#dare I say. disabled vibes

[shitpostingkats]

Hey remember how when Soulburner was introduced he tells us that using his skill is actually painful and takes a lot out of him and then as the series goes on we see him run himself ragged using it and Flame growing concerned and his hands shaking but he never collapses. And they never solve it it's just accepted that this action has consequences and Theo has to weigh the risks and deal with the pain and keep going because that's what he does. Soulburner takes hits and gets back up. There are things we can do that are gonna suck but we can choose to do them and and be brave and keep going. That meant a lot to me actually

[writteninerised]

Let me remind you

(middle photo credit: @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

Paring | Eddie Munson x fem!blind reader

Summary | Reader is blind and Eddie is utterly obsessed with you, going out of his way to play you music and read to you. It’s simply a friendship, but he can’t stop himself from crossing the line.

Notes/tags | That’s correct, the reader is blind. I do not mean to write this in any way that would be insensitive; I just loved the idea of seeing Eddie care for someone who has a disability. The way he would be so sweet and go above and beyond. If this fic rubs anyone the wrong way or makes anyone uncomfortable, please let me know, and I’ll remove it. My intentions are pure. It’s a very sweet fic with the vibes of what it feels like to be young and in love. — No smut, but there is making out, and it feels very sensual. Also, cheesy AF.

I do switch back and forth with povs, don’t expect this to go by the writers rules.

— Oh, I listened to Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine while writing this. But what’s new? I always write Eddie fics to that song, even years later.

Word count | 2.1k

Eddie always met you outside. He waits on his porch, finishing his cigarette, and the moment he sees you approaching, he gets up quickly to close the distance, taking your hand to guide you to his place. He loves the excuse to touch you. He’s not greedy either; just your hand in his makes him secretly giddy. He’s focused on it the whole way to his room, even though he’s talking your ear off about a new song he wrote.

Nothing about this is new or different. Eddie inviting you over to play music and talk well into the night has become normal. A friendship that never crosses the line, but Jesus Christ, he thinks of crossing the line all the time. He wonders if your touch would feel different if it was reaching out with love instead of friendship. He doesn’t dare feed into his thoughts of how your kiss would feel and if his name would sound different if you moaned it into his ear.

He admires you as he strums his guitar, only half-focused on the song. By now he’s memorized every curve of your face and has counted every lash on your eyes. It feels wrong to stare, knowing he can’t be caught. Can you feel his gaze?

You’re lying in your usual spot on his bed, surrounded by his scent in the sheets. You try to hide the deep inhales you take as if it were the last time you’d be here. But, it’s not. You’ll be back tomorrow, as you always are.

He plays beautifully, and you try not to smile because he plays softer for you than he does during his shows. Is he nervous to scare you off? He never could.

“I love it,” you say as he finishes the song.

He smiles, and you know because it’s laced with his voice, “You do?”

The sound of his guitar being placed on the wall mount is familiar, followed by the radio on his dresser being turned on. It’s only for background noise. Eddie hates silence, and you can’t help but wonder if he just doesn’t like to sit with his thoughts.

You both lie on his bed in deep conversation with no sense of time. Eddie lazily plays with small strands of your hair with the hand draped behind his head. Does he realize that you notice every time he does it? It makes your stomach flutter.

“Read to me?” you ask as you shift onto your stomach, feet rising up behind you.

Eddie takes a moment to speak, but you hear his breath hitch, and when he does speak, his breath is warm against your face. He shouldn’t be surprised by your question as he reads to you every night, but maybe it’s the way you’re closer to him than before.

Your bodies aren’t touching, but there is a sense of intimacy with the way he’s lying on his back, most likely looking up at you, and the way you’re on your stomach, nearly looming over him.

Unsure if he’s uncomfortable by the way his breathing becomes uneven, you reach over to the nightstand and grab your water, trying to make it seem like you’re giving him a little space. When you return to your position, you’re a few inches away from him.

You realize you were wrong about him feeling uncomfortable because when Eddie grabs The Return of the King off his dresser, he returns to the bed even closer than before.

His arm touches yours as he lies back on the bed, and you can’t take your mind off of it. It gently moves against yours as he turns the page.

“Now, where were we?” he says as the sound of pages turning fills the room. “Aha, here it is.” His smile is audible in his words. “You’ll like this part.”

Eddie begins to read. His voice is like honey, sweet and soothing to your ears. He makes you giggle occasionally with his exaggerated voices for certain characters. His laughter matches your own, and even though he’s read this book a hundred times, it feels like he’s experiencing it for the first time with you.

As he continues, there’s a subtle change in his tone that you can’t quite place until you listen closely to the words. Two characters in the book kiss, and the way Eddie reads the description makes your stomach flutter more than the romance he’s narrating. You feel your cheeks heat up and lower your head to your arms to hide it.

Eddie chuckles softly, saying your name, “Are you blushing?”

“No!”

You bury your face deeper into your arms, breathing in his scent from the sheets. You would give anything to sink into the mattress, completely enveloped by his smell.

He calls your name again, clearly amused by your reaction. His fingers find your sides and he starts tickling you, forcing you out of hiding. You burst into laughter, trying to grab his hands to push him away, but your laughter only encourages him.

“Look at you. You’re so red you might pop,” he teases, continuing to tickle you.

“Stop,” you manage to say between fits of laughter.

You struggle to fight back, and Eddie laughs at your attempts. Your stomach begins to hurt from the laughter, your breathing becomes ragged, and your hair covers your face from the tussle.

Both of you finally give up, gasping for air. Eddie plops down beside you, the weight of his body next to yours so familiar that you long for it when you’re alone in your own bed.

“I’ve never seen you blush that hard before,” he says, amused.

You can feel his stare, which only makes you blush more. “Can you stop?” you groan, playfully shoving his arm.

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me. I can feel it.”

He scoffs, “I’m not staring at you.”

You sit up and demand his bandana. He protests in confusion, but once he understands, he relents. Sitting up directly in front of you, you lift your chin with a sense of victory.

“Because I don’t believe you, this is what I must do.”

Eddie lets out a sigh, pretending to be exasperated though he’s smiling like a fool. “If this pleases you.”

You ignore the flutter in your stomach at his words. Reaching out, your fingertips touch the corner of his mouth, feeling it curve up against your touch. His face is smooth, and you take advantage of the moment to trace your fingers across it, finding their way to his hair. He remains silent, but his breathing is slightly heavier—something only you would notice.

His hair is soft, and you resist the urge to twirl his curls around your finger. Instead, you wrap the bandana around his eyes and tie it tightly behind his head.

“Oh,” he says with surprise, followed by a chuckle. “A little tight, huh?”

“Can’t have you peeking.”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.

Your hands drop into your lap as you smile. “Mm, I’m still deciding.”

But that was a lie. You trusted him more than you cared to admit. There were many people you trusted to be alone with, but as you’ve spent time with him, he’s proven that you’re safe with him. The best feeling is being completely vulnerable and knowing without a doubt that the person you count on with your vulnerability handles it with care.

“So, this is what it’s like for you?” he asks softly.

“Something like that.”

The room is silent, the radio off since before he started reading the book you’ve both abandoned. The only sounds are his breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioning. But you notice the parting of his lips and the sudden, yet soft, intake of breath as if he were going to say something but decided not to.

“What is it?” you ask.

He clears his throat as if caught and takes a breath. “Can you…touch me?” You’re nearly taken back by that until he speaks up in a rushed sentence. “Uh, sorry, I —uh, I mean, my arm or face. Show me how it feels for you.”

Your heart warms at his request. And you gladly give him what he wants. Your fingers meet his face again and you admire all the softness. You trace the lines and curves, imagining if he’s as beautiful as he feels. Eddie sits there still for a while, softly breathing.

Then his hands grasp your wrists and lower them to your lap. “My turn,” he says as his fingers begin to move up your arms. Goosebumps break out over your skin, and you try your best to control your breathing, knowing he can hear if it catches in your throat.

His calloused fingers brush against your soft skin, but you don’t mind. One hand drops from your arm and takes hold of one of your hands. You fight back a smile, knowing his fingers tracing your features are close enough to feel your reaction. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. It feels incredibly intimate, just the sound of his breathing matching yours as time seems to slow.

He breaks the silence. “You’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks out on your face. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t need to. I know exactly what you look like.” His tone is serious yet soft, almost as if he’s in deep thought.

He lets go of your hand and cups your other cheek. Your face fits perfectly between his warm hands.

“Eddie…” you say, wanting to ask what he’s doing, what he’s thinking. But your words fall short as you feel his thumb brush over your bottom lip.

“Tell me you feel this.”

He doesn’t mean his gentle touch on your lips, and you know that. The electrical current between you two could light up Hawkins. He grabs one of your hands and brings it to his chest. Your breath catches at the feeling of his heart thumping wildly against your palm. It’s so strong that you think it might burst out of his chest and right into your hands.

“Yes,” you answer him.

“Tell me I can kiss you.”

Your stomach flutters so fast that you feel like you could float away. “Yes.”

There is a moment of stillness in the room, time frozen. The sound of you both breathing dulls out and you lose feeling in your cheeks at his touch as you await his lips on yours.

He’s so gentle and slow. His lips meet yours and you welcome it, nearly melting into him. The kisses are soft and lazy, as if you both are drunk off each other. Your hands are in his hair and he moans at the feeling. Heat forms in your lower belly and you can’t help yourself when you crawl into his lap.

“Yes,” he breathes as he welcomes you into his embrace. His arms wrapping tightly around your back, rubbing his hands up and down your back while still kissing you.

His tongue brushes your lower lip and you open your mouth to taste him. He’s perfect. He’s all you feel and taste, nearly drowning in him. His bandana is still tightly secured around his eyes and you wonder if he’s consumed by you as well.

Eddie starts kissing your neck and your head drops to the side in pleasure. His hand wraps around your head, keeping you in place as he begins to suck softly in the right spot. You moan and you feel his smile against your skin.

“There it is,” he mumbles, before finding your lips again. “Everything about you is so fucking perfect.”

“Stop.” You mutter against his kiss, fighting back a smile. Your cheeks turn hot and you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten around you and you sink further into his arms. You both stay like that for a few minutes, resting in each other's arms. You feel him inhale you deeply before he starts stroking your hair.

