#and the other kid is just. scared and confused

[1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1]

Can I get a headless horsemen!reader thats one of the killer's with the other in forsaken? Please and thank you!🙏😔

OH MY GOD THIS IS SUCH A GENIUS IDEA WHAAAATTTTT

oh this will be FUNN🤤🤤

im deadass half asleep writing this so there are gonna be some typos but ion care and i will NOT be rereading 🤞💔

defo OOC,, coughs loudly

enjoy mwah

Forsaken Killers × Headless Horseman!Reader

1×1×1×1｡𖦹°‧

Well he was,, quite shocked to see you here.

She HAS met you once, before you got stuck in this living hell, it was during halloween when you were haunting some robloxians, it was just a quick pass by and you probably didnt even notice them,,

You're probably one of the only 'people' that she has even a bit respect for, after all, you are the infamous legend that makes robloxians shiver.

He tried talking to you once, although after hearing your voice, basically thundering, she stammered a bit before giving up and saying that they have something to do, some kind of cheap excuse not to embarras himself further. NOBODY needs to know that he stuttered. She will rip any witnesses to shreds.

He likes spectating you, watching your gameplay as you server-wipe with incredible speed,

She hopes that somehow you DID notice him and think of them too,,,, you just keep spinning around in her head

John Doe

Hes,,,, confused, (as always)

He has also met you before, he just doesnt remember.

Sometimes when he looks at you, his memories go back a little bit, small glimpses of his past coming back to him.

Hes one of the only robloxians that arent scared of you, its pretty hard for him to be scared when he cant proxess emotions properly

Most of the time he just,, stares. and thats pretty much it. He stares and stares, his gaze completely blank.

You cant really tell what hes thinking about, you can only guess,,

forsaken!Jason𓌏་༘࿐

Well, hes seen you a few times

You guys are both one of the more 'popular' horror mascots when it comes to halloween, so there was no need for introduction when you arrived once again.

You guys,, didnt talk a lot,, but still got along pretty well

Silent nods of acknowledgement and pats on the back for a server wipe mostly.

it was a pretty healthy 'relationship', if you can call it that.

C00lkidd.✶ ⋆ (PLANTONIC!!)

he thinks youre REALLY cool,,

although, he was a bit scared at first

Mostly because his dad, on halloween night, used to tell him stories about you, that you punish bad kids for staying up past their bedtime or something along these lines,,

Youre not so scary tho!!1! (in his eyes)

Definetly gives you his drawing from time to time, mostly starring you and Daredevil(your horse)

Wether you accept them or deny them is your choice (He will be really sad and walk away with a frown for the rest of the day if you dont take them,,)

He annoys you from time to time, but youre just used to it, so you just go along with it,,

Noli-.ᐟ.ᐟ

Jesus,, this guy,,

The first killer to come up to you, and the one with the balls to even do it.

He immediately starts asking some random questions about you, about your head and how that hole in your neck (where your head is supposed to be) works, i think you know where hes trying to get with this,,

A nuisance to you, is what he is. His flirty remarks and empty promises on what he will do once you all get out of here. Its all just to get under your skin (at least from your point of view)

He does it mostly to piss you off, and for the love of the game. But a part of him has to admit that you are quite attractive (at least from what HE finds attractive,,,,)

He just thinks youre playing hard to get, and you think hes just annoying. Pretty much it.

Mafioso🂱⚔

Well, hes quite scared of you.

No thats not true,, hes not scared of anything! Maybe just a little bit,, wary of you,,

He has given you some nasty looks (mostly on accident,) and when you turn to look at him, he quickly turns away from embarrasment.

Pretty mixed signals,,

He told his men multiple times to watch out if they are next to you, probably cause hes worried about them. AND hes heard a lot of diffrent things about you from multiple legends,

After a while, when he sees you as a bit,, less,, of a threat he tries talking to you. And aside from the way you talk mostly in fancy, old words (similar to Dusekkar) you were quite nice, enjoyable company, even.

Maybe youre not so bad after all

erm,, hi!!1!

*gets booed and thrown with tomatoes

owh,,,,.. ow,, owguys,, guys,, cut it out guys,,,,ouch,,,,,,,

[veal-exe]

I’m going to go ahead and link the post I wrote on misappropriated leftist language since you seem confused about what counts as radical speech and what is, in fact, just being a self-congratulatory asshole.

There is a difference between not being up to date on language, or using the wrong language, and knowingly calling someone 'a stupid tranny'

You are not being transgressive. You are not being edgy in a meaningful or liberatory way. You’re just saying slurs on someone else’s post like a teenager trying to prove you’re the most punk person at the school assembly, and somehow thinking that makes you clever instead of embarrassing. Let me make this simple for you: calling a trans person a slur they haven’t consented to, in a context where it clearly is not welcome, is not activism. It’s not neutral. It’s not anything but hostile.

