#and it's horrifying and painful and traumatic

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek 2025 Day 6 - Possessiveness Jealousy

Time Travel | Soulmates | Reverse Robins

Welp, let’s take a different spin on an old favorite :D But I switched days, this is more what the muse wanted.

**

It’s just as painful to watch his parents fall the second time as it was the first. 

Nightwing, hidden in the shadows of Haley’s Big Top, is holding on to the rigging at the very top of the tent. It takes every amount of control to stay where he is rather than let go of the rigging and drop through the air to save Mary and John Grayson from their awful fate. But, rather than look at the expensive timeband under his gauntlet, he instinctually knows changing the events of today would have an unpredictable backlash – one even the Flash couldn’t spin back, another Flashpoint, another break in the chain of events that made all of them who they would be.

And even if he stayed in the past to be able to see them, to hear them speak, to hide in the crowd in street clothes with strategic cotton candy covering his face, even if his eyes grew hot and wet hearing his mother laugh, watching his father put a hand on his younger self’s shoulder, remembering the last climb up his father’s back to hang off his shoulders. Even if it was all almost too much, they aren’t the reason he was thrown back in the past.

The moment he’s actually here to watch – is when a young boy comes to pose for a picture and sit on his lap before The Flying Grayson’s last performance with Haley’s Circus. The moment he meets Tim Drake for the first time.

And there in his street clothes, he sees the second their eyes connect, when little Timmy takes his hand, and the two of them gasp –the moment the connection happens.

It’s there in the way his younger self’s eyebrows furrow and little Timmy’s mouth drops open. The moment their soulbond reaches out and partially activates.

It makes sense neither of them would truly understand the implications, not as young as both of them are. Soulbonds aren’t supposed to activate until both parties are of age, but with the memory of his parents’ death so prominent in his memory, Dick Grayson had to know the truth.

So when Nightwing watches the tragedy, older and wiser and more intune with his heart, mind, and soul, he keeps his attention on tiny Tim Drake pushing a handkerchief in his younger self’s hand before he’s dragged away by his parents, leaving younger Dick alone to face the GCPD and the Batman that swooped in just a little too late.

He lingers until the Big Top is empty and the bodies of his parents are taken away, as his younger self goes with the people he’d known all his life up to that point, taken away to be coddled in a trailer, traumatized and grieving. He finally lets himself down from the top of the tent to the stands where people jumped to their feet, horrified, only an hour before. His steps silent in the aftermath along the bleachers until he picks up the discarded hand-drawn picture, crayon red and green and gold, the picture little Timmy had drawn to give him after the show.

He folds it carefully along the seams, slides it in a hidden compartment of his suit for safe keeping.

The vigilante takes one last, longing look around, and finally taps the timeband under his gauntlet, ready but then again, not ready, to return home.

**

Rather than go back to his apartment, he immediately goes to his safehouse in the warehouse sector of the Haven.

The false-front shipping container beats out Jay Bird’s fake porn store any day of the week.

Once inside, he activates the secondary floor and the elevator silently slides down, down, down into a subterranean basement. The three levels have everything a capeless crime fighter would need in a city as twisted as the Haven, but Nightwing bypasses the kitchen, bedrooms, gym, lab, and meeting room for the second level containment area.

The special palm reader, face scan, password encoded lock finally recognizes him and the lead-lined double doors slide open.

Since he’s aware how capable Tim Drake is and always has been, he’d made sure to lock him in a room without vents, lights, or any other avenues he could use to escape.

The lights outside the room kick on, pointed at the teenage boy sitting with his back against the wall, cradling his injured side even with his wrists restrained to a hook embedded in the cement floor.

Nightwing gently pulls the drawing from his suit and unfolds it delicately, like it’s something priceless, before showing it to the boy on the floor.

Tim doesn’t even look at him, still huddling in the corner of the room.

“I had to go back and see for myself,” is the explanation before Dick Grayson pulls off the domino, to look at his actual soulmate with bare face and earnest eyes.

Tim doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn, doesn’t move.

“I’m going to get a shower and make us some noodles. If you promise not to attack, I’ll let you out, then we can eat, we can talk about it. We can talk about…everything, okay? We’ll work it all out.”

Tim’s shoulders hunched up, his face turned away.

“You have to talk to me at some point. You can’t just keep being angry at me, Tim.” Gently, he rises up,  moves around the containment unit to be in Tim’s sightline.

Something mumbled that Dick strains to hear, leans closer to the enclosure. “C’mon, you can talk to me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

And only his instincts as a vigilante keeps him from jumping when Tim snaps.

The younger crime fighter leaps as far as his restrained wrists would let him, his eyes blazing with anger, jaw tight.

“Talk?! You want to talk?! After everything you’ve done?” Tim’s yelling and Dick stands to take his anger all at once.

“I know it’s disappointing,” Dick starts softly.

“How many people did you flirt with undercover while your soulmate limped home every night carrying your name?” Tim’s snarl is ferocious, his teeth white in the dimness of the holding cell. How many people did you fuck while I was waiting for you to recognize me?”

Dick blinks back at him, stunned, his chest starting to ache.

“How many nights did I wear your insignia while B and Alfred let me go broken and bleeding to an empty house because I knew, I knew, someday you’d realize who I am to you.”

“Timmy,” and Dick gasps in a painful breath, the soft link between them tremulous at best.

“How many people put their hands on you when you’re mine, Dick? How many of them stare at you when you were made for me?” The sharp snap, the restraints breaking free so Tim can slam his fists into the reinforced plexiglass. “I’ve known since that day. I’ve always known! I had to watch you with Kory and Babs and Wally! Not to even mention everyone out of the life you’ve been with!”

“Tim, I-I never…I didn’t think I had –” “And I had to watch you, Dick. I had to watch you with all of them. You never hesitated. You never thought of your soulmate, out there that needed you.”

And it strikes him in a place he doesn’t recognize. It might be the emotions from Tim, it might be shame when he didn’t really do anything wrong.

“But, it’s fine,” Tim leans up, blood on the plexiglass where his knuckles tore under the strain. “It’s going to be fine because now I’m old enough for the bond to take and you know who I am.”

Calming, Tim expertly picks the lock on the restraints.

“Timmy, we-we’re going to talk about all of this okay? Soulbonds are…a lot. And, you’ve barely dated. I want to make sure you don’t regret this, you know?”

The soft sound of the restraints falling covers up the sleight of hand when Tim produces a small tablet from somewhere and presses a button. The doors to the containment room lock down and the lights flicker off, a red emergency light in the corner casting a gruesome hue over the plexiglass wall.

Seconds later, smoke is filling the room while the holding cell is on a completely different HVAC line.

“Tim!” Dick frantically goes for the rebreather as the knockout gas hits him in the face, but it’s–

–gone.

“Don’t worry,” in the Red Robin voice. “We’re going to talk, Dick, especially about all your little friends.” He looks down as Dick falls to his knees, coughing and hacking. “Well, we’ll talk once you wake up.”

