#hes so complicated and complex

[raybeam-littlebean]

Anyone that hates Jason Todd can kindly go fuck themselves.

No, I will not lower my tone. I've been seeing a bit too much Jason hate lately, to the point where they're starting to go into the asks of predominantly Jason artist and shitting on them for making Jason art???

Making themselves anonymous too, like the fucking cowards they are too.

[apatheticsunday]

Cartoons and Cereal

AKA "Dick Grayson adopts recently de-aged Danny Nightingale. He doesn't anticipate Danny being a little... not entirely human." Prompt idea! Might be a multi-part series. :)

Dick never thought he'd be a parent at the age of 22 but the moment he saw Danny's feral little snarling face at the Bludhaven precinct, it's like he turned into Bruce Wayne. In more ways than one. Dick vividly remembers giving Bruce a heart attack by jumping from the manor's upper balcony onto the chandelier, how he cackled in glee at Bruce wide-eyed expression of terror. Watching Danny float off the couch and then drop in mid-air probably has Dick making the same expression as Bruce in that moment.

The frying pan clatters to the stovetop, pancakes flopping out, as Dick swings over the kitchen island and flings himself over the sofa - just in time to catch Danny before he brains himself on the coffee table. Dick doesn't catch himself before he releases a loud, terrified and relieved, "Fuck!" Danny immediately gasps and loudly proclaims sw'ar jar, sw'ar jar!

"I know, bud. I-," Dick squeezes Danny to his chest. His heart is still beating unbelievably fast and his palms are sweating. "Just give me a minute, okay, buddy?" This has to be some kind of revenge for all the stuff he put Bruce through as a kid. Danny squirms as Dick thinks about the next steps: obviously, he has to test for the meta gene, register with the state, and maybe get in touch with Clark about teaching Danny how to control his flying ability. But Clark will tell Bruce and Dick hasn't even told Bruce-

Danny bites him. Dick yelps, dropping the kid onto his sofa again, and thinks this is definitely payback as Danny cackles. Danny reaches his arms up and grins with a menacing little twinkle in his eye that definitely means pick me up so I can bite you again. Dick resists despite how cute (and terrifying) his kid looks. Then, he smells something burning. Specifically, their pancakes, which are now scattered on the floor and on the burning stove coils.

"Ah, shoot. I'm sorry, bud." They both stare at the burnt pancake before Danny starts poking the floor pancakes. Well. There goes the last of the instant pancake batter. After stopping Danny from eating the floor pancake (multiple times, eventually stacking a couple of his gym weights on top of the trash to Danny won't go digging in it), Dick proposes breakfast at the little brunch place downtown. Danny only grunts in answer because he's too busy struggling to lift the lid of the trashcan.

Haven Coffee it is.

He probably should've expected somebody to take their picture, but seeing the image of Dick and Danny plastered on the Gotham Herald's website makes his blood run cold. It's almost like a horror movie. Reading the news article (Golden Boy Richie Grayson following in his father's footsteps with adopted son Daniel Grayson... recently orphaned son of renowned scientists... suggesting a custody battle between absentee godfather and Gotham's Golden Boy...), Dick feels sick. He's never been violated like this in Bludhaven. In Gotham, as Bruce Wayne's son? Sure. In Bludhaven, as Dick Grayson? Never.

The picture is just as damning (and beautiful. Dick would frame it, keep it in his wallet and tucked into the mirror of his car, if it weren't such a violation of his and Danny's privacy). Dick and Danny look like they've lived together for years. Danny, chocolate smear on his cheek and looking up at Dick with sparkling sugar-crazed eyes. And Dick, propping the kid on his hip while they walk to the car, looking down and thumbing at the smear with such adoration that it's clear to anybody looking Dick loves his son dearly.

(Maybe Dick will frame it. He's still going to sue the shit out of Gotham Herald, but Danny's tiny face looks the happiest he's ever been. Double chocolate chip pancakes tend to do that.)