“You may not realize how beautiful you are,” he says as he begins to play with your hair. “But, I don’t mind reminding you every day.”

“Would you?” You whisper.

“I’ll take your hand, tell you in great detail about the world around us while reminding you how it doesn’t even compare to you.” He kisses your shoulder. “Not even close.”

The smile that spreads across your face is almost painful. “You have such a way with words.”

He takes your face in his hands, “I do write songs, sweetheart.”

With that, he kisses you with such passion that you fall back onto the mattress, giggles spilling from your lips as Eddie turns your darkness into light.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: VII

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Happy birthday, Yoongi! I hope you are happy <3

GIF by uriamygdala

Masterlist,Latibule 2.VI

“This is…” Kim Taehyung started as he looked at the toddler that was bravely meeting his emotionless eyes.

“Problematic?” Jungkook supplied when he noticed that his hyung was grappling for word to describe the child that was now bouncing on Jimin’s lap.

Jimin gasped and covered the said child’s ears. He shook his head at him with a pout. “Don’t listen to your ugly uncles. You’re so precious! Look at your little hands and feet! So cute!”

Taehyung scoffed before returning his bored eyes on his phone. “I was gonna say interesting, but sure, that works, too.”

Kim Namjoon, who all called for an emergency meeting without Yoongi, massaged his temples. He couldn’t fathom how nonchalant the maknae line was about all of this. For fuck’s sake, they were all under the impression that Jung Hoseok perished in that fire! They had mourned him, gone through all the grief, the questions, the pain of losing someone they thought was gone forever. Yet here he was, standing in front of them like nothing had ever happened, as if that fire hadn’t nearly killed him — or worse, hadn't been part of a plot to end one of their own.

Yet when they walked in the room, they greeted Hoseok like he was merely away for a trip, completely unbothered by the fact that he had once tried to kill one of their own. Well, all except Jungkook, who had hopped over to Hoseok like a happy bunny and pulled him into a quick hug before declaring he was hungry.

Hoseok was whistling when he returned to the room, holding a bottle of milk that he had heated for Yoongi’s son. He looked so annoyingly calm, so normal, that even the calm façade that Namjoon was putting could not hold up any longer.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Because just as he was about to open his mouth, the door swung open with a soft creak.

The atmosphere shifted in an instant.

The moment Kim Seokjin stepped into the room, the air seemed to freeze. Silence descended like a heavy fog, and the once lively chatter of the maknae line came to a sudden halt. Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin, who had been acting so carefree, now sat up straighter, their faces momentarily void of expression. Even Hoseok, who had been so at ease moments before, paused, his eyes flicking toward the door.

Kim Seokjin entered with his trademark aura of danger. He didn’t say a word, but his mere presence was enough to command attention. Dressed in head-to-toe black, his face was as unreadable as a stone mask, as if his emotions had been sealed behind it for years. The sharp angles of his jawline, the coldness in his eyes, and the sheer stillness with which he moved only added to the mafia prince vibe that seemed to pour off him in waves.

Namjoon’s breath caught in his chest. The maknae line might have been able to brush off Hoseok’s return with a shrug, but Seokjin was a different story. Namjoon did have a suspicion that Seokjin knew something he had been hiding. The tension in the room doubled. There was a weight to the silence now, a suffocating thickness that no one dared break. It certainly did not help that he was carrying a gun in his right hand.

Hoseok, ever the calm one, moved slowly in front of the child, shielding him with his body. The toddler, blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding him, stared up at Seokjin with wide, innocent eyes. Jimin instinctively tightened his hold on the baby, though he, too, could feel the shift in the air. His expression faltered, a flicker of fear crossing his face for the briefest of moments before he masked it with forced calm.

"Hyung," Hoseok said, his voice steady, but there was a steel edge to it that betrayed his focus. His eyes never left Seokjin as he continued to shield the child.

Steadily, Seokjin pointed the gun at him and without any preamble, he pulled the trigger.

Jimin jerked back instinctively, his arms tightening around the child as if to protect him from the impact that never came. Taehyung and Jungkook both lunged forward, their eyes wide in a shared moment of panic. Taehyung’s hand shot out to shove Jimin further away, while Jungkook’s hand reached for the gun, but stopped just short. They couldn’t process it. The shot had been so fast, so sudden.

And then it hit them — Hoseok was still standing.

There was a pause, a beat too long, before the confusion started to lift. Hoseok, still calm, didn’t move. He wasn’t even wounded.

Seokjin chuckled darkly, his voice low and amused. “It’s not your day to die, I guess.”

He lifted his right hand and displayed the bullet, holding it between his fingers like a trophy. It was still intact, unspent. Namjoon’s blood ran cold as he realized what had just happened

Russian roulette.

The gun had been loaded with one live round, but it had chosen to be a dud this time.

“Lucky,” he murmured as he tucked the gun back into his waistband with a casual motion, as if the threat had been nothing more than a fleeting thought. "We’ll see how long your luck holds," he said, his voice cold and final.

The air was thick, saturated with the remnants of tension, but then — as if nothing had happened at all — Seokjin straightened, his face suddenly shifting back into something more neutral, almost... cheerful.

“Anyway,” Seokjin said, clapping his hands together with an exaggerated cheer, the shift in his demeanor as abrupt as the tension had been moments before. “I brought dinner!”

Jungkook, who had been frozen for a heartbeat too long, blinked, his face lighting up as if he hadn’t just witnessed the life-and-death moment play out before him. “Yey!” he exclaimed, bouncing on his heels. “Food! Finally!”

The tension from earlier still lingered in the room, but for the moment, it was buried beneath the surface. They were all gathered around the table now, the same group of men who had just been at the brink of chaos, but now, a strange kind of calm had settled over them. Even Seokjin, who had moments ago held their lives in his hands with the coldness of a seasoned killer, seemed... human. The mafia prince had brought a highchair for Yoongi’s son, placing it carefully beside him at the table. Along with the chair, he had brought a selection of colorful toys, almost as if to soften the edge of his own dangerous persona. Of course, in only a way that Seokjin knew how, he also brought with him several luxurious clothes for the baby. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had so casually played Russian roulette with Hoseok’s life just minutes before.

“How was the vigilante life, Hoseok?” he asked, his tone light but laced with something deeper — curiosity, maybe, or amusement.

Hoseok chuckled, a sound that seemed at odds with the darkness of his past. His eyes twinkled slightly, though there was a touch of sadness buried in them, a residue from everything he had been through. “It was… interesting, hyung,” he answered, taking a slow breath before continuing. He didn’t shy away from the complexity of the question. It was difficult, of course. He did not have the usual advantages seeing as he had to leave his belongings behind. After all, how could he bring something with him when he was truly ready to die that night? However, he did gain something meaningful. He glanced at the baby, who was now happily gnawing on a colorful plastic ring, oblivious to the world around him. Hoseok’s lips curled into a soft smile as his eyes lingered on the child.

Seokjin’s gaze softened, his expression almost imperceptibly shifting as he followed Hoseok’s line of sight. For a brief moment, there was no air of threat about him, no hard edge to his demeanor. Just a quiet understanding. The silence stretched for a beat before Seokjin nodded slightly, as if acknowledging something unspoken.

It was clear enough — since Yoongi’s son had come into Hoseok’s life, the darkness that had once swirled so heavily in his eyes since the only woman he loved died had lessened, the demons no longer clawing at him with the same intensity. It wasn’t a perfect peace, but it was something. And for Hoseok, it was enough.

Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his posture casual, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his focus. He was quiet for a moment, swirling the drink in his hand as he observed Hoseok. There was a reason why the man, who had been living in the shadows for so long, was suddenly back in their midst — Seokjin wasn’t one to miss the details. He exhaled slowly, his voice carrying a certain nonchalance as he spoke, but there was an underlying edge to it.

“There’s a reason why you’re suddenly back,” Seokjin remarked, eyeing Hoseok with calculated calm. “I mean, you definitely could have stayed under the radar. You did so successfully. So, what is it?”

Hoseok’s expression shifted instantly, the casual demeanor he had earlier slipping away as he turned serious. His lips thinned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke, his voice steady but filled with urgency. “I need your help. Someone’s been following us, and I know it’s not Yoongi’s men. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. Just last night, someone broke into my safehouse with a gun.” He paused, eyes meeting Seokjin’s as if weighing the gravity of his words. “We all know he wasn’t there for a meet and greet.”

Seokjin looked thoughtful for a moment, the gears in his brain turning as he turned to Namjoon. “One of our enemies.”

Namjoon nodded in affirmation, his jaw clenched, the weight of the situation clear in his stance. His voice was low, serious. “One that is powerful enough to know you’re still alive and who has the resources to trace your location.”

The air in the room thickened, the tension rising once more as the implications set in. Seokjin’s expression didn’t shift, but there was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet readiness that signaled he was fully engaged in the conversation.

But Hoseok wasn’t done yet.

“It wasn’t only me that person is after,” Hoseok continued, his voice hardening further. “It seems like he was also after Yoongi’s son.”

Seokjin’s face darkened, his eyes flicking momentarily to the baby before returning to Hoseok. His voice was low, measured. “Whoever this is, they’re not playing games.” He shifted in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, his mind already calculating their next steps.

“That’s why I’m here.” Hoseok’s gaze was intense, his seriousness unwavering. “I need to know who’s after us and what they want. I can’t risk it anymore. Not when they’re going after him.” He nodded toward the child, his eyes softening just for a moment before hardening again

Jungkook, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward, his eyes flashing with a steely determination. “Give me details, hyung. I’ll look into it.” His voice was sharper than usual, the intensity behind it undeniable. “You know I won’t let anyone hurt our family.”

There was a quiet confidence in his words. Jungkook was the tech genius, the one who could track down anything, anyone, with the right tools. He didn’t need much more than a name and a hint of a trail to start pulling at the strands that would eventually unravel their enemy.

Hoseok gave a sharp nod, appreciative but still focused. “I’ll send you everything I have — anything that can help. But I need to move fast. This is bigger than me, and I won’t let it touch Yoongi’s son.”

It was late when the men called it a night, their plans were solidifying. This was not the first time someone was stupid enough to make an enemy out of the Bangtan, but it sure was the first time that they involved a child.

What a fucking mistake.

