#(and also unable to be redeemed)

[sleepboysummer]

so irrationally angry when ppl completely baby daeho and act like the only personality traits he had in s2 were sweet and scared as if he didnt threaten the os curse them out and almost get into a fight (only stopping when jungbae held him back) like he is literally prone to lashing out when hes intimidated to make himself seem bigger and that is exactly what he did with gihun in s3 his first instinct when someone threatens him is to get violent first in the hopes that theyll back off before they even try his character makes so much objective analytical sense everybody just ignores it.

[bluedalahorse]

Periodically I wonder what Young Royals fandom could have been if bad faith anon discourse about so many characters and plot points hadn’t been so Everywhere during the fandom’s heyday.

[riddlebanshee]

Back on my bullshit 🙏

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[suppermariobroth]

Due to an error, it was at one point briefly possible to earn free money with a Yoshi game.

On January 8, 2020, an error in the pricing system at Target caused download codes for Yoshi's Crafted World to be offered at a price of one dollar. In addition to getting the game, players were also able to claim 300 Gold Points, which could be redeemed for a 3-dollar discount on other purchases, essentially gaining 2 dollars worth of free money as a result of the transaction.

While thousands of users were able to get the game at this price, the error was noticed a few hours later and corrected, with any further codes being unable to be redeemed.

Main Blog | Patreon | Twitter | Bluesky | Small Findings | Source

[nerdynuala]

@radioroseweek day 3! (Self appreciation it's the third day and I'm still posting on time)

Horror - committing horrific crimes

I chose this prompt but since I'm unable to produce gore you'll have a trademark silly comic about Charlie realizing some sinners probably can't be redeemed

Also known as: the besties have committed so many horrific crimes together they can't even recall them

[xjulixred45x]

Wahhhhhh

Your neglected child Yuu was so cute and now I can’t help thinking about the Vices

Trey probably dotes on them a lot. He might even see it as a way to redeem himself for being unable to help Riddle as a kid

Ruggie def has a soft spot for kids and you can fight me on that. Would probably be a great babysitter

Jade… what can I say about Jade. Idk actually

I can’t imagine Jamil would be as gung-ho about brainwashing a child but he’d also definitely want to use Crowley’s favoritism to his advantage

Rook would probably find child Yuu adorable. I can imagine him teaching them how to shoot a tiny little bow (no one knows how he got one)

Ortho and child Yuu bestie supremacy. That’s all I have to say. No it’s not. I imagine Ortho and Yuu would have this whole “discovering the world together dynamic” due to their separate circumstances but they’d also do it together

Lilia would see child Yuu and scoop them up before presenting them to Silver like “new sibling just dropped” especially if he felt they weren’t being properly cared for

Aww, this is so sweet.

Trey goes into dad/big brother mode as soon as he finds out there's a little kid at NRC without parents and, above all, with clear signs of being malnourished. Trey tries to balance giving Yuu lots of sweets and sugary things with healthier options so they doesn't end up with any additional health problems. They've also developed a great habit of cooking together! This way, Trey knows exactly what Yuu likes and dislikes, ensuring he won't have a problem if the kid is picky—we all have our tastes!

Whenever Yuu says something related to the way they was raised or about their parents, Trey can't help but get a strange feeling of nostalgia that makes him feel sick. He tries to keep Yuu from thinking about their parents most of the time, but above all, he tries to be as assertive as possible about the fact that what Yuu's parents did was WRONG, that they're a good kid, that they're not a burden, etc. Basically, he's trying to do what he should have done a long time ago.

Ruggie initially thought Yuu was a lost child, maybe a teacher's kid. He doesn't trust Crowley AT ALL to take care of Yuu, so every time he sees them (be it in the cafeteria or somewhere else), he tries to check on them in a lively way (asking them if they're okay, if they're eaten anything recently, if Crowley is watching them). Yuu likes to be around Ruggie to play; they thinks he's fun, and Ruggie takes it as a compliment.

Ruggie is used to children and can read them well, so he notices something is wrong with Yuu (and at first, he thought Crowley was the culprit). Ruggie tells Yuu that if an adult hurts them, they should go directly to him for help (Leona owes him one, after all). But he calms down and feels bad when Yuu explains about their parents. At least he assures Yuu that they won't have to see them again.

Jade is terrifying to Yuu; whenever he tries to interact with them, Yuu runs away like their life depends on it. Ironically, they're friendlier to Floyd (because he's much friendlier to little kids in general), and they tend to play a few games when Yuu has nothing to do and Floyd is bored (things like racing Yuu on Floyd's shoulders, Floyd grabbing Yuu by the arms and spinning them around, etc.).

Floyd doesn't really realize that Yuu has a troubled past until Jade points it out. When he does, however, he assures Yuu that if their parents (or anyone, really) try to hurt them again, he'll happily squeeze them :)

Jamil has mixed feelings about Yuu. On one hand, they're the sweetest kid around, but on the other, he uses Crowley's favoritism toward them whenever he can. This doesn't mean Jamil doesn't take care of Yuu, of course not. He makes sure they eat at least three times a day, get some exercise, and study. He's like a mother hen, and he worries A LOT when Yuu gets hurt or starts crying for any reason. He has a younger sister, so I like to think he's relatively good at comforting them.

Jamil doesn't really treat Yuu any differently after learning of their past, but he does make a point of not doing certain things that might remind them of their trauma, things like leaving them alone for too long, yelling at them, and raising his hands when angry (along with teaching Yuu that if they feels bad, whether physically or emotionally, to go to him or an adult). Above all, Jamil got used to Yuu feeling SAFE around him and made sure it stays that way.

Rook thinks Yuu is the cutest little thing ever, constantly lifting them up in the air like they're a stuffed animal and hugging them (if they complains to him he'll stop, but if not, he'll carry on as if Yuu were his personal teddy bear). The idea of him trying to teach Yuu how to shoot a tiny bow and arrow is hilarious (everyone is worried about two things: 1- Rook using himself to prop up Yuu's apples for a target shoot, and 2- WHERE THE HELL DID HE GET A BOW FOR SUCH A YOUNG KID?). Vil is going to have a heart attack because of them both.

Rook is a big brother; let's just say he has a sixth sense when Yuu is feeling particularly bad. During these times, Rook tends to act especially theatrical in an attempt to cheer them up, or he even tries to talk to Yuu about how they're feeling to see if he can do anything for them (Rook definitely joins Floyd and Ruggie's "I hate Yuu's biological parents" squad, but he's more silly and discreet about it).

I've already talked about Ortho and the first-years here.

Lilia formally knows Yuu as a friend of Malleus, but he thinks they're the cutest things in life. he's constantly on their tail, appearing out of nowhere (scaring Yuu in the process, though Lilia is good at calming them down with a lullaby), showing up at Ramshackle to make sure they have food and good living conditions, though eventually he just shows up one day, grabs Yuu and Grim like a sack of potatoes, and decides they'd have better living conditions in Diasomnia (partly to spite Crowley. The custody battle will be legendary).

Lilia does the typical things a father should do with his children: read them a bedtime story, tuck them in, pack them lunch for the day (he doesn't cook it, Silver or Sebek does), and is very likely one of the few adults Yuu ends up accidentally calling "dad" (Lilia will have to be restrained from doing an express adoption right there). Overall, the little kid has made its way into the old general's heart.

For this reason, he is very patient when it comes to comforting Yuu about their original "family." He usually soothes them with a lullaby and puts them to bed in Diasomnia, but not before going to "talk" to Crowley about it.

Let's just say Yuu has all of NRC in the palm of their little hand, but it's not something the students complain about.

________

(ESPAÑOL)

Awwwww esto es tan dulce

Trey activa el modo papá/hermano mayor en cuanto se entera que hay un niño pequeño en NRC sin padres y sobretodo, con claros signos de estar mal alimentado. Trey trata de equilibrar entre darle muchos dulces y cosas azucaradas a Yuu, y cosas más saludables para que no termine con algún problema de salud adicional. Tambien un gran habito que tomaron es de cocinar juntos! Así Trey sabe con exactitud qué cosas le gustan a Yuu y que cosas no, le asegura que no tiene problemas si el nene es quisquilloso ¡todos tenemos nuestros gustos!

Cada vez que Yuu dice algo relacionado a la forma en la que fue criado o con relación a sus padres, Trey no puede evitar tener un extraño sentimiento de nostalgia que lo deja sintiendo enfermo. Él trata de que Yuu no piense en sus padres la mayoría del tiempo, pero sobretodo, trata de ser lo más asertivo posible en que lo que los padres de Yuu hacían estaba MAL, que él es un buen niño, que no es una carga, etc. Básicamente trata de hacer lo que debió hace mucho tiempo.

Ruggie pensó al principio que Yuu era un niño perdido que talvez era el hijo de algún profesor, él realmente no confía PARA NADA en Crowley para cuidar de Yuu, por lo que cada vez que lo ve (ya sea en la cafetería o algún otro lugar) trata de checar que este bien de forma animada (preguntarle si está bien, si ha comido algo recientemente, si Crowley le esta cuidando). A Yuu le gusta estar cerca de Ruggie para jugar, cree que es divertido y Ruggie lo toma como un cumplido.

Ruggie esta acostumbrado a los niños y sabe leerlos bien, por lo que nota que algo malo pasa con Yuu (y al principio pensó que Crowley era el culpable), digamos que Ruggie le dice a Yuu que si un adulto le hace daño, que vaya directamente a él por ayuda (Leona le debe una después de todo), pero entre que se tranquiliza y se siente mal cuando Yuu le explica lo de sus padres. Al menos le asegura a Yuu que no tendrá que verlos de nuevo.