He's almost, almost surprised when his phone starts ringing as soon as he finishes the news article. Afterall, Dick is hardly the only one who reads the news and he knows half his siblings have alerts set for anytime their names pop up in civilian or vigilante identities. Tim's caller ID pops up, quickly followed by several texts from Barbara, Steph, and Duke. He knows Jason and Damian will probably take some time before reaching out. Dick feels a small twinge of guilt for not telling them, but they have a... complicated relationship. Dick has always been more of a parentified figure, solidified more so when Dick stepped in as Batman for a time, than a sibling.

Danny huffs out a heavy sigh on the couch next to him. He's still asleep from his sugar crash earlier, cuddling with his elephant Zitka and dog Haley, as Scooby Doo plays softly on the TV. Dick gently combs Danny's hair back from his face - grimacing slightly at sticky chocolate stuck to a couple strands, how did he manage that?? - when his phone dings for the last time.

This was the text Dick was waiting for.

Dinner tonight at 7pm. Bring Daniel.

Dick glances back to the grumbling lump beside him, smiling slightly as he tickles one small socked foot sticking out from the blanket. He gets a little bunny kick and a louder grumble for the trouble. Another ping and Dick's lips twitch at the hastily added Please. It looks like Alfred beat some common sense into Bruce after all.

He types back K and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. Pats the lump. "Danny, are you up for meeting grandpa?"

It's time to face the music.

(Danny sleeps for another thirty minutes before Dick can't resist bugging him, enduring bunny kicks and tired grumbles. It takes bribing Danny with Alfred's cookies and pizza for dinner to get him out of the blanket nest. Dick hastily calls Alfred to please, please, please make cheese pizza for dinner. Yes, Alfred, really, just cheese. Oh, god, thank you. See you later tonight. They have just enough time to wrestle an owl-eyed Danny into the bath and some non-chocolate-smeared clothing before dinner.)

[potatobugz]

Morro and Cole... ghost guys

that's true! my favorite mentally ill dead teenagers

[rocker-socks]

Janet and Jack being "decent" parents is so much more compelling than actively abusive ones IMO. Tim growing up with bi-weekly calls and active investment in his hobbies and future. Pats on the shoulder and kisses on his brow, holiday parties always have the roast duck he likes.

The halls are still empty. The gifts are from things he liked a month ago. There is surprise in their eyes every time they see him, like they've forgotten children grow.

They leave on digs and don't bring him. We'd be bad parents if we do, Tim, his mother says. Their days are long and spent in the hot sun, it is no place for a child. They let Tim stay home alone without a nanny because Tim wants it and their housekeeper has promised to ensure his safety. Surely he knows he can call them if anything truly important pops up, anyway.

Tim dresses his own skinned knees. He gets a crisp hundred from the tooth fairy a month after he lost his first tooth and nothing afterwards. There is no one to tuck him in, track his height, hold his hand.

Tim is loved. Tim is alone.

[waitineedaname]

the thing that really unites the mxtx redblacks is high self image combined with extremely low self worth. the three of them know they're hot shit, there's no doubt in their abilities, they're all badasses and know it. their conception of their own value, however, is abysmal. binghe's skills and and status and good looks don't mean anything if he can't get shizun to love him. wei wuxian knows he's remarkably talented, but he only sees himself as having any worth if he's useful, which means he'll sacrifice that talent to be useful to his loved ones and then never say a word about it. hua cheng might be one of the most fearsome immortals out there, but from his perspective, he might as well be dirt compared to xie lian

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[tvckerwash]

watching people discover the fucked up science guy part of viktor's lore and then being like "we need to acknowledge that he's a fucked up science guy 😔" is so funny. like yeah, he is a fucked up science guy who thinks ethics committees are bullshit because in his mind having rights temporarily violated is perfectly fine if it means saving lives—especially when the ones condemning his beliefs don't offer what they consider to be an ethical alternative to fix the problem and simply let it continue to exist.

