. I hope they will add them back later but I honestly doubt that. Unfortunately, the ending is really lacking as well, you can really see that they ran out of time there. Larian promised they would fix it, so I hope they manage to put together a satisfactory epilogue for all the characters. I reeeeeeally hate Astarion's ending in particular, there's no way my character wouldn't run after him to make sure he's okay and to comfort him. It would have been cool to have at least a party like the one with the tieflings in Act 1 to properly say goodbye to all characters (Dragon Age Origins really nailed it in that sense, even if it's brief you have the chance to speak with all characters and ask them for their future plans after the final battle).

[deepdonutkid]

Spoiler for The Hunger Games : Mockingjay.

What do you think about Coin proposed a final hunger games with Capitol children?

When do you think Coin had this idea, since beginning or later?

Do you think it undermined the whole purpose of the rebellion?

Do you have hope that Paylor would be a good leader?

Thank you.

@curiousnonny

OMGGGG; for me it's just petty revenge and one can not convince me otherwise. @curiousnonny this is going to be a short answer, because I don't wanna get too angry right now, but thanks for the question nevertheless!

I think, Coin didn't plan on this from the beginning and we don't know that much about her or how she came into power, but she definitely got the idea from when the plague hit D13 and she lost her children due to that outbreak. Since that moment she swore, she would get revenge and make the Capitol feel what she felt, when she lost her family, by doing the exact same thing as them.

She is too close to the topic, to see that, this is actually a bad idea and would solve nothing.

Another theory of mine, on why she proposed this non-sense idea, is that she saw how Snow used it to control the masses, and since she was just as a tryrannic leader as him, she picked some of his tools under the disguse of improving them.

Either way, it's a very stupid move, because yes, it would have diminshed the cause of the rebels and would have made a counter rebellion very likely. It would have left panem in a very fragile state, which could easily be overthrown again and also the population wouldn't feel like the hunger games are behind them, the terrors of snow's regime are not behind them... because they are not.

Some direct results would have been: Katniss ends up childless, because the terrors are still out there, somebody might turn on her and then her children would have to suffer for her mistakes, big no no for her. A lot of the Capitolites from the revolution would felt some sense of betrayal, like Cressida and Pollux. Eventually fleeing Panem alltogether, if possible.

And I think Paylor would be a good leader. Otherwise the epiloge wouldn't been so peaceful, but also from the information we got from the books. Okay, I tried for like 45 minutes to find the passage where Paylor is mentioned, but I can't and unfortunately I'm running out of time, so I'll just say, I think she is!

[mlobsters]

supernatural s6e19 mommy dearest (w. adam glass)

well my whole eve/victoria pedretti mind connection (also this afternoon was crying for a good 20 minutes while painting and rewatching the haunting of hill house) this disabling the exit to the bar and then everyone trying to eat each other reminds me of that church scene in midnight mass (was she even in that one? lol) but way less emotionally fraught. and shorter. adds to the list of gif comparatives of various stuff with spn that i may never get around to because making gifs is tedious work i don't particularly enjoy.

i think i'm delighted to hear licensed music because it's so infrequent now and it's a lot more fun than the score 😬

when i was a kid, i helped my dad fill shotgun shells using something like this (primarily for shooting skeet at a range though he also hunted)

anyway. dean is using a literal tablespoon to put the phoenix's ashes in these special shells apparently. fear not, a well used shotgun shell reloader in the back there (lee load-all reloader only $79.99 at cabela's!)

DEAN Why has it always got to be me that makes the call, huh? It's not like Cas lives in my ass. The dude's busy. (Cas appears behind him. Dean turns around, surprised) Cas, get out of my ass!

CAS I was never in your–

wait hold up is this like that weird wording that i talked about before, out of your ass...

okay this must be a wording thing because they had pestilence use the same and i was very perplexed by the phrasing. SHERIFF MILLS I lose my job over this, I am taking it out of your ass! s5e21 DR. GREEN You mean my brothers. What they did to my brothers. No. The only reasonable thing to do here is to…take it out of their healthy young asses!

that's so strange. anyway. woo they can use more gay innuendo jokes because they have a non-brother dude who we're saying/joking/but actually saying has Feelings for dean to be on the receiving end (har har) 😑

LENORE I remember. Your hunter friend almost killed me.

SAM Well if it makes you feel any better, uh, he turned into a vampire and I chopped his head off.

DEAN Yeah. With razor wire. Wicked.

dean's so proud

okay so thank fuck they didn't make sam kill another pretty lady that was a monster. we don't need madison 2.0.

CAS We needed to move this along.

mr funny again

🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

CAS Something in this town, is, uh, it's affecting me. I assume it's Eve.

DEAN So wait, Mom's making you limp?

CAS Figuratively, yes.

DEAN How?

CAS I don't know, but she is.

DEAN Well, that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trenchcoat.

SAM I think you hurt his feelings.

don't be an asshole, dean. this is why i called cas a work friend :p

my dad travelled a ton for work when i was a kid so he always had a company car. one of them was a chevy caprice classic like this one, but white.

well the baby in the trench coat decapitated someone. good enough for you, dean?

reflection in the glass just reminding me of how model-pretty jensen's face is

are the kids gonna be monsters and try to eat sam and dean. okay the oldest "kid" has visible stubble and is 24. baby face and short stature and no pesky child actor rules

CAS We need to find Eve now.

DEAN Yeah. Go. Me and Sam just gotta make a milk run.

CAS We need your help here.

DEAN Hold your water. We'll be back in a few.

CAS Dean, Dean. Millions of lives are at stakes here, not just two. Stay focused.

my face at the "stay focused": 😒 like being told to relax

DEAN Are you kidding?

CAS There's a greater purpose here.

DEAN You know what, I-I'm getting a little sick and tired of the greater purposes, okay? I think what I'd like to do now is save a couple of kids. If you don't mind. We'll catch up.

*schmoopy music*

oh the brother mush intensifies! big brother tells little brother he should get some rest and they cuddle up to sleep. and sam looks at dean, dean smiles fondly. sam makes his thinking thoughtful face out the window as he (obviously) thinks about how dean took care of him haha

BOBBY They won't take long.

CAS You don't know that. They may find more wayward orphans along the way.

😂

BOBBY Oh, don't get cute.

CAS Right. Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with "sarcasm". It was a bad idea – letting them go.