Jade es aterrador para Yuu, cada vez que el intenta interactuar con ellos, Yuu corre como si su vida dependiera de ello. Irónicamente es mas amigable con Floyd (porque el es mucho mas amigable con los niños pequeños en general), y tienden a jugar algunos juegos cuando Yuu no tiene nada que hacer y Floyd esta aburrido (cosas como carreras con Yuu en los hombros de Floyd, Floyd agarrando a Yuu de sus brazos y haciéndole girar a toda velocidad, etc).

Floyd realmente no se da cuenta de que Yuu tiene un pasado turbulento hasta que Jade se lo señala, cuando lo hace, sin embargo, le asegura a Yuu que si sus padres (o cualquier persona en realidad) intentan lastimarle otra vez, el felizmente los apretara 

Jamil tiene sentimientos encontrados con respecto a Yuu, por una parte, es el niño más dulce que hay, pero por otra parte usa el favoritismo de Crowley hacia ellos cada que puede. Esto no quiere decir que Jamil no cuide de Yuu, claro que no, él se asegura que coman mínimo 3 veces al día, hagan algo de ejercicio, estudien, es como una mamá gallina, y se preocupa MUCHO cuando Yuu se lastima o empieza a llorar por cualquier razón. Él tiene una hermana menor, me gusta pensar que es relativamente bueno en el confort.

Jamil realmente no trata diferente a Yuu tras saber su pasado, pero si tiene en cuenta de no hacer ciertas cosas que puedan recordarle su trauma, cosas como dejarle solo mucho tiempo, gritarle, alzar las manos estando enojado (junto a enseñarle a Yuu que si se siente mal, ya sea física o emocionalmente, vaya con el o algún adulto). Por encima de todo, Jamil se acostumbró a que Yuu se sienta SEGURO cerca de él y se asegurara de que se mantenga así.

Rook piensa que Yuu es la cosita más adorable que puede existir, constantemente lo esta levantando en el aire como si fuera un peluche y abrazándolo (el para si Yuu se queja, pero si no, el seguirá como si Yuu fuera su oso de felpa personal). La idea de que trate de enseñarle a Yuu a disparar un pequeño arco y flecha es súper graciosa (todos están preocupados sobre dos cosas: 1- que Rook se use a sí mismo para apoyar las manzanas de tiro al blanco para Yuu y 2- ¿DE DONDE DIABLOS SACO UN ARCO PARA UN NIÑO TAN JOVEN?). Vil va a tener un ataque cardiaco por culpa de los dos.

Rook es un hermano mayor, digamos que tiene un sexto sentido cuando Yuu se siente especialmente mal. Para esos momentos, Rook suele actuar especialmente teatral en un intento de animarle, o directamente trata de hablar de Yuu sobre cómo se siente para saber si puede hacer algo por ellos (definitivamente Rook se une a Floyd y Ruggie al Squad de “odio a los padres biológicos de Yuu” pero es más silly y discreto al respecto).

Ya hablé de Ortho y los de primer año aquí.

Lilia conoce formalmente a Yuu como un amigo de Malleus, pero cree que son la cosa mas tierna de la vida. Constantemente está detrás de ellos, apareciendo de la nada (asustando a Yuu en el proceso, aunque Lilia es bueno calmándole con una canción de cuna), apareciendo en Ramshackle para ver que tengan comida y buenas condiciones, aunque eventualmente el solo aparece un día, los agarra como un saco de papas a Yuu y Grim, y decide que tendrían mejores condiciones de vida en Diasomnia (y en parte para molestar a Crowley. La batalla por la custodia será legendaria).

Lilia hace las típicas cosas que debería hacer un padre con sus hijos con Yuu, leerles un cuento para dormir, arroparle, aprontarle un almuerzo para el dia (no lo cocina el, lo cocina Silver o Sebek), y es muy probable que sea uno de los pocos adultos que Yuu termina llamando “papá” por accidente (Lilia tendrá que ser contenido de hacer una adopción express ahí mismo). En general el nene ha hecho su camino en el corazón del viejo general.

Por lo mismo, es muy paciente cuando se trata de consolar a Yuu con respecto a su “familia” original. Suele calmarle con una canción de cuna y lo pone en su cama en Diasomnia, no sin antes ir a “hablar” con Crowley al respecto.

Digamos que Yuu tiene todo NRC en la palma de su pequeña mano, pero no es algo de lo que los estudiantes se quejen.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[nellasbookplanet]

I think it's funny that I keep seeing Liliana compared to Essek on the basis of 'beloved npc the cast wants to see redeemed', with a contingent of fandom claiming Liliana to be more 'deserving' of said redemption because they see her as a victim and Essek as a villain. To me, if we are going to compare her to a c2 npc, her role is much more similar to that of Astrid (and Eadwulf, though he's less central).

As in, she’s an antagonist who’s deeply emotionally and historically tied to one of the pc's, with said pc being unable to bring themself to give up on her despite her being unwilling to stop fighting for the bad guy (examples: Liliana casting timestop to get bells hells past the vanguard; Astrid allowing the nein to flee to the fire plane; both of them returning to working for their evil boss immediately afterwards).

Like Astrid, Liliana was manipulated into joining a cult-like supremacist organisation (though unlike Astrid she was an adult, giving her less leeway) for what they thought of as good, just reasons (Liliana to save her daughter and 'free' exandria from the gods; Astrid to protect her home nation). Like Astrid she is a victim, but she is also undeniably a villain. Both of them have the lives of countless innocents on their hands and could not, for the longest time, be trusted. The fact that they are sad little meow meows or whatever doesn't change this. Even at the end of c2, Astrid may have turned on her boss, but unlike Caleb she was unable to fully give up the organisation he was part of, becoming part of the assembly herself. Liliana may be out from under Ludinus' thumb, but she has shown little indication that she has moved away from his ideas of 'let's blame the gods for all the ills of the world and exterminate them for it'.

Essek, while arguably a much darker character who acted for wholly selfish reasons, nonetheless entered c2 as a perceived ally. By the time the nein found out about his involvement there was already a foundation of trust and friendship, and he had made the decision to sever ties with the assembly (though it took a bit longer before the guilt and regret caught up) while all but devoting himself to the nein after. Liliana and Astrid both struggled for most of the campaign to turn their backs on the evil organisation they worked for no matter the pleading of loved ones. All three are morally grey characters who at some point had the potential to be redeemed or go full antagonist (WHAT would have happened if Liliana found out Imogen really knew of the assassination attempt) but their journeys and the way they are presented to the audience as well as the players differ quite strongly.

If you are going to compare Essek and Liliana, admit to their strongest similarity: the fact that they both had the agency to choose their bad actions, and that neither were an innocent victim to the consequences that followed.

[galactic-rhea]

you know, maybe I'm wrong, but my interpretation of Anakin/Vader and Redeemed Anakin is that he pretty much is aware he's terrible. He pretty much thinks of himself as a monster even before becoming Vader, he considers himself one as soon as he had to leave Shmi to survive as a slave alone while he got to become The Chosen One and travel the stars (his basic understanding of love is self-sacrifice), he knows the tusken massacre was bad, he knows murdering disarmed Dooku was bad; he knew turning against the jedi and helping Palpatine was bad; he's extremelly self aware of his violence and hates himself for it.

I think it's easy to think of him as nonchalant or as sort of a shameless dick about it all because his General At War Persona was to be jokey and pretend he's having fun. He's very confident on his ability for Murder (tm), he (tragically) became one of the Best general jedis in the order by becoming good at murder, he's useful when he's being murderous at the right people; so he has no doubts on his abilities on this regard; that doesn't mean he isn't aware of how fucked up and cruel it is, but he keeps doing it, and it's all he knows; he was born in violence, raised in violence, taught to yield a extremelly dangerous weapon, groomed into violence, rewarded for violence, cheered for violence, with Ahsoka then he had to teach violence, and then violence just became something that ran in his blood, it came to him easily, too easily because he was never given the means to deal with such a extreme hyperviolent paradigm. So yep, he knows he's good at murder and little self-preservation.

And he probably despised himself for it, he saw himself as less than a being with human rights, he saw himself as a weapon and he hated not being seen as a person, and at some point he became apathic about it, the fight left him as soon as he had no future with a family. As Vader his hate and anger is just cold fury, is mostly apathy and a void of emotions, there's just pain and self-disgust and regret and old anger, there's not even trying to be something else anymore, it's all he's ever been good at and all he's being asked to do.

So redeemed Anakin (which canonically just means Ghost Anakin lmao) acting oblivious or playing the dumb or victim card it's just something I can't even imagine him to do; like Anakin is aware of being violent and messed up and Bad, but he is completely unable to concieve the idea of having been a victim because besides violence, Anakin's other big trait is that he never ever processes trauma and he horrifically has a history of blaming himself instead of the people who owned him.

This guy, when he was at his best as a Jedi, was pathologically prone to suicidal missions even when it wasn't a necessity, he thinks he's an asset, a means for his superiors to impose their stance and chose to own it, instead of blaming his superiors he just hates himself because he can't stop pathetically reliving when he left his mom behind, when he carried her corpse, when he retaliated against even innocents including kids, when he hurt Padmé, all the times he failed, and the he lived in his personal, fitly created just for him, inferno and had no plans to escape it until one certain sunshine farmer showed up, and all because he thinks he deserves the torture and the abuse and being owned because he's just good at murder and nothing else.