You can scream “context” all you want, context includes the power dynamics of a space. You’re replying to a post I made calling out harm, and instead of showing basic respect to the community in the inter-community conversation happening, or the person who wrote the post, you decided to swing in and drop a slur because you use it “neutrally.” Which you did not by the way, don't delude yourself, calling someone a 'Tranny Loser' is not fucking neutral.

Okay. Great. You know who else thinks their use of that word is “neutral”? Cis people who haven't learned what language they're allowed to use for other people and who don't care. Do you want to be in that company? You’re closer to them right now than you are to anything resembling praxis.

You say you “use that word regularly.” That’s your business. I do too for myself and people who consent to it, like buddy, I'm Tranny. That doesn’t give you license to throw it around on other people’s content or to use it for trans people who you don't know personally who haven't reclaimed it.

Reclamation is not universal just because you’re trans. That’s not how community works. That’s not how slurs work. That’s not how respect works. If someone hasn’t opted into that language with you, you don’t get to slap it onto them and then act shocked when people don’t cheer you on for being bold and rebellious. The Queer Community doesn't even call fellow individual LGBTQIA+ Queer without consent/knowing reclamation because it is overwhelmingly considered uhh Not Fucking Cool. And I say that as someone who knows that Queer is only really used as a slur in pockets these days.

And comparing your behavior to a Black person using the n-word with another Black person? That’s not just disingenuous it’s laughable. You are not part of an equivalent dynamic here, calling another person a Tranny Loser in the trans community is not the same as black people reclaiming words in their community as a whole, and you clearly don’t understand the history or gravity of what you’re invoking. You’re not “punching up.” You’re punching sideways and calling it solidarity while stepping on people’s toes and insisting they thank you for it.

You seem like the kind of person who reads the first paragraph of a leftist zine and thinks it gives you carte blanche to do harm as long as you talk like a Tumblr-era anarchist. It doesn’t. Your tone policing accusations don’t scare me. Your performance of not caring doesn’t land. You can yell about how not-a-slur it is all you want, you’re still using my post to do harm in a way that I won't allow.

Let me say it again:

this is not a debate. I am telling you to Fuck Off and Get Fucked. I don’t care if it was casual or deliberate, you don’t get to put on your cool kid baby idiot hat and call that boundary invalid just because you’ve decided your usage of a slur is enlightened and everyone else is “throwing a hissy fit" you dumb motherfucker.

You came into my house and tracked mud across my carpet, and now you want to argue that because you’re used to walking in filth, I should be fine with it.

No. Get the fuck out.

The only place white cis men have in trans discourse is sitting down, being quiet, learning, and standing up for trans people against their fellow cis people.

That also means not blindly parroting hateful transphobic rhetoric from other trans people, because some trans people are transphobic (TRFs, Transmeds, Truscum, etc), as an example, if you were a white cis man and you had a trans friend who was constantly telling you that say, and I’m gonna make something up here that hasn’t happened, but say you have a trans friend who’s constantly saying people who don’t want to start HRT aren’t REALLY trans.

you would have no business thinking, repeating, or pushing that. You’re obligated to listen to the whole community, not just the ONE trans friend you have spewing bigoted rhetoric. This goes doubly so if your bigoted trans friend is white because then they should also be sitting down and listening to the poc in the community.

Cis White Men have no place giving their thoughts and opinions about how the kind of trans person they like less isn’t oppressed. They definitely don’t get to say they ‘have tboy swag’ while being actively transphobic and uplifting TRFs, stop, cis white boy, stop, etc.

Cis white women don’t either ftr, no cis person does, but this is about a specific event.

[rainrot4me]

I Not sure if you’re taking requests right now, but I’d love to see your take on trans Jeff the Killer!”

AHHHHAHAHAHAH YES LET ME SPEAK LET ME SPEAK SIT AND LISTEN. This is long, I have a deep love for raunchy transmascs.

── .✦

Afab tomboy kid to bitter transmasc adult pipeline.™

Jeff was always rowdy. Always scraped knees, dirt under his nails, running with the neighborhood boys, never wanting to wear the pastel dresses his mother picked. He’d have screamed if he had to wear a bow. Every time one of the other kids said “You can’t play with us, girls aren’t allowed.” He’d be getting sat down and scolded by his mother because he had given that kid a bloody nose out of anger.

He was that “problem child” who never sat still, roughhousing and refusing to act “like a girl.” It earned him constant lectures from teachers and endless sighs from his mother—the “why can’t you just behave?” moments that felt like acid on his skin.

He liked toy swords, monster movies, getting his hands dirty—anything that let him feel powerful, even if he couldn’t yet name why it felt right. He would hide bugs and tiny critters in his pockets and bring them home to scare his brother.

The second puberty hit, Jeff’s sense of betrayal was off the charts. His chest came in. Periods started. Suddenly the adults were trying to mold him into a “young lady”—and the body that had always felt mostly neutral in childhood turned into a prison.

He became angry. Bitter. His room went from messy-kid-chaos to total rage den: holes punched in the wall, broken pencils, fists clenched so hard they shook. This is where the mask of apathy starts—Jeff acting like nothing bothers him, but inside, he is rotting with confusion and dysphoria. The worst part? He’s completely lost in it.