and yeah, he's a fucked up science guy who experimented on himself following a, quote: traumatic period of introspection. he had a mental breakdown, fell into a major depressive episode, and spending this horrible time of his life "alone in the depths" reinforced and radicalized his previous beliefs, and to showcase his beliefs (and to try and get rid of his emotions because of how overwhelming they were) he turned himself into a cyborg (and did in fact make himself worse in certain ways but ehh who cares /j).

and yeah, he's a fucked up science guy who gave a kid back alley anti anxiety meds so he could face down his bullies, but he did so after making him a cozy beverage, teaching him about the dangers of propaganda and baseless rumors, and having him scream into a megaphone to freak out said bullies because it was funny (not that he'd admit to finding it funny because then he'd have to admit to having emotions, and well he can't do that, no sir).

so yes, viktor is a fucked up science guy, but that's half his charm! he cares so much about helping people, but he's a weirdo and freak about it! though to be fair, in the city that also has a chemically enhanced werewolf (warwick), a sentient blob of goo (zac), a wind and water goddess (janna), and a literal war criminal who invented chemical warfare (singed), among many other wacky individuals, he's pretty normal all things considered! fucked up science is just a part of life in zaun, my dudes!

[charleemoon]

don't talk to me if you majorly dislike any of the bau for seeing will as nothing more than a case consult. will intentionally and purposefully makes himself unavailable to others to the point that their only way of connecting with him half the time is over a case. i guarantee you they have tried time and time again to invite him to things, start conversation, and he hits them with "we're at work." katz, zeller, and price foster a very lighthearted, inviting workspace that you see him both emotionally and literally PHYSICALLY distance himself from. i'm sure there's plenty of things they could've done, more of something. people see what they want to in will, pieces of him. a tool, an advisor, something to pity, something to understand. a dog who is trained to hunt, yet fitted with a muzzle. but will is what stands in his own way of human connection, every time. too afraid of what rests beneath his surface

[bluebellwrenart]

Anderson: It's like Park said—give him a wide berth. Take it from me...you're better off just leaving it alone.

Refined and colored this sketch.

I'm nowhere near close to publishing my BOCW fic (I just started the BO1 fic) but I have dialogue snippets jotted down. I want these two to have a conversation at some point...Claire is involved in Bell's brainwashing, arguably moreso than Park, and since she's closer to Adler I think she'd likely be the one to repeatedly remind Bell/Nadia not to push him too much.

After all, she knows better than anyone what happens when he's pushed too far.

Bell/Nadia catches on pretty quickly to the fact that Adler is not the same as he is in her memories. There's a wall up, and everyone is keeping her at arm's length. Claire, however, master of mind games and psychology she may be is a listening ear first and foremost and an expert at assessments and advice. Adler, Sims, and Hudson aren't happy, Lazar, Lillian (another of my OCs), Weaver, and Park have their doubts, Mason and Woods have no clue, Bell is frustrated, and Claire is stuck doing damage control. As usual. She's not happy about Nadia's situation, but she's involved nevertheless, and she might as well try to the best of her abilities to make everyone's life easier.

Version w/out text & cleaned up sketch below the cut.

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

KantBison is too complex for the.plot to handle and in this essay

[im-still-watching-anime]

i like how sanji is like “yeah i’m a top class chef and have full confidence in that fact it’s just a shame that actually means nothing and i have absolutely zero worth or value to add to the world”

[thewardenisonthecase]

btw tw for talking about abuse

I've seen a lot online about how the game never mentions Caterina's abuse of Lucanis while he was growing up (being beaten and starved, which is mentioned in the Wigmaker Job) and I think there's a small mention to it if you're a crow (when asked, he says it was torture training under the first talon and that he resented her for a long time)

And while I do think part of the reason why this isn't brought up is just due to how sanitized this game is when it comes to the crows, I think I do understand why in world wise it's not possible to just be like hey lucanis, fuck your grandma.