So yeah, no one probably hates him more than himself. Someone could tell Ghost Anakin he's a monster, the worst thing that ever happened in the galaxy and he would say "Yes." And no attempts at arguing or whatsoever, his dignity couldn't be lower if he tried, he would half-heartly agree if someone like Luke said the emperor did him wrong by, y'know, torture him? But then he would also say something like "Well, yes, but cruelty is the way of the Sith, what else could be expected", he's just terribly messed up and couldn't stop himself from defending, at least a little, his literal groomer and abuser and master, and he certainly won't expect forgiveness, like,,,,at all. He can, and will, make excuses for people directly hurting him, but he also would retaliate in terrible ways against anyone, guilty or not, if it meant doing it for someone he cared about.

So Anakin is just...used to being used, and falls easily into being used because it's what he knows best, freedom feels useless and uncertain after he lost padmé.

It's an increíble vicious circle: He worked himself hard to be useful because being useful it's what makes people like him and a means of survival, he then hates himself for being just useful and loosing his personhood, and because he hates himself and thinks he doesn't deserve any sort of...human rights, he keeps on being a mere weapon, an object, but what a good and expensive weapon at least, repeat.

So nope, this guy would be completely unable to even dare to play the victim or excuse himself, even less act as if he doesn't understand he did wrong.

[sunlightandprayers]

part two .ᐟ of childhoodbsf!simon who inevitably broke your heart

warnings : longing. aching. smidge of angst. feelings. oh! and simon redeems himself in this one (i think)

also, this was written on iphone once more and halfway proofread (•́ -•̀)

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it’s been 119 days since he left. classified mission. early departure. here an instant and vanished in the next. a true ghost. except he had never lived up to his name with you before.

you had always gotten a ‘see you soon’. sealed with a kiss to your forehead and callous thumbs brushing away the stream of tears reddening your cheeks in his least favourite way.

you had always gotten the fragile privilege of being wrapped up in his impenetrable arms.

safe, warm, held.

lungs always expanding a little more to try and soak up the feeling. to try to embed shards of him in your bones, so you’d never know a moment where he wasn’t, in a way, with you.

this time around though, he’d just… slipped away. a star extinguishing in the night sky. the same way “i love you” had dripped from your lips four months ago, without the sweet words being echoed back. an explosion, and then nothing. darkness. emptiness.

and the next day he was gone.

you knew it the moment you’d driven down the familiar road. the shutters were drawn, the lights off, the gravel and trees somehow too still.

like when he left, the world’s effortless vivacity had fell away with him.

the same way the fog and mist of dusk seem no more than a mirage once the sun blinks awake.

and now that simon wasn’t here to roll over in bed, stirring you awake at an ungodly hour, you woke up too late to catch the first rays glitter against the morning dew coating the true-blue petals of the forget-me-nots.

instead, you now roused closer to eight—the time you used to mumble about with your nose buried against simon’s chest. ironically, the late mornings seemed much more irksome now than the five forty-five ones. perhaps because they were lacking your favourite thing. your favourite person.

it’s not like life stopped when he was deployed. you still went to work. still got ready and grabbed a cocktail with friends on a friday night. still did the things your quotidian consisted of. it was just… never quite full.

a lot like the dull ache when you loose a teeth as a kid. knowing something will eventually replace the void, but being unable to stop your tongue from prodding the torn flesh.

the longer he was gone, the more his absence felt like something you could practically touch. like a wound that left a metallic taste in your mouth.

for more than a hundred days, life had become veiled by these suffocating shades of greige.

until you’d gotten the phone call.

when the name of simon’s captain lit up your screen, the ring of it all but jolted you out of your skin, molars nearly cutting through your cheeks.

all you heard price’s gravelly voice say through the crackle of the line was “lieutenant riley” and “back in england tomorrow night”. there was more said, and you’d probably talked too—if the call time of 6:37 minutes was any indication—but it all blurred together.

he was finally coming home. he was okay.

you needed to see him more than you needed your next breath. they all felt too shallow when his scent wasn’t weaving inside you anyways.

the next day, the hours went by at a snail’s pace. you had to stop yourself from driving to the airport four times already.

it was 10 am.

simon’s plane wouldn’t touch ground before 11 at night.

by two in the afternoon, you’d been about ready to crawl out of your skin. you’d cleaned your room, made lunch, went for a run, showered thoroughly afterwards and then you’d tried to pass time by watching a movie—which only managed to have you tap open your phone to look at the time every five minutes.

when nine pm rolled around, you couldn’t take the oppressing silence anymore. the drive to the airport took close to 40 minutes instead of 30—your zealous respect of the speed limits earned you several glares and even a few honks.

air stiffened in your lungs and your nerves were on the verge of fraying like used-up wires. the poor man next to you looked about ready to sedate you, if only to stop the jerk of your leg—the main source of his irritation, if the slicing looks he kept shooting your way you were any indication.

your brain was piecing together words of apology when you finally heard it. the dull thud of combat boots. the familiar cadence of his steps. measured, precise, smooth.

your eyes finally lifted to his own.

whiskey gaze surrounded by shadows of exhaustion and remnants of eye black.

blond lashes dipping in one, two, blinks.

simon’s steps had faltered when he’d noticed you standing there, but when he blinked and the vision of you didn’t disappear? it took all his might not to run to his sweet girl.

every doubt you held about him not wanting to see you vanished with every meter of distance his long strides ate up—all of those fears instead morphed into a knot of emotion that expanded so rapidly in your throat air had trouble filtering through.

“please… please tell me you’re real, sweetheart.”

the ache with which is spoke unraveled every last of your defences. a fortress crumbling in the face of one, single soldier. your soldier.

his voice still held the same rough drawl. his calloused hands cradling your face were still the safest place you’d known.

simon’s thumb glided across the apple of your cheek, so lightly it felt like a whisper—like he was making sure you weren’t a figment of his cruel imagination.

“i’m here, si.” a soft whisper. a gentle reassurance.

his ears buzzed and his veins crackled at a single word.

si. a nickname that had belonged to you, and you alone, for more than a decade.

he felt his knees wobble. tendrils of emotion wrapped around his heart and squeezed. like climbing vines around wrought iron.

right then, the weight of the world seemed to fall away from his strong, yet weary, shoulders at the sight and proximity of his home. so close. so reachable. so goddamn beautiful.

“i didn’t say it back.”

there was no mistaking what he was talking about. the air felt like it’d been punched out of you. suddenly, you were back in his bedroom. heart fracturing inside your chest violently, muscles rigid and so, so cold.

“i didn’t say it back. i- i’m so fucking sorry–” he croaked, his eyes turning a tormented shade of amber, as his words liquefied your bones down to the very marrow.

his torn apology washed away all the lingering pain and grief of his absence, leaving only a growing flame of heat behind.

“i love you. i’m so in love with you it hurts, sunshine. i know i’m late. i know you probably haven’t forgiven me. i know–”

petal-soft lips found his own, shutting off his brain and turning the rest of his apology to ash.

fireworks exploded along his spine and butterflies fluttered their velvet wings inside your stomach. it didn’t even matter that a layer of rough, soiled fabric separated your mouths—the burn of your taste seared him all the same.

time warped with each breath.

in reality, it had only been a handful of seconds, yet it felt like that simple kiss had erased all the ache of the past 119 days—a key finally turning into the lock of your happiest, safest place.

pressure built at the back of your eyes when he cradled you into his sturdy arms. his chin—probably adorned with a devastatingly sexy stubble—came to rest over the crown of your head as his large hand sank into your hair, protectively enveloping your skull.

the dam inside you broke when you inhaled him after so long, your nose tucked in that tender nook, just between his collar and jaw. musk, gunpowder, and a subtle flicker of pine trees. him. your simon riley.

your tears were soaking into his uniform, his heartbeat the only thing your ears wanted to bother listening to. his arms tightened around you as his chest vibrated against your cheek.

it wasn’t until you were back at your apartment that night, curled up against him in bed in a cocoon of soft blankets and the reassuring shield of his arms around your body, that you finally processed his words.

what johnny had quipped remained lost on you, but simon’s answering growl seemed to echo through the core of your very soul.

“let me hold my girl for a minute, soap.”

then, more quietly, like a prayer and an oath all at once—“let me love my sunshine girl a little longer.”

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ᝰ.ᐟ author’s note

part two is finally here eek! i was so, so excited to write this & after reaching more than 200 notes on part one (which is bananas btw, tysm for the love) i just had to.

i hope this lives up to you guys’ expectations xx

୨ৎ requested tags : @blackhawkfanatic @cece2608

[genderkoolaid]

yeah, but you do mean 'loveless' like 'romanceless' right? Just cause you're not interested in a romantic partnership, and you're never attracted to anyone romantically, that doesn't mean you can't love your family and your friends. Am I understanding wrong? I feel like it's a widely accepted concept that 'love' isn't just romantic, it's about caring about someone, no matter if they're your family or platonic friend or your pet.