[getvalentined]

Buddy. Pal. Friend. Your agreement with this exact concept of what defines humanity (and therefore defines one's worthiness to exist) is literally your entire character arc in Crisis Core. This line of thinking is what drives you to try to kill your oldest friend, and then lament that you failed. This sentiment is what leads you to force your protege to kill you, even though he doesn't think this way at all and never does.

God, Baby Angie makes me so fucking sad. Because he's right! Not all people are like that! But he is—or he will be, within the next decade.

I can't stop thinking about what the world would have been like if he'd been just a little less scared, or at least willing to admit that he was scared at all. If he'd been willing to ask for help, ever, at any time. If he'd been brought up in a way that allowed him to truly admit weakness and fault, a way that didn't leave him constantly trying to be everything to everyone while refusing to accept that he might be wrong.

But he wasn't. And that's the biggest tragedy of all.

Gillian, when I fucking find you—

[swagging-back-to]

will never not be depressed over rosemary kennedy. He had her awake and talking the whole time only so he would know he completely destroyed her brain. he only stopped when she was no longer able to respond.

[lazysoulwriter]

made of steel, heart of gold ── clark kent .✦

content: established relationship, rough sex, choking, use of safeword (non-traumatic), immediate aftercare, Clark being horrified that he scared you (he didn’t), soft dom!Clark with a huge heart, comfort, giggles during aftercare, crying-but-not-too-much energy.

-

You were already cockdrunk when it happened.

Arched beneath him, his hips grinding into you with a rhythm that made the whole bed creak. Your thighs trembled around his waist, and his voice—god, his voice—was nothing but breathless filth in your ear:

“So fuckin’ tight for me… made to take me, baby…”

His hand slid up your chest. Over your neck. Fingers curling—not tight, just enough to make your breath hitch.

You loved when he choked you. You’d told him so, more than once. And Clark was always so careful. He was careful with everything.

But this time?

This time, he was a little too lost in it.

The pressure increased—still not painful, but strong. His eyes were dark, jaw tight, and you felt your vision swim for just a second too long.

You tapped his wrist and gasped, “Red.”

His whole body froze.

Like someone had snapped him out of a trance.

His hand vanished from your throat instantly. He pulled out and back like he’d been burned, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit—baby, are you okay? I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—fuck, I—”

You sat up slowly, chest heaving, and looked at the literal god of a man in front of you—naked, flushed, hair wild, and now lowkey on the verge of tears.

“Clark,” you whispered.

He was already reaching for a blanket, for your robe, looking so wrecked with guilt. “I hurt you. I fucking knew I should’ve paid more attention—your pulse—your eyes—shit—”

“Clark.”

“I got caught up—I didn’t mean—”

“CLARK.”

You burst out laughing.

He blinked.

“I’m fine,” you said through your giggles, grabbing his face in both hands. “Oh my god. Baby. You’re gonna cry. I was fine. I just got a little dizzy, so I called it. You stopped instantly. You’re perfect.”

His eyes flickered over your face, breath shaky. “You’re really okay?”

You kissed his nose. “I loved it. I love you. You didn’t hurt me. You just got... enthusiastic.”

He let out a strangled breath, still hovering like he was afraid you’d break. You gently guided him back onto the bed, crawling into his lap.

“Baby,” you cooed, wrapping his arms around you, “if you ever need proof you’re not a monster, just remember: you almost cried because you choked me too well.”

That finally made him snort. Just a little.

You leaned in. “Now. Are you gonna snuggle me and apologize with forehead kisses? Or do I have to beg?”

He was already pressing his lips to your temple, pulling you into the safest, warmest hug on Earth.

“You scare me sometimes,” he whispered. “But I love you so fucking much.”

“I know,” you smiled, cheek against his chest. “And I love making Superman panic a little.”

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[velvet4510]

The fact that The Hobbit is such a lighthearted family-friendly book, especially when compared to LOTR, actually breaks my heart when you consider that it is Bilbo’s writing. That journey was anything but a fun trip for him. He went through real dangers and horrifying moments. He saw violence for the first time. At the end of it, he lost his love. And he went home traumatized, heartbroken, and forever changed.

Yet when he wrote the story down, he emphasized the more successful and fun parts, and glossed over the depth of his pain and grief when the losses happened (even leaving Fíli and Kíli’s deaths to a throwaway line.)

Because what else could he have done? Nobody else could possibly understand his pain. Bilbo wasn’t like Frodo. He didn’t have a Sam who he shared the experience with and could talk to about it every day afterward, to help him work through writing down the details of the darker parts of the story. And his other friends lived far away and could only visit occasionally.

And the hobbit children were all full of wonder about Elves and dwarves and trolls, so he put the focus on that.

I feel like that was his way of dealing with his trauma.

[katiekatdragon27]

Guys you don't understand how much I love these two. (Oh yeah, and Finn's there too)

Glisten: Awww~ Shrimpo, you remembered Shrimpo: B*tch I'm in LOVE with you, of course I REMEMBERED! Glisten: What!? Wait really?? This is very sudden wow! (You said you were straight?) Shrimpo: AAAAAAAAAA

Finn: (yapping) Shrimpo and Glisten: SHUT THE F*CK UP, FINN!! Shrimpo and Glisten: ... Shrimpo and Glisten: (kissing)

The first comic takes place before the two started dating. Shrimpo is really really really bad at expressing emotions other than anger and frustration, so anytime he tries to express anything, he just blurts out his feelings without thinking. Then he gets second-hand embarrassment lol. Glisten was pretty aware that Shrimpo liked him before, but he's pretending to be surprised to make Shrimpo "feel better" (also to mildly embarrass him lol).

Also, I think that Shrimpo and Glisten bonding over hating Finn is very based and true. They need that autistic man to SHUT UP/silly

I think Shrimpo and Finn are very cousin coded. Not close enough to be siblings but definitely got some familial genes going on imo (plz don't shoot me Shrimpbowl shippers🙏🙏🙏) Doesn't stop Shrimpo from being violent towards Finn tho, and Finn does nothing to deter it lol (he finds it funny). Also, Glisten throws no punches bc he doesn't want to get his hands dirty.

Finn: Sooooo?? How was the daaaate~ Finn: No need to be such a clam about it! Shrimpo: I'M SO KILLING YOU!

The second image takes place the day after this post lol. Shrimpo is recovering from a hangover covered in lipstick kisses and super conflicting emotions and Finn is NOT helping.

On the other end, I've been thinking about Shimmer a lot lol. So here is a doodle of her with her "sister aunt" Toodles, and Pebbles.

They all get along super well. In this pic, Toodles is like 12ish and Shimmer is 4 (but her weird biology made her age up to like 7 here). Pebble is pebble, that's all you need to know.

Also, I was in a horror-ish mood earlier so here are some Twisteds <33 (below cut cuz kinda scary):

I love you angst comfort. My sib pointed out while playing one day that Shrimpo looked traumatized as a Twisted, which like, fair, but it make me think.