Hoseok stood from his chair, moving toward the door where Seokjin was about to step out. His expression was somber, but there was something in his eyes — a weight that had been there for a while but was more apparent now than ever before.

“Hyung,” he called, his voice quieter than usual. Seokjin paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

Hoseok’s eyes softened, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Thank you.”

Seokjin, still leaning against the doorframe, gave a small chuckle, his posture relaxed as he regarded his younger brother. "For not killing you?" he teased, an easy smirk tugging at his lips.

Hoseok laughed lightly, though there was no real humor in it. It was the kind of laugh that came when one was trying to find some levity in a dark situation. “That, and for helping us.”

Seokjin’s smirk faded into something more sincere, and he stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. His voice was soft but firm, carrying the weight of unspoken loyalty. “We’re family. That’s what we do. What we don’t do is betray each other.”

He placed a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder, the gesture light, but the meaning behind it heavy. “Don’t worry. No one will dare hurt either of you in this safe house. You’re safe here. Well…until Yoongi learns that he has a son. Even I cannot guarantee your safety, then,” he teased before smiling at Namjoon who had been oddly quiet now. “Joonie will tell Yoongi, won’t you?”

Namjoon looked at Hoseok before slowly meeting his hyung’s eyes. He knew. It was foolish to think otherwise.

Of course, he knew. He had an inkling that he knew for a while. Namjoon was not sure when Seokjin figured it all out. But he was aware of Namjoon’s involvement in hiding Hoseok and Yoongi’s angel, except that he didn’t know she was pregnant that time. Nothing could move past his hyung’s attention. It was idiotic of him to assume that he or anyone of them for that matter could move without Seokjin knowing. The man had eyes everywhere, ears in every corner of the city, and a mind that could anticipate everything.

He was not the mafia prince for nothing.

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed, and the playful smile he had been wearing faded. "That’s enough of your twisted justice, Namjoon," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Don’t you think Yoongi paid his dues?" His voice took on a sharper tone, more biting. "The two of you think Yoongi killed Hoseok’s girl, and you thought it was only right and just for Hoseok to also take away Yoongi’s angel. You’re both idiots."

 “Hyung…you knew? Why didn’t you tell Yoongi?”

Seokjin shrugged, “For the plot,” he replied casually, as if his reasoning were something trivial.

“Wha-“

"Tell him," Seokjin demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. There was no softness in his voice anymore, only the raw, unwavering certainty of a leader who had seen too much to tolerate any more lies.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but for the first time since that fire, you slept without experiencing any crippling nightmare. You felt rested. It was like your body knew it was safe. For the first time, you woke up without feeling that heavy brick pressing down on your heart, restricting your very breath.

Yesterday’s confrontation had done you good– regardless of whether you accepted it or not.

You weren’t even fully awake yet when you felt an arm tightened around your waist. Yoongi’s face burrowed on your neck, inhaling your scent as he completely plastered his front on your back.

Warmth. You realized that what you were feeling was warmth. His scent was all too familiar. It was like coming home to a place you never thought you could ever return to. Slowly, ever so slowly, you touched his large hand that was resting on your stomach. It was the first time you ever willingly touched him since he returned in your life. He did bare himself to you last night, and you were only too cowardly to do this when he was awake. You noticed new callouses and scars on his hand. The callouses were rougher than you remembered, and there were scars now, marks of pain he’d suffered, perhaps even inflicted, in the time he’d been away. He got hurt, something deep enough that it left marks. Gently, you brushed your thumb across them, your breath catching in your throat.

“What happened, Suga?” you whispered softly, careful not to wake the slumbering man up. You wondered if he still suffered from insomnia like he did before, when every hour of the night seemed to stretch endlessly, leaving him lost in a cycle of waking nightmares of his own.

“I made the men that had anything to do with your accident bleed, angel,” he whispered hoarsely. He was awake. “I made sure to triple the pain they gave you.”

You froze, your thumb pausing in its movement across his hand. The weight of his words settled over you, but it wasn’t anger you felt. It was something else. Something softer. A strange sort of relief. Your chest tightened, the guilt creeping in slowly like a poison, too slow to stop. You had hurt him. You had taken so much from him over the years. The lies you had believed, the things you had said.

“You got hurt… because of me,” you muttered, the words barely leaving your lips. You couldn’t even face him, couldn’t bring yourself to look at him because it hit you all at once—the gravity of what you had done. You had taken from him. You had taken his trust, his peace, his family. For heaven’s sake, you had taken his son away from him. His chance at a future that was never meant to be stolen.

You felt his lips press gently against your shoulder, soft as a prayer. His voice was quiet, but there was a tenderness to it that you could feel seeping into your skin, warming you from the inside out.

“I don’t mind bleeding for you, my angel,” Yoongi murmured, his words settling into the deepest part of your heart. They held no bitterness, no resentment, just raw devotion.

You couldn’t help but think about what transpired with the years that set you apart. Your mind went to the horrible things that happened for him to end up so wounded and so calloused. He had been alone for all those years. Maybe there was some truth to what he was saying. Maybe… he suffered just as much as you did. Your lips tremble and before you knew it, he was facing you, taking your tears in, taking the way you weren’t leaning away from his touch.

“Shh,” he consoled as he wiped away your tears. He would willingly leave the past behind because you were here now, and you were never going to leave him again. His arm was supporting his weight as he gazed down at the only person he would ever love in this life and after. “It’s all in the past now, angel. We will do better, okay?”

You nodded, feeling the weight lift from your chest just a little. He was right. The past couldn’t be changed, but you had the chance to do things differently now. To make it right.

Without another word, Yoongi leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. His lips lingered, and you could feel the heat of them seeping into your skin, a promise of the future you could still build together. He kissed the tip of your nose, then trailed down your cheek, slowly, deliberately. Every kiss was an unspoken declaration of love, of regret, of forgiveness. “I love you.”

His lips found yours then, soft but insistent, as though he was telling you everything he had never said. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you close as he deepened the kiss. And when he pulled back just enough to whisper against your skin, his voice was gentle, but his words were firm.

“Say you love me,” Yoongi ordered, his breath warm on your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. His arms were around you, pulling you in, as though there was no place in the world for you to be but with him.

The command, simple and sweet, sent a wave of warmth through you. But for a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to put all the emotions into one sentence. You wanted to say it—needed to—but your heart was still catching up with the flood of everything you’d just realized.

Yoongi, ever patient, waited. But when you took just a little too long, a mischievous spark lit in his eyes, and he bit down on your neck, just lightly enough to make you gasp, the sensation sending a shiver through you. “I love you, Min Yoongi. I never stopped,” you confessed.

Yoongi’s face softened, his expression brighter than you’d ever seen it before. It was as though all the pain and suffering he had endured in this life meant nothing anymore. The world had been cruel to him, but in this moment, with you in his arms, everything was finally okay. He would gladly go through all those hells if it meant being with you like this.

And maybe, this was the right time to come clean and admit that the two of you had a son.

“Yoongi, I…I have to tell you something.”

“What is it, angel?”

“We have a –”

But before you could even begin to confess, something shifted. There was a sudden sound—an all-too-familiar voice coming from the other side of the apartment.

“Hyung! Where are you?” Jeon Jungkook’s sing-song voice echoed through the penthouse, breaking the intimate silence between you and Yoongi.

Yoongi’s face twisted in irritation. He groaned in frustration, his shoulders tensing as though he were ready to throw something at the door. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months.”

But then the sound of Jimin’s voice followed, much too cheerful for Yoongi’s liking. “We brought you and noona food!”

“And we brought you someone you’d like to see!” Taehyung added, his voice laced with playful mischief.

“I highly doubt that,” Yoongi grumbled, resting his face against your neck in an exaggerated pout. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness, at how he still refused to let go of the moment you were sharing. But then, with a light laugh, you kissed his temple, trying to calm his growing frustration.

“Come out, hyung!” Namjoon’s voice joined in.

“I also have my ever-trusty medical bag just in case!” Kim Seokjin added.

“What do you mean just in case?” Yoongi muttered, but you could feel him finally relenting. His arms loosened around you, but he didn’t let go completely. He still kept you close, as if the outside world couldn’t reach you while he held you there.

With a sigh, Yoongi finally pulled away, but his eyes never left yours. “I swear, if they ruin this moment…” His words trailed off as the two of you walked out of the bedroom with him guiding you ever so gently.

As you stepped into the living room, although you couldn’t see much, you could feel the wide, shit-eating grins from the guys. They were all looking at you both, clearly enjoying the playful tension in the air. Yoongi, however, didn’t seem to be paying them any mind at all. He kept you tucked into his side, his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the group.

And then, his eyes caught something, or rather, someone—someone he hadn’t expected to see.

There, in the corner, stood Jung Hoseok, holding a baby strapped to his chest. The baby was giggling, reaching out with tiny arms toward you, and your heart skipped a beat when you heard his giggles. You knew you ran out of time.

“Long time no see, hyung,” Jung Hoseok greeted him.

Yoongi froze for a second, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. And then they turned murderous as he pushed you behind him, standing in front of you as though protecting you from the person who took you away from Yoongi. The veins in his arms protruded as calmly walked to the table and pulled the gun strapped under the table.

You wanted nothing more than to run to your baby, to cradle him in your arms. It had been too long since he was separated from you. You longed to bury your face in his soft hair, to inhale the sweet scent of his innocence but you knew how one wrong move could escalate this situation. You were in the presence of the most dangerous men in the country. You had to thread this situation carefully.

Seokjin, who had been lounging comfortably on the couch as if the world around him wasn’t about to implode, didn’t seem phased at all by the tension crackling in the air. He was flipping through the movie options with an air of complete nonchalance, one leg lazily draped over the other. But then, he glanced up at Yoongi, a knowing look passing between them. His voice was completely unbothered when he spoke, as though this whole situation were nothing more than an ordinary day.

“Before you kill him, you should know that that’s your baby,” Seokjin said, the words rolling off his tongue like he was discussing the weather. “And you see that Gucci onesies? I bought it.”

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat. He froze, his eyes narrowing as his mind scrambled to process the words. “What do you mean, my baby?” His voice was hoarse, a dangerous edge to it as if his brain hadn’t quite caught up with the weight of the revelation.