No, "loveless" means love-less. Another anon also asked me to explain as well so:

"Lovelessness" in the aro context comes from the essay I Am Not Voldemort by K.A Cook. The essay confronts normative ideas on love, its inherent positivity and what it means to not love. From the introduction, which brings up the question of non-romantic love:

This June, I saw an increasing number of positivity and support posts for the aromantic and a-spec communities discussing the amatonormativity of “everyone falls in love”. I agree: the idea that romantic love is something everyone experiences, and is therefore a marker of human worth, needs deconstruction. Unfortunately, a majority of these posts are replacing the shackles of amatonormativity with restrictive lines like “everyone loves, just not always romantically”, referencing the importance of loving friends, QPPs, family members and pets. Sometimes it moves away from people to encompass love for hobbies, experiences, occupations and ourselves. The what and how tends to vary from post to post, but the idea that we do and must love someone or something, and this love redeems us as human and renders us undeserving of hatred, is being pushed to the point where I don’t feel safe or welcome in my own aromantic community. Even in the posts meant to be challenging the more obvious amatonormativity, it is presumed that aros must, in some way, love. I’ve spent weeks watching my a-spec and aro communities throw neurodiverse and survivor aros under the bus in order to do what the aromantic community oft accuses alloromantic aces of doing: using their ability to love as a defence of their humanity. Because I love, they say, I also don’t deserve to be a target of hatred, aggression and abuse. But what if I don’t love? What if love itself has been the mechanism of the hatred and violence I have endured? Why am I, an aro, neurodiverse survivor of abuse and bullying, still acceptable collateral damage?

The author criticizes the idea of "true love" that is incapable of harm. Ze questions why we construct love in that way, and how it ignores and simplifies the experiences of victims of abuse ("It’s comforting to think that a love that wounds isn’t real love, but it denies the complexity of experience and feeling had by survivors. It denies the complexity of experience and feeling that makes it harder for us to identify abuse and escape its claws. It denies the validity of survivors who look at love and feel an honest doubt about its worth, as a word or a concept, in our own interactions and experiences.") Ze talks about being forced to say "I love you" to transphobic, abusive parents whose feelings of love was the justification for their abuse.

The core of what "loveless" as an concept is about is summed up in this quote:

There is no substantial difference between saying “I’m human because I fall in love”, “I’m human because I love my friends” and “I’m human because I love calligraphy”. All three statements make human worth contingent on certain behaviours, feelings and experiences. Expanding the definition of what kinds of love make us human does nothing but save some aros from abuse and antagonism … while telling survivor and neurodiverse aros, who are more likely to have complex relationships to love as a concept or are unable to perform it in ways recognised by others, that we’re still not worthy.

Lovelessness is against any kind of statement which quantifies humanity (and implicitly, human worth) in the ability to feel or act or experience certain things. Humans are human by virtue of being human, and nothing else. And, it is socially constructed! "Love" has no natural definition! Some people are not comfortable using "love" to describe positive feelings and relationships, and some people do not feel those positive feelings in general. And those people deserve the right to define their own experiences and their own relationship to the social construct of love.

In essence, lovelessness is both a personal as well as (in my opinion) a political identity, born from aro and mad experiences that challenges not just amatonormativity but all ideas that associate personhood and worth with the ability to feel certain things.

& as a note, there is also the term "lovequeer" which describes using the term "love" in ways which contradict mainstream understandings of what it means to love, and which kinds of love are considered worthwhile.

[phoenixblaze1412]

Heyyoooo! I want to request something that would probably destroyed you, me, and everyone. Mwahhaha! The request is the child loss, his own child, that Dottore lost. His mask is shattered by the loss of his child, his Segments struggles to cope with the reality of the situation, where they are stuck in a cycle of grief, each one reliving the pain.

Dottore's child was also a part of him, and with their passing, he feels a piece of himself has been torn away, consumed by guilt and self-doubt after failing to save them. As he searches for a way to redeem himself, his other Segments, despite their shared pain, must intervene to prevent him from succumbing to his darker impulses.

You're quite evil anon😭, just wanna let you know this took me days to think through and trying not to tear up at it

The lab was in ruins.

The air was thick with acrid smoke, curling from the shattered remains of glass tubes and smoldering machinery. The scent of burning chemicals stung Dottore’s nose, but it was nothing compared to the metallic tang of blood—fresh, seeping into the cold floor beneath him.

His coat, usually pristine despite the chaos of his experiments, was soaked in red. But it was not his blood. It was yours.

His child.

His hands trembled as they hovered over your still form, unwilling—unable—to touch you yet. You lay there, unmoving, your once brilliant eyes dull, your lips parted slightly, as if you were about to speak but never got the chance.

Something inside Dottore shattered.

“No… No, no, no, no.” His voice was barely a whisper at first, then broke into something raw, something frantic. His hands shot forward, grasping your limp shoulders, shaking them. “You are not allowed to die on me. Do you hear me? You do not get to leave.”

No response.

His grip tightened, his nails digging through the fabric of your clothes, as though the force of his desperation alone could will life back into you. His mind, sharp and logical, the mind that had solved impossible problems, could not comprehend this outcome. It had to be a mistake. A miscalculation.

He had contingencies. There was always a way.

Shallow breaths turned into ragged gasps.

His hands moved to your wrist, fingers pressing against cooling skin, seeking—begging—for a pulse. A flicker of warmth. A sign. Anything.

Nothing.

His breath hitched. His mask—cracked from the explosion, slick with blood—felt suffocating. He tore it off with shaking hands and let it fall to the floor with a dull clink.

His chest heaved, agony clawing its way up his throat like a beast desperate to escape. He was choking on it, drowning in it. His child, his creation, his blood, lay dead in his arms, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Behind him, the Segments stood frozen.

Zeta had his mouth open, as if he wanted to say something but could not find the words. Theta’s hands twitched at his sides, his entire body stiff with tension. Sigma’s fingers were curled into his palms, his nails digging into his own skin, expression caught between horror and disbelief.

None spoke. None moved.

For the first time, they were without direction. Without an answer.

A strangled noise clawed its way out of Dottore’s throat—something between a sob and a snarl, something that did not sound human. He crushed his child against his chest, pressing his forehead to their cooling skin, gripping them as though they would disappear if he let go.

And the lab, for all its destruction, was drowned in an all-consuming silence.

His mind, usually a place of precision and control, was now spiraling, thoughts colliding and breaking apart like brittle glass. I should have seen this coming. I should have prepared for this. I should have saved them. I should have—

The truth hit him like a death blow.

I cannot fix the dead.

A harsh, ragged breath escaped him, followed by another, and then another, until he was gasping, his entire body trembling violently. No, no, no, this isn’t right. This isn’t reality. I do not lose. I do not lose.

But he had.

And the world, for all its cruelty, did not care.

----------

The mask shattered first.

It cracked under the weight of grief, brittle against the force of his own hands as he tore it away. The remnants clattered to the cold floor, forgotten. The last remnant of the man they had always known lay in jagged shards at his feet.

Then, the man beneath it broke.

The Segments had seen many sides of their Prime—the genius, the tyrant, the scientist. They had seen him consumed by ambition, driven by an insatiable hunger for knowledge. They had witnessed his cruelty, his cold, calculating apathy, and his moments of triumphant arrogance.

But they had never seen this.

Never seen him silent. Never seen him empty.

Sigma was the first to step forward, hesitance clear in every movement. “Dottore—”

“Don’t.”

The word was hoarse, raw, barely more than a breath. He did not look at them, did not move from where he stood. His gaze remained locked on the ground where his child had fallen, the ghost of their absence carving itself into his mind like a scar that would never fade.

His hands hung uselessly at his sides, the blood on his gloves long dried, but he could still feel it. Clawing at his skin, staining everything he touched.

A phantom pain dug into his chest—suffocating, relentless.

You should be here.

You should be breathing.

You should not be gone.

Theta hesitated before speaking. "You need to eat. You need to rest."

A hollow laugh scraped from Dottore’s throat, sharp and brittle. "Rest? When there is work to be done?"

Beta, who had remained still until now, took a step forward, his patience fraying. “What work?” His voice was cold, tinged with something dangerously close to desperation. “They are gone, Prime. You cannot change that.”

Silence.

Dottore finally turned to look at them then, and it was worse than anything they had ever seen before.

No fury.

No arrogance.

No brilliance.

Only grief.

The kind that stripped a man to his bones, hollowing him from the inside out.

The kind that did not heal.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came. No sharp remark, no denial. Just silence.

The Segments had never feared silence before.

But this time, it felt like mourning.

--------

The lab was quiet now.

No longer filled with the soft, inquisitive voice that once questioned theories, no longer echoing with the rhythmic clicking of footsteps that always lingered too long, as if reluctant to leave.

It was a hollow kind of silence, the kind that settled in the bones, that turned time sluggish and unbearable.

The Segments had cleaned the blood, scrubbed every last trace of crimson from the floor, repaired what they could of the damage. Yet no matter how much they worked, the place still felt colder. Emptier.

They had not simply lost someone. They had lost you.

And yet Dottore still worked.

Night after night, he ran through formulas, spliced genes, combed through every record, every theory, every ounce of knowledge he had acquired over decades.

Searching. Desperate.

A cycle with no end, no destination, only the endless repetition of a man who could not accept the past.

He did not sleep. He barely spoke. His hands were trembling now, his movements slower, less precise. Yet he never stopped.

The Segments watched as he wasted away, swallowed by his own obsession.

Delta set down a tray of untouched food beside the cluttered desk. “You cannot keep doing this.”

Dottore did not respond. He did not even look up.

“They wouldn’t have wanted this,” Gamma added quietly, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. “You know that.”

Dottore's fingers stilled over the notes. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “What they would have wanted does not matter anymore.”

Sigma crossed his arms. “And if you collapse? What then? If you die, who will remember them?”

A sharp crack echoed through the room. The pen snapped in Dottore’s grip.

The ink bled into his gloves, but he did not move to wipe it away. His shoulders were tense, his face unreadable beneath the dim glow of the monitors.

The Segments said nothing, exchanging glances filled with quiet concern.