Glisten: "They say you are not here anymore. But I think you are."

I had this silly idea that Twisted Shrimpo was infected by Dandy personally, and that whole conflict got Shrimpo's lower jaw ripped off. He is very violent and volatile, and very hard to calm down. But, when he runs into a twisting Glisten alone and scared, he comforts him (to the best of his ability).

Since Glisten is still able to be somewhat conscious, he realizes that the Twisteds are actually not completely gone like he originally thought, and it helps him keep his sanity longer, hoping for a way out for everyone.

Willpower is a crazy thing.

On the complete opposite note, I love you horrifying freak of ichor child.

Since Shimmer was made from the ichor itself with no sort of skeleton or solid foundation, her condition is very unstable. And the problem is that her body is affected by her emotions. On a bad day, she can suffer from lots of pain and her body literally melting away. That's when she hides out and waits for her body to stabilize again.

When she completely twists, her body completely falls apart, becoming a puddle of ichor on the ground. If she was an encounterable twisted, she would work like Sprout's puddle root things, but easier to maneuver around and avoid. Also, her antenna glow.

Mini yap session aside, I think I cooked on the art lol.

Anyways, the og images lol:

Have a good one pookies!

[batsandbirdbrains]

I need Bruce trying to gentle parent Dick as a child. Like maybe Bruce isn’t exactly a good parent but tries. When Dick starts throwing massive tantrums, he just puts Dick in an empty room for time out. This does not stop Dick as he ends up destroying the room despite nothing being in it. When Dick does something Bruce doesn’t approve of, Bruce just says softly “Don’t do that.” Dick does it again. Like I need him trying and failing. Nothing he does works. Then Dick decides to turn that gentle parenting back on Bruce. No whenever Bruce makes him mad, he puts Bruce in a time-out room. Whenever Bruce is being dumb, he just gives him a pout and says “Don’t do that.” Bruce actually does his best to listen to Dick because he thinks it might foster trust or encourage Dick to follow along when Bruce does it to him. It doesn’t really work. Dick still doesn’t listen and now Bruce is being parented by the child he’s supposed to be raising. The only plus is that it calms down Dick’s more violent urges because instead of destroying shit he just sends Bruce away.

Then Dick gets shot, and something in Bruce snaps. There is no more gentle parenting, no more kind words or soft punishments. He needs to make Dick listen, and if that means hurting him, then so be it. He loses sight of the fact that Dick is still a kid, an incredibly traumatized one at that. He still lets Dick parent him, although he’s more snappy about it. Dick stops being soft with him, too, instead telling him harshly to get to bed, threatening to sic Alfred on him, or screaming in his face about how he’s the worst. Somehow they’ve fallen into this horrible dynamic and neither of them know how to get out of it. Dick blames himself for being such a troubled kid, and though Bruce never says it, Dick knows he blames him too. So Dick leaves.

Eventually, over the years their family grows, but Bruce’s softness never really comes back. He’s meaner, more controlling, even downright cruel at times. And one day when the entire batfam is arguing with him over how unreasonable he is, one them snaps and says “Jesus, B, who turned you into such a fucking asshole?” and before Bruce can even think about it, he responds “Dick did.” He closes his mouth in shock, face going ashen while everyone else freezes. The words cut straight into Dick’s heart. He replies with the only words he can think of at the moment “Don’t do that.” He meant for the words to be cold, confident. Instead they came out soft, chiding and pained. Before anyone can say anything else, Bruce turns on his heel and leaves. They all try to follow him to argue more but then stare, confused, as he walks into an empty room, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t come out for a long time.

🥺 rip out my fucking heart why don’t you, damn.

But now I’m just thinking of the scenario with Bruce saying Dick turned him into an asshole, and the whole room freezes.

Jason didn’t expect an actual answer. Tim and Damian thought Bruce would have just chided Jason for his language. Dick thought a Bruce was just going to keep yelling.

But then the way he says, “Dick did” without even thinking about it, without hesitation, it shocks everyone.

And Dick feels like he wants to cry, because sure, he knew he was a pretty fucked up kid. He was troubled. Traumatized. A problem child. But Bruce for the most part had been so patient when he was little. And when Bruce started being an asshole after Dick got shot, it wasn’t like Dick couldn’t fight right back. It was almost like a game, sometimes. But Dick has always felt so guilty about it, because Bruce had been so soft spoken and patient and nice, and then Dick went and fucked him up. Dick ruined him. It’s all Dick’s fault.

Dick has always had that thought in the back of his mind. But he’s never had any real proof that Bruce felt the same.

Now he does. And Dick’s chest feels hollow as he stares at a horrified looking Bruce.

All Dick can manage to say is a soft, desperate, “Don’t do that,” just like Bruce always tried to use with him, before he started using yelling as his go-to response.

Then Bruce turns without saying anything and walks right into an empty room, and Dick feels like he’s going to throw up. He turns too, towards his bike, and he ignores the way his siblings are calling after him. He turns off his comms and rides home, going way too fast, feeling the wind whip around him, and tears blurring his vision until he blinks them away.

When he gets back to his Blüdhaven apartment, he slides in through the window and doesn’t even change out of his costume before he’s puking in the bathroom.

He silences his phone, turns in his security system, and then spends the next hour sitting under the water in his shower, spacing out until the water goes ice cold and he has to get out. Then he crawls into bed, pulls out Zitka from under the pillows to hug to his chest, and buries his head under his pillows. If he doesn’t pay attention to it, he can pretend he’s not still crying because of the guilt.

He stays like that for a long time, not moving. He falls asleep for a while, wakes up in a panic, rinse and repeat.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the next thing he knows, someone is sitting down on his bed next to him, laying a hesitant hand in his back. And he knows it’s Bruce, and it just makes him feel even worse.

“Go away,” he begs, the words muffled under his pillows.

“I didn’t mean it,” Bruce tries to tell him.

“Yes you did,” Dick says miserably. “And it’s true. I know it’s true, you don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

“It wasn’t you who made me an asshole,” Bruce says. “The situation-”

“Caused by me,” Dick argues.

“You were just a child, Dick.” Bruce sighs.

“A horrible, no good, rotten child!”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Bruce says firmly. “It’s not true, Dick. I don’t care what anyone says, you were not a rotten child. You were just a little boy. I was the adult, and I should have found other solutions that worked for you.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he eventually moves out from under the pillows to curl up with his head in Bruce’s lap. Bruce plays with his hair, and the two of them stay quiet for a long time. Neither of them really knows what to say. They’re both still upset. And they’re both awful at dealing with their feelings.

The sadness and anger and guilt they’re feeling from this fight won’t be resolved. They won’t really talk about it. It won’t be talked about without someone else bringing it up, and that won’t happen for a while.

But for now, Bruce is going to comfort his son. And for now, Dick will let him.