BOBBY Come on. You don't let Sam and Dean Winchester do squat. They do what they gotta. You know that.

haha pissy cas again, a treat. and ain't that the truth, they're gonna do what they want to do, come hell or highwater

oh my god the extended family reunion and the exchanged looks with sam and dean. WE GET IT, GUYS. feeling soft about big brothers taking care of little brothers. saving lives, reuniting families

this is so interesting, in a way, because i had no idea that cas had this darkside situation going on. the thing with the souls, the torturing. i know nothing about his character arc! when i know a lot about sam and dean's

lol so one of the kids was a monster. all gone, the mushy feelings

EVE You look upset. If it makes you feel any better, Ryan was bound to work on you. Little wayward orphan, like yourselves. There's nothing you can do about it now. So let's talk.

samantha smith's voice (eve as mary here) reminds me of someone in hill house. i think elizabeth reaser (played shirley [also esme in twilight])?

this whole thing is a lot. glad dean had some amazing forethought to consume some of the ash to make himself poisonous to her eating him LOLL

cas finally gettin something cool to do

demons *gasp*

so is cas working with crowley? i admit to tuning out a little when eve was talking about the soul battery stealing plan

well i guess that answers that. something weirdly satisfying about crowley scolding cas, what's that about

while i was looking up sam's boots, because i'm a weirdo, this site boldly declared dean winchester smells like some particular fragrance. i thought that was weird to be so specific without a source mentioned and so then i go searching the internet for dean winchester cologne. and ended up some pinterest link that is a youtube video of a con thing with j2 and jackles saying he wears tom ford "wood" (note: it's oud wood, but oud means a type of wood. agarwood wood.) and "it works" and then padalecki asking where he sprays it. i think for my sanity it is best i continue to avoid bts/con related content

like, nothing on the hey i know you front. suddenly started getting exclusively side characters actors i've never seen in anything else

also i guess eve is dead? that was anticlimactic. like a slightly longer than usual monster of the week. i guess we can't be working under the threat of being sent to hell all the time

[have-a-hiddles]

Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 1.2K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

No one saw hide nor hair of you the next day. Nor the day after. You missed First Friday Mass, one that Copia headed. He’d looked for you and been disappointed when he didn’t see you there. More concerning to him, was that you had not submitted the date for your initiation. Perhaps you had changed your mind? Perhaps the prospect of fucking him was not preferable to you after all?

Several hours after Mass, Copia sent his ghouls out to try and suss out what was going on with you. Sodo was the first to return.

“Boss, I should have mentioned this earlier, but I think I saw your girlie Wednesday night while we were rehearsing,” Sodo said, tail twitching.

Copia made a hand gesture telling the ghoul to continue,

“She was hiding outside of the hallway door, listening to us. To you, really. And I saw something pull her away. I cannot be certain, but I thought there was genuine fear in her eyes for the split second that I saw them,” he said. Such a thing was not exactly rare in the Ministry. The Siblings of Sin often cavorted with each other anywhere and everywhere. And having a kink for BDSM or similar was very common. He’d thought maybe the girl he’d seen was just being “kidnapped” by a lover for some sexy-times.

Now, he was not so sure.

Copia stood abruptly, silently stalking through the hallways with Sodo tailing him. “The hallway door?” he confirmed as he strode into the security office. Cameras had been installed several months ago for security purposes after a few interior thefts had occurred. And, yes, for the security staff to play voyeur from time to time.

The Brother behind the security desk stood quickly as the Cardinal approached, hastily shoving some book he’d been reading away. “Your Eminence! I was not expecting a visit from you this evening. What can I do for you?”

“Wednesday night’s security feed. I want to review it.” Copia stated, his voice rather hard.

“O-Of course, Your Eminence. Just give me one moment to bring up the old feed,” the clerk nodded, hurrying to his laptop. The myriad of screens behind him went black for a moment while Copia told him exactly what time he wanted to see.

The monitors flickered back to life, showing the entire Ministry at the time. It was easy to pick you out as you scampered from your room to the rehearsal hall, your blue sweater nearly a blur. Copia and Sodo watched as you eavesdropped, though Sodo was the one who caught sight of the two Brothers and one Sister. They crept along the same path you’d taken, and then snuck up on you, the big one grabbing you roughly. The way you struggled and kicked was definitely not the way a willing participant would “struggle”.

A low growl gathered in Sodo’s chest as he watched them drag you to the confession alcove. There was no sound to the recordings, but it was not needed. They were clearly threatening you in some way. When the smaller Brother grabbed you by the hair and yanked you to your feet, a snarl shredded the otherwise silent office.

For a moment, Sodo was confused. He hadn’t made that noise.

The Cardinal had!

The Ghoul had never seen Copia look so darkly angry. He was normally very placid; a natural peacekeeper. Right now, however, he looked ready to tear the three Siblings to shreds more painfully than even the ghouls could manage. His eyes blazed as he watched them beat you, only stopping when they heard Sister Imperator in the sanctuary.

Watching you struggle to your feet and half walk-half-stumble to your room brought such a sharp pain to his heart that had to take a physical gasp. “Sodo. Find out who those three are and report back to me.”

There was no mistaking that was order and not a request. “You got it, boss.”

“Make me a copy of this, fratello,” he addressed the clerk with slightly less venom.

“Of course, five minutes and I’ll have it on a flash drive for you,” he nodded, immediately setting to work.

Sodo returned in record time with the names and designations of the bullies. Copia felt his rage rise again; he knew these three by reputation. Exemplary Siblings by most accounts, barring a little excessive arrogance. Lynx was the undoubted leader and had ambitions of someday being Papa himself. With Kaser as the muscle and Cantata as the silver tongue, they were a tight-knit group. Why they had chosen to be bullies behind the scenes was a mystery to him, but not one he much cared about. The manifesto of their faith demanded solidarity among the Siblings. They were meant to take care of each other and lift each other up. One’s success was the success of all.

To turn on a Sibling like this, postulate or not, was the antithesis of what they stood for.

Taking the flash drive, he all but charged over to the Imperator’s office. As usual, she saw him right away, somewhat surprised to see her “little cardi” so enraged. Frankly, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him angry beyond anything but frustration. Without even asking, he plugged a flash drive into her laptop, the security feed coming up automatically.

“I want those three punished. Severely,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Well, considering the severity of this… excommunication would be recommended,” she nodded thoughtfully. “Pity, they held such promise.”