For the first time, they truly feared that they might lose him too.

------

Theta swore he heard footsteps.

Soft, careful, just like theirs.

He turned sharply, expecting to see them standing there—shoulders squared, lips curved into that ever-familiar teasing smirk as they asked why he always looked so serious.

But there was nothing.

Just an empty hallway.

The air was too still, the silence pressing against him like a vice. He lingered for a moment longer, waiting, hoping, before he forced himself to move on.

The cold pit in his stomach did not fade.

They were all feeling it.

The lab was too quiet now. Their routines had been thrown into disarray, not by chaos or disaster, but by something far worse—an absence that should not exist.

An absence they could not accept.

Theta had walked past an unfinished project of yours just yesterday, the notes still sprawled across the desk in your distinct handwriting—meticulous, yet just messy enough to reveal your excitement. No one had touched it.

No one could touch it.

The beakers remained where you had last placed them, your lab coat still hanging on the back of a chair as if you would return at any moment. The project had been incomplete, a mere blueprint of an idea, yet to Theta, it was as if the moment they moved it, you would truly be gone.

Delta had been the first to break. He still set aside an extra portion of food, his movements mechanical, mind caught in the routine of it. Every time he placed the plate down, he would hesitate, staring at it for far too long, waiting for someone who would never sit at that table again. And every time, he would leave it untouched.

Sigma, usually the most composed of them, had snapped at Gamma just the other day. A rare occurrence. The younger Segment had made an offhand joke—something light, something meaningless—but the air had turned suffocating the moment Sigma’s voice cut through it.

"Don't pretend everything is fine when it isn't."

Gamma hadn't argued. He had only lowered his gaze, guilt shadowing his features.

And then there was Dottore.

Dottore, who had not been seen outside his personal lab in days.

Dottore, who had not spoken unless it was to demand more data, more reports, more answers to a question that had no solution.

Dottore, who had always been a force of nature—untouchable, unstoppable—now reduced to a man drowning in the weight of his own grief.

The door to his lab had remained shut, locked from the inside. The Segments had tried to reach him, to speak to him, but he refused to listen.

They could hear him in there, pacing, muttering under his breath, papers being torn apart, glass shattering against the walls.

Sigma had tried once to override the lock, but Beta had stopped him.

"If he wants to be alone, let him," Beta had said, his voice quiet but firm.

"And if he doesn't come out?" Sigma had challenged.

Beta hadn't answered.

Because none of them knew the answer.

None of them wanted to consider the possibility that Dottore might disappear into that lab and never return.

And yet, as Theta stood there in the empty hallway, the weight of it all pressing down on him, he swore he heard it again—soft footsteps, just around the corner.

This time, he did not turn around.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was waiting for him.

----------

It had been Beta who caught Dottore at the docks.

The sea was restless that night, waves crashing against the icy shore, the moonlight cutting silver lines across the water. Dottore stood at the edge of the pier, his coat billowing slightly in the wind, his mask discarded somewhere in the dark.

Beta approached cautiously, knowing better than to speak too soon.

“I wondered how it would feel,” Dottore said, his voice eerily calm. “To just let go.”

Beta swallowed hard. “You don’t want this.”

Dottore’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t I?”

He took a step closer to the edge.

Beta lunged, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back, hard enough that they both staggered. Dottore let out a sharp breath, eyes widening for the briefest second as he stumbled, as if realizing—truly realizing—what he had been about to do.

Beta didn’t let go.

His grip tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered with something dangerously close to fear. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave us too.”

----------

The first time he stopped eating, the Segments noticed.

The first time he refused to rest, they grew concerned.

The first time they found him collapsed on the floor of his lab, barely breathing, they panicked. Sigma was the first to reach him, shaking him roughly. “Wake up.”

There was no response.

Theta knelt beside him, fingers pressing against his neck, searching—praying—for a pulse. “He’s still alive,” he muttered, relief bleeding into his voice. But it was faint. Weak.

Beta turned to the scattered vials on the desk, his mind racing. “He overdosed.” His hands curled into fists. “The bastard did it on purpose.”

Silence.

Then Omega cursed under his breath. “We’re idiots.”

They should have seen it coming.

The way he avoided them. The way he retreated further and further into himself. The way his hands shook more and more with each passing day.

They had thought his obsession with fixing things would keep him going.

They hadn’t realized he was trying to break himself beyond repair.

-------

Dottore barely recognized the man staring back at him.

The reflection in the shattered mirror was gaunt, skin pallid and stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Shadows clung beneath his red-rimmed eyes, his pupils blown wide—not with curiosity, not with arrogance, but with something raw, something hollow. His mask had long since been discarded, its broken remnants forgotten on the floor.

The man who had once commanded respect, who had built an empire of intellect and ambition, was gone.

In his place stood something fragile.

It had been weeks. Months. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Time had become meaningless, a cruel trick played on a man who once valued precision above all else.

He knew the others were watching him. Knew they whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear.

"He hasn’t eaten again."

"He just sits there, reading the same notes over and over."

"What if he never stops?"

They spoke as if he was something delicate, something that might fracture under the wrong touch. And perhaps they were right.

Dottore had always known pain. Had been intimate with suffering in ways others could not comprehend. But this—this was different.

This wasn’t a wound he could study. Wasn’t a problem he could solve.

This was absence.

A gaping void where something vital had been ripped away.

And he could feel it, pressing against his ribs, sinking its claws into his lungs, suffocating.

His fingers twitched at his sides. The gloves felt too tight, suffocating. He tore them off, letting them fall to the ground. His hands trembled. He hated that. Hated the weakness. Hated that he could not fix this.

A part of him wanted to stop.

To let go of this endless cycle of grief and failure, to step into the abyss and disappear into the silence.

Another part wanted to vanish completely.

To erase his existence in the same way he had been unable to save yours.

But then—

A voice.

Soft. Familiar.

"Father."

His breath hitched.

He turned sharply, heart slamming against his ribs, but there was no one there.

Just his ruined lab. Just the shattered mirror. Just his own reflection, staring back at him.

Dottore squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching at his sides.

He was losing himself.

And he didn’t know if he wanted to be found.

-------

They found him in the lower levels.

It was a part of the lab rarely visited, an abandoned sector filled with outdated projects, half-finished research, and things better left untouched. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of dust and chemicals long forgotten.

And in the center of it all stood Dottore.

He faced the containment chamber, its glass surface illuminated by the soft, pulsing glow of the lethal experimental compounds within. The kind that could end everything in seconds. No pain. No hesitation. Just… nothing.

Omega reacted first.

His footsteps were quick, sharp against the cold floor as he closed the distance. His hand clamped down on Dottore’s wrist before he could activate the release mechanism. “Enough.”

Dottore did not resist.

He simply stared at the chamber, his reflection cast in the glass, a ghost of a man he no longer recognized. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “It is my fault.”

Theta was next, gripping his other arm, physically turning him away from the chamber. “No, it isn’t.”

Dottore let out a breath that was too unsteady, too broken. “I failed them.”

“You loved them,” Beta corrected, stepping forward, his own hands clenched into fists. “That is not failure.”

The words hit something deep, something raw.

Dottore’s lips parted, but no words came. His breath hitched in his throat, his entire body trembling—not from rage, not from exhaustion, but something more fragile.

Despair.

And for the first time since it all began, when Omega pulled him back, when Theta’s grip did not waver, when Beta’s words settled like a weight in his chest—

He allowed himself to be held.

--------

It was Beta who finally had enough.

“You are going to get up.” His voice was firm, unyielding, a command that brooked no argument. “You are going to eat, and you are going to live, because if you do not, then everything they were will be lost.”

Dottore did not respond.

He barely registered the words, barely acknowledged the weight behind them. He had become numb to everything except the ache, the unbearable emptiness that clung to his every breath.

Beta slammed his hands down on the desk, shaking the scattered notes and vials, forcing Dottore to look up.

“Look at me, Prime.”

Dottore’s red eyes flickered upward, unfocused and weary.

Beta’s patience was gone, grief replaced with fury. This was not the Prime they knew. This was a shell, a hollow remnant of the man who had once held the universe in his hands.

“They were ours too.” Beta’s voice wavered, but his resolve did not. “And you are not the only one suffering.”

A breath of silence. Then Sigma stepped forward, softer but just as firm. “We do not know how to fix this. But we will not let you destroy yourself.”

Gamma, usually the most indifferent of them, clenched his fists. “You think you’re the only one who wakes up expecting to see them? The only one who still hears their voice in the halls?”

Delta swallowed hard. “They would not want this.”

Theta’s voice was quieter, but no less determined. “You do not get to leave us, too.”

One by one, they stood before him, a silent, unspoken agreement forming between them.

Dottore exhaled shakily, a long, slow breath that rattled in his chest. His fingers curled over the edge of the desk, gripping it like an anchor. His throat burned. His vision blurred.

For the first time since that day, something inside of him cracked.

Not the sharp break of his mask.

Not the endless cycle of grief.

But something fragile. Something aching.

And when he finally closed his eyes, for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to grieve.

---------

They stopped leaving him alone after that.

If he locked himself in the lab, someone would break in.

If he went too long without speaking, they would force a conversation.

If he disappeared for even a moment, at least three Segments would track him down before he had the chance to think.

Dottore pretended to be annoyed.

He pretended it didn’t matter.

But deep down, in the spaces between grief and regret, he realized—

They weren’t just watching him.

They were saving him.

--------

The lab was quiet again, but not empty.