And just as the words left his mouth, a soft giggle echoed through the room, like a sweet, innocent chime. The baby’s arms shot up toward you in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that it made Yoongi’s heart clench in his chest. The little voice called out to you, a word that sent a shockwave through his entire being.

“Eomma!”

The sound of it hit Yoongi like a thunderclap. His breath caught in his throat as everything seemed to fall into place all at once. His eyes widened, disbelief warring with something more primal.

He had a son.

You and he had a son.

You made all his dreams come true.

You gave him a family.

Family.

It was everything he had wanted, everything he had longed for, and it had been torn away from him. He’d wanted to build something real with you, but it had been ripped from him before he could even hold it. You and his son were ripped cruelly away from his grasp. Hoseok had stolen his latibule, his sanctuary, out of spite and revenge for things he didn’t even understand.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, the familiar ache of anger twisting in his chest. His eyes never left Hoseok, the man who had caused him so much pain, even though the rest of the room felt like it was spinning out of control. His gaze was sharp, calculating.

“Y-Yoongi, listen. I I- was about to tell you. Believe me. I j-just wasn’t sure what the truth was. But n-now, I know. You have to believe me,” you begged as you forced him to face you. “I..I’m sorry, Suga.”

A moment was too long, and you could only feel the rapid and hard beating of your heart. His rigid back remained on you until slowly, too slowly, he turned to Namjoon. “Namjoon,” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things. He called out, his tone emotionless, as if he were giving an order rather than asking for clarification. “The license I asked of you?”

Namjoon, who had been watching the unfolding scene with a tired but resigned look, sighed deeply. He walked over to Yoongi, an envelope in his hand, the kind of folder that held paperwork that would change everything.

“Just needs your and her signatures,” Namjoon said quietly, his eyes flicking between Yoongi and you, sensing the turmoil in the room as he placed the envelope on the table.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He opened the folder and saw the papers inside. His eyes skimmed through the papers.  His signature was swift, precise, the ink dark and final on the page. His movements were calculated, his expression stoic, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto yours with an intensity that left no room for ambiguity.

“You want my forgiveness?" Yoongi's voice was low, cutting through the air with a sharpness that made your chest tighten. His gaze never wavered from you, and the weight of his words felt like a weight pressing on your ribs. "Sign this.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, your hands trembling as the truth of what he was asking sank in. "W-what’s that?" you stammered, your voice betraying the fear you felt, the confusion swirling inside you.

“Marriage license, dear,” Namjoon answered, his voice as tired as his expression. He was no stranger to Yoongi’s intensity, but this? This felt different. The stakes felt higher than they had ever been. “If you sign this, we can start over again with our son. We will be complete. And the two of you will be completely, irrevocably mine. You can do that for me, right?”

Yoongi’s hand was already reaching for you, holding out a pen—just a simple pen—but to you, it felt like a lifeline and a leash all at once. His eyes were filled with something fierce, something that made your pulse race, but beneath that fierce exterior, you could see something else: vulnerability.

The hand that offered you the pen was steady, “Sign this, angel.”

Your heart was pounding. The room seemed to shrink, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty, but deep down, something else was stirring. Love. It was still there. It had never really left. Despite everything, you still felt it for him.

You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling as they reached for the pen. For a moment, you hesitated, your mind filled with doubts, but then you looked at Yoongi—really looked at him with what was left of your eyesight—and you knew this was the only way forward.

Despite that, with the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for your next move, you couldn’t help but falter. To Hoseok, though, that was enough. “You don’t have to do this, Y/N. You can still walk away-” Hoseok’s voice broke through.

Yoongi scoffed as he stepped near you as though the miniscule distance he afforded you was simply still too much. “I lived in hell for you, Angel,” Yoongi interrupted, his voice low but steady, his gaze never leaving yours. “I endured hell because of what he did. Don’t I deserve a happy ending now? After everything I’ve been through—wasn’t that enough for you? Do I have to suffer more?

Do we need to suffer more, my Angel?”

He was right, you surmised. You wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted your son to have the family you both had always dreamed of. Maybe, you really were selfish to have stolen what could have been with him. You knew how shaded his past was. You knew that the world owed him softness and happiness, that if he was sharp, it was only because he had to be in order to survive.

But when he was with you, those edges softened. With you, he could breathe easier. With you, he believed—for a moment—that he didn’t have to be on guard, didn’t have to protect himself from the world. You were his haven, and yet, there was a part of him that feared he couldn’t hold you forever. This was his way of knowing you couldn’t simply walk away from him, a legal binding document that declared it unlawful for you to love someone other than him.

“Please,” he begged for the first time in his life.

With a hand that trembled just slightly, you took the pen from Yoongi’s outstretched hand. Your fingers brushed his, and for the briefest moment, you felt the weight of everything settle in. Your hand moved without hesitation now as he guided your hand to where you would sign. The ink met the paper.

And with that, you made the choice that would change everything.

Latibule 2.VIII

[userirvingb]

i'm pitching kaos exclusively to ofmd fans bc i think it's a show that is right up our alley, plus it's on netflix which is the service that djenks is currently trying to get the attention of, so why don't we show them what we're capable of in terms of audience numbers? 😏

for starters, kaos does what tumblr loves, which is take existing ips and give them a modern twist. we got to see that firsthand with bbc sherlock and elementary (and to a lesser extent, house md), and even though ofmd is kept in its historical setting of the 1700's, it's anachronistic af what with all the modern lingo and therapy speak

kaos is extremely queer, obviously a show that is based off of greek mythology not being queer would be weird, but it's not just that there are an abundance of queer characters, you can tell the show itself has queer writers (the showrunner is nonbinary) and queer people working behind the scenes. the queer characters all have a story beyond their identity, there's no unnecessary commentary on their queerness or any fixed labels, queer people just exist and are very much characters instead of caricatures. there's a wide array of queerness across the board-- the fates are portrayed by trans/nonbinary actors, the furies are motorcycle riding butch lesbians, and caeneus is portrayed by a trans man (his story is interwoven with his identity)

more than half of the cast are poc-- poseidon is portrayed by a māori actor, eurydice and persephone are black women, and honestly there's so many characters of color it'd be hard to include them all in this post without like, spoiling the whole season lol

there's disability rep in this show as well, with several supporting characters that don't hide their disability onscreen and play crucial roles to the plot

most importantly, it's a show that delves into deep topics while still remaining a comedy, it's not afraid to be a bit camp at times and it doesn't take itself too seriously. i know a lot of ofmd fans have no interest in shows like iwtv bc although it's very queer and has it's comedic moments, it's not remotely in the same genre nor has the same vibe as ofmd, plus "queer media" isn't one single genre to begin with. so i genuinely do think kaos is a show ofmd fans would appreciate, and idk, maybe it could fill a little bit of the hole ofmd left and tide us over until we receive news about netflix picking ofmd up or... dare i say, grant us a third season?

[danothan]

ik u already answered an ask abt absolute flash but when u read i am so curious as to ur thoughts abt what they did with barry....

personally, im in a mixed mind over it but i think im tilting towards heavily intrigued with the direction they are going

how dare you guys make me read more than i ever intend. first knight terrors, then last year’s flash run, now this. it’s like you’re trying to make me reach some annual quota 😒…

well it’s working, so i might as well do a full first impression (spoilers under cut)

nd/disability-coding + control issues, a speedster classic that i can’t get enough of 😚👌 also, iris is dead in this? :(

aww he wants to impress him. already loving the direction and body language of this art style

damn they rly just killed off every woman in this story before it even began huh. gotta find smth to bond over now that their connection thru iris is off the table

i love that he says this like it’s smth we can just skip past. is this going to be a whole commentary on superpowers = weapons? a contrast to how wally never wanted powers vs barry actively trying to achieve them?

reeeally enjoying the family mess in this so far. typical barry, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. also interesting to see how quickly wally latched onto him, but ig your standard of boring has a higher margin when you’re living like this

barry going from being wally’s one guiding support to the incidental but inseparable cause of his anguish 🙂‍↕️ i don’t believe he’s Dead, but i’m hoping he haunts wally still

from this first issue, i’m not rly bothered w barry’s role in the story. i love his relationship w wally already, and it’s too early to have any strong feelings abt his involvement in the military. weird in general, but as an elseworld, it’s an interesting way to have barry directly in wally’s life. idm barry being a little fucked up, as a treat

characterization-wise, we’re getting a well-meaning but careless/impulsive vibe from barry in the way he’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission when he sneaks wally into classified information and how he seems motivated by potential over risk. he exudes “casual but nervous,” which is how i like him lol. not a lot i can say abt wally since i don’t have much reference, but i rly rly love his internal voice and how animated his movements are. i kinda want him to have intrusive thoughts. he’s already got the obsessive overthinking down, what if it was worse

[sonoranbumblebee]

Ted Fak's "pimp" fixation and the next Berzatto family brawl

Ted: "I feel like Bear is starting to respect me as a man..." Neil: "No. If he respected you, he would let me know that information. He would tell me, because I'm his best friend."

Hmmm...I don't think they're not not setting it up for Carmy to fire Neil and flip a table going for Ted for being inappropriate in re Sydney and/or him.

If the Faks catch Carmy in the wrong mood at the wrong dysfunctional family function and they say the wrong thing about Sydney and then double down? Hmmm...

Carmy's already going to be one big open wound of insecurity if he ever officially gets with Syd and dares to take out to an event full of his terrible relatives. They have been very clear that the Faks are impolitic, impolite, and often just gross and rude. The vibe is not cool.

Ted, for instance, outed Sugar and Francine's past hookup to Pete without the slightest compunction. He was downright gleeful in sharing the gossip. Pete is Pete tho, and handled it with grace, not least because Natalie is locked down, they have a kid together, and also Pete is Pete.

Without getting too pointed, there are a ton of delicate social issues that are entangled in what I believe will be Sydney and Carmy's young romantic/sexual relationship. Carmy is, I think, fairly acutely aware of many/most/all them and intense and sensitive about it all. The Faks are not aware and could not be made aware. They mean well, like Pete bringing an 8th fish to seven fishes, but they're stepping onto a third rail they don't even know is there.

You can't try to hit Neil because he's written as a developmentally disabled man or a dog-turned-human or most often as a child, and Carmy's got enough misconduct charges on his head already without adding child abuse.