“So does she!” he snarled. “No one’s seen her for d-d-d-days. I only hope she hasn’t run away!”

“Calm yourself. She’s probably just hiding in her room,” Imperator raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s so important about her?”

“She’s… she’s sp-special. She’s k-kind and… expects nothing in return. I read her dossier and she’s v-v-v-vital to the scholary. She’s practically the only one in there that knows how to use a computer, let alone a t-t-tablet,” he explained in a more subdued voice.

Imperator raised an elegant eyebrow. “You sound as though you’re in love, my son.”

He looked up at his mother, his gaze steady. “And if I am? I am expected to have relations as I see fit. P-perhaps I see fit to have relations with her. She wants me to be her p-p-p-partner for her initiation. I may have taken many to b-bed, but never with someone who looks at me as she does.”

“Just keep your head on your shoulders. We do not need a Papa that is clearly picking favorites,” she shook her head. “And speaking of Papal duties; if you want these three punished, you do it.”

He took a deep breath, “You would risk me killing them in my fury?”

“Are you really that angry?”

“Sì.”

“I would ask you to try not to do that. But you must do as you see fit. Get rid of them as you wish.” She stood from her desk. “I’ll have them brought to your office to await you.”

“Fine. I will check on Sister (Y/N). She should not have been left alone for so long after such a transgression,” he said before turning on his heel and stalking out of her office.

FOR THE LOVE OF (deity of your choice) PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG! COMMENT! VISIT ON AO3 AND LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!

I NEED FEEDBACK!

[the-firebird69]

Watch "What it would take for Trump to be indicted over Mar-a-Lago" on YouTube

And they're making assumptions and saying there's rules and all sorts of stuff and there are rules about that but it doesn't apply regarding to high treason and conspiracy commit Mass homicide on the United States and an act of War and sedition and it doesn't matter at all there's no rule that would stop and investigation in any way and the wrong but they're trying to figure out why they haven't proceeded they found the documents the docs are sitting there they saw the documents, and I saw me have said they're getting people out of the way so they can try and do it and saw it happening and they figured out that might be it he also said to the lady any plans on hearing the United States is a waste of time and they said if you're planning on doing this we don't want you around you start mentioning why and all the stuff and she says back who cares her if I can get it it turns out he's doing work for Billy z and it doesn't really help him he's admitted at the other day and he said this guy helped you see the light he did say that's what it is a lot plenty of time you're a loser buddy you have no idea none do you s*** it's out here trying to grill me and it was a mistake and it's Tommy dragging it out really no it was Mac in the Max and it's a mistake because these people started gouging you some of them saw what you're doing you're going for the whole enchilada and it kind of broadcasted and Tommy f wasn't doing it on purpose but that's the result you're going after all of them and that's the morlock didn't you come in homicide on them and yes any rational human being would but that's what you're you were drawing it out for and all that's going to hit Monday the same time that Jason is over every major city on earth with the saucer that would kill everyone if it felt if it crashed on them in the city that is and Trump doesn't care if it crashes cuz he wants to take the stuff out and he put there but everybody knows about it. Now this is a war and what you're saying right now Trump is stupid if you are going to kill you for it. You don't believe it just like you don't believe what he's saying even though it's in writing even though they said that's what they're doing even though they announced it in their meeting that's what they're doing even though they went to the law enforcement agencies and says here the charges we're going to make them stick Monday and they give them the list and all the particulars even though you saw them do that against you you still don't get it you're a useless hose bag to our son and us and it's because you're an a****** yeah we don't care what you're doing outside you're an a****** to us you're done, good evening and crafts and asinine on purpose for a reason or by accident for a reason and we know what those reasons are a****** so they're declaring war on you and we are as well and we're both going to wipe you out and your assinine morlock brothers just won't shut up for the price of nothing.

Now we said this a lot but today it means what it says it's finally happening that you'll see what it is and you're a moron but you're going to shut your f****** mouth to us and them if not yours will devour you whole

Thor Freya

You certainly are a s*** Trump you were back then and boy you're a big s*** now with your big s*** mouth

Hera

Zues

Olympus

[decayedhearts]

@soothsaer​ sent:   💭 + trey + trauma   [Send me a “💭“ and your Muse will experience one of my muse’s Memories]

A sweet scent suddenly fills your nose and then you’re carried away on a cloud of cinnamon and apple, the school disappearing from your eyes and changing into a place you’ve never seen before..

It’s the big kitchen in the back of the bakery, the one where most of the baking happens. There’s a smaller area in the shop part too where some minor cake and cookie decorating is done, but that’s your father’s job and you’ve never helped him out there. Not yet. Some day you’ll be allowed to take over there as well. If you’re honest, it makes you nervous to think about - what if you mess up while people are watching? All that money wasted if you have to give it away for free (because who will buy messed up cake?), or worse, all that food wasted if mother decides to throw it away. Maybe you could sneak it out of the kitchen and give it to your sister, pretend you failed it on purpose so she could have some sweeties before bedtime. She’d probably like that.

“Trey, honey? Be careful not to let the dough dry up,” mother’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You look at the lump of dough you’ve been kneading and nod. “Yes, mum,” you promise, poking the soft mass with your fingers to see if it’s starting to crack. It’s still okay, but if you’re not careful, it’ll dry up like mother said. You’ve done this often enough by now to recognize its stages, you shouldn’t make mistakes like that anymore.

You start splitting the dough into smaller pieces, rolling little balls and placing them on the counter. They all need to be the same size or else the finished buns won’t turn out the same, some will burn while the others are still raw, and you won’t have time to check them all individually. There’s so much left to do for tomorrow and you’re already getting sleepy. You hear the front door opening, the familiar jingle of the bell distracting you for a moment, but you stay focused on your task. There was a time where you’d drop what you’re holding and run to greet father, but that time is past. “Your father is back,” mother says and smiles at you. No, she looks sad. No.. she is smiling. She leaves the room and closes the door behind her.

You make more dough balls but you lose count of them as you place them on the counter. The sound of the clock ticking on the wall is so loud it feels as though it should make the loose flour vibrate on the counter’s surface. You hear their voices in the other room. They’re loud just normal, but you can’t make up any words. Mother is crying laughing about something. Maybe father told a joke; he used to do that a lot when you were little. Well, when you were younger, you are still little, compared to him.