It had been months now. The wound of their absence had not healed—Dottore doubted it ever would—but the pain had changed. It was no longer a gaping void consuming his every thought, demanding retribution, demanding a way to fix the unfixable. Instead, it had settled into something heavier, quieter. A shadow that never left his side.

Slowly, carefully, the Segments had pulled him back.

At first, he resisted. Resented them for it. Their hands, their voices, their persistence—keeping him from following his child into the abyss. But even in his grief, in his bitterness, he knew they suffered too. They had lost just as much as he had. And so, little by little, they found ways to move forward, together.

Dottore still worked. Still searched. But no longer to undo the past.

Instead, he preserved what remained.

Your research, your ideas, the little notes scribbled in the margins of blueprints—“This formula is flawed. If I fix it, do I get a reward?”—the echoes of their laughter lingering in old recordings.

Sigma set down a datapad beside him, breaking the silence. “The new lab assistants asked about them today.”

Dottore didn’t look up. His fingers traced the familiar set of blueprints, the outlines drawn by a hand that no longer existed in this world. “And?”

“I told them the truth.” Sigma hesitated, his grip tightening around the datapad before adding, “That they were the brightest among us.”

Dottore’s hand stilled.

A pause—long and heavy—before he exhaled, slow and steady.

“Good.”

It was a simple response, but the weight behind it was anything but.

The Segments exchanged glances, the silence stretching between them before Theta finally spoke. “…They would have liked that.”

Dottore didn’t answer immediately. He simply sat there, his eyes scanning the notes in front of him—not to correct, not to erase, but to remember.

Then, in the dim glow of the lab’s monitors, something shifted.

A flicker—just on the edge of his vision.

Dottore froze. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he wondered if exhaustion had finally driven him to madness. But then he turned.

And there you stood.

Not in flesh, not in blood, but in something softer. Something ethereal. A translucent figure, standing just a few feet away, bathed in a soft, warm glow.

You smiled.

Dottore’s heart clenched. He could not speak, could not move.

You looked happy. Not in pain, not lost or suffering, but at peace.

How could you be at peace when he was still drowning?

As if reading his thoughts, you tilted your head, giving him the same playful, knowing look you had always given him when he overworked himself.

Dottore swallowed hard. His vision blurred.

“You’re not real,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You stepped closer. Not touching him, but close enough that he felt your presence. Felt the warmth he had lost.

A ghost of a laugh echoed in the air, soft and teasing. “You never believed in limits, Father. Why start now?”

His breath shuddered. The dam broke.

His body trembled as silent sobs wracked through him. For the first time since that horrible, shattering day, he cried.

Raw, unrestrained grief spilled from him, soaking into his gloves as he buried his face in his hands.

You didn’t scold him. Didn’t try to tell him to stop.

You simply smiled, as if telling him it was okay.

That it was finally okay to let go.

The Segments watched in silence. None dared to speak. They only stood by, mourning alongside him, as the weight he had carried for so long finally, finally came crashing down.

And when he looked up again, wiping his tears with a trembling hand, the ghost of his child was still there.

Still smiling.

Still his.

And this time, when you slowly faded into the air, leaving only warmth in your wake—

Dottore let you go.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Writing this because @lasthaysileeshipper brought up that there is a connection with how fandom views of Mrs. Everdeen and her mental illness coincide with misogyny and I have thoughts.

First I want to say that this is a topic that often gets personalized. Many people experienced their own childhood neglect/abuse and as we carry ourselves into fiction, that leads to intense feelings when seeing it played out. However, there is also a lot that gets said about Mrs. Everdeen (even by well-intentioned people who don't hate her) that carries an implicit bias against women, mothers, and those with mental illness. I hope that this leads to reflection rather than blame, and if you have anything to say I'm open to respectful discussion.

Katniss's Mother: The One the Fandom Made into Medea

You've heard about the Madonna/Whore complex, now I propose Mary/Medea: a fictional mother must be an absolute perfect selfless saint whose identity revolves solely around her children, or else be a selfish abusive demon with no redeeming qualities whatsoever

tumblr post by @gingerpolyglot

If you've been in the Hunger Games fandom for a minute, you've seen the hate and criticism directed at Mrs. Everdeen. She's been called a bad mother, weak, neglectful, incapable, the "worst" character in the series, and more. If you've read the series then you know why: after the death of her husband, Mrs. Everdeen "didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance." And while she did "slowly" return to a state where she was able to complete activities of daily living, it was "months" of "neglect," where Katniss was feeding her family; foraging and hunting in the woods; and trading at the Hob. Anyone can see how this, following the death of their father, is incredibly traumatizing for Katniss and Prim. It's a position that no child should be in, which is why we have families, communities, and social services to protect children when their parent is unable to care for them and hopefully, get help for the parent, too. For the Everdeens in Panem, however, none of these existed. At least none that would truly help them, as Katniss fears going to The Home where children are physically abused. All of this left a deep wound on Katniss and we can assume Prim as well.

But, rather than critiquing Panem for dangerous work conditions that killed Mr. Everdeen, or the scarcity of food, or the social divides which isolated Mrs. Everdeen after her marriage to Mr. Everdeen, or the lack of social services, the blame has often been laid directly at the feet of Mrs. Everdeen who exhibits symptoms of catatonia. This is a feature that can be part of other disorders (rather than a diagnosis itself) and can be found in schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, brief psychotic disorder, and depression (and though not in the DSM-5, there's also some evidence of it also appearing in those with PTSD). From the DSM-5, Mrs. Everdeen meets criteria to have catatonia specified with another disorder (likely depression) by having three of the following symptoms:

Stupor: "she didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair, more often, huddled under the blankets of her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance."

Mutism-same quote as above: she didn't do anything. No speech and Katniss doesn't report her making any noise. While not the books, the movies portrayed this as Katniss begging her mother to "say something" while she does not.

Negativism ("opposition or no response to instructions or external stimuli"). "No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her."

Catatonia is a serious condition that requires hospitalization, psycho-pharmaceuticals, and once the catatonia is passed, therapy, to prevent a relapse. If left untreated, catatonia can lead to death or injury.

Here is the first point where misogyny comes into play of how the fandom responds to Mrs. Everdeen. I have seen her condition described as "grief" or "depression" but not what the text indicates it is: depression with catatonic features. The list above has links to the URMC's Department of Psychology with training videos on catatonia symptoms. I'd encourage you to watch it, because that is the level of mental illness Mrs. Everdeen was stuck in. It was not regular grief or a moderate depression. Katniss, who has no diagnostic language, says her mother was "locked in some dark world" during this time.

Women's symptoms are downplayed in the medical field because they're "emotional," "dramatic," and "hysterical." Here, we often see the fandom do the same. Even those who don't express outright hatred for her character will soften the truth of what she was facing with her catatonia. Again, it's "when her husband died" and "grief" and "depression." All of those are certainly hard, but they often retain some amount of functioning when given enough motivation and coping skills. But Mrs. Everdeen did not have any functioning. It was literally impossible for her to do anything in that period of time because of her catatonia. She says "I couldn't help...I was ill" and a large portion of the fandom simply doesn't believe her.

And on the more hostile side, I have seen people say they "don't care" about Mrs. Everdeen's mental illness. Apparently, being a mother means that Mrs. Everdeen should have fought through this catatonic depression. That the power of love or the innate protectiveness that all good mothers have would make Mrs. Everdeen's brain chemicals start working and snap her out of this catatonia. However, despite what you see in the movies, that's not how serious mental illness works, especially without support. It's not a matter of love or will power. Mothers can and do experience serious mental illness that make them unable, for various periods of time, to care for their children. Sometimes, motherhood even causes this or exacerbates it. Motherhood does not give anyone the ability to turn off mental illness.

This was (as far as we know) Mrs. Everdeen's first experience with serious mental illness in a place where there are no social services, no therapists, no psychiatrists, no spiritual leaders. Additionally, no family, friends, or neighbors came to support the family, either. No one thought to check in on them or cared about any signs of their condition. Doing anything for the first time leads to mistakes and this first experience was by all definition a crisis of which she hadn't been prepared nor given any support beyond what her two children could offer. A position that Katniss and Prim shouldn't have had to deal with.

This also leads into the other time that people look at and say, "I can forgive Mrs. Everdeen when her husband died, but when she didn't go back to Twelve with Katniss, that was it. She became unforgivable."

Let's back up: Mrs. Everdeen has lost her husband, seen her oldest daughter enter two Hunger Games, watched her home be bombed and burned, survived another bombing, was a nurse during a war, and then her youngest daughter was blown up at the age of 13. Rather than going into a catatonic depression, she "buries her grief in her work." When Katniss is taken back to District 12, she's given a letter from her mother, which she doesn't read initially and never says what was in. Haymitch says, "You know why she can't come back" to which Katniss's narration says "Because between my father and Prim and the ashes, the place is too painful to bear."

Mrs. Everdeen has a history of catatonic depression. This means that she is at a higher risk of relapsing. She knows that her husband's death triggered this mental illness and that she is once again experiencing the loss of one of the people she loves most, her young daughter. She also knows that when she was in a catatonic depression, she traumatized her surviving daughter. Additionally, Panem has just finished a war. Therapists are rare in Panem, even more to find a surviving one and let's be honest—how many of them are good? Katniss and Peeta are prioritized for treatment due to their fame and their history of violence toward others. While Mrs. Everdeen has connections, it's unlikely she would be prioritized for treatment and additionally, there are likely many people with acute mental health needs after the war.

