#may the force be with you and also with you

[thewritingfairy]

HERE ME OUT: We get hit by some sort of deaging ray, resulting in us turning into our seven year old self. The thing is, we still have all our memories, our body may have changed but our mind hasn't.

Just imagine the absolute chaos the batfam would cause. Like their baby is an ACTUAL baby now, just a tiny angry lil thing squeaking about needing to be turned back to their original age. The cuteness aggression is unreal, and we have to hide away from the fam cause they are just full on 'OH MY BABY' mode.

Like we're just huddled up in a hiding space, Dick trying to coax us out cause he NEEDS to drown us in affection.

Bro is just like "come out my sweet baby! Oh look at your tiny hands! *incoherent babytalk and cooing*"

We're just like "STAY BACK YOU FOUL BEAST!"

I think the story alluded to is; જ⁀➴Nobody's child bad ending

You know what the worst part about that is? Your pain would feel 10x more intense due to your young body. The younger you are the more your body is still getting used to everything, so it's like your body has never felt pain bfore constantly and is in a high defense mode.

It would absolutely make you cranky and your family would find it both adorable and dangerous.

The batboys? They would be overjoyed attempting to play with you like they couldn't before. They could have, if they had just been there for you. They would force you into activities you used to like, they would keep you from gioong outside. They are the main people keeping you in the mansion forcibly.

Bruce and Alfred? They would attempt to help you with everything and the worst part is you have to let them. You can't reach the stove, you can't reach the showerhead, none of your clothes fit and your toddler clothes are too painful to put on on your own for some reason. (This is because of Bruce) And Alfred would absolute convince Bruce to put a tracker in you with an excuse that if you transform back you might leave and now you can't fight back!

The girls? The girls are better. Cassandra would help you hide from time to time, while Stephanie and Barbara would force you to play dress up and such in exchange for them defending you against Bruce. Basically they would trade favors for favors with you.

Now Duke? Duke is the one truly on your side. He's searching for a way to get you the fuck back to your usual body, he got medication ready for your toddler body. He's helping you with your hair, he's helping you by finding better clothes that don't trigger the fuck out of you. But he's also jealous... Don't get him wrong, he wants to be your favourite so he would block your communication with your friends. You don't want them to worry, right? :( But hey, he'll make it up to you by going out to the park sometimes!

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 6 - turnover]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: A chance encounter in a nightclub ignites tension between Paige and Azzi, forcing emotions to the surface neither of them are ready to face. One night. One confrontation. Everything shifts. Warning: Substance and druge use. Semi sexual content. And Jake. Author's note: If this is what you guys are waiting for, I hope it meets your expectation. Word count: 5,226

The Grand Night Club, San Francisco. May 2025.  

"Wait—shit," she muttered, eyes darting past her. 

Paige pulled back abruptly, breath still caught between her lips, hand rising to the girl's shoulder as she stepped away. 

The girl blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding.” 

Paige barely looked at her. “You’re gorgeous, seriously, but I—just—sorry.” The apology hit the floor with all the sincerity of a half-finished beer. 

“Asshole,” the girl snapped behind her. 

Paige didn’t stop. She was already moving, shoving through the haze of music and bodies, eyes locked on a navy silhouette disappearing deeper into the crowd. 

Azzi. 

She was walking fast. Purposeful. 

Paige slipped past a group of laughing dancers and turned a corner. The lights dimmed further near the back of the club, pulse of the bass thudding low against the floor. Her breath caught again, but this time for a different reason. 

“Azzi,” she called out, more breath than sound. 

Paige pushed through the last knot of dancers and caught up just as Azzi slipped past a shadowed corner of the club. Heart racing, she reached out and grabbed her arm with a little force. 

The weight of consequence snapped back like a live wire.    Azzi's tone didn’t rise. It cut clean and cold, sharper than the grip on her arm. 

“If you still want that professional career,” Azzi said, eyes locked and merciless, “I’d let go. Right now.” 

Around them, music was loud and lights shifted here and there. But Paige’s world narrowed to that voice. Her hand dropped. Her mouth opened, then closed again. 

She hadn’t expected to see Azzi here.  

The last she'd heard from interns and some of the Valkyries staff, Azzi was still in London handling Fudd Holdings business.    And even if she’d flown back, this wasn’t the kind of place Paige ever imagined spotting her.  

The club pulsed with bodies and bass. Too chaotic, too public, too far from the world Azzi kept wrapped in silk and distance.    She also hadn’t expected Azzi to see her like that. Lips on someone else’s, mouth chasing heat, pressed against the wall of a dark bar like it meant nothing. It wasn’t supposed to matter. But something about it felt off, sour in her chest.    Paige took a breath, words catching behind her teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what, exactly?” 

The question came sharp and clean, slicing through whatever explanation Paige had lined up. She blinked once, stunned by the coldness wrapped around the words. 

“I just thought…” Paige trailed off. “I just thought… what you saw—it didn’t mean anything.” 

Azzi let out a short, cold laugh. Her eyes remained fixed on her, unblinking. “Funny. It looked exactly like what I’ve always expected from you.” 

Paige’s brows pulled in, confusion flickering fast across her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “It means I drafted an exceptional athlete. One of the best. But that’s all you’ll ever be to me. A name under contract. Someone I pay to win games.” 

The words landed with surgical precision. Paige stood there, visibly gutted. 

“Anyway, you’re a grown woman. What you do outside of team hours is your business.” Azzi’s expression didn’t soften. “So, I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for because this—whatever this is—was never anything at all.” 

Paige felt like she’d been slapped a million times. 

“One last thing.” 

Her gaze found Paige, sharp and deliberate. 

“If you touch me again without asking, I’ll have HR involved.” 

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just disappeared into the crowd, leaving Paige frozen in place, the weight of the warning hitting harder than she expected. 

Azzi climbed the