[colouredbyd]

Six Hours Too Long

poly!marauders x fem!reader ☀︎ 2.3k

synopsis: in which you spend hours at the beach, come home sunburnt and sore, and return to your boyfriends—james, sirius, and a fretting remus.

cw: sunburn care, mild pain, domestic intimacy, physical touch, shared bed, casual nudity (non-sexual), excessive doting, remus being lovingly exasperated, reader being spoiled rotten by the marauders (mostly remus)

a/n: this was based on the sunburn i got today ;( masterlist

“Owww,” you whimper, barely shifting in your seat as the car bounces gently over the old coastal road.

Even that small sound carries too much pain, pulled from somewhere between your scorched shoulder blades and the aching bend of your knees.

Sirius, in the passenger seat,, twists around to stare at you with wide, horrified eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, no. That sounded like a death rattle.”

You glare weakly at him through your sunglasses, which are now more for emotional shielding than sun protection.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you croak, voice hoarse from both dehydration and what you’re pretty sure was at least two solid hours of screaming Taylor Swift into the pool float. “It hurts to breathe.”

From the driver’s seat, James lets out a low whistle, his curls still damp from the ocean, droplets catching light as they cling to the edge of his jaw. “You told me you were reapplying,” he says, not accusing, just baffled.

“I did,” you groan. “I just… forgot after the second hour. And then I thought the tanning oil would, like, help.”

Sirius lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a bark and a gasp. “You put oil on your skin? In July? At noon?”

“It smelled like coconut and carrots,” you whisper miserably, attempting to shift in your seat again before immediately regretting it. Your thighs are sticking to the seatbelt like industrial glue.

James shakes his head slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other finding your knee with practiced ease. He rubs circles into your skin, careful, gentle, like you might combust on contact. “We’re gonna have to carry you upstairs, huh?”

“Unless you want me to scream bloody murder and traumatize the neighbors.”

Sirius groans, dragging his hands down his face, then rakes them through his salt-mussed hair.

“When Remus sees this he’s going to murder us. Proper murder. Like, drag our bodies into the woods and never speak of us again kind of murder.”

You give him a sideways glance, trying not to smile and failing. “Why you? I’m the idiot who roasted herself.”

“Exactly,” Sirius mutters, folding his arms over his bare chest, suddenly looking very put-upon for someone who spent half the day feeding you fruit while you floated on a pink inflatable flamingo.

“You’re his precious ‘dovey’. He’s going to think we were being irresponsible man-children. Which, fine, we were, but he doesn’t need more evidence.”

“He already doesn’t trust you to handle the kettle,” James adds, half-laughing. “You almost set the kitchen on fire trying to make noodles last week.”

“That pan was broken,” Sirius says, straight-faced, before looking back at you again, this time with open concern softening his features.

“Hey, darling. Do you need water? A cold cloth? James, can you pull over?”

“No,” you groan, eyes fluttering shut. “I just want to get home and die dramatically in the tub.”

Sirius leans across the console and brushes the back of his fingers against your cheekbone, careful not to touch anywhere that might be burned.

His voice dips, velvet and worried. “You’re not dying on my watch, love. You’re getting aloe, hydration, at least ten forehead kisses, and then we’re putting you in a cool bath until you look less like a lobster and more like a person again.”

“She looks like the most delicious lobster,” James mutters under his breath, then yelps when you kick the back of his seat.

“You’re all bullies.”

“Affectionate bullies,” Sirius says brightly, then sobers again as he studies the line of your shoulders.

“We’re taking care of this, alright? You’re not doing anything but lying back and letting us fix it. When we get home, I’m running that bath. James can carry you upstairs and Remus can—well. He can lecture you later.”

“I’m scared,” you mumble into your arm. “He’s gonna be so disappointed, Sirius! I promised him I’d take care of myself.”

Sirius smiles, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead.

“He’s gonna be worried, love. But after he stops fussing, he’s going to pull out his ridiculous little aloe stash and nurse you back to health, and will take care of you, alright?.”

James hums low in agreement. “You know he’s already home. Probably has the fan running and is most likely building Regulus’s new lego set.”

“God, I love him,” you sigh.

Sirius chuckles. “We all do, sweetheart. Now stop talking before you overheat again. Five more minutes, then you’re ours to fuss over.”

The car hadn’t even fully rolled to a stop in the villa’s shaded driveway before Sirius was unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp click, shoving the door open and practically launching himself out.

Gravel crunched beneath his bare feet as he rounded the car with the kind of speed that made James laugh softly, but there was no teasing in it—just affection for the sight of Sirius sprinting toward your side.

“Alright, love,” Sirius said quietly as he opened your door. “We’re home. I’ve got you—just lean on me, yeah? I’ll be careful.”

You let out a watery laugh, then immediately regretted it as the movement stretched something angry and stinging across your ribs. “Everything hurts,” you whined, slumping toward him helplessly.

“I know, I know, baby,” he said, cradling your elbows as if you were made of spun sugar, eyes narrowing as he clocked the new wince at your side. “Love, you are criminally pink.”

“Oh god,” you mumbled.

James came around the car just as Sirius helped you out, one arm braced under your back, the other guiding your legs so nothing scraped.

Your feet barely touched the ground. James took your bag from the trunk and slung it over his shoulder, pushing the front door open with one hand and calling out, “We’re back!”

The villa was cool with the windows thrown open, the linen curtains billowing gently in the breeze. Inside, Remus stood in the hallway with a book in one hand and a glass of something cold in the other, his hair mussed from sleep and his glasses low on his nose.

He looked up at the sound of the door—and froze.

“Remmy,” you breathed in relief, your voice a fragile thread, and Sirius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like fuck under his breath as Remus’s gaze locked on you.

Remus did not speak. He kissed James first, brief and warm, hand curling into the front of his shirt, then took in the rest of the scene—Sirius half-carrying you, your skin flushed a deep, alarming red, your limbs moving stiffly, carefully, as if one wrong shift would tear you in half.

His face shifted slowly from confusion to horror to something bone-deep and sharp.

“What,” he said slowly, turning from you to James, then to Sirius, “the absolute hell have you done to her?”

“Don’t yell,” you whispered, clinging to Sirius as he helped you inside. “It was my fault. I just—lost track of time. And forgot the sunscreen. And maybe used a little tanning oil.”

“You what?” Remus hissed.

“She’s fine,” Sirius said quickly. “A little crispy. Possibly medium-well. But we’ve got aloe and hydration and a full service recovery plan—”

“Out,” Remus cut in, his voice quiet, deadly. “Both of you. Out of the way.”

Sirius backed up instantly, palms raised in surrender, while James offered the overnight bag.

Remus was already at your side, hands cool and steady as they found your waist.

“Oh, darling, what have you done to yourself,” he murmured, his voice thick with worry. “Six hours without me and you’ve gone and roasted every inch of your skin.”

You barely managed a breathy laugh before he was slipping one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back, lifting you with the kind of care reserved for fragile things.

You curled into him instantly, burying your face in his neck, the familiar scent of cedar and linen undoing you more than the sting of the burn ever could.