But if Ted's mature enough to be in Kelly and Claire's apartment in the middle of the night, and if he's stupid enough to antagonize Carmy about his family, well...

My guess is that Stevie may be present and may try to intervene but since he isn't Richie or Sydney he maybe can't get through to Carmy, and god knows the Faks are thick as bricks.

I assume the sequence of events is that Neil says something inadvertently insulting about Carmy and Sydney's relationship, Ted piles on with the characterization of Carmy as a pimp (which has been being ongoing since at least 2x10). Ted can call Claire "pimp's lady" in front of Carmy and Carm doesn't even register it. Do the same re Sydney and...no.

Carmy starts visibly losing his shit, which Stevie can see but the Faks simply do not recognize or understand, eventually Carmy fires Neil from the Bear as the "this is me remaining calm" option, but then Ted gets heated defending his brother and doubles down in some horrific way—at which point then all hell breaks lose.

This then becomes a Richie problem for the rest of the season, with his loyalty to Syd-Carmy paramount but his affection for the Faks also a factor.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta entitlement-level="unmedicated"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="KAREN_SURVEILLANCE_COMPLEX::CONTROL_FANTASY_COLLAPSE" EFFECT: public space paranoia purge, mirror-based humiliation, male presence audit backlash TRIGGER_WARNING="weaponized concern, delusional civic authority, false victimhood" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “THE KAREN CHECKLIST: HOW TO IDENTIFY YOURSELF OR OTHERS”

🧍‍♀️ “How dare that man walk his dog through this area… …while I’m alone with my poodle?”

📋 “Does he not know that I’m here? That I am a woman — and therefore all surrounding oxygen belongs to me until I exit the perimeter?”

👮‍♀️ “Does he even live here? Has he signed the Constitution of My Feelings™? Has he shown me his papers?”

—

✨ Let me introduce myself:

I am the Karen. 🔹 Mayor of Nowhere. 🔹 Supervisor of Vapor. 🔹 Sentinel of Bullshit and Misery.

I wear fleece vests like armor. I wield my iPhone like Excalibur. I broadcast every stranger's behavior as a terrorist threat against my peace of mind.

And if you challenge me?

⚠️ I will cry. ⚠️ I will record. ⚠️ I will escalate.

—

I am the self-appointed security force of Whole Foods parking lots.

I stalk dog walkers like they’re casing the block for war crimes. I patrol public parks like I’m Auditor General of the Menace Vibes Division.

And yes — I do feel personally violated when a man has the audacity to:

🛑 Exist 🛑 Walk 🛑 Breathe 🛑 Without making direct eye contact and submitting a public apology for entering my line of sight

—

You don’t understand the weight I carry.

Every morning, I wake up and declare:

“I shall wander the Earth with a squint, and make strangers feel like trespassers in their own lives.”

And I do.

🧠 THE KAREN CHECKLIST™

Use this to identify yourself… or others.

☑️ Do you treat every strange man as a criminal until proven otherwise? ☑️ Do you give dirty looks to joggers who didn’t sign your emotional terms of service? ☑️ Do you demand identification from people walking their own dogs? ☑️ Do you call the HOA because someone’s landscaping isn’t “neat enough���? ☑️ Do you feel entitled to ask “Who are you visiting?” at random? ☑️ Do you film people of color and narrate like you're on National Geographic? ☑️ Do you weaponize safety concerns that mysteriously only activate when you feel irrelevant? ☑️ Do you say “I’m not racist, I’m just vigilant”? ☑️ Do you mistake public sidewalks for your personal runway? ☑️ Do you approach teenage boys at the skatepark with a clipboard and a threat? ☑️ Do you report smiles as aggression? ☑️ Do you weaponize your voice in frequencies reserved for smoke detectors and banshees? ☑️ Do you question others, but scream harassment when questioned in return?

If you checked 3 or more… You are the problem. If you checked 7 or more… You are the Karen. If you checked all… You are likely composing a Facebook post about this right now. And your hair is shaped like a passive-aggressive crescent moon.

—

Let’s be clear.

I’m not confused. I know what I am.

I’m not a victim. I’m a hall monitor cosplaying as neighborhood royalty.

I dance on the razor’s edge between concerned citizen and civil harassment.

I film people for “safety,” but disable comments on every post because the truth hurts. I smile at cops, then cry wolf to dispatch if a man wears a hoodie near a bench.

I wield anxiety as a badge, and call my comfort zone a jurisdiction.

—

Don’t ask me why I act like this.

I have no self-awareness. I have no inner monologue. Just a constant, low-grade suspicion that everyone but me is up to something.

—

I demand your backstory in public. I require your explanation. And if you refuse?

I’ll say:

“Wow. Just trying to be safe!”

As if my paranoia is your obligation. As if your location is a privilege I can revoke.

I am the Karen. I believe I am law.

📢 And don’t you dare question me.

Because if you do?

I will scream. I will cry. I will become the victim.

---

🧠 Read more scrolltrap diagnostics and psychological dissections at: 👉 https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble 🛡️ Emotional radar failures. Entitlement maps. Authority mirages. 🚪 Warning: You might recognize someone… and it might be you.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [KAREN DETECTED. LAUNCHING MIRROR PROTOCOL.] -->

[theflyindutchwoman]

You can choose to see that tattoo as your greatest failure. But I see it as proof that you're a survivor. It wasn't your day of death, Officer Chen. It was the first day, of the rest of your life. And no one can take that away from you.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.12 - Now and Then

This has to be my favourite moment, along with Lucy making an audiobook for Tim… Maybe it is because these two scenes have a very similar vibe… both of them taking place in the gym… with both Tim and Lucy working through their frustration in the same fashion… and making the other feel more empowered… Back then, she was fiercely telling him that his 'learning disability' was nothing to be ashamed of, and instead, was a strength… And here he is, saying something akin, just as passionately : that her tattoo isn't a sign of weakness or failure on her part, but one of strength. Of resilience. It's more than just reassurance : it's really about empowering the other… And this is genuinely a beautiful and powerful message, that epitomises their relationship perfectly...

The way the camera focuses on Lucy's DOD tattoo, with Tim appearing in the background, before he fully comes into focus, is brilliant. Him looking away, pretending he hasn't seen it, out of respect for her and complimenting her instead, is such a simple, but meaningful thing. Just like how he refuses to take any credit for the way she is. The reverence and pride in his voice are all for her. He's trying to drive his point home, but Lucy is not hearing him. Or at least, not entirely. He's about to leave before changing his mind. You can see the moment he decides to go for it and really talk to her. Something he has been trying to do already, like after he heard she was involved in a shooting : only, he kept it light in that moment, not daring pushing her out of her comfort zone. But his conversation with Nolan made him reconsider his approach, once he realised that her friends were too focused on her tattoo, treating its removal as a magical cure to her emotional wounds. No matter how well intended they are, it doesn't work like that. Something he knows all too well.

So instead, Tim opens up about his own traumatic experiences, share his own history and scars to help her… And this is huge for him. Lucy might have known about Isabel, but this is the first time he mentions his childhood and his dad to her (at least, as far as we know : he did it once while playing football with AJ, but she wasn't around). It's a very personal and intimate topic and the fact that he willingly shares this vulnerable part of himself with her says a lot on how much he trusts her. And it also feels natural : they were already getting closer, but regardless, this is the same man who opened up about his personal life on her second day. He has seen how she was there for him time and time again, with Isabel of course, but even recently, with how she made him feel safe after discovering he was a kinesthetic learner. So now, this is his turn to do the same for her, to respond in kind. And it parallels what Nyla was trying to do with Lucy when she shared her very own experience in the shop… and with Tim when she shared pieces of it in order to convince him to let her ride with Lucy for the day. He took a page from Harper's playbook, understanding that it might help Lucy more.

But unlike Nyla, Tim goes a step further. The reason why Lucy wasn't quite as receptive with her is that she needed more than empathy. It helped her of course, but what she requires even more is seeing her trauma in a different perspective. To see it through someone else's eyes. Tim's eyes. They already have a special bond and his opinion matter a lot to her. She can get through to him like no one else and so can he. But this is even more important since they haven't been able to ride together since that fateful day. She thought at first that the change in TOs for the day was a Tim Test. So it is primordial that she knows he doesn't think less of her. Just like he probably also doesn't want someone else he cares about to believe they're not living up to his standards… And at first, Lucy was getting frustrated with him as well. Even angry that he wasn't getting it. Until he started to emphasise on the fact that she didn't die, that she's still very much alive and therefore won, just like she defiantly warned Caleb in her last words to him. He's trying to get her to focus on that victory. That what she sees as a sign of failure, is instead a sign of resilience. Of her own strength. And I absolutely love how going forward, she will rub her tattoo whenever she's getting nervous, as a reminder of this. Because this is such an earnest and powerful message. At no point does he tell her what to do with this or how to feel about it - which was inadvertently what Jackson and Nolan were doing. It's simply about pushing her to see things under a different prism so she can make an informed decision. One that will bring her peace. To help her see herself the way he does : as a survivor, as someone who saved herself. Not a victim. It's about her retaking some control of her own story. And this time, she gets his message… The way she is clearly moved by his words, tearing up, just shows how much she needed to hear these words. Especially from him.

The tone of the scene instantly changes after that, becoming much lighter… Without undermining the core message either. This is a much needed respite, after that intense conversation. Tim looks so self-conscious and bashful when Lucy thanks him, like he's suddenly feeling under the spotlight. His whole demeanor - hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet, asking her if she's riding with him - feels very much like a teenage boy asking the girl he has a crush on to go on a date with him, while trying to be nonchalant about it. His beaming smile when she agrees is adorable. Her laughter as well… It's clear he has missed riding with her. They both have.

And that leads us to that last part : Tim giving Lucy back her ring. The one she left behind for him to find… There are so many symbols here… Like the fact that he had it in his pocket the whole time, even though he was about to leave her alone at first… The implication that he kept it with him, that he hung on to it, as a reminder that she was safe now, that he found her… It's how he's playing with it as well, as if a part of him is a bit reluctant to part with it… It's the way they don't even need words : they both understand the underlying message… It's in his smile before he leaves, the admiration he feels for her shining bright in his eyes… Or her surprise and delight when she catches her ring, having the confirmation that she was right to have so much faith in him… And how overwhelmed she is, to know that this tiny piece of jewellery, thrown as a last-ditch effort, saved her… That she saved herself. This moment encapsulates everything he has previously said in a very poetic manner… It was the perfect conclusion. Melissa deserves all the credit here for pitching this idea to the showrunners and writers, who, then, turned it into this wonderful scene. And hopefully, there will be a follow up one day on this...