It's really hard, loving someone who hurts you. Because you know they're hurting you and yet, you still love them. It's even harder when they're family.

Because its not like Lucanis doesn't know that she hurt him. He says so himself - he hated her, he resented her, and althought I do think him 'justifying' it by saying that at least it prepared him for the life of a crow, at least he still admits that it happened.

But the thing is that despite all this shit, she's still his grandmother. And like, yes, blood shouldn't excuse justifing this behaviour, I feel like it's cultural. Idk how spain or italy works when it comes to family, but here in brazil, you'll hear so many stories of physical abuse happening in families, and its still a situation like Lucanis - i hate them, i resent them, i love them, they're my family.

It's a...complicated situation and I think Lucanis's situation is made worst by the fact that he only has two family members alive and that he cannot let go of.

She beat him, she starved him, he hated and resented her, and he was afraid of dissapointing her, even if in her eyes, i don't think he could. I mean, he comes back an abomination and she still tenderly says 'my poor boy' when you rescue her in the Villa.

All in all...it's tought and I think that it would not be Rook's place to suddenly make Lucanis want to kill his grandma bc he wouldn't. Sorting out those feelings is something he has to do himself, and i'l almost glad the game doesn't make rook do a therapy session with him to talk about it.

[talxns]

Co-creator of Batman Bill Finger did an interview in 1972 in which he responded to the question of whether Batman and Robin were “homosexual fantasies”.

His answer was that he “didn’t think of Batman and Robin in those terms.” But the next thing he says piqued my interest in regards to their intended relationship dynamic.

“I thought of [their relationship] in terms of … Frank Merriwell and Dick Merriwell, his half-brother, who was the kid he was taking care of.”

Brothers! Very interesting.

[movedtonewblogcheckpinnedpost]

Full offense, but I think it's funny how some fans immediately accept book changes like Armand's parents selling him as a slave (when on the books he was kidnapped and his family became a wreck after it) or him 'pretending to be a Muslim' (which they left unresolved, but nobody confirmed it to be an act either? we must wait for answers?), but the moment it is something making him worth of empathy, like being a sexual slave, or making a white character that isn't even on the show yet look bad, suddenly people care about book canon? And even justify their arguments with things that go against the books, like, "Armand is lying about his sexual trauma to manipulate people" when on the books it is canon that he was kidnapped, trafficked, abused and objectified several times? And I don't want to get into the whole thing Marius (my feelings about them aren't a secret), but I think everyone can admit that wasn't the best, healthiest, most respectful, romantic and balanced relationship (even by TVC standards) at all? Everything appears to be pretty in line with the source material, though there are some adjustments, the main essence is still there.

It seems to me that the problem isn't book changes, but Armand not being an one-dimensional villain caricature (and he isn't that in TVC either, so I don't understand the surprise) and having crumbs of positivity in his life.

[galactic-rhea]

Thoughts on Padmé x Anakin x Rex?

Padmé and Anakin are so mutually obssesed they would first have to check into that before trying to bring another person to their carefully-balanced-kind-of-damage or something it's going to explode.

Honestly it's a fun ship! But I don't have too many thoughts about them because when I consider them is usually in very low-stakes-fun-AU-scenarios.

And I'm actually a bit of a fan of Rexwalker myself! Athough I tend to like them more as very good buddies, the covering-for-you-dynamic it's so funny for them, lol It's also angsty and complicated because, y'know, the power-imbalance and unchecked trauma? Is funny that the clone that's actually a slave for the republic is the most normal if you bring him into the anidala romance circus.

Also shout out to @phoenixyfriend , she has a lot of rexanidala fics and recs for anyone interested reading this!

[waitineedaname]

I think you can't forcefem bingqiu because there'd be no forcing involved, it would just happen. They already both think of themselves as the wife, I think it would just take a bit of sqq's mental gymnastics to come to the terms with both of them being women. Bingge, however,