If Mrs. Everdeen returned to District 12, she would be likely to do extremely poorly mentally and emotionally, perhaps to the point of becoming catatonic again. People will blame her, calling her weak and neglectful again. But I think what we have to consider is: did Mrs. Everdeen think that staying away would help Katniss? That she identified what would trigger her, and so rather than Katniss having to see her mother in that state again and traumatizing her again, she made the choice to stay away, in hopes that her absence would be the better choice for them.

In the end, we don't know for sure all of her reasoning. This is my hypothesis that this is why she stayed away. But I find that most people don't take Mrs. Everdeen's assessment of herself seriously. They again downplay just how terrible her mental health could become, and by extension, further traumatize Katniss. And maybe you think that her presence, no matter the state, is better than her absence. But you have to admit, Mrs. Everdeen is stuck with no good answer. Either way, she loses.

And so, Mrs. Everdeen is "a bad mother."

Perhaps because Katniss does it herself in CF, people will compare Gale's mother to Katniss's. Hazelle lost her husband in the same mining accident and was pregnant at the time. Yet she went to work as a laundress, she pulled her family together, she is a strong one. And, though the book is not out yet, there have already been many comparisons to how Haymitch's Ma is another one of the "good" mothers after her husband died, because she went to work, not like Mrs. Everdeen. Isn't it tragic that Mrs. Abernathy, one of the good mothers, will be dead by the end of the book she appears in?

And so, the fandom has given its crowns to Hazelle and Mrs. Abernathy. They are "The Good" mothers who have done no wrong toward their children. They are Marys. But Mrs. Everdeen, dirty with mental illness, is "The Bad" mother. She is Medea, the source and cause of Katniss's trauma. Nevermind that Hazelle is such a minor character she only appears in three scenes of the books and that she relied on Gale as much as or more than Mrs. Everdeen relied on Katniss, or that everything we know so far about Mrs. Abernathy is from one released excerpt and one sentence from Haymitch in the original trilogy. But from what we do know, she also relies on her sons to keep their family from starvation, not unlike Mrs. Everdeen with Katniss.

And nevermind that this take also actively negates many good things we do know about Mrs. Everdeen. Like the fact that she did work and earn money/items: she was a healer (and possibly did this even before Mr. Everdeen died). And, by all accounts, that she was an excellent healer, knowing how to treat all kinds of injuries and illnesses and kept a cool head while doing it. And that nearly all interactions we see between herself and Katniss, she is caring for her daughter: drawing and heating her bath, braiding her hair, giving her an excuse to be less affectionate with Peeta, treating her foot, putting her on a diet to build muscle before the Quell, treating her whenever she was in the hospital. Mrs. Everdeen is also the one that Prim wanted to sleep with the night before her first reaping, showing that her younger daughter still saw her as a protective figure. Also, after an entire nation has come to know Katniss and her circle has expanded, Mrs. Everdeen is one of three people Katniss believes truly loves her at that point in time.

And yet, how often is any of this discussed about her? Hardly ever. What is mostly discussed is her neglect, the places she failed and stumbled, pointing the finger and laying the blame, while rarely providing any context around the fact that at the time, she was mentally ill to the point that today she would have been hospitalized. The adjectives given to her are things like weak, frail, useless, and neglectful which are completely based on the worst episode of her life. I wonder how all of us would like the same treatment, for our most shameful period of time to be how people describe us.

Mrs. Everdeen is far from the only character in the series with mental illness. This mostly comes in the form of PTSD and substance use disorder. Characters with the most prominent symptoms include: Katniss, Haymitch, Finnick, Johanna, and Annie (the latter also having some kind of diagnosis that would fall under or feature psychosis). Peeta also has PTSD and his hijacking to contend with, and Coriolanus Snow has traits that align with narcissistic personality disorder.

And yet...why is Mrs. Everdeen's mental illness the most maligned out of all of these characters? Some may say because hers almost lead to Katniss and Prim dying. But President Snow is responsible for the deaths of thousands of children, and Haymitch was also willing to gamble with Katniss's and Peeta's life for the rebellion, two kids who became his family. All of these other characters have actually killed somebody, and Peeta's hijacking also directly led to him strangling Katniss and trying again to kill her in the Capitol.

So why is it that Mrs. Everdeen is the most hated? Possibly Snow is the exception, but since TBOSAS, he has equal number of admirers both in terms of his looks and general interest of his character, while Mrs. Everdeen is dismissed at best and hated at worst.

I think this also links back to an implicit bias against the feminine. Haymitch, Finnick, Peeta, Snow—they're all men. Even Peeta, the most feminine of these four, is masculine. Katniss has both masculine and feminine traits, but oftentimes, people see her masculine traits more. Johanna is the same: her brash attitude is more masculine than feminine. Annie is presented as feminine, with Finnick's insistence on protecting her and her fragility and youth and long wavy dark hair. She is presented as the "good" feminine, the kind that must be guarded and coddled. The "good" kind of weakness (this, too, is misogyny).

Mrs. Everdeen, however, is the "bad" feminine. Blond, middle-aged, polite, and entirely lacking power. She is the opposite of Katniss's wild hunter side as the quiet healer, working with plants and seemingly not doing the "dirty" work outdoors, even though she's probably come in contact with every type of bodily fluid as a result of her work. And of course, she's been blemished by the label of "bad mother" nor is she young to garner sympathy and protection.

Mrs. Everdeen's trauma that kickstarted her depression is different than the others. Snow was traumatized by war. The rest are all victors, who had to see and do horrible things to survive. Mrs. Everdeen.....lost her husband. The fact that this is what kicked off her mental illness makes it feminine and flimsy compared to those that came from the Games. It wasn't a metaphor for a soldier that caused her mental illness, but weakening at the loss of a man. Surely a strong woman, another "good" feminine, wouldn't have gotten mentally ill at the loss of her husband (look at Hazelle and Mrs. Abernathy).

Everyone else, even feminine Annie, has masculine trauma. Mrs. Everdeen has feminine trauma. What a crime. How pathetic. She shouldn't have even been mentally ill in the first place.

And so she's been stuck in fandom discussion for fifteen years. The bad mother, the Medea, who not only wasn't strong enough to fight against her mental illness, she did it as a weak, pathetic woman.

I'm going against this call and I will say that I consider Mrs. Everdeen a good mother. Her story is laced with tragedy that challenged her and brought great strain in her relationship with Katniss. But we know that she loved her daughters and always cared for them at the greatest capacity she was able to at any time. She was calm, level-headed, and even rebellious, which was eventually challenged because she became a mother and wanted to protect her children. Even those who sympathize with her rarely say it, so I'll end this with my final conclusion:

Mrs. Everdeen was a good mother. Not a Mary, and not a Medea, but simply a good mother.

More discussion from me because I know it will come up:

Katniss, as the victim of her mother's neglect, is allowed to feel any type of way she wants about what happened to her. However we see through the series that she is able to sympathize with her mother and even forgives her and becomes closer to her through the three books. Katniss's relationship with her mother is complicated (as it should be). There is also a lot of room for growth and healing that I hope happened after the war.

[endearing-dalliance]

the way the Arcane team romanticize the undercity disgusts me

Especially in the new art book, they talk about how Zaun and Piltover really aren’t as different as they first seem, as they are both heavily invested in technology. Zaun is a bastion of flamboyant body modification and innovative technology. They describe it as a refuge for outcasts who are looking for a home, where people are free from Piltover’s rigid rules and politics. A communal place with a thrilling sense that anything is possible. The Firelights are described as a group uses the freedom granted by Piltover not caring about them to find beauty and innovation. People are particularly interested in recycling technology and resources because "nothing is precious and everything can always be made better". Bc obviously that's why poor people fix stuff. They are definitely able to easily replace stuff at any time, but they want to strive for perfection...

In the same breath, they describe Zaun as being oppressed, crushed by Piltover, addicted to Shimmer, having “some issues with the mob”, dangerous, volatile. They talk about how if it was better, people like Jinx and Ekko could use their skills for good. This is the same place that’s a refuge for innovative, flamboyantly augmented outcasts to be able to make wonderful technology?

Notable mention: "we had to design a prison, and that was tricky because Piltover is supposed to be a city of progress - do they really put people in prisons? Maybe only people from the Undercity, and maybe they put them really far away" like seriously does nobody realize how fucked up that is? Your issue with it is the difficulty in designing the prison?

Like have any of these people ever actually met someone who lives in an irl place like Zaun? Heard of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs? Opened any book or video on heavily polluted urban areas?

On top of that, the undercity is filled with negative stereotypes. Many of the characters are “bad” in some way, whether that be missing body parts, mentally damaged, filthy, an addict. Their food is tentacles, a drooling animal head, and a dish that looks very much like slugs in mud sauce (vs Piltover’s “normal” sandwich). Many of the people are all dressed punk/goth/sexy and look “dangerous”. This season, I expected them to address those stereotypes and show how Zaun has equal value to Piltover. That those differences don’t make people hateable or disgusting or deserving of their misery. Instead, we got “actions have consequences” theme and a dying man who suffered from chronic pain and mobility issues his entire life being told that his imperfections make him beautiful. (She-Ra did that line already and did it much better.) Because using tech/magic to fix his leg and spine strip him of his humanity.