You’re still counting by the time mother comes back, but the numbers are all jumbled in your head. Maybe it’s 15, or maybe it’s 49. Mother is quiet and so are you, your small whispered counting just loud enough for her to recognize you’re still doing it. You need her to know that, you’re not sure why, but the thought of her asking if you overheard them makes your stomach ache. You heard nothing.      “I’m done, mother,” you say out loud and turn to find your mum sitting on her chair by the window, her hand on her round belly. She’s in tears. Again. There is flour on her cheek and before you know you move to wipe it away, your small hand coming away damp.

And then she’s hugging you, holding you so tight it hurts a little, your small chest unable to take in breath like it should. You don’t remember the last time she hugged you to comfort you. You haven’t asked her to in a while. It wouldn’t feel like comfort from someone so broken. She’s whispering words into your ear that you don’t want to hear, words you choose not to understand. If you don’t understand them, maybe they won’t be true.

The bakery needs to stay afloat so you can keep the house and pay the bills, that much you understand. “I’ll help, mum,” you say, while your chest still hurts. You wish she would let go of you already. You already messed up so much, almost caused them to lose it all at the hands of a wrathful woman with a heart of stone. Irresponsible. The bakery needs to stay afloat so he won’t leave, you already messed up so much--- the bakery needs to stay afloat or she will go away too. You’re all she has, of course you’ll help. If you’ll help everything will turn out fine, the bakery will stay, father will stay, your sister will be fine and the baby--

The memory breaks off with a snap, like a film tearing. 

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

[havinganormalone]

Tips on how to write trans smut

I've seen too many people say they won't write or create trans content either because they don't know how or they don't want to be disrespectful. So here's a handy guide.

Look, if you can write about size difference day in and day out, you can write trans shit. If you can write fat characters, you can write trans characters. It's just a different body type. Like that's it. You don't have to include a bunch of trans baggage or dysphoria in your fic, okay? Like does your tall character in your size difference fic lament that they are a freak because they can reach the top shelf? No? Then why would you have to include that in a trans fic?

Try to describe characters with positives and by what they are, not by what they are not. You want to write a trans woman? Okay, then focus on what she IS, not what she isn't or "used to be." Talk about the parts of her that are beautiful, the sweep of her hair, the gentle, purposeful lilt of her voice, the way she hides her mouth when she laughs. Not that hard. Especially for a oneshot, when you aren't going to be providing a mountain of backstory. Here is this woman. She giggles and offers to help when you fumble undoing her bra. She is wearing strawberry chapstick, and you can taste it when your lips meet.

"Okay but how do I write... you know. The BITS." Ah yes, the thing that terrifies every cis person. You're afraid of using the wrong terminology and getting a visit from the "down with cis" bus. Look, there is no one uniform way to refer to anatomy. Like how many different terms do cis men use to refer to their cock? Their family jewels? Their meat? Their schlong? The same is true for trans people, who are not a monolith. I know plenty of trans girls who love the term "girl dick." Others would strongly prefer to steer away from "dick" and use "clit" instead, or refer to their anus as "pussy." I know trans men who call it a "cunt," some "front hole," etc. (I've never personally met a dude who called it a bussy except when being ironic, but I bet they're out there). Basic rule of thumb: warn at the start of your story whether you are using AFAB/AMAB terms. Example:

This story uses AFAB terminology to refer to a trans male character (ex: cunt, clit, pussy).

or

This story uses AMAB terminology to refer to a pre-transition male character (ex: chest, hole, "sweet spot" to refer to clit.)

Or whatever cocktail you decide to use. Because what people call their body parts is very personal and individual (come on, you know at least someone who has a special name for their junk). Acting like there is only one "correct" way to refer to anatomy is denying the fact that identity and gender are fluid, and the way a person conceptualizes their body may change over the course of their life.

"Right but I'm cis, and I don't want to be fetishistic."

Okay. What does that mean? Does that mean that there is something about trans bodies that is inherently more sexual or perverted than cis bodies? Is there something intrinsically disgusting about us that no normal person would be attracted to us?

Consider: you're dating someone with like, a really big nose, and at some point in your relationship, you think "I wonder what it would be like to sit on that face and feel that nose rub against that one spot I like." There is an aspect of this person's body that is unique, that you are naturally curious about and want to explore with them. This is not the penis-in-vagina missionary-position procreational sex that society has told us is the only acceptable kind of sex, and so therefore it does inherently have an aspect of kink to it. But is that BAD? If you ask your partner, and they say "Oh no thanks, no offense but I think putting my face near junk is gross and I don't like the smell" and then you immediately dump them because you're only here for that John-Oliver-looking Weapon of Mass Sniffstruction, then yeah, you were probably being fetishistic, because you were only interested in how THEY could be of sexual use to YOU.

TLDR; It's okay to be attracted to trans people. And if you want to explore that in your writing, go for it. Explore it in writing, do not treat REAL people like they only exist for your sexual pleasure, and please for the love of god, someone write me more trans porn.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Two

It’s almost midnight by the time Garcia is officially gator food, but you’re too wired for sleep. You head out, driving the hour and change to Miami, with a stop on the way to clean yourself up a bit in a gas station bathroom. You check in to the swanky South Beach hotel you’ve decided to treat yourself to, because you’ve earned it. The world is a better place without that man in it, the impressionable young girls of Miami are a bit safer tonight, and that’s enough for you. For the moment, it’s enough.

Your next target is a man you’ve been searching for for a long time, and he’s your own personal project, but tonight you aren’t going to think about him. Tonight you’re going to allow yourself a moment to breathe, to celebrate your victories—a party of one, as usual, but satisfying all the same. You don’t have that much time left before last call at the clubs so you get yourself together quickly and hit the spot closest to your hotel. Even at this time of night, there’s a line to get in, but one look at you and the bouncer is opening that velvet rope and beckoning you inside.

The place reeks of sweat and unchecked hormones as you make your way to the bar, the booming bass drowning out any and all thoughts you might have, which is exactly the way you want it tonight. You order a double vodka rocks and you wait to see what kind of man will approach you this evening: angel or devil. Of course, none of them are really angels, not in the club at this time of night, but some are far worse than others.

You have no problem with decent men. There’s nothing wrong with trying to get laid. It’s normal, it’s natural—you know that now. You’ve even learned to enjoy consensual sex with strangers. At first it was difficult for you—your body having belonged to others for your entire life. But it wasn’t long before you started to enjoy the power of choice, of having control over what your body did and who with.