[sassenashsworld]

Hancock at Goodneighbor

(his counterpart)

The List

Vic's body is swinging at the end of his rope, and Hancock's gaze is fixed on him. Then he glances down, but there isn't the same crowd there to applaud him as he remembers.

The faces turned upright to look back at him are those distorted by hatred of all the people who stood in his way.

No, not the people who got in his path.

These are the people on whose path Hancock stood. He stood up to oppressors and thugs who dared to target the weakest.

And they are now looking deep into Hancock's soul, yelling and cursing in wrath.

And one sentence slams Hancock repeatedly.

“Like us! You're like us!”

Hancock grits his teeth and tries to ignore it, but the voices infiltrate his thoughts and create a dreadful echo that repeats incessantly.

The ghoul sits up straight abruptly, short of breath, and takes a time to recover. He looks around. He isn't at Goodneighbor.

In fact, he is. He's at Goodneighbor. But he's not in the Old State House. He's in a dingy room at the Hotel Rexford.

What was he doing there?

He rubs his temples. He must have been drunk out of his ass again to forget how to go home.

This is not new.

Hancock stands up, little dazed at first but quickly regaining his bearings. He looks around the room. It is obviously one of the hotel rooms. It smells of smoke and cheap beer, and the bed looks to be kind of worn out.

He looks down at himself and realizes he didn't even bother to take off his clothes before passing out.

“Damn it,” he murmurs, attempting to recall the night before.

Trying is often pointless. Even for a ghoul, his abuse is enough to permanently disable the brain cells that could have held the information. Thus, he simply exits the room and, as usual, faces Fahrenheit waiting outside.

“All the caravans handed over their caps, KL-e-o agreed to the price hike, Irma—

Hancock lifts his hand to interrupt her.

“Hold on. We have yet to reach my office. We're still in the motel hallway, damn it.”

“The latest mandates that require your backing are currently pending your review in your office.”

“And shit, shit even more than yesterday.”

“Less than tomorrow?” his daughter jokes, not smiling.

Hancock sighs.

He scrubs his face with both hands, his head still pounding from last night's booze binge.

“Great, just what we required. More trash to approve and sign.” He gazes at Fahrenheit, his vision still hazy. “What specifically is waiting for me? Is there anyone new?”

“This infamous troublemaker, the Sole Survivor. I caught him with Bobbi-no-nose in our stash.”

The mayor gives the young woman a shocked stare.

“Well, he didn't seem like the kind of person to put his hands where they shouldn't.”

“He gave off the vibe of someone who'd go to great lengths for a few caps. That was the reason he agreed to the grim offer concerning the Pickman gallery.”

A harsh laugh spills out of Hancock. He shakes his head angrily.

“Well, ain't that just a stroke of genius? If he got himself tangled up with Bobbi, he's truly not the sharpest tool in the shed. Now that's just adding fuel to the fire.” He can't help but laugh again at the idea of the man. “The infamous Sole Survivor, huh? More like the infamous Moron. And they say we’ve got issues with drifters.”

“In truth, Bobbi deceived this Sole. When they realized where they were going, they flipped the scrips. They stuffed it down Bobbi's throat, I'd say. She likely won't get back for a time.”

Hancock makes a sour face.

“What’s the message you’re trying to send my way?”

“That's how I perceived the character. They could have thrown a wrench into our plans, making everything a lot more difficult. Yet, they chose a different path. I instructed them to come and show their respects anyway, so if I'm correct, you should be hearing from them soon.”

The ghoul lowers his head, pondering. As they've arrives at the State House, he sighs.

“Sometimes I wonder...”

The tall redhead looks at him intently.

“What?”

“Am I not turning like them?”

The gaze, deep and dark, pierces into the young woman’s eyes.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Like all those bastards whose portrait I've swept under the pretext of standing up for the weak.”

Fahrenheit seems somewhat uneasy about the topic and unsure of how to answer.

“You're not turning into one of them,” she remarks after a brief hesitation. “You continue to defend the vulnerable. All the folks in Goodneighbor look up to you, Hancock. You are the beacon that lights our way.”

Hancock grumbles, not quite convinced. He's been having these types of doubts since a while, and they're becoming more intense with each passing day.

“Seems more to me that not everyone holds your truly in high regard.”

Following that, they begin their nasty ritual. He signs paperwork, questions some people thoroughly, gives a speech to uplift his town, and just as he is about to head for the Third Rail, someone walks into his office.

He almost forgot about the newbie. It's tough to forget someone who strolled like a target while wearing a blue and yellow jacket over his back, though.

He leans back into his chemistry workbench, where he was gathering his entertainment for the evening, and greets them.

“Well, if it ain't Bobbi's little patsy.” He tosses the other a good purse of caps. “Here, for protecting my stash. Wise decision to put Bobbi down like that.”

His interlocutor seizes the purse in the air. Good reflexes.

“I'm sorry. For everything.”

Hancock takes a brief peek at his opposite. They own something. It's not false humility. They seems to be in genuine sorrow. Would Fahrenheit be right? It hurts him to accept it, but it gives him an idea. And this person is perhaps exactly what he needs.

Hancock takes another close look at that other, examining them from head to toe. They certainly know how to make an impression, with that iconic jacket and all. But Hancock senses that there's more to that facade than just a dumb merc.

“Don't worry about it,” he replies, taking a drag of jet. “You did the right thing. If anything, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You got me rid of an annoying problem.” He takes a deep breathe. “Lemme tell ya. This classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant? I spend all my time putting down the people I would've been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: Living free.”

Taking a seat on the couch, the Sole Survivor in turn studies him from head to toe.

“If you're heading out, why not come with me?”

Hancock raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You want me to tag along, huh? Now there’s an offer I wasn’t expecting.”

He takes another shot of jet and contemplates the proposition for a few moments, his gaze still fixated on the young person.

“Yes, I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble.”

It doesn't take long to organize everything. The paperwork puts in order, his instructions to his people given, and another brief speech for the gallery. Though Fahrenheit appears less at ease, he is confident that she will manage quite fine.

“And for how long, precisely?” She questions him bluntly.

“Precisely? So, you think you can bend the breeze to your whims?”

And that is how he ends up on the road with that odd individual. It doesn't take long to learn to appreciate them. He was right. Just the good kind of trouble he needed.

Time is passing rapidly. The new companion is not exactly lazy. This unexpected detail caught Hancock completely off guard.

He is a ghoul, thus he doesn't need as much sleep as a human, but what about the other? The others, when they depart on the road, leave without measuring a day.

They journey across the Commonwealth from top to bottom, east to west, one settlement to the next, assisting those in need while punishing those who merited it.

It was refreshing and exhilarating.

The trip of a lifetime.

He hadn't felt so alive in years. His travels with the Sole Survivor was unlike anything he'd done since leaving Diamond City. Hancock felt liberated, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For once, he could simply be himself.

When Sole eventually chooses to call it a night, Hancock jumps in to do the same. Even him is starting to feel fatigued.

However, while in the sleeping area, he examines the bed with mistrust.

He knows what's going to happen.

He knows that as soon as he closes his eyes, he will be assaulted by his usual nightmares.

With a sigh, he sits down on the bed. His friend stares up at him from the other cot.

“What's going on?”

Hancock hesitates for a long time, although he has been shockingly open to this individual on multiple occasions.

“My conscience tends to visit me at night when I close my eyes.”

“Yeah, not good. Hey, know that I'm here. If it's that bad, remember that I don't sleep that deeply.”

The ghoul, taken aback by the offer, cocks his head, chuckles, and declines it with a jest.

“Nah, I'm a grow-up, I don't need to be bunked.”

Sole rolls his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, you stubborn old fool,” he replies with a playful tone. “I wasn't offering to hold your hand through the night, but waking up for a small talk is far better than waking up to your constant screaming and kicking in the middle of the night.”

Hancock gives a resigned sigh, knowing that the other is most likely right.

“Alright, you got me. But don’t go thinking that makes me weak. And don’t go thinkin’ I’m gonna spill my guts and get all mushy about it. I ain't some helpless soul waiting for a knight in gleaming armor, you catch my drift?”

Sole rolls his eyes again.

“Yes, I heard it loud and clear. You are the toughest ghoul in all of Boston. We're all terrified of your power and colossal ego.”

Hancock huffs and pretends to be offended.

“You oughta trust it, my friend. I'm on the brink of becoming a legend. Even the fiercest Deathclaws shudder at the sound of my name.”

Sole chuckles.

“Right, right. I will make sure to let everyone know. 'Here lies the mighty Hancock, terror of the wasteland'.”

Hancock smiles, enjoying the small quip.

“That's the spirit,” he states, falling into the bed. “Just keep those lips sealed and avoid any loud snoozing, alright? If you dare, I'll send you crashing to the ground.”

A smile remains etched on Hancock's lips as Sole spreads in turn.

“With the holes in your face,” they reply, “I'm sure you're the snorer of the place.”

Hancock pretends to be offended again.

“Mind your words, pal. A face like mine tells tales of survival and the lessons learned in the wasteland. And let me tell ya, the ladies can't get enough of it.”

He winks jokingly at Sole.

“Yeah, they all want a piece of you,” answers back Sole. “It looks like a literal problem.”

This time, the mayor can't stop laughing, and his companion joins in. When they finally calm down, Sole turns off the light, leaving them in full darkness.

The moment of truth.

But the moment of truth comes and goes. Surprisingly, Hancock wakes up with the sun, looking as fresh as a daisy.

No dreadful dream has ever come to haunt his mind throughout the night.

Hancock sits up and blinks in amazement. He cannot believe it. No nightmares, cold sweats, or waking up in the middle of the night screaming like a stuck pig.

He looks across at his friend and gives a quiet giggle.

“Well, look at that. Seems like I've got myself a shiny new good luck charm, huh?”