He doesn’t know what transitioning is, doesn’t understand that he could change, doesn’t have the resources or the patience or the want to seek help. All he knows is that he’s angry and he wears clothes way too big for him.

By high school, he’s full-blown spiteful. Short hair, baggy clothes, fights every authority figure tooth and nail. When he hears “you’re such a bitch,” it’s a death sentence in his brain. He’d weaponize his rage, becoming known as the scary teenager that you didn’t want to look at in the lunchroom for too long. He’d lean into the violence, because being feared felt better than being pitied.

It’s only when Jeff hears about the first trans person in his school that he stops and thinks, for once. Everyone badmouthed them, preaching how nasty and weird it was. He just stayed silent, slowly clicking every puzzle piece together when he didn’t even know there was a puzzle to begin with. It just all suddenly clicks.

The “killer origin” moment (burning off his face, slicing his smile) is also a transition metaphor. He chose his name, his body, his power. It was a permanent break from being what everyone demanded. Even though it’s bloody and horrifying, there’s a raw beauty to how Jeff reshapes himself—no more being a daughter, no more being a girl, no more being told “you can’t.”

He over-corrects, though, with aggression. A brutal, controlling masculinity that’s almost satirical—picking fights, dominating rooms, refusing to show vulnerability. If you ever see him truly soft, you’re seeing a side only his closest do. His entire life he’s learned that boys are mean, men are brutal, and masculinity in its whole is anger. So that’s what he embodies, because that’s what he’s learned.

THIS IS FOR THAT ONE ASK I GOT, HERE YOU ARE ANGEL: If you headcanon him Latino, mainly Catholic based, that adds such a sting—a family that saw girlhood as “pure” and “holy,” a church that said his feelings were a sin. That made Jeff’s rebellion even more violent. The guilt stays with him, even as an adult. Sometimes after a kill, he’ll wonder if God is sitting there watching him ruin everything. He’ll spit blood on a cross just to feel in control again.

Post transition? He’s proud as hell. He uses the scars from his face as a kind of armor—they distract from what he used to hate about his body, and make him feel permanently, violently other. They gave him ownership over his own flesh. He still deals with dysphoria sometimes—certain clothing, certain angles—but Jeff is the type to overcompensate with bravado and aggression. He’ll joke about “having a bigger dick than anyone here” and absolutely believing it.

He’s DIY’d more things than he should. Ben sometimes jokes about “Frankenstein hormone therapy” because Jeff refused to go through proper channels and took T from thrown away vials or by swiping them in drugstores. He binds, because even after he’s threatened murder on EJ, he still won’t give him top surgery because he doesn’t care, “you smell like a man, isn’t that good enough for you?” while snarling his nose (not in a transphobic way, in a you fucking reek way).

He binds so tight it hurts to breathe, but he likes it that way. It makes him feel secure. Pre-wrap and medical tape that nearly tears his nipples when he takes it off (if he does, he wear that shit for days at a time, only changing it when it begins to fall on its own). Kinda feels badass lounging around with no shirt and covered in bloodied tape.

Gets serious muscle tone and definition from missions and wrestling people to the ground, becomes incredibly lean and strong especially in his biceps and shoulders, which helps a lot with the “man” image.

All in all, don’t fuck around with it. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you are, or how close you two are—one word about any of it and you’re gone. It breaches a sort of delusional sense about his transition, he truly unshakenly believes he has a dick and he’s hormonally a male and that every childhood picture is somebody else. It’s the mental illness, but it’s also a safe-block on his brain to keep him from spiraling into anything messier. He has enough going on, there’s no point in stressing his body and psyche further.

꩜ .ᐟ

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 3)

Go see Part 1 and Part 2 here~

Reader gets She/Her once more（-＾▽＾-）

Your pace only picked up the louder the whistling got...

You could feel your body shift and twist in uncomfortable ways.

Bones growing and deforming but not hurting you.

Even your vision was blurring and forcing you to rely on your hearing to go forward.

By the time you've reached the source of that comforting melody, you could feel yourself going limp and passing out. All the pain and exhaustion from your sudden change caught up to you in one swift move while the figure who had been whistling quickly approached in a clear panic.

Did you look bad? Maybe you looked worse than you felt...

Whichever the case, you felt much better upon awakening.

Especially when you saw the goons around you. Amongst others.

"Kid, you okay?!" One of them asked as they noticed you woke up. You felt groggy but nodded, shuffling your body towards your family as they were quick to go in for the reunion hug.

Only when you stood up did you notice you'd gotten taller. It was hard to balance at first.

You were still smaller than your dad but now were as tall as the goons. It surprised even them.

"Explaining this to your dad is gonna be tough..." One of them chuckled nervously, though you just made little happy squeaks.

You were just happy to have your family back, it allowed the Spectre to manipulate you better. Now you could safely betray the survivors without any guilt, right?

Exactly.

Watching their faces twist in horror when they first saw you in a round gave you an odd sense of pride.