A man approaches you—brown hair, blue eyes, muscular—and you hate that your first thought is of him but you can’t help it. The Winter Soldier had always been the stuff of nightmares—a ghost story to some, but the Widows knew better. He was terrifying, yes, but the few people who had seen the man’s face and lived to tell about it had always remarked on how handsome he was, even with that cold, dead-eyed stare. You’d seen pictures of him after he came out from under all that brainwashing, and they had proven the reports correct, but you’d never seen him in person until tonight. You couldn’t stand the sight of him in some ways, but in others…

You turn to the attractive stranger and smile, waiting to see what he’ll do.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he yells over the music. You raise your nearly full cocktail in his direction and he smiles awkwardly. “That’s the best line I got,” he says, and he introduces himself with a name you don’t commit to memory.

You give him a fake name and he reaches his hand out to shake. He’s got a disarming personality, but that doesn’t mean you trust him. You know better than anyone that there’s no better tactic than to appear non-threatening. Still, he’s incredibly attractive and you’re in the mood for a party of two tonight.

You let him talk for a while—about his job, about his family—and you pepper in a few lies here and there. He hasn’t laid a hand on you or invaded your personal space in any way that isn’t necessary among the crush of people at the bar. When the bartender signals last call, you decide that he’ll do. You’re rarely wrong about people, and even if you are, you could snap his neck like a twig if necessary.

You allow him to walk you out, expecting him to make a move, but he doesn’t. He just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, rocking a bit awkwardly on his feet.

You smile and tilt your head. “Nightcap?” you ask, and he follows you like a puppy to your hotel room.

You don’t want another drink and neither does he, but he waits for your signal before he tries anything. You try not to make it all seem transactional, but it’s not like your heart is in it. You let him kiss you and touch you, albeit briefly, and you pretend to enjoy it even though that’s not what you want. What you want is to be on top of him, using his body for the pleasure of your own, and it’s not long before you’re doing exactly that. Your beautiful stranger certainly doesn’t mind, not even when you close your eyes and allow yourself to think about someone else inside you—what his face might look like all twisted up and blissed out, what sounds might spill from his pretty lips, what the cold metal might feel like against your hot sweaty skin.

You make yourself cum and then kick him out (kindly). You’re gone by sunrise. You’ve got places to be.

*****

Natasha sits cross-legged on her couch, a pint of ice cream in one hand and scrolling her tablet with the other. After Miami, you’ve been a ghost. None of her usual contacts have been able to give her anything useful. You’ve gone underground, and she knows she won’t find you if you really don’t want to be found. Whoever your next target is, it has to be somebody big if you’ve covered your tracks this well.

She doesn’t regret not taking you in, even though Bucky had complained the entire ride back about how leaving you there was a mistake. But, as she’d told him, you have to want to come in. Trying to force your hand is not only incredibly dangerous, it defeats the purpose. Natasha doesn’t want to retraumatize you; she wants to help you. There’s no point in trading a floating cage for a gilded one.

She doesn’t realize she’s finished the pint until the spoon hits the cardboard. When she goes to pull another one from the freezer, her phone rings.

“What’s up, Rogers?”

Steve’s voice holds a barely contained anger that Natasha knows well. “You need to come in.”

She should have known Bucky would rat her out, but it still pisses her off. “Steve, it’s getting late. Can we do this in the morning?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Are you gonna steal another jet in the middle of the night?”

“Technically, I didn’t steal-”

“Natasha, please,” he says, and she can picture the set of his jaw on the other end of the line.

She sighs. “Alright, fine. I’m leaving now.”

When she gets to the tower, most of the usual suspects are gathered around the conference table. Steve looks pissed. Tony looks amused. Sam and Wanda look concerned. And while, to anyone else Bucky would be wearing no expression at all, Natasha can tell that he’s feeling a bit guilty—as he should, he gave her his word. He mouths “I’m sorry” when she sits down at the table and she raises an eyebrow at him that he knows to translate as a middle finger.

Steve tries to speak but Natasha cuts him off. “Save me the lecture, Rogers. I’m not going to apologize.”

Steve’s voice is stern but not unkind. “This needs to be a group decision, Natasha, and as of right now, you’re the only person who thinks this is a good idea.”

“That’s not actually true,” she says. “Wanda? Do you want to tell Steve what you told me?”

Wanda looks a little shocked to be called out but she answers, if a bit hesitantly. “It sounds like she needs help, Steve. Like she’s lost. I… I know what that feels like—when everyone thinks you’re a monster.”

Wanda and Nat’s eyes both turn to Bucky, looking for any recognition whatsoever that he, too, knows exactly where they’re coming from, but he’s completely stolid. Underneath his blood is boiling and he feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin, but the surface remains placid.

Tony pops a blueberry into his mouth and swivels in his chair to face Natasha. “So, let me see if I’m understanding this correctly, Romanoff. You want to bring in one of your former compatriots who has spent the last… what?... year or so on a globetrotting murder spree? Am I getting the general idea here, or am I missing something? I have to be missing something, because if I’m not missing something, this is categorically batshit.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Stark. But essentially, yes. That’s exactly what I want to do.”

Tony laughs. “Wow. OK. Well, Rogers—you and I rarely agree on… well… anything, but I gotta say, I’m Team Cap with this one.”

Natasha crosses her arms and huffs her displeasure.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, looking around and addressing the room, “but don’t we usually catch mass murderers? Isn’t that kind of our thing?”

The longer the conversation goes on, the more uncomfortable Bucky gets. It wasn’t lost on him that Tony’s eyes lingered on him when he threw out the term “mass murderers,” and he’s learned that it’s better to just let Tony go off when he feels the need. Still, he needs to get out of the room. He needs to take a walk, get some air, push all thoughts of you and this whole mess out of his mind, because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might go crazy.

“Are we done here?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve replies. “Sam? Anything you want to say?”

Sam takes a minute to gather his thoughts. “Look, Nat, I understand where you’re coming from on this. I really do. And it would be different if she was willing to come in on her own. But it sounds to me like she isn’t interested. She wants to be doing exactly what she’s doing. You can’t rehabilitate that. You just can’t.”

Steve looks apologetically at Natasha. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but it’s a no. I’m not necessarily saying we go after her-”

“I am,” Tony interjects. “I’m saying that. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Steve glares at Tony and it shuts him up. “Leave it alone, Tony.”