[glitter-bunny420]

i find it hilariously ridiculous that people think marvel rivals' success over overwatch is bc overwatch is "woke" (meaning it dares to depict disabled people, lgbt people and people of colour existing) but marvel rivals is just as woke by their own logic if not more so. and bc of that, i decided to put together a list of characters that marvel fanboys would hate if they were in any other game

Dr Strange - disabled (tremors in his hands)

Emma Frost - has a gay brother and doesn’t take shit from men (would like get called an sjw if she wasn’t conventionally atttactive)

Magneto - jewish holocaust survivor

Peni Parker - japanese

Black Panther - black (its literally in the name)

Black Widow - infertile (i'm not sure if she's infertile in the comics but i know she is in the mcu so i'm including her just in case)

Blade - also black

Hawkeye - disabled (hard of hearing)

Human Torch - bro has fucked aliens, you're really gonna tell me he's not secretly pansexual?

Lin Lie/Iron Fist - chinese

Iron Man - disabled (heart problems) and many of his stories have had overt political and economic themes

Magik - russian

Moon Knight - non-practicing jew with dissociative identity disorder

Namor - indigenuous latino (mayan & aztec); this one's a bit 50/50 bc i think he's still white in the comics but the rivals version seems to be latino in reference to his wakanda forever counterpart

Sai/Psylocke - japanese

Scarlet Witch - romani

Spider-Man - grew up in poverty

Squirrel Girl - midsize

Storm - black

Winter Soldier - disabled (ptsd & prosthetic limb)

Wolverine - very bisexual coded (he dates Hercules in an alternate timeline)

Cloak and Dagger - interracial couple (also I get t4t vibes from them, it might not be canon but it is to me)

Loki - genderfluid

Luna Snow - korean

Mantis - half vietnamese half german (in the comics at least not sure about the game)

Eat shit edgelords you’ll never know the intimate touch of another

[majulians-groupie]

♡Nadi fluff oneshot♡,

With an MC that deals with Lupus 🤍🪷🪻✨️

So this is a continuation of the previous headcannon post,I just post it separately because I kind of escalated and accidentally wrote a one-shot instead of headcannons😂.Oops👀

I wrote this during a recent Lupus flare I had,so I kind of projected a few personal emotions in it.I really hope that through this I will able to send comfort vibes to anyone that needs them♡

If you are fighting a chronic illness,you got this.Keep up,you are stronger than you think,and Nadia is here to remind you(I know it's easy to forget,it's okay ♡)

•TO THE STORY:)))))))●

(This takes place back when the MC first moved into the palace to assist Nadia with Julian's investigation. You and Nadia may not know eachother for long,but you both have noticed that there is an unspoken connection between you two,one you are both afraid to express or explore)

🦉🌙🦉🌙🦉🌙Nadia🌙🦉🌙🦉🌙🦉 :

Since of the first days you moved into the palace,she had noticed that there were days where something was off about you.Even though you were trying to brush it off,she would notice that you seemed tired,and that your moves were carefull,as if you were recovering from an injury.

Despite her concern,Nadia is never one to be indiscreet and hesitates to press on the matter.However, she makes sure that your stay in the palace is as much comfortable as possible,providing you everything you may need. -she reminds you that if you ever start feeling a little bit under the weather,you can always request a checkup from the palace's physician-

As you get to know eachother and you start to bond,she makes it her goal to gain your trust and help you on whatever issue is tormenting you and yout wellbeing. One morning where you had a -particularly-bad flair,one you couldn't hide and shake off, she decides to finally gently press on the subject.

You layed on your bed in your guestroom on the palace,waiting for Portia to fetch the painkillers she insisted  she would bring you from her stock in her bedroom's cabinet (you didn't dare refuse,seeing the worried but strict look on her face).As the door opens,you see that the one to enter your room,is the countess herself Nadia holding a box of painkillers and a loaf of pumpkin bread(she has noticed it is your favourite in breakfast).Even in her nightgown,she was as classy and elegant as always.

-MC -she whispers-....

...Good Morning dear,I am sorry to burst in your room like that,(she literally knocked) it is just that Portia has informed me that you will not be able to join us for breakfast,and that you may take the day off because you appear to be...-she lingers,a concerned look on her face...sick?

-Yes, you say uncertainly.But it is no big deal really..Maybe I've come down with the flu or something

-She also told me you refused to see the palace physician. Is there any specific reason about this?Is there anything wrong about him that I should be aware of?If you are more comfortable with a female doctor,we can make that happen you know.

-No no!It is not that,it is just...

...you sigh.It is not that you can't just simply brush the matter off with practiced ease nor that Nadia is pushing you.It is just that even though you are not comfortable talking about your disease with people,you had a feeling you could trust Nadia.That she wouldn't pity you,unwillingly reducing you to your struggles,nor judge you,make you feel ashamed or freak out and ask you if it is contagious.(unfortunately Vesuvia's horrible education system's consequences are not limited to illiteracy.People are seriously uneducated about chronically and disabled people,and the scars the plague left in the city only make the matter worse)

You also needed to get a few things of your chest,so you decided to hesitantly open up to her.

Nadia is a great listener,making your hesitation slowly vanish,as you pour your thoughts and fears into the conversation.As your voice gets steadily more emotional,she slowly starts coming closer to you ,holding your hand,brushing her thumb over it,her gaze never leaving your eyes.

The closeness gets you completely rid of any filters or barriers you may had.As your discussion turns into a vent,you don't even realize that you are suddenly tearing up.Nadia decides to be bold and slowly pulls you up to your her soft embrace,careful to not induce any pain.

You stay there for a moment,and she feels happy about the fact that she feels you slowly relaxing to her arms,the tension leaving your body as you melt into her touch.

After a few seconds,she speaks:

-Portia gave me the strongest painkillers she had stored,so I recommend not taking them with any empty stomach.I took the liberty of choosing pumpkin bread-a small smirk appears on her face.-

As you smile to her,you slowly sit up,trying to not make a big deal out of the fact that your body is aching all over.You didn't know what was happening.You haven't had such a bad flair in months.Everything was going well,and your blood exams were better than ever.It was so frustrating, that some times,there was not an explanation,things were just the way they were,stubborn to follow progress and change.

Nadia interrupts your thoughts by asking you if it would be better to call your own personal doctor.

-It would be ideal,but they are currently on the other side of the country,participating on a mission to provide healthcare for remote villages in the Eastern mountains.They won't be in Vesuvia for another 2 weeks.(You hated the fact that rheumatologists were so rare )

-So actually,maybe the palace physician is not a bad idea,you admit.

As the doctor checks you up,prescribing the proper antiflammatory medication,he suggest you take a few days off your investigation,giving your body the time it needs to rest.He also regretfully mentions that your knee needs an arthrocentesis,but he currently lacks the necessary equipment for it,so you will have to do it the old fashion way,dressing your knee with ice and letting your body absorb the fuild on its own.

In the next few days,Nadia manages to take a few days off her courtly duties,warily leaving a more than eager Valerius to look after the stuff that need watching over.She knew it probably wasn't a good idea,but something inside of her wanted,needed to be close to you,help you in this difficult moment.At first she would just keep you company and assist you with the ice compresses.Talking,drinking tea and reading a book at your bedside.It was more obvious than ever that something,a strong unspoken connection was lingering between the two of you.

As the days passed,there were moments that you were frustrated,and were not satisfied with your progress.You couldn't understand why you STILL needed bedrest. It felt unfair.You were doing everything right.

It was there when she gently interfered,her hand in your shoulder,reminding you that you weren't strong and capable only when you were able to brush your symptoms off.You were also incredibly and undeniably strong when you were able to go through your symptoms at their worst,prioritizing yourself and your needs,having the often undervalued but incredible strength of being patient.It wasn't up to you how strong or small the pain and the fatigue would be.So it wasn't your responsibility to keep up with it,or always try to ignore it,reducing the importance of it.Your reactions and what you are going through is valid.If anyone were to tell you otherwise,they were just being dense,not able to own up and understand the situation properly,therefore their opinion should not matter to you.

She noticed the way you looked at her,trying to not tear up,grateful for the words you needed to hear.The ones that Asra repeated over and over,never managing to convince you one hundred per cent.It is not that Nadia magically convinced you,it is wasn't even something thay had to do with the words specifically.It was just that her presence only provided you with a different sense of comfort.One that was deep,that broke through your shields and barriers and gently invaded into the back of your head,were your darkest thoughts would linger and torment you,waiting to find you at any weak moment,to assault you.As she sat on the edge of your bed,her body language gently asking for permission,she slowly and carefully folded you in her arms.This time,you were instantly comfortable.You willingly let yourself relax into her embrace,and you felt a sense of comfort take over you,almost numbing a small percentage of the pain.As she slowly stroke your hair,you let a breath you realize have been wanting to release for a while.You didn't even realized when you dozed off,into a deep and calm sleep.

Nadia was so stuck into her own thoughts,that it took her a while to realize you were actually asleep on her arms.She was worried about you,and she sensed the unfairness of the situation.You were a responsible person.Almost too responsible.Always careful with the alcohol and never smoking.Stuck to your sleeping schedule,almost in a complulsive way.But now it made so much sense.You were always taking care of yourself,doing everything right.You were so young,and your body was failing you.It was not right,and she hated the fact that she couldn't do anything about it.She remembers you trying to hide your pained expression as you were trying to sit up and frowned.She turned to look at you,your chest slowly going up and down against her,a peaceful look on your face that would make someone believe that everything was fine.But it wasn't.Her mind wandered,thinking of how many people were suffering from illnesses like yours,that had not access to the healthcare they needed.How many times a grim situation could have been preventable?How many times children died from a simple fever a syrup would have evaporated?As much as she was frustrated your doctor was away when you nedded them,she couldn't help but admire the fact that they were trying to help in places where healthcare was limited to home remedies that provide little to no comfort or relief.Her mind then wandered to Nazali.Even though she missed her sibling,she was more proud of them than ever.

She felt a sense of responsibility as a countess.It wasn't the job of the doctors to give over their life to fix the incapability of the leaders to make a proper healthcare system.Their job was to simply help and assist their patients.

She had to do something about it.She could try to redesign Vesuvia's healthcare system(honestly the what?)back from the start.She would try her best to make healthcare available for every citizen.No matter how much time it takes.She would make sure that schools will provide the education needed to build a society that treats disabled and sick people with the respect they deserve,and give the chance to anyone wanting to work on healthcare to do so.The shortage of medical personnel,doctors and researchers was huge after the plague,and all sorts of medication was becoming harder to find every day.She will talk to other world leaders as well.Maybe they can have a meeting about it.Maybe they could sign an agreement.She will see.