You were no longer just a scared kid constantly needing help and protection. You were your father's daughter and made sure to get rid of the debt-ridden survivors to make him proud.

Which was technically already the case. Mafioso would always be proud of his kid and regardless if you won or not, you'd be rewarded with headpats and praise before being dragged off by the kids to play with them. Since you were slightly smaller than them, you loved convincing them to play hide and seek so you could find new spots where you barely fit into.

Though Mafioso wasn't exactly one to want you in danger, he could recognize that the fact you couldn't die or take real damage was an opportunity for you to have fun and learn.

Even if he was confused whenever you'd bring up being a survivor before...

I kinda enjoy child!reader, especially when they're the kid of someone else lol

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[muxshwriting]

bruises and a backache

max verstappen x teammate!reader

summary: hiding an injury from your teammate and then proving yourself beyond his overprotective-ness || warnings: bruises, past injury || word count: 1790 || masterlist

Max was pounding at the bathroom door, his blood rushing hot and fast through his body like he’d just stepped out of the cockpit mid-race. His palm slammed flat against the wood again. “Y/N,” he said, voice tight, bordering on frantic. “Open the door.”

The sound of the shower was still running, steam curling out from the cracks in the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise he’d heard, the unmistakable sound of you stifling a scream. “I’m fine!” you called out, your voice thin and shaking as you tried to steady it. “It's just… a spider.” You try to make it sound casual but it comes out confused and as an almost question.

“A spider?” he repeated, disbelieving. “You’re not scared of spiders.”

You paused, eyes trained on your reflection in the fogged-up mirror. “It just surprised me,” you added quickly, the lie tasting stale on your tongue.

But Max wasn’t letting it go. You could hear him draw in a slow breath through his nose, trying to rein in the panic in his chest. “Please just… unlock the door,” he said, softer now. “Let me see you. Are you hurt?” Your words did nothing to calm Max's racing heart, only serving to make him more concerned. His body slumps forward, trying to be closer to you as his forehead rests on the door. "Can you unlock the door? Let me check you're alright?"

You stared at the lock, heart thudding. You didn’t want to lie to him. Not really. But you also didn’t want the storm you knew was waiting on the other side of that door. “You can't come in,” you tried again, voice light, teasing, desperate. “I'm changing.”

“It's nothing I haven't seen before. I’ve seen you change,” he shot back. “You've got to lie better. What's happening?”

There was a moment of silence before you gave in with a small sigh, walking over and unlocking the door with a soft click. Max watches the shadow retract and as soon as the lock is turned, he was already pushing it open.

You stood there, in your underwear, staring into the mirror, eyes flicking to his reflection as he entered. His gaze dropped to your skin instantly, like it always did, but instead of wandering hands and a smile, all that crossed his face was alarm. Your back still had the scars of childhood races etched onto it but it was now a mess of blooming bruises, angry purples and fading yellows. But Max could instantly tell which ones were new.

You hadn’t even made it into your shower and you were frozen in place like a deer caught in the beam of his attention. Max didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Then, quietly; “Where did you get those, schat?”

You closed your eyes for a second and reached for your shirt, fumbling with it as you gave up on pretending you were fine. The ache in your muscles was too much tonight, and your stupid scream had ruined the last of your cover. “They’re from the crash last week,” you said softly. “It’s nothing serious. We checked everything- the medical team checked, everything’s okay. I just knocked them weirdly when I was changing.”

Max’s brows furrowed hard. “We checked?” he echoed. “Who’s we? Does Christian know?”

You hesitated. That was enough of an answer.

“Are you kidding me?” he barked. “Everyone knew except me?”

“I didn’t want to hide it from you-”

“Then why did you?”

“Because you would do exactly this,” you said, voice sharp but tired. “You’d panic. You’d hover. You’d worry and forget how to focus. And I couldn’t do that to you.”

Max exhaled harshly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You should’ve told me.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t want you to stop seeing me as your teammate first. I didn’t want to become a problem to manage.”

His expression twisted at that, something between frustration and heartbreak. He stepped forward, his hand brushing your arm carefully.

“You’re never a problem,” he said. “But you are my-" His mind jumped for something that didn't compeltely give the game away to his feelings. There were the countless nights of binging tv shows with you, culred up on on sofas and slipping away into each other's motorhomes. "You're my person. Do you get that? If you’re hurt, I need to know.”

Your shoulders dropped, the weight of the truth finally settling between you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Max pulled you close, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other ghosting over your bruised skin like he wished he could draw the pain out of it. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured. “Just don’t make me find out like this again. I want to worry with you. Not because you shut me out.”

You nodded against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily under your ear.

“Okay,” you said. “I promise.”

The paddock buzzed with its usual pre-race energy, mechanics moving like clockwork, journalists circling like flies, engines humming in the distance. You walked toward the Red Bull garage in your race suit, helmet in hand, eyes focused ahead.

Max, of course, was already there. He spotted you immediately and beelined across the garage like a heat-seeking missile. “Morning,” he said casually, walking beside you. “Sleep okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Max. Still fine.”