The team have said they were specifically inspired by the current political climate in the US, specifically the two-party system within one nation divided and unable to reason with each other. But that is an entirely different and incompatible concept. Zaun literally doesn’t get a vote, and that kind of lack of political representation is literally why America rebelled against England. Its not as simple as them just talking it out or getting a single vote. And for me it explains why the conflict fizzled out in season 2 and felt so unresolved. I was expecting independence, which is the only solution to colonial oppression, but the creators gave us a fix for the political party problem they thought they were showing. We only got to see the Piltie’s viewpoint of Zaun, and it was unflattering specifically in the ways that are in real life associated classism, body shaming, and cultural shaming. They were never redeemed or validated, and almost everyone repeatedly proved the Pilties were right about them all along. In season 2, all the bad guys were Zaunites (Jinx, Viktor, Skye, Vanwick, Singed kind of) aided by a foreign power also trying to use them, and the solution was for them not to be part of their world anymore. They were too broken, too evil, too violent to remain. And for the rest, their only use was to die protecting the Pilties from one of their own people (whose autonomy wasn't even respected by his own partner and became his own worst nightmare). Instead of it being this glorious, Marvelesque fight where everyone bands together against one common enemy, it’s just another situation in which they are brutally exploited.

And I would genuinely be OK with all of this as some sort of tragic story that ended terribly for everyone and there was no real solution or progress, just more bloodshed. A tale of caution.

But the creators have been very clear that they feel that this is an appropriate ending to the story and the individual characters’ stories. Specifically, they are pushing this idea that the finale was to show the characters facing the consequences of their actions. But the characters themselves aren’t the problem, it’s the society that they are living in that basically corrupted everything it touched. Mel and the council manipulated and pressured Jayce and Viktor into making weapons instead of technology that was designed to help people, while also ignoring Viktor’s steadily worsening health problems that *they caused*. Vi and Jinx were repeatedly traumatized, orphaned, and weaponized. Cait literally got away with being a dictator, but even she was manipulated by someone who was only ever able to establish power by taking advantage of the situation. Singed (OG Piltie) literally committed war crimes and got everything he wanted. And according to the creators, everyone got what they deserved. Piltover received no punishment or retribution for their oppression. The undercity got no apology or redemption/validation. Piltover got no significant consequences. They’re still in power, still rich, still have Hextech, still oppressing the undercity. And I guess that's what they deserve.

What a load of absolute horseshit. I had a lot of expectations for season 2, but "the arcane team are actually Pilties in the worst way possible" was absolutely not one of them. I'm genuinely devastated.

[temiizpalace]

🎉Congrats on your milestone! 🎉Could I have idia and vil for prompt 4 pls?

☆┊TAKE MY JACKET, I INSIST. (💀 vs. 👑)

SUMMARY: COLD CHILLS RAN DOWN YOUR SPINE AS YOUR TEMPERATURE BEGINS TO DROP. HE OFFERS HIS JACKET LIKE A GENTLEMEN, BUT A CERTAIN SOMEONE HAD THE SAME IDEA.

CHARACTERS: idia shroud vs. vil schoenheit

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy

NOTES: vil and idia was such an interesting matchup i love it. tysm for your request!

reader is g/n, reader yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

he should’ve just stayed in his room.

idia roamed the halls of night raven in search of you. he just had to show you his recently imported collection of pokemon merch (that somehow exists here…) and can’t wait to nerd out and explain to you why pikachu could be goku in a fight. it was exciting to find someone willing to listen besides ortho.

until..

there you were. with vil. a SUPERMODEL and SUPER ACTOR, chatting away and having a good time. suddenly any and all of idia’s confidence was blown to smithereens and now he wants to go back to his room and weep. okay, cringe over exaggeration but he wants to go back to his room. just as he thought he shuffled out of sight, you spotted him in that split second and called him over. “idia! hi!” you wave, making him flinch.

hesitantly, he outs himself from hiding and waved back. “h-hey..” he mumbles, watching as you walked over. “what’re you doing outside of your room? i was just about to visit you.” you tease, poking his shoulder. “you were?”

“yeah! me and vil wanted to ask about the new game you bought the other day. apparently he was hired as a voice actor and wanted to get into character, yknow?” you stated that calmly, too calmly. vil? voice acting a game that he plays? seriously? that’s gonna be really weird playing the game and all of a sudden hearing your classmate grunting in pain.

“indeed. any facts for this character, idia? i’ve never voice acted, so this is not in my forte.” vil asks, showing him a photo. “u-uhm.. they’re super cunning, i gues?” idia stutters, backing away slowly. normally he’d love to geek out about this topic, but today was different. he was looking for you, and wanted to geek out to you. not to vil.. “while that’s super cool and all, i think i might head out now.. [MC], see you for our gaming sesh. v-vil.. bye.” and before you could even speak, idia walked faster than he never has before.

embarrassing. so embarrassing. he could barely hold eye contact, how in the world will he ever confess? all hope is lost. the world can end here and it’ll be better than this. overreacting again, but whatever. he wants to lie in bed, cover himself in the sheets, and sulk for a little. such a baby.

☆˚∘

idia rotted away in bed the rest of the day, scrolling through magicam for any new codes he could redeem in his games. a banner pops up, the contact leading to you. hesitantly, he opens the message. stargazing later!! u should come too!11!!

he stared at the message, unable to respond. he wants to go, but also doesn’t.. aaaaaaaa why did he have to like you, it’s not fair. as much as he wants to decline, he knew you’d probably ping him a billion times til he agrees, so he’ll save himself the trouble. sure i have nothing to do later lol

and now he’s here. sitting on the hill with you and vil. gee, it’s like he’s seeing this guy everywhere. “idia, i had no idea you were joining us.” vil says, crossing his arms while looking idia up and down with a glare. intimidated. that was the word to describe idia at this moment. “[MC] invited me.. so..” he murmurs, curling up into a small ball. “cheer up idia! you’ll miss the stars if you hide like that.” you grin, keeping him from hiding his face.

you and idia’s banter couldn’t help but make vil scoff. so noisy.. it should’ve been just you and him. why’d you invite that shut-in too? he’s just going to complain the whole time, right? alas, it can’t be helped. but vil has natural charm, perhaps that’ll win you over.

the breeze begins to pick up, making you shiver. you should’ve brought a jacket, but you didn’t want to miss anything. your negligence has costed you. “cold?” vil asks, watching as you covered your arms with your hands. “a little, but i should be fine.” you reassure him, waving it off like it’s nothing.

“y-you can wear my jacket..” idia stammers, unable to look at you. “hm?” you raise your brow, looking to the boy on your right. his face was flushed red, the tips of his hair slightly pink from embarrassment. “here.” he offers you his jacket, the one that looks ever so comfortable and extremely warm. the one he never lets go of, in your hands. “you mean it?” you ask in disbelief, staring at him as he hid himself further.

“just take it..” just as you were about to put it on, a coat drapes over your shoulders, the warmth catching you off guard. “what kind of gentlemen would i be if i let my dear friend freeze?” vil smirks, looking at idia with a shit-eating grin. “i insist you take your jacket back idia, wouldn’t want to get sick now.”

idia frowns at vil’s pettiness, suddenly feeling very competitive. “woah woah, hang on, wouldn’t want superstar vil schoenheit to get sick because of me. you should take your coat back so you don’t get frostbite.” idia states, taking the coat off you and back into vil’s arms. “please, there are filming conditions in colder weather.” vil scoffs. “should see my room in the summer months.” idia retorts.

“uhm.. guys?” you cut in, breaking their focus. “i can just run back to ramshackle really quickly..! don’t worry about it, stay here.” you get up, rushing down the hill. the silence became deafening, not even the trees rustling broke their awkward tension. refusing to face one another, they stare up at the starry sky. shooting stars begin to fly by, one by one, a never ending stream.

gazing upon it, they shut their eyes and make a wish.

he’ll marry you, and cut that other guy completely out of the picture.

they wished as they glare at each other discreetly.

A/N: shorter than others because i ran out of ideas euheuheueh

date published: 9/2/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[broiamjustalilguy]

TLDR: Gortash should have had an optional redemption route exclusive to a Durge run

i've only seen a few people talk about it, and it really is extremely sad to me that Gortash has no redemption path. he really is the bad ending version of all the other characters' cycle-of-abuse backstories. SO many bg3 characters can be saved from that, and a huge point of the game is how you can be more than what your abusers tried to make you be, and that doesn't happen for Gortash. no matter what decisions you make he has a bad ending, suffering eternally at the hand of his own god.

it's just so odd to me the way that was handled: ESPECIALLY in a durge run. i understand being unable to redeem him in a normal Tav route; he doesn't know you, why would you be able to give the help and support he needs. but in a Durge run, you two were clearly *so close* to the extent that when you arrive, he shows genuine joy at your arrival, calls you his "nearest and dearest" and has MANY other lines showing that he deeply trusted and respected you pre memory-loss.

they also give you as the player proof that durge felt *the same way* about him with things like the prayer of forgiveness letter they wrote about him: "Forgive me Father, for i can't help but admire the Chosen of your sworn foe..."

Gortash meant so much to durge that they were genuinely having a religious crisis over caring about someone and something that wasn't their Holy Father and his plan for you to kill everyone and end the world.

he cared about Durge when they were fully under their Father's control. he cared about Durge when they come back as an amnesiac. he keeps caring, even if you choose to reject your Father. he tells you you'll never be a servant, that he views you as his sole equal, that now that you have returned to him he wishes you two to rule together as one. and if you reject him or side with him, his fate is the same, and you barely acknowledge when he dies. it just seems so counter to the rest of the game and its messages. i know a lot of content was cut and changed in act 3 and that a lot of people, myself included, felt like the end of the game fell flat compared to the earlier parts, and Gortash's utilization is one of the biggest examples of that.

(sorry this is a bit of a mess lol i have strong feelings about this and his story is such a tragic waste)