“You’re seriously telling me you want to leave this girl on the streets knowing what we know? Come on, Rogers.”

Everyone starts to raise their voice at once—everyone except Bucky, who is already sneaking out and halfway to the door—when Natasha shouts, “Enough!”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out, speaking softer now. “I’ll find her and I’ll bring her in, whether she wants to come or not. But it stays in this room—no cops, no agents, just the team. When I get her here, I’ll figure out what to do with her.”

“Fine,” Steve says, and the rest of the team assents. “Buck, you go with her.”

Every cell in Bucky’s body is screaming not to do it, but he never could say no to Steve. He grunts his agreement, refusing to even look at Natasha before storming out of the room and out into the humid mid-August evening. He walks all the way from Midtown to Brooklyn, but he still can’t shake the malaise that’s settled over him ever since Natasha first came to him with her plan.

Bucky knows that he should understand—and, in a way, he does—but he just can’t bring himself to feel anything for you except disgust. Natasha sees something in you that he just doesn’t see. All Bucky wanted to do when he finally got free of it all was prove to everyone that he was a good man—that he was not the things that he’d done. It took a lot of work and a lot of time, but he’s finally in a place where he’s separated himself from the Winter Soldier. That isn’t who he is; it never was.

Steve always knew that, and Natasha hadn’t taken much convincing. The others, though—some of them still don’t fully trust him, and if he thinks about it for too long, it cuts deep. So when Bucky thinks of you—free now, but still violent and bloodthirsty and absolutely unrepentant—it makes him sick. After all the work Bucky has done, how can Natasha look at you and him and think that you’re the same?

Not everyone comes out of their traumas unscathed. Sometimes people can’t come back from the things that have happened to them. That’s you. That’s who you are. You’re not good, you never will be, and as sad as it may make him, Bucky truly believes that you are beyond redemption. You don’t need to be saved; you need to be stopped.

Bucky gets a text as he unlocks the door to his Brooklyn Heights apartment. He’s been waiting for it, hoping for it, and now he has it. Natasha doesn’t know where you are yet, but he does. One of his contacts in Bucharest has a line on you, and he’s not going to let you get away this time. Much as it pains him, he doesn’t trust Natasha to keep her word to the team and take you in against your will. No, Bucky is going to handle this himself. You may be a Widow, but you’re no match for the White Wolf.

CHAPTER THREE >>>

[joandfriedrich]

that one post vermillionflycatcher reblogged from is odd. literally nobody hates Bhaer for being a "mediocre white man". Most ppl don't think of him at all (and more is the pity!).

the OP used to be a huge Little Women hater and called its fans white bread old ladies, so it's confusing here they are acting like big fans and insinuating he is hated by the masses (please... that would be Amy!).

I don't know the OP of that post, so I cannot nor will I make any final judgment on them and it could very well be possible that this was their first impression and after some time and rereading the book, they understand it better, that can and does happen.

And as for Friedrich, you'd be surprised by how many people really seem to hate his character. He and Amy both get a lot of hate, but Friedrich is hated by plenty for reasons as I have seen described below:

1. He's poor, unattractive and old. Seriously, that is what I see most people comment when there is a Jo x Friedrich picture, edit or video, comments on his it's gross because he is too old, or how they don't like him but only if *insert attractive actor* played him. It's incredibly shallow and mean, especially coming from a generation of people who claim to be all "be body positive" and "don't judge a book by its cover". Hypocrites.

2. He stole Jo away from Laurie. You can't steal what was never yours. Jo never wanted Laurie as a lover or husband, she made that very clear that she saw him as a brother, and her feelings never changed in the later years. She even admits that she would have accepted his proposal not because she loves him any different but because she is so lonely, and she was really hoping that Friedrich would come after finding his note. She was always pining for Friedrich after leaving New York and turning down Laurie's proposal, always him, never Laurie.

3. He's just a shoehorned in character that ruined Alcott's original ending of Jo being a spinster writer. This whole sentence is a big falsehood but no one knows that the story was written in two parts, ending with Meg getting engaged which allowed Alcott to do the second half in a timely and thought out manner, or that her publisher never pressured her in making of the characters getting married at the end, but that Alcott wanted Jo to be married because, if we follow that Jo is Alcott's avatar, then it would mean she could in a way finally be with the man she loved but never could marry, Friedrich being Thoreau's avatar. To say Alcott shoehorned him in is not only a huge lie, but an insult to Alcott and her writing. It was all done with purpose and no one gets that.

4. He hated Jo's writings and made her feel made/cry. This one is the biggest myth that goes around the Little Women fandom, and allow me to repeat it again. THIS. NEVER. HAPPENS! He never hated her writing, he loved it and encouraged her to move forward, he criticized the loose morals of the magazine, the same one she didn't want anyone to know she wrote for out of shame, and how it is not right for kids to get their hands on this. Jo hated writing for the magazine, but she needed the money and he knew that. He never judged her for doing what she had to to help pay for her family, especially since he had been in her place as he is poor himself, he just reminded her that she shouldn't have to sell out and do something that she didn't feel completely in her heart.

Amy gets plenty of hate yes, and this can be a discussion for another day, but it's not completely true that Friedrich is not thought of or gets off scot free. People hate him irrationally because they are stuck on their immature notions of love and because people like Gerwig are spreading falsehoods of how the story went.

[parvulous-writings]

Slightly Unexpected // McCree x reader

Request:  Can I make a request were McCree meets a new member of the team who happens to be a field medic with a big St. Bernard named Bosco. Everyone didn’t know that Bosco could speak except for Winston and soldier 76. And I mean he has the same intelligence as a human type. Like McCree finds out that his S/Os dog can speak during a mission when she hast to save him and drag him to a safe spot to be patched up.  i’ve been obsessing over the creek for the past week and a half and this seems like a very funny idea that’s been playing in my mind for the past few days lol

Requested by: @wolvesbrigade

Summary: The request

Warnings: Violence, mention of injuries and blood

Words: 1.2K

Notes:Did I make Bosco sassy? Maybe. My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

Initially, the assignment for the small team you supported was going incredibly well. Almost too well. There were four of you in all- a very small team indeed, but you didn’t need to go for overkill for this. It was merely defense, and of a small area to boot. It should’ve been fairly simple.  Key words; Should have. As the battle wore on and on, you got a sinking feeling in your gut that you had severely underestimated the adversaries you were facing. How could you tell this? Well, in part because of how much you’re having to heal your teammates, but also because of how the more experienced in the team were starting to show signs of struggle. Jack Morrison- Soldier 76 to the masses- was one of the ones starting to struggle, having to slowly fall back to be able to deal with the enemy personnel safely. 