He nodded once, like he didn’t quite believe you. “Did you take the painkillers Christian gave you?”

You gave him a look. “Max.”

“Just checking.”

He hovered as you moved to your station, watching as you adjusted the strap on your suit and flexed your shoulders, testing the pain quietly, discreetly. It twinged, sure, but nothing that would stop you from racing.

Max narrowed his eyes. “Was that a wince?”

“No,” you lied with the confidence of someone who’d already practiced it twice in the mirror. “Just adjusting.”

He didn’t look convinced. “We can still switch you out for Liam, you know. It’s not too late.”

You scoffed and turned to him fully, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Don’t start with that again. I passed medical. I’m cleared. I'm racing.”

Max lifted his hands in surrender but stepped a little closer. “I know. I know. It’s just… I watched the replay again last night.”

You paused. “Why would you do that to yourself? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a racing incident.”

He looked at you like you’d said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Racing incident or not, I nearly lost you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the sound of pit tools and shouting engineers. You softened, resting your hand on his forearm. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”

He looked down at your hand, then at you again. “Yeah, but I also wasn’t there. I didn’t know. You were hurting and I didn’t see it.”

“And now you do,” you said. “So let me drive, Max. Please. Don’t let this be the thing that makes you forget who I am.”

He stared at you for a moment, searching your face like he could read every inch of emotion you weren’t saying aloud. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you so much as blink weirdly on the radio, I’m calling it in.”

You rolled your eyes, lips quirking. “Deal.” You're both hiding small laughs as you part.

As you turned to leave, Max called after you, “And don’t worry about carrying your helmet and your pre-race things again. I told the interns to do it.”

You turned over your shoulder, walking backwards with a smirk. “Max, are you trying to seduce me with team orders?”

He smirked right back, eyes gleaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

When you cross the line in first place, the throbbing of your back seems to fade away with the joy of the occassion. Max rounds off the podium but when your parked up in parc ferme, his first thought is to crouch by your car, take your helmet in his own hands and his eyes scanning you like he was reading telemetry. He didn't say anything at first, waiting, not with champagne or celebration in mind.

Just walked up, hands hovering until he gently pulled you into his chest. Not a crushing hug, he knew better, but a steady one. Solid. Careful. Like he was trying to hold you together without hurting you.

“You’re walking a little stiff,” he murmured near your ear, voice just for you.

You let out a soft breath, arms around his waist. “It’s fine. I’m just sore.”

Max pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowed, like he could spot every lie beneath your skin. “Sore how?” he asked, tone more measured now. “Like regular ‘I just drove 300 kilometers’ sore, or ‘I haven’t told my teammate my back’s killing me’ sore?”

You sighed, cheeks flushing. “Don’t do that thing where you read my mind.” He didn’t smile. Not this time. He reached out and gently, so gently, brushed his fingers against your side. When you flinched just slightly, his jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have pushed it that hard,” he said softly, not angry, just concerned.

“I needed to prove-”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he interrupted. “I don’t care if you finished first or dead last, I just need to know you’re not hurting worse because of it.”

You looked down at your hands, pulling your gloves off gently. “I never need to prove it to you. But it wasn’t that bad, I paced myself, I didn’t take risks. I just… I needed to feel normal.”

Max exhaled slowly, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “You are normal. Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean weak.” His voice dropped even lower, quieter now with the noise of the crowd fading in the background. “If you’d told me it was too much, I would’ve been proud of you for stepping out. I need you to remember that, okay?”

You nodded slowly, eyes flicking up to his. “I was careful, Max. I promise. I know I’m not back to 100% yet.”

He searched your face for a long second, then finally gave a small nod of his own. “Alright,” he said. “But you’re icing your back the minute we get to the motorhome. And I’m carrying your suitcase. And I’m not negotiating on either.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, Captain Verstappen.”

He smiled this time, just a little. “You can win the race, but I’m still calling the recovery strategy.”

You lean in and almost want to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

“Always.” He tilted his head to your waiting team. “Go get 'em.”

[tookishcombeferre]

It's so funny you tagged me in this.

I was literally just cleaning up a section where Roland talks about Elena potentially recognizing Cedric and trying to "tease" him back into the way she remembered him as a child when Tilly had the Amulet. I also think that her having been exposed to that much magic for that long made her more conscious of magic inside others, so as you said @shychick-52, I think she could tell Cedric wasn't all bad.

I also kind of described it in that section as Elena "drawing Cedric back" to Sofia because she knows their destinies are intertwined in the same way hers and Alacazars were.

Additionally, I'm also working out some bugs in a conversation between Cedric and Roland where Cedric describes his desperation to get Sofia out of the Amulet coming from the fact that Elena was **technically** born 3 years before Cedric. Cedric explains that it's hard for him to hold the reality that the record of Elena's birth would state that she was born in the same calendar year as Cordelia, and, yet, to him, she looks like a child and has all the lived experience in this Realm that a sixteen-year old child would have.