“I missed you,” you whispered, clinging to him like he might vanish. “It was too long. You weren’t there and I—Remmy, I missed you the whole time.”

His arms tightened around you, breath catching as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Oh, love. I should’ve come with you, I knew it. I knew something like this would happen. My sweet girl left unsupervised, thinking tanning oil counts as protection—God, look at you.”

You sighed into his shoulder, your voice muffled but sheepish. “I just wanted to look tanned, like James.”

Before Remus could respond, James appeared bbehind you both, towel slung over his shoulder, cheeks still faintly sun-warmed. “Oh?” he said, pausing mid-step. “Are we blaming me for this now?”

Remus didn’t even glance at him. “Yes,” he teased.. “You and your reckless encouragement.”

James ignored him completely, crossing the hall and pressing a soft kiss to your temple with a low hum. “You look beautiful,” he said warmly, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You winced and gave a tiny squeak. “Ow—Jamie, not my cheeks. They’re burnt!”

He chuckled softly, eyes full of nothing but affection. “Even burnt, you’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You mumbled something incoherent against Remus’s collarbone, and he kissed your forehead again with a sigh.

Remus qcarried you down the hall toward the bedroom which was dim and cool, the fan already whirring in the corner, and a bottle of aloe vera waited patiently on the nightstandd like Remus had seen this disaster coming before any of you had.

“Alright,” Remus said, setting you carefully on the bed, hands already moving to the hem of your sundress. “We need to get this off you.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he peeled the fabric back with excruciating gentleness, inch by inch.

The dress stuck in places, clinging to sweat and suncream and skin that had gone taut with heat, but Remus never faltered. Every movement was careful.

By the time he’d gotten you stripped to your bra and underwear, your cheeks burned with something other than sun, but he didn’t falter.

Neither did Sirius, who reappeared with a glass of iced water.

James sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your hand as Remus knelt beside you, unscrewing the aloe and rubbing it slowly between his palms to warm it.

“You’re gonna feel a little cold,” he murmured. “But it’ll help.”

“I trust you,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

Remus began with your collarbones, then your shoulders, smoothing the cooling gel in slow circles, muttering under his breath about UVA and SPF and people who can’t be left unsupervised in direct sunlight.

A soft voice piped up from the door. “That bad, huh?”

You turned your head slightly and saw Regulus leaning in the doorway with a slice of watermelon in one hand and an expression that didn’t quite match the dryness of his tone.

His eyes dragged over your figure, taking in the mottled skin, the sunburn lines, the look of exhausted bliss on your face.

You smiled at him, lazy and lopsided. “Hi, Reggie!”

He raised his melon in a solemn toast. “Hi, boiled shrimp.”

Remus let out a sigh but didn’t even pause in his work.

The aloe trailed lower, over your ribs, your stomach, the line of your hips, every touch steady and devoted, as if your pain was his own.

Your skin still stung in places, but the raw ache had softened under his patient care and the boys’ hovering attentiveness.

It was ridiculous, really, the way all three of them had made a mission of your comfort—as if sunburn qualified you for royalty status.

“So,” Remus Remus said, voice low and curious, “what exactly went down at the beach?”

His hand moved lazily through James’s curls, slow and absentminded, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

James, sprawled beside you with one leg draped over yours, looked up with a grin.

“Got there just after ten. Marlene and Mary already set up camp—Marlene brought this obnoxiously big umbrella, but of course no one actually sat under it.”

From your other side, Sirius gave a snort. He was curled into Remus’s side, practically melted against him, and his fingers brushed lightly along the inside of your wrist in slow, wandering strokes.

“Everyone was in the water within fifteen minutes,” he added. “Barty was being annoying, as usual, and Pandora threw a towel at him.”

“I thought she was going to drown him,” you said with a faint smile, shifting just enough to press your cheek to James’s shoulder.

Remus glanced down at you, taking in the slight wince you gave when your skin brushed the sheet. “And what about you? I assume you were being perfectly reasonable?”

“I was floating,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Talking to Pandora, eating crisps, all while I forgot sunscreen.”

Sirius gave a little groan but didn’t stop stroking your wrist. “You looked so peaceful,” he said. “Couldn’t bear to break the vibe.”

“Helpful,” Remus muttered, but his voice held no bite.

He leaned back slightly, resting his head against the headboard, and you noticed one hand still loosely holding Sirius’s waist while the other settled on your shin, warm and grounding.

“And what did you two do, then?” you asked, tilting your face up towards Remus. Your voice was soft but eager, like you hadn’t seen him in days, not hours. “You and Reg?”

“We stayed in,” Remus said, and his thumb stroked a slow line up your calf as he spoke. “Finished that Lego set—finally. Reg let me do the last section while he made tea.”

James hummed in approval, his hand finding yours beneath the sheet.

“Then we sat on the balcony with sandwiches and books,” Remus continued. “He read some strange new poetry collection and I made that lemon pasta for dinner—the one you like.”

Your eyes fluttered open at that. “With chicken and basil?”

Remus nodded. “It’s waiting for you in the fridge.”

You leaned your head back against the pillow, already picturing the bowl of it, cold and perfect after all the heat. “You’re unreal.”

He smiled faintly. “I do my best.”

Sirius yawned, eyes closed now as he shifted further against Remus’s chest, your joined hands still resting over your stomach. “Don’t drag me. I missed him.”

“I missed you too,” Remus murmured, and bent his head to kiss the crown of Sirius’s hair.

The silence that followed was thick with the scent of aloe, linen, and the last of the sea salt still clinging to your skin.

It was warm without heat, heavy without weight.

James was now tracing idle shapes against your hip, and Sirius had started playing with the hem of Remus’s shirt, half-asleep already.

“You’re not allowed to stay home next time,” you said quietly, eyes half-lidded as you watched Remus’s hand drift lazily up James’s neck.

“None of this supervision from afar. I almost died.”

Remus laughed under his breath. “Next time I’ll come,” Remus said simply.

You exhaled slowly, letting the quiet wrap around you as the weight of the three of them pressed in gently on every side.

And in that bed, with your sunburn easing under their hands and Remus finally close again, you realized you didn’t mind the burn so much after all.

[pluralpaganidiocy]

Was reading some posts about HDG, written by someone outside the community.

What absolutely struck me is the lack of understanding about how the setting works.

First and foremost, I don't care what anyone says, it's a disability narrative. All the kink, and layers of horror and imperialism is in service to the disability narrative.

Because when your body or mind do not function like you expect them to, it's fucking horrific.

It's goddamn terrifying when my legs give out climbing the stairs, it's horrifying when I lose my ability to speak when I get overwhelmed and my stutter comes out full force, when I can't move because the pain from my knee is so intense I lose vision.

Quite often when I am like that I don't want help, I don't want anyone near me, I will actively refuse assistance. This is because of pride, fear, shame, a multitude of reasons. I don't want care, but I need it nonetheless.

One of the most powerful and meaningful things my current partner has ever done for me was telling me to shut the fuck up and let her help.