First though, she has to make sure thay you are okay.And she will do whatever it takes to be there for you,always watching you and admiring you for your strength,grateful to you for trusting her with your vulnerabilities,and opened her mind to issues she took for granted for way longer than she was proud of.

Well,that's a wrap folks,I really hope you enjoyed reading,it was kinda long but heyy writing was practice for my non existent attention span.

You can always ask me and drop headcannon/fic recommendations.My ask box is always open

My batter is dying,ttyl

Eva♡

[theredoesnotexist]

See the thing about all the misanthropy stuff is. I've always related to computers, monsters and aliens more than human characters in sci-fi stories. But specifically i've always related to computers, monsters and aliens who like and love humans. Who admire humans and who have hope for them and who take inspiration from them.

Sci-fi likes to do a certain trope a lot where they have the nonhuman robot/computer or alien or Etc. character hate humans, find them repulsive or pathetic or crude or etc. etc. I'm not even talking about stories where nonhuman characters lash out in response to mistreatment by humans. I won't lie and say i never relate to those characters too. Because i do, because i get it. But ones where they look down on humans for being human? Robots or AI who find humans laughable because they can't do things as quickly or because they bleed when they're hurt. Aliens, somehow always overly logical geniuses, who patronize human characters for not being an "advanced society" or for being prone to frivolous emotions. Werewolves who feel condescending disgust at humans simply because they aren't as physically strong; vampires or elves smugly laughing at the pitiful lifespan; dare I even start on tropes of angels and demons.

At the point you feel superior for the sole reason that they are human and you aren't— why is this better, how is this radical? These tropes involve the same feelings that a lot of humans have toward other beings, projected ideas of how every sapient thing would probably feel if they were in some way physically or intellectually superior... feelings about the very idea of superiority and inferiority that have been used to hurt me, in actual real life, when my disabilities or ethnicity or sexuality designate me inferior. I am not going to feel "superior" to anybody after growing up as a queer autistic Jew—and the Jewish part of all this is essential here, I think, considering everybody reading this is probably queer and autistic—knowing that superior and inferior are not things that even exist, especially when applied to people. They can't be and shouldn't be.

IDK where i'm going with this. You can feel whichever way you want. I'd rather misanthropy be rampant in the community than for everybody to feel like they're required to have or voice some sort of saccharine optimist-approved hopepunk "faith in humanity." G-d knows i'm not an optimist, let alone faithful. This is all just stream of consciousness now but i guess i'm saying in a way not only do I relate to fictional nonhumans who care about humanity, that's just kind of what I literally am. I'm not human and i admire humans for what they are. Not just that. I recognize what they are; a completely neutral type of being without inherent moral or ontological significance, just like everything else. I don't think i would go as far as to wish I was human like narratives for these characters often do, but I just can't vibe with misanthropy. Humans started naming all the animals they saw. Humans came up with music and tea and made bananas really good. Humans wrote down all the things that happened to them so the future could know about it. Humans wrote stories where computers and animals and aliens are their friends just so they could feel less alone. How in the universe could you ever decline the offer?

[ilovescaredysquirrel2]

So I watched Chicken Run 2 (is it knock off sequel?)

So yeah, Chicken Run 2 is technically a knock off since Sam Fell kind of stole the movie that wasn't his in the first place... but it was actually a decent movie? Dare I say it was, a GOOD MOVIE! Nothe first movie but it wasn't bad at all. I do think it got a little too dark, more than the first movie did. I mean, the first movie was dark but was dark because of the heavy topics like disability (Rocky's broken wing), racism (Fowler negativity towards Rocky for being American), and Mr and Mrs Tweedy keeping everyone trapped (could be symbolism for different things). I feel like this didn't have the same vibes as the first one but it wasn't a bad movie in general. Just like Barnyard and Back at the Barnyard, in which the knock off tv series was different from the movie but still funny and enjoyable. There is A LOT that didn't make sense from the first movie.

First off, WHERE WERE ALL THE LITTLE CHICKS FROM THE FIRST FILM? Molly was apparently the only chick and that doesn't make sense at all. Chickens usually lay more than one egg at once, and Rocky and Ginger probably had chicks at the end, along with Flower and other hens (one of them obviously being Bunty). Second, the art style looked slightly more Aardman when it came to the humans, the designs looked very different. Like, they looked like Victor Quartermaine wannabes. The biggest issue I had was Mrs Tweedy's new design and that I'm assuming Mr Tweedy went to jail so she married Dr Fry for money. Like, I know the studio had a fire and lost the models but did they have to make Mrs Tweedy look 20 years younger???? Like, they ruined her design! She was cool looking before, not "attractive" but just a plain normal looking woman. We don't have to make every female adult character be attractive, do we? Come on, Aardman! That was a bad move! Like, I liked that she looked like a plain ordinary farmer lady, even though she was the villain. They changed her design by making her body type look different and making her eyes bigger and more makeup. Third, I think if DreamWorks was doing their part like in the first one, it would be better but this wasn't bad. I'm mostly mad about the new voices though (especially Ginger and Fetcher's voice). Say what you want about Mel Gibson, but he does an amazing job playing Rocky! He's not the nicest person but he's not the worst either. Ginger sounds NOTHING like Ginger, Molly sounds more like Ginger than Ginger! Nick's new voice kind of worked but Fetcher was a big no! I think the new voice for Fowler did good, Nick was okay, Rocky was... meh but it wasn't as off as Ginger and Fetcher. I was so mad when I heard Ginger and Fetcher's new voices because they were so in character (especially my adorable mouse boi Fetch).

At least they didn't make Molly as bad as I thought she was going to be. I didn't think I was going to like her but I did! It's the girls-support-girls thing that really won me over and Molly helping Frizzle! I thought Molly was going a spoiled teen rebel but she wasn't! She was just an adventurous chick who was tricked by seeing a colorful van (I didn't care for that symbolism in the movie, it symbolised HT). I also wished more people from the first movie were working on it by understand not everyone could return.

The music was good, the art at the end credits made me laugh but it didn't feel like Chicken Run (they did Ginger so dirty tho). Anyway, that's my review on Chicken Run 2 sequel. Tell me what you think! This movie was still better than Wish! I still hope the new Wallace & Gromit movie makes more money though... If you want, feel free to write your own opinions in the comments

[sorta-responsible-lesbian]

Let's see what Percy is gonna do this week:

WE'RE STARTING WITH UNCLE CRUSTY

I need him to cut off Crusty's head, disney please

BRUH WHAT THE HELL

"Don't make me come back out there." We have no choice but to stan my girl

Percy I also lock myself in the car so I don't have to do a school for my learning disabilities

Grover looking at Percy after he says "we're all dying...to some extent." Comedy gold

PUPPY - why did they make Cerberus so baby, like that's just a lil guy

He do be running though

Asphodel having absolutely terrible vibes. I love it

If I had a nickel for every time Percy had to hold a loved one over a chasm with one hand I'd have 2 nickels but it's weird it's happened twice

POMEGRANATE JUICE OK HADES GET ANOTHER FRUIT

DID SHE JUST CALL POSIDON

"I want him to know who he is, before your family tell him who they want him to be." Rick i know you pulled that right out of your brain cause how dare you

Disney I swear to Gods if this beach fight isn't a fucking banger I swtg

[damnfandomproblems]

763910557151772672

This ask has the same inflammatory vibe as the ask from a few days ago that said, paraphrased, "shut the fuck up, I happen to know (insert disabled people) who Get It Done, you disabled people are just pussies".

Does, uh... someone here have a weird vendetta toward disabled people who know their limits? Is this person okay? Are they incapable of admitting things are sometimes out of one's control so they have to project that on everyone else? Because they sound an awful lot like my out-of-touch parents who gave me a tongue lashing last year, because I dared say that businesses would walk me out the door if I tried to apply in-person (after having tried at least ten different places and receiving that very reaction)

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

[bitchfitch]

Idk working on this fic again is. like. I don't think validating is the right word. Consoling maybe? It's sitting a younger version of myself down and working through the worse of its neurosis.

like. Idk. this is one of those topics that feels taboo to talk about because it gets a bunch of better-than-thou whiners saying "Well you shouldn't have done that. That was a bad thing to do" even when that's like. not helpful or adding anything to the conversation other than them jacking off their ego.

Anyways. Lil me was a fucking idiot who thought it was a genius. All the pressure of being told it was more grown up than it's peers because of the trauma it had already suffered. The book smarts it thought it could use to navigate a world it had no power in. It thought it was hot shit. The one in charge of every situation it put itself in even when those situations were sexual in nature and happening with people way, Way too old to be messing around with a teenager.

And working on this fic that's more O than fan at this point, it's just this vibe you know, of getting to finally give that little shit the conclusion to that period of its life that it wanted instead of the one it got. The escape from the pressure to be someone it's not in a suffocatingly religious environment, crushed under expectations that would have been extreme for an able minded and bodies adult but which were Ridiculous for a multiply disabled teen. Because that's why it did those things you know, It wasn't interested in the sex, it was interested in connection and the chance to be the version of itself that didn't feel like a too tight dress ripping at Sunday mass. That's what those older men gave that it's peers and family couldn't even when they were supportive.

The fantasy of what if it had met the right person at the right time and gotten to escape to a place it could just breathe, and be a kid again even if it hadn't been treated like one by anyone in so long.

and then theres the anxiety of writing something like that these days you know, giving your younger self closure while risking your sorta... current social standing to do so. Because like. there's pressure to not write about these things. Because yeah. it's fucking disgusting and awful and the reality of the situation was nothing like what happens in a story with a happily ever after tacked on at the end. But people take that as an excuse to rip into you and spread nasty lies for like, daring to even think about that. Because they have their own demons and those demons don't understand yours so they lash out to defend themselves from what makes their gut churn.

In a perfect world, this post wouldn't exist. But there's a nagging and paranoid and angry little thing in the back of my mind that insists if I don't justify my arts existence, to myself and to those who need someone to feel superior to, then I'm just proving to them and myself that I've become exactly like the men who took advantage of that younger version of me.