For according to what Sofia has/would have told Cedric at that point, Elena was unable to age, and she couldn't have any meaningful lived experiences outside of what she could perceive from the Amulet while she was inside it. Elena lived *FORTY-ONE-GOSH-DARN-YEARS* as a SIXTEEN YEAR OLD in COMPLETE fracking ISOLATION!

I'm sorry.

I can't get over this fact.

Like, as someone who is now thirty, I cannot imagine, and I am APPALLED, by the idea of being SIXTEEN for FORTY-ONE freaking years, under any circumstance. Sixteen/Seventeen was the *worst* year/years of my *ENTIRE* life, so that might be part of it. (Truly, when they say it gets better, it does, in fact, get better kids.) However, still, being sixteen for forty-one years in solitary confinement should be grounds for murder.

How is she even mildly sane?

Needless to say, Cedric wasn't about to let Sofia watch everyone around her age from inside that death-trap only to come into a world where her parents didn't exist, and Amber and James were Roland's age, or quite likely, closer to Baileywick's age. For, if that came to pass, when Sofia was finally removed from the Amulet via ritual, she would still be just twelve.

Cedric couldn't live with that. He wouldn't. So, he didn't.

I think *that* might be what Cedric and Elena end up talking about.

Like the absolute insanity of what Cedric did for Sofia and why he did it.

The whole first episode is about getting to Avalor because there's a ritual that needs to be done in order to get Elena out of the Amulet. The ritual can't just *be done* by anyone anywhere. There are parameters to this ish.

Like, the *amount* and *specificity* of ritual that it took to get Elena out of the Amulet to retake her throne was both highly specific and intense.

I think they ended up trying ... twice?? ... maybe they got it on the first try? I can't remember.

(We haven't watched that one in a while because it's a little hard for Squish to follow, and they're just starting to hit the "things in TV actually scare me because I understand just enough to make them scary" stage of development. So, Shuriki has real fear factor for them.)

But, regardless, Cedric's like: "Nah. Who needs a ritual? I've got a spell for that. I'm just going to pull her out. Why not? Bonus points, I'll bring Prisma with her. Can't be that hard." (I mean ... it was ... but like ... also ...)

So, to me, I feel like that's the thing they discuss. She's, like, on paper as old as Cedric is, or even as old as his sister.

Elena OUGHT to be an adult.

She should have been allowed to grow up with her "peers," who are now old enough to be her parents. The world must feel so woefully confusing.

Thankfully, she still has some ties to the life *before.* She still has some consistency through her sister and grandparents.

But, is it enough?

Or are those lines still blurry?

And, I think she needs someone who would just *listen.* Someone who wouldn't try to put her in her place. Someone who wouldn't tell her that they need her to figure out this, that, or the other thing. Someone who would ask the question and just give her the space to talk about the blurry lines between the past and the present, and the person she might have been, the person they all could have been if it hadn't taken forty-one years for things to line up.

Cedric is good for that.

She knows this.

As put out as he sometimes pretended to be, he always listened. To his crotchety bird, to the twins, to people complaining about him to his face, to Sofia, Cedric always listened.

So, for once, Elena allows herself to be listened to.

And, Cedric just says simply.

"This confirms that I would do it again. Even if it killed me, I would do it again."

And, Elena realizes that she was right to just tease him because he was never really bad. He had curses enough. He just needed someone to mess with him, to remind him of the pranks he pulled, and to help him recall better days.

And, so, they stand there. Together. Better for it.

The two characters from Elena of Avalor I would have loved post-redemption Cedric to meet are Mateo (both royal sorcerers, both have overbearing mothers, both have young girls as their apprentice) and Elena herself (I would think it's obvious why, heehee)!

[un-till-the-end]

Ivan is not a good friend to Till

I'm just going to preface, we're setting aside Till's own behavior for now and looking at how Ivan treats Till - or specifically mistreats Till, without any other caveats involved.

This is not hate or anti rhetoric. Do not use my posts to engage in discourse. I'm examining a specific facet of their relationship for a specific reason.

Beating up an already bruised Till

The artbook says Ivan has a strong fist from growing up in the slums, but Till just assumes he's a naturally strong fighter. Ivan can easily suppress Till, even when he's smaller than him.

Instead, he's having the time of his life adding to the bruises already on Till. A segyein teacher comments they keep fighting but concludes that's just how kids are. This means Ivan is repeatedly contributing to Till's bruises.

Later, Ivan grows up to be bigger than Till anyways. Ivan tells Till he wants to stop fighting: Till is smaller than him now so it's too much trouble to avoid injuring him worse than usual. Obviously this pisses Till off.

Patronizes him

Till takes offence to Ivan suggesting he can't take him just because he's smaller now.

When Till receives a fixed restraint that restricts him even further, Ivan tugs on the leash and tells him "I told you so."

Insults him

Ivan also calls him a loser when they're young. This is right after Till defined it as someone who is a friendless moron, and it clearly hurts his feelings.