I needed to be forced to let her help me, despite being in so much pain moving made me scream.

She still needs to make me take painkillers, because I won't on my own.

This kind of care is an intrinsic part of HDG, you are so hurt you can't figure out what you need, so we will do it for you, and we will make you if needed.

Additionally, at least for me, another aspect is knowing that the people you care about are being cared for too.

A huge chunk of my life and daily stress is making sure my friends and lovers are okay, making sure I have enough reserve cash if I need to support or be able to make an emergency trip, anything at all to prevent another fucking lost friend and tearful memorial before their names get added to my sad list of loss.

I *know* I am deeply traumatized by loss, by closed casket funerals, of self inflicted wounds. Because I wasn't there, or fast enough, or didn't notice the signs in time.

I have as a result made myself into the kind of person that will drop Anything to be there. To drive across the country at a moment's notice because there was a Possibility that my friend needed me.

In the world of HDG, that isn't needed, everyone is going to be cared for and safe, and I would be able to finally rest. To relax. To enjoy the beauty of my friends instead of standing watch.

And that is a disability narrative too.

[certifiablyinsanez]

There definitely seems to be a setup for some fallout between Fizz and Asmodeus.

From what we see with this text-“see you on TV”-this seems to show that Fizz knew that Oz was going to a trial that was expected to be televised. There is no way in hell that Fizz knew this was Blitz’s trial…but did Oz? If Asmodeus knew, did he purposefully hide the fact from Fizz? If so, we can all see how that will not go well at all. By the casualness of Oz’s texts, it’s possible he didn’t know either. I know if I was Oz I would be absolutely freaking out if I knew I was going to a life or death trial for my partner’s best friend, I would not be sending hearts over text. And of course, earlier, Oz was one of only two (maybe three if you count Vassago) people in the entire court that voted to hear them out. But even so, Asmodeus didn’t speak much further than his initial appeal. That’s definitely not going to go well over with Fizz. We can see how this pains him, yet he still remains silent.

The expressions Fizz has definitely pains me. I cannot imagine how it would feel to see a worldwide broadcast of my childhood best friend being executed.

Just look at his face.

This is a horrifying, traumatic experience, for all imp kind but especially for those close to Blitz. Shit, even Verosika was horrified.

This is brutal. The subtleties of class divides have been blown wide open. We’ve seen how it’s played out with Blitz and Stolas, I feel we’re going to see it with Fizz and Ozzie, whose class divide is even wider. Stolas just sacrificed his title, all his possessions, his power, and his daughter for a whole century for Blitz. All Fizz asked was for Oz to flex his power when he needed it most and Oz did nothing. Who will have to sacrifice more in their relationship? We shall see.

[midnightwerewoolf]

Episode 9 of season 2? Fucking delicious man. Fantastic, it was well done, it was horrifying and I EAT THAT SHIT UP.

Spoilers and warnings for what I'm about to say: (cw: Pedophilia, sexual assault.)

Lovelies, it's here. The exact episode I was waiting for.

Anshi being shown as a kid was heavy, her going to the emperor and asking if he was okay, becoming the only thing he could see... It was disgusting.

The former emperor was a weak and pathetic man who was controlled by his own mother, he couldn't talk with adult women, being touched by a woman would send him into a complete hysterical panic attack. He didn't have any power when he was around someone who was of age, but you know who he was able to talk to and had more power over?

The fact that we are told and shown that Anshi was not his only victim, that there was someone before her but because she gave birth to a girl she was completely ignored and the baby was given to someone else to take the fall. That because Anshi gave birth to a boy the empress recognized the baby as her grandson should probably give you an idea of how strong her hold on the throne actually was and how many of her decisions ended up affecting not only our main characters, or even just the royal family... But also the populace.

They sent CHILDREN just to cater to the emperor's tastes, not caring about them as children but as bargaining chips for power.

And Anshi, someone who was also sent for this reason loathed this, the moment she lost her young child face, the way we see her grow into an adult and not look like a little girl anymore only to be discarded by the man who abused her and look for smaller and younger girls than her, the complete fucking disgrace of being treated as a disposable object was more than enough to break her.

And in a horrifying move, the cycle repeats through her forcing herself on the pathetic man who raped her, the reason she had to be cut open to deliver a baby, the reason she was sold off for power, to burn herself into his memory, to not let HIM forget the pain and trauma he made her go through. (And in a way, she succeeded.)

No wonder the empress had no love for her own flesh and blood when he was born, but the baby another concubine gave birth to during the same day, the one who was not a product of her own assault on that man but rather came from her actual son and his lover? She could give him all the love he needed while the son she couldn't love could get all he needed from Ah-Duo.

And the more little Jinshi grew and started to resemble his grandfather, the more Anshi felt the need for him to not resemble HIM.

Any thing he had an attachment towards had to be taken away, in an attempt to make him grow up and not become the same monster her abuser was, for Jinshi to be able to be strong and resilient. A different type of abuse born out of the scars of a woman who was left traumatized, but unlike the former emperor you can see he does hold love for her as his mother, that while being able to hide his own childish tendencies he's able to stand up on his own feet and retain a face of serenity right in front of danger and will actively protect that which is dear to him. That's the type of man he would become, and he doesn't hold this against her, recognizing her pain and love at the same time.

We can also see how the current emperor was affected by this, knowing his mother was young when she had him and how he himself avoids turning into the same person by choosing women who are actually of age and more developed in the chest area. He would never make the same mistakes his father committed but he would still listen to the women in his life and take their advice.

It says a lot about how much the actions of the former emperor and his mother have affected their family, and while there's still a lot more to learn about them and understand about, the ghosts of their actions will continue to haunt them and no amount of context will actually fix the pain they have already inflicted upon others.

[kuronarnze]

Hello may i request blue lock characters of your choice with a s/o who is horrible chef as solomon from obey me but she likes her own cooking?

a/n: thank you sosososo much for requesting ! I kinda rushed in this one, so im sorry if there are any mistakes, i hope you enjoy the oneshot!

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Bluelock boys with a s/o who is a horrible chef

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Itoshi Sae

- “Are you trying to poison me?”

- He stares at the plate like it insulted his entire family.

- One bite and his soul leaves his body.

- “What the hell is this flavor? Metallic battery acid??”

- Lowkey traumatized but lets you eat it with a horrified expression.

- Still loves you—just never lets you cook again.

- He’ll subtly drag you to restaurants every time: “Let’s eat out. Again. Please.”

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Itoshi Rin

- He wants to believe in you. He really does.

- You hand him a cute bento and say, “I made it with love!”

- One bite and he’s coughing like he just inhaled a ghost pepper dipped in motor oil.

- “This is… not edible.”

- But then you go, “Really? I think it’s kinda good!” and happily take a bite.

- He stares in disbelief as you smile like it's the best dish ever.

- Wonders if you're secretly immortal.

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Isagi Yoichi

- He’s the nicest about it. Tries to chew with a smile.

- But his eyes are SCREAMING.