The more tank-like colleague of yours had also started to draw close to the rest of the group, raising his shield to defend both the old soldier and yourself, as one last member on your team strayed out into the field, all by himself. This rugged vigilante was the gunslinger Jesse McCree- known by most to be an outlaw, and known to you specifically to be a man who makes almost nothing but reckless decisions. You were doing your best to help the two closest to you, with the aid of your loyal companion Bosco. The St Bernard was the one who held the majority of your healing capsules- modeled partially after Ana’s which served largely the same purpose. He’d ferry them back and forth between the two allies defending the point, whilst you helped Morrison dispatch your foes with your small firearm.

You had just about managed to get your feet stuck in the ground where you were supposed to be defending, when you heard a raspy voice through your earpiece: “I need.. I need some help over here!”  It was Jesse, sounding out of breath, and in a reasonable amount of pain. You give a gentle sigh- it came as no surprise to your that it was McCree that was the first to essentially get downed. You looked to your companion, giving a low whistle to get his attention away from Reinhardt. “Bosco! Let’s get moving!” And with that, the pair of you dove into fire, taking out the lackeys that stood between you and the teammate who needed your assistance. For those you didn’t take down yourself, Bosco tackled and tore at them as they tried to take aim towards you- trying to take you out and weaken your team. 

It took you a few minutes to find Jesse, who had managed to drag himself into a small corner, where he was able to stake out and defend himself with his peacekeeper. He had a rather nasty looking wound on his leg- a large, bloody patch around a bullet hole in his trouser leg. Bosco was the first of you two to approach him, looking him over for any other sign of any other, more life threatening injuries. The hound glanced over to you, his collar- designed especially for Bosco by Winston himself, based on similar technology used for Hammond the hamster- allowed him to inform you of what was McCree’s injury as you caught up and approached them.  “Thankfully I think the bullet has missed the femoral artery.” You weren’t caught off-guard by the friendly yet oddly monotonous voice of your dog, but McCree certainly was. His jaw was almost in his lap- he had never actually been out in the field with you and Bosco, and Morrison had clearly failed to warn him of the collar and unique intelligence of your companion. 

“The- the- he can-” McCree stuttered, and had Bosco been able to, he would have rolled his eyes. “Talk, yes. Thank you for the observation, Agent McCree, I hadn’t yet noticed.” Bosco replied sarcastically. Whilst they were conversing, you pulled two bandages from the pack around your waist- one to tie at least a fairly secure tourniquet, the other to dress his wound. Bosco took a small capsule from the bag draped over his back, breaking it carefully in his jaw over the wound and letting the golden liquid drip over the bloody hole in Jesse’s thigh. McCree winced, as the wound started to heal- but it would take a few minutes to heal properly, so you still fastened a makeshift tourniquet after dressing his wound. Bosco then nuzzled himself under Jesse’s arm, trying to pull him to his feet. You started to help, taking both of the cowboy’s hands in your own. 

“You never told me the old dog could talk!” Jesse exclaimed through heavy breaths as you started to help him back towards the rest of your team.  “Not that old,” Bosco pointed out, along with a computer generated sigh.  “Ah... Sorry, Bosco.” The gunslinger replied, awkwardly.  “Didn’t really have the need to mention it... Sorry, Jesse.” You chuckled as the two beings you held dearest fully interacted for the first time. You actually thought Jesse was taking it fairly well- you had expected a much more... Dramatic display.  “Well, uh, thank you, both of you, for comin’ to fetch me...” Jesse chuckled as you finally rejoined the other half of your team. You sat the Southerner down near a piece of debris- where he could still shoot the odd enemy, but also rest his leg until a dropship arrived for you all. Bosco went and sat beside him, ready to move him should the barrier finally break and the group of you be overrun by those fighting against you. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long before you heard the familiar whir of an  engine as the dropship started to approach from overhead. You had defended your point for long enough, now Overwatch’s own metallic forces were able to fight back instead of their valuable living soldiers. Bosco now started to help the injured gunslinger to his feet, and you soon joined to assist him onto the dropship. The man gave you a thankful look- a rarity from someone like Jesse.  “You know... I’d like to take some tips from ya about satyin’ alive during combat... You seem to do it pretty darn well, so you seem like one of the best people to ask. Maybe we could discuss it over dinner?” He suggested, a smirk-like grin spreading over his lips.  “Are you asking me out, McCree?” You ask him with a chuckle. He shrugs and nods slightly.  “I might be... Is there any harm in that?” He asked you, a hint of sheepishness in his tone.  “Only if you try anything funny.” Bosco jumped in, which caused both you and McCree to laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try anything... Jus’ want to be a gentleman...” He looked to you, “If you’ll let me, o’ course...” He chuckled, and you smiled softly, beginning to nod at his words.  “Alright... But only if neither of us are cooking.” You gestured between you and him, laughing gently as he nodded in agreement.  “I was gonna suggest the same thing, darlin’.” He told you, “So, you got a date in mind?”  “Saturday? Maybe... Half eight?” You suggested, and he nods eagerly.  “Sounds brilliant, sugar.” 

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McCree taglist: @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​

[ragingbookdragon]

Faith Is Believing What You Cannot See

Hal Jordan x AI!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I had this idea late last night, but the conversation of religion between Hal and his father. If he followed in Martin's footsteps and became a pilot, did that mean that Hal followed in religion too, or did he just believe in a creator? In other words, reader helps Hal contemplate divine creation while mourning Martin Jordan. Enjoy! -Thorne

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He popped the beer tab and set the can down beside him before popping his own beer can, taking a sip from it. His eyes were directed upwards, gazing at the massive expanse of stars above him. He tried to remember some of the constellations that Ganthet had mentioned but nothing came to him. Here on Oa, it was so different from Earth. He could see planets and moons, stars he’d only dreamed about on his home planet.

And yet, all he could think about was Martin. Twenty-six years to the day that Hal Jordan had witnessed his father’s last day, his last flight. Twenty-six years ago, Hal Jordan watched the greatest man he ever knew die in a hail of flame and black smoke. Twenty-six years since Hal Jordan defined his life on a single moment. To be the most fearless man alive. The bravest.

Sighing heavily, he dropped his head between his cocked-up knees, resting his elbows atop his jeaned kneecaps. He missed his dad. He missed his family. He missed being a kid and skipping out on school to eat lunch with his dad after watching Martin fly all morning. He missed when life wasn’t so difficult. He missed—

“Lantern Hal?” He jerked up at the sound of the robotic tone. “Are you alright?”

Glancing behind him, he saw (Y/N) standing there, her hands clasped lowly behind her back, big glowing eyes observant; Hal could see the way the iris’ rotated with each flash-thought. “…Yeah, I’m fine, (Y/N).”

She walked over. “Your tone designates hesitation. Is there something bothering you?”

“No,” Hal murmured. “I’m just sitting out here and drinking.”

Her head cocked down. “There are two alcoholic drinks open. Are you consuming them both?”

He chuckled. “One’s for my dad.”

“Is he coming soon?” she craned her neck, and he watched the wires dance beneath her blueish flesh. “I can locate him if it is to your—”

“He’s not here, (Y/N).” Hal interrupted. “He’s dead.”

She blinked, gazing at him curiously. “If he is dead, why are you sharing a drink?”

“It’s a human tradition. When someone dies, you share a beer with them in remembrance.”

“Oh…so you are engaging in ritualistic practice?” she blinked again. “Should I leave?”

He didn’t exactly want to be surrounded by people, but at the same time, Hal didn’t want to be alone. “You can stay.”

(Y/N) took a seat beside him, sitting as properly as a humanoid robot could. “I am unfamiliar with the emotion of grief. May I ask you questions pertaining to the subject?”

“Uh, I guess.” Hal said, taking a sip of his beer.

“What does loss feel like?”

He paused, swirling the liquid between his cheeks before he swallowed and murmured, “It’s kinda like a wound that never really heals, it just scabs over and from time to time something comes along and rips it off and you feel the pain all over again. Just like it was the first time.”

“I cannot feel pain,” she acknowledged. “But your words have meaning. It would be similar to my processing units breaking down repeatedly without repair.”

Hal’s lips pulled in a satisfaction. “That sounds about right.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “When did your father die?”

He met her gaze. “When I was ten. He died in a plane crash…I witnessed it.”

“You were a child.” She noted. “Is this why you were driven to join the Armed Forces where you were able to fly aircraft?”

Hal nodded. “I lost dad when I was young and I…I never really remembered a lot about him.” he shrugged. “Flying was the way I could connect with him.”

“What was your father like?”

He chuckled. “A lady-killer who was damn good pilot and an even better husband and father.” Hal paused. “He was also Catholic.” A fond smile crossed his lips. “Never missed Mass.”

“Catholicism is a branch of Christianity.” (Y/N) said. “Do you share the same concept of religion?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I’m not really sure. Dad was Catholic. Mom was Jewish.”

“So, you are Jewish then?”

“N—no, not exactly, (Y/N).”

Her head cocked to the side. “Forgive me, I am confused. It makes sense to follow a religion of one parent. Which do you follow?”

Hal’s mouth opened, then it closed, and he finally reasoned, “It’s not so much following religion as it is believing in God to me.”

“…So, the denomination is not what is important to you, but merely the belief of a divine creator?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” He sighed. “I’ve attended religious ceremonies and prayers on both sides but every time I come back to religion, it’s more of where I stand with God then it does what denomination.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I see. That makes sense.”

He looked over. “It does?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe?”

“No.”

That was a foolish question to ask a robot, he thought. “Sorry, I should’ve seen that coming.”

“How so?”

Hal shrugged. “I mean…you’re an AI. You’re not a human like me. No offense.”

“None has been taken.” (Y/N) smiled. “You are correct though. But my belief does not come from rejection of religion, but from education in the sciences.” She met his gaze. “I am an AI. I was created for a purpose and that purpose was to protect Oa. I discover and categorize life through science and observation, not through a personal doctrine of faith. Faith is not something I can comprehend.”

“Why’s that?”

“Faith is believing in what you cannot see. Though I have control over the evolution of my core programing, I cannot take action through faith. I cannot believe in what I cannot see nor process. Belief with no evidence is not factual. It is not quantifiable.”

Hal gazed at her for a few moments. “I guess that’s a fair way to look at it.”

“Do you have faith?” she questioned, and he nodded.

“I do. In myself. In my friends.” He nudged her in the hard side of her body. “In you.”

“I believe what you are describing is trust.”

“They’re synonymous,” he laughed, then looked to the sky. “I believe that my dad is around me a lot.”

“But he is dead.”

“He is. But his spirit is still here. I feel it.” Hal’s face was firm as was his voice. “I know my dad’s with me every time I fly.”

“And you take this on faith?” (Y/N) asked.

“I do.”

She observed him. “Was your father a faithful man? Did he believe in his faith?”

“I’d like to say he was and that he did.” He frowned slightly. “I miss him a lot.”

(Y/N) hummed, though it more so sounded like she was releasing warm air through the vents in her side. “Then I shall intrude on your memorial no longer.” She stood. “Thank you for allowing me to speak with you. I have processed much during this conversation that shall allow for further core reprogramming.”

Hal smiled. “Anytime, (Y/N).”

He didn’t look back as she walked off, though she suddenly stopped and turned. “Lantern Hal?”

“Yeah?” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

“First Thessalonians, chapter four, verses thirteen and fourteen. ‘And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died.’”

(Y/N) tipped her head down. “If your father was faithful as you have said…you will see him again one day.”

Hal blinked in shock, a rush of emotion spinning like a whirlwind in his chest. “You’ve read scripture?”

“I have. Access to the human web has allowed for knowledge of many religious texts. I am favorable of the main human religious texts. They allow for educating conversations of moral integrity and action.”

“But you don’t believe in any of them?”

“I do not.” (Y/N) smiled kindly at him. “You grieve your father in addition to believing in a divine creator, and this verse seemed applicable to the circumstance in which you find yourself.” She nodded. “I hope it has eased your grief, Lantern Hal.”

He gave her a wobbly smile. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Have a good evening.”

She disappeared down the other side of the hill and Hal turned back to the stars, reaching up a hand to wipe at his eyes. They twinkled above him, and for the first time in a long while, Hal prayed for his father. He prayed for his family. He prayed for himself. And if there was a divine creator out there, from whatever religion, he hoped it heard him.