Lets Till take the fall for him

In the Anakt Garden Kit, a segyein writes Till got into a fight with a new kid named Ivan and that fortunately Ivan has generously forgiven him. This implies Ivan didn't take any blame for his participation in it.

Ivan's behavior leads to Till getting blamed for things he didn't even do.

Steals Till's belongings and lies about having found them

In the Patreon, it's written that:

Ivan would steal Till's belongings just to return them later. He would pretend to be the one who found them, and this irritated Till very much.

He steals Till's pencil which Till needs if he wants to draw or compose. Ivan repeatedly steals the recorder Mizi gave him which Till calls his "one and only treasure."

Taking into account Till's guardian, the condition of his clothing, and his excitement at receiving gifts, we can infer he probably isn't given things often and probably doesn't own much to begin with.

Ivan steals his birthday gifts as well.

Disgusts and scares him

I'm told specifically Till finds the notion unsanitary. There's any number of reasons he could feel this way but Ivan doesn't let it go right away.

Till is already upset and on edge, and then Ivan prods at the exact reason he's distressed. It's also inflicting more pain on him, even if only slightly.

"A deep love-hate attachment"

A friend who is kind to you sometimes and mean to you others is not a good friend. That's obvious, isn't it? The acts of gentleness don't cancel out the acts of violence.

But Till doesn't see him as a friend. He sees him like a family member:

Someone you're stuck with no matter what. Someone who picks on you but has your back in thick and thin. Ivan confuses, irritates, and frustrates Till, but he also soothes and cares for him. He's someone who makes his life difficult, but he's also someone Till can fall back on.

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Fuck dude s tier concept from a dream I just had

The rewind stick. Point and rewind anything that just happened. Rant argue scream, undo it. Nobody told you it had limited uses.

Went back so far that you're a kid. Hanging out with someone you have a strained relationship with before it went bad. Everything's great but every now and then you break and scream at them about something they did in the future. They don't understand. You're both 7. Rewind, undo, back to hanging out like normal. But you keep doing it. The more you use this thing the more fucked up the universe gets, this little perfect fantasy world you've created starts to unravel. You've just unleashed the biggest meltdown of all. The stick stops working. They start to re-age before your eyes. You've opened every can of worms, now lie in it.

[twinstxrs]

so much happened in this whole episode but i’m still on fig infiltrating ruben’s dream, making it look like the place where his friend was murdered, and then disguising herself as kipperlilly & repeatedly saying different variants of “somebody needs to take the fall for this, and it’s not going to be me. it’s going to be you.” while adaine as the elven oracle shows up next to her. can you imagine waking up from that, the idea of a horrible truth being pinned on you by your friend to save her own skin while the personification of fate and destiny stands there, almost as a promise that this is GOING to happen to you. we don’t even know if this kid is guilty. my god.

[transmascutena]

i'll also say. as much as it isn't justified, nanami's victimblaming of anthy is literally a coping mechanism. she has to believe it's anthy's fault or she'll have to face the fact that the same thing could very easily happen to her. which is the same reasoning for utena's similar reaction later

[sonofsin]

I'm working on our collective archive blog, specifically getting persephone's posts archived there. her blog is probably the oldest of all our surviving blogs, and these posts... god, it's just gut punch after gut punch. I wish I could have done something, anything to protect her from the abuse she endured.

[freakshowcowboy]

pre-canon shannon and eddie. means so much to me. you dont get it..

[huldrabitch]

Can we talk about playing as Jason in Gotham Knights and getting the ends scene? I would fucking love to talk about that and see more art and writing inspired by Bruce going through the exact same effects of the Lazarus pit as his son, and going from blind aggresion to primal protectiveness for his kid. Literally almost killing the person manipulating him, anything to protect his son, never letting the past repeat.

[waywardsalt]

in post-ph specifically a really old idea ive had is that linebeck is extremely, extremely possessive of his coat, but if in a situation where he fears he might actually die, he gives it to the person he trusts to save him, or he gives it to someone he cares about that seems to be on the brink of death

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's Sunshine Child part 1

No one knew when exactly Danny Fenton had arrived in Gotham. One day, he was just there—a quiet, gangly sixteen-year-old with a ratty backpack, a stitched-up hoodie, and a smile that could melt the icicles off Victor Fries’ heart. The city hadn’t noticed him at first, too preoccupied with surviving itself. But Danny? Danny noticed everything.

And when Gotham finally turned its eyes toward him, it fell in love.

It started with a mugger.

That particular evening, a man with shaky hands and a knife cornered Danny in an alley just off Crime Alley. Standard Gotham fare. But instead of fighting back or running away, Danny had blinked at the mugger, reached into his pocket, and handed over the cash.

"Here. It's not much," he had said, voice warm. "But there's a soup kitchen two blocks from here. Tell Lisa I sent you. She makes killer lentil stew."

The mugger, stunned into silence, had only managed a confused nod before running off.

Three days later, the same man showed up again—cleaned up, holding a broom, working at a local deli. He later admitted to the cops (and a very baffled Red Hood) that “the kid” had told him he could do better. And he believed him.