- “Ahaha… it’s… unique?”

- Honestly thinks it’s his fault. “Maybe my taste buds are off today…”

- Cries internally every time you bring out your “special homemade katsu curry.”

- Will definitely try to teach you how to cook without hurting your feelings.

- “Let's cook together next time, okay?” (Please let him save you both.)

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Michael Kaiser

- Dramatic af.

- Takes one bite and flops onto the couch like he’s dying.

- “You’ve ended me. This is how I go out. Death by love.”

- Complains the entire time but never refuses your cooking outright.

- Secretly finds it endearing… but swears vengeance on your stove.

- Might try to “accidentally” break your kitchen tools.

- “Oops. Guess we’ll have to order in, liebe.”

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Kunigami Rensuke (before Wild Card)

- He’s the kind who wants to believe in you.

- Takes a big bite like a brave warrior.

- Regrets it instantly but powers through.

- “It’s… definitely food.”

- The way you beam at him makes him continue eating. He’s in pain but won’t stop.

- Might try to guide you gently: “Hey, maybe we can try a new recipe together next time?”

- Sweet boy. Protect him.

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Mikage Reo

- Gourmet taste. Pain.

- The first bite almost sends him into a coma.

- “You… actually like this?”

- Tries to gently offer to cook for you instead.

- “Next time, how about I surprise you with dinner?”

- Starts treating you to private chefs and luxury meals in hopes you’ll never enter the kitchen again.

- Will absolutely pretend your food was “interesting” at parties just to hype you up.

- “No one else could’ve made that… whatever it was.”

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Shidou Ryusei

- Sees your “creation” and grins like it’s a challenge.

- “Hell yeah. This looks like it could kill a man.”

- Takes a HUGE bite with zero hesitation.

- Five seconds later, he’s foaming at the mouth like he just licked battery acid.

- “It’s… so awful… I love it.”

- Absolutely unhinged—he finds your cursed cooking fun.

- “You’re a menace, babe. Let’s open a restaurant and scare people.”

- Would proudly name your dish “Doom Delight” and offer it to Rin just to watch the drama.

- May ask you to pack it in his lunch just to freak out teammates.

- “You’re perfect. Psychotic. Dangerous. I’m in love."

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Tysm for reading! and omg obey me mentioned 😈

Please feel free to request ! (I need requests 😓) Have a nice day 🫶🌹

[sheepwavehdg]

Many of HDG's loudest detractors miss the point when they describe the setting as horror. They are not wrong, but because they do not engage with the themes, subtext and metaphors at play, instead focusing on a purely literal understanding of the setting, they don't understand why they find it so offputting. They yell about humanity never reaching its full potential, or the violations of individual spirit that lie at its heart. HDG imagines a world where the kind of treatment that the severely disabled among us experience is universal.

And yeah... Fair. A factual recount of my life is actually pretty horrifying.

HDG exists in conversation with disability. It is not about being trans or queer, though there is obviously a lot of overlap. It is about imagining a world where those who have disabilities are cared for, and pulling apart the complicated feelings that authors have about the loss of control required for that to happen.

The mechanics of the specific allegories that HDG employs to examine disability frequently lean into noncon, but remember, nobody who is disabled asked to be, and we are frequently the victims of systemic abuse they the Affini are often a cathartic reclaiming of.

HDG is about a world where you go through that and emerge with a promise that you will be cared for on the other side. That you don't have to navigate systems seemingly intentionally designed for you to fall through the cracks, where you won't be expected to be able to do what everyone else is capable of.

HDG is also written by those of us who survived. Straight up, I should be dead, and it is only through the incredible support of my loved ones that I have a home at all. Those of us who can live to tell the tale of severe disability are, by definition, biased to examine caretaker and provider roles.

The moment you realize you are truly disabled, that you will never, ever live the life you have been promised, where a doctor infantalizes and criticizes you for things you never had control over, is a kind of death. The breaking of the narrative that you have the ability to fully self determine is painful. It leaves you forever changed.

This is a fact of the setting that is easily lost under the joy inherent to kink. Traumatized and broken people deserve joy, and I don't think the utopian elements of HDG don't belong, but they are not the whole picture.

Some of my examinations are happy, like Good Sensory. Others examine how hard it is to trust after being kicked for so long, like Cat and Mouse. All are messy and personal.

HDG describes a world where everyone like me survives. The life I live every day, but made safe, and comfortable, for everyone. And to some, that is one of the most scary things they can imagine.

[maryymaruu]

I'm happy to be able to finally, officially, introduce my first Iterator oc, Three Signals! :"D

As one may tell, I can't help myself but to write novels on top and around my ocs, so apologies for the large amount of text.

Their lore is almost completed and I'd advise to referr to posts from here onward, if anyone is interested :0c

The story is grounded on a lot of my personal lore interpretation and headcanons, but those I will establish in a separate post some time! For now, it's still not 100% figured out, so there will be plotholes and uncertainty ^^);;

Three Signals belongs to a group far away from the in-game location. Specifically, a group pretty close to, if not outright including, Sliver Of Straw. That group is not particularly well integrated, and most members prefer to keep it to themselves.

After first generation was built, an issue arose; due to a large distance in the South between them and another group, the communications were weak, the signals were getting lost over particularly tall mountains. To fix that, Three Signals was strategically placed to bridge the distance, equipped with advanced for the time satellite plate, additional cell towers etc, essentially becoming a cell tower of the group.

A very vocal Iterator who quickly proved their creativity and love for their people and arts, became a perfect breeding ground for artists to find shelter from a rather conservative group climate. Their citizens were eager to involve TS into everything they did, only further strengthening their bond. They enjoyed their cyclical life together so much so, that the idea of Ascension slowly grew to be something undesirable. That raised controversy and distaint in the group against TS and their city of "heretics".

At some point, the tension grew enough to cause action to be taken. Other cities demanded arrest of TS's leaders and most prominent figures. TS and their city resisted, resulting in overly drastic measures; the city was pressured into compliance by force. Cutting off delivery of supplies and eventually attacking TS themselves with a malware attack, to shake the people out of the perceived heresy. A traumatic event for everyone involved. TS struggled to freely speak ever since.

Time passed, and the day of Mass Ascension came. Many of TS's citizens were not thrilled, many were fearful, many reluctant, many cried and reached out to their beloved Iterator for comfort. TS did their very best to comfort them, using what their city loved most; song. They sang, they sang all together, the city slowly rumbling with thousand voices into a solemn roar, then grew quieter and quieter again, until the very last voice left to be heard was Three Signals alone. And then silence ever since.

More time passed. Sliver Of Straw sends out the Triple Affirmative broadcast-

But TS, being equipped specifically to pick up weak signals, has heard something else coming from her; distressed cries of pain, and then the Triple Affirmative. Essentially convincing TS that it was nothing but an erroneous cry of a dying Iterator.

Horrified by what they witnessed, TS was moved to do whatever they can to try and comfort their fellow Iterators, to try and avoid something like that happening again. And what other way could TS do it, other than broadcast comforting tunes? A sign that they're not alone, and something to hopefully offer an alternative to spiraling into madness.

Their broadcast is wide ranged, but not enforced, and they're not even sure if anyone is listening or not- if its even effective or not. But at the very least, they can say they tried something.

(More to come)

[yuurei20]

I've been thinking a lot about Jamil's unique magic and his upbringing. And Kalim.

Jamil's spell hurts people until they succumb to him, which makes me wonder if it's tied to how he was raised.

Jamil's parents hit him to make him comply right in front of Kalim, and Kalim’s response in Book 4 was to say, "I'm gonna hit Jamil."

Did Jamil's parents teach those boys that hurting people to make them do what you want is okay? Thoughts on Jamil's parents?

👀！Hello hello, thank you for this question!

It is true that Jamil's unique magic causes his target pain that seems to be beyond his control ("The pain will last as long as you resist") and that Jade's not-dissimilar unique magic has been described as painless, but I am not sure we have ever been given an explanation as to why!

Jamil's parents have been discussed a bit earlier (below), and it is also true that they struck him in front of Kalim to emphasize the importance of doing what Kalim says:

One of the many interesting parts of the flashback is that, while we know that Kalim was standing there and watching as it happened, we do not know what his reaction was:

Is it normal for servants to be hit at Kalim's mansion? Or was he horrified? Is that why he concludes the best way to respond to Jamil in Book 4 is with violence--because that is what he is used to seeing?

If he were horrified one would think he'd never want to see Jamil be hit again, but his response in Book 4 was to want to hit Jamil himself. Maybe he repressed the traumatic memory of what he saw? Did he realize that he was responding to Jamil in the same way that Jamil's parents used to when Jamil disobeyed, and that is why he wasn't able to go through with it, breaking the cycle?

Many questions, and one of many reasons to look forward to the manga adaptation of the Scarabia manga! 🐍 While the manga are not canon to the game, it will be interesting to see what direction they go in with Kalim 🦦

While the potential connection to Jamil's unique magic causing pain until the person obeys him (like his parents did to him?) is also interesting, we cannot say "his unique magic adapted to the environment in which he was raised" is canon without in-game confirmation, and it is all speculation 💦

But interestingly, after reviewing all the unique magics in the game...is Jamil's the only unique magic that intrinsically involves pain? 📝

Deuce's unique magic is designed to cause its target damage, so maybe his as well? 📝 But it is also a defensive form of magic that does not allow him to hurt anyone unless they have already hurt him, first.

In order to compare to Jamil's we might need Ace hitting Deuce with multiple spells until he has stored up enough power to use Bet the Limit, and then aiming Deuce at somebody else, turning him into a human cannon (would that work? 🧐).

While unique magics like Vil's have the potential to cause harm, Vil explicitly says that it can produce positive effects as well--it is not inherently violent beyond his control, like Jamil's.

Leona's can also cause damage by design, but in theory could he also maybe do things like make dried fruits?

Sebek's causes pain when cast, but to himself, as he has yet to fully master it. Ruggie's can cause pain if he wishes but he has the option to choose, where it seems Jamil does not...very interesting to think about!

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request Scott, Remy, Logan x reader headcanons with a reader who they just rescued from an illegal mutant fighting ring. They had been in there for a long time and were roughed up pretty bad, they were pretty hesitant and scared.

Here are headcanons for how Scott (Cyclops), Remy (Gambit), and Logan (Wolverine) would react to rescuing a reader who had been trapped in an illegal mutant fighting ring:

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott would be horrified by the state you were in when they found you. Seeing the bruises and the fear in your eyes would hit him hard, igniting a fierce determination to protect you. He’d be incredibly gentle, trying not to overwhelm you as he led you away from the place that had caused you so much pain.

- Scott would be extremely patient with you, understanding that trust wouldn’t come easily after what you’d been through. He’d take things slow, speaking softly and keeping a respectful distance until you showed signs of being comfortable around him. His natural leadership would shine as he quietly reassured you that you were safe now, and that no one would hurt you again.

- Scott would make sure you had everything you needed—medical care, a safe place to rest, and someone to talk to if you were ready. He’d check in on you frequently, but would also give you space, knowing that you might need time alone to process what happened. He’d encourage you to take things one step at a time and would be there to support you whenever you were ready to open up.

- Over time, Scott would gently encourage you to regain your confidence and control over your powers. He’d offer to train with you, not to push you, but to help you feel strong again. He’d emphasize that you weren’t alone in this—that you had a family now who would stand by you, no matter what.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy’s heart would break seeing you in such a battered state. The usually carefree Cajun would be deadly serious, his red eyes burning with anger at the people who had done this to you. But he’d push those feelings aside, focusing entirely on making sure you were okay.

- Remy would approach you with a careful mix of charm and sensitivity, using his natural charisma to try and ease your fears without overwhelming you. He’d speak to you softly in that smooth accent of his, offering you a comforting smile and a warm hand to hold if you wanted it. He’d let you set the pace, never pushing too hard or too fast.

- Knowing how heavy your experiences were, Remy would try to lighten your burden with humor and gentle teasing, anything to make you smile or forget, even for a moment, what you’d been through. He’d show you card tricks or tell stories, anything to distract you and bring a little light back into your world.

- Despite his usual laid-back demeanor, Remy would be fiercely protective of you. He’d stick close by, making sure you knew that he was there for you. If anyone even hinted at trying to hurt you again, they’d have to deal with Gambit’s explosive temper. He’d also be the first to offer to teach you self-defense, wanting you to feel capable and safe in your own skin.

Logan (Wolverine)

- Logan would be furious at the sight of you, covered in bruises and clearly traumatized. The animal inside him would roar with the urge to tear apart those responsible, but he’d shove that down, knowing that right now, you needed someone calm and steady.

- Logan wouldn’t overwhelm you with words; he knows that after what you’ve been through, words might not be enough. Instead, he’d offer his presence—solid, dependable, and unyielding. He’d wrap you in his jacket if you were cold, carry you if you couldn’t walk, and make sure you knew that you were safe with him.

- Logan would be surprisingly patient with you, especially considering his usual rough-and-tumble attitude. He’d understand your hesitance, your fear, and would give you the time you needed to adjust. If you flinched away from touch, he’d respect that, but would also make sure you knew he was there whenever you were ready.

- Logan would keep a close eye on you, his protective instincts in overdrive. He’d make sure you ate, rested, and had the space to heal. He might not say much, but his actions would speak volumes—like making sure no one bothered you, or leaving small gestures of care, like a cup of tea or a blanket.

- Over time, Logan would try to help you rebuild your strength, both physically and emotionally. He’d offer to train with you, teaching you how to defend yourself if you wanted, but never pushing you beyond what you were comfortable with. He’d want you to feel powerful again, not because he thought you needed to fight, but because he wanted you to feel safe in your own skin. And he’d be there, silently promising that no one would ever hurt you like that again.