It didn’t stop there.

A homeless vet who used to sleep under the old train tracks suddenly had a place to stay and a job fixing bikes. When questioned, he simply said, “That kid gave me his sleeping bag and a flier for a mechanic shop hiring. Then he dragged me there himself.”

Danny did that sort of thing all the time.

The Bat-Family was at a loss.

“He’s not a meta,” Tim had insisted after three all-nighters of research and very little caffeine. “Or, well—maybe he is

but that’s not the point. He’s just… a kid.”

“Who’s doing more good than half our rogues’ gallery does damage,” Barbara added.

“He’s too soft for Gotham,” Jason had snapped once, furious after finding Danny curled up on a park bench in December because he’d given away his coat. Again. “This city chews up people like him.”

But oddly enough, Gotham didn't chew him up.

Instead, Gotham protected him.

Word spread fast. You don’t mess with the Sunshine Kid. Thieves wouldn’t rob him. Dealers would steer clear of his usual paths. Kids in gangs would warn others: Don’t touch the kid in the patched-up hoodie. Even the alley cats followed him around like a pack of miniature bodyguards.

One night, Scarecrow tried to gas a block Danny happened to be on.

The gas didn’t work.

Danny had walked right through it, calm and kind, helping others out of the fog with a hand over their mouths and gentle instructions. The toxin, later analysis showed, had no effect on him.

"I don’t scare easy," Danny had told Nightwing afterward with a shrug.

Which made sense, in retrospect—after all, what was fear to a boy who had already died once?

[kermdoeswriting]

Don't Call Me That

Dick isn't entirely sure what it is about their newest teenaged recruit Phantom, but the guy absolutely gives him the creeps.

He knows it isn't the implication of a realm of ghosts being a real thing, no matter how much that implication has rattled his brain. But it is something, something else.

There was just some kind of certain air surrounding Phantom that tended to put Dick on edge whenever they're near each other.

It also doesn't help that the guy has the tendency to do things normal people wouldn't really do. Things like talking to the empty air like he's having a genuine conversation or staring off into one spot of the room like a cat watching a corner of the wall while hunting.

Things like bringing sudden chills to Dicks skin whenever he passes by or the way he seems to constantly breathe out cold air like a dragon for the fun of it.

Dick has caught him doing all of these things multiple times and most times, despite scaring him slightly, they were just harmless things about his newest team-mate.

But right now it wasn't really about that at all. Right now he's more annoyed than afraid of him.

For some reason recently, Phantom has been greeting him by his old hero persona rather than his new one. And its been eating at Dick every single time it happens, being reminded of the time he had first switched costumes and names to distance himself from Batman as a whole.

Except this time the person saying it had never even MET him in his original suit, so having Phantom calling him Robin was aggravating him faster than any of the other more important issues he should be dealing with were.

Dick originally attributed to it possibly being some sort of hero worship that he was going through, an attempt to impress him with his past history as knowledge. God knows, Tim wasn't any better when he had first met the poor kid at his doorway all those years ago.

But then Phantom had revealed that he hadn't even known Gotham was a real city nor did he know who Batman was up until a few months ago. That had set Dicks mental alarm bells off all over again.

It was weird all over and since it was just outright weird, Dick had decided to pull him aside to talk to the younger teen about it.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call me by that name, Phantom" He had started off, watching as Phantom went through confused faces to figure out what this conversation was about. Dick just continued on.

"The name, Robin, is just really special to me and my family. And I stopped going by that name years ago, it would feel wrong to be called that again when I've outgrown it."

Phantom looked less confused now as it seemed to click altogether about what he had been talking about. The teen tilted his head at him, looking over him for a second before doing another one of his cat stares at the dead air behind him.

Dick just sighed for a moment but watched as Phantom came back into focus and genuinely looked somewhat apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Phantom started off sheepishly, eyes looking towards the floor for a second before looking back at his. "I didn't know you both went by that name at some point. I had mostly been greeting the little ghost attached to your side, not you, sir"

Dick froze at the wording, looking at Phantom with wide eyes. Phantom just continued without even looking at him.

"He always seems to be around you a lot and he was excited when he realized I could see him so I started greeting him whenever he was with you. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfy doing so."

Dicks breath hitched a bit before eventually choking out all the questions he had trapped in his throat. The suddenness made Phantoms eyes land back on his face again.

"What... What little boy? Did he say his name? What was he wearing?"

Phantom tilted his head again at Dick, looking more confused at Dicks confusion.

"What do you mean? It's Robin wearing the Robin costume?"

Phantom suddenly looked over to the dead air behind him again for a second, nodding his head and humming a bit before turning his attention back to Dick.

"He told me to say 'Big Bird you're such a dolt' to you. I don't know what that means but-"

Dick couldn't hear anything else Phantom was even saying to him. His breathing stopped and all he could feel was a small chill behind him, seemingly surrounding him in a small way that reminded him of a certain boys hug.

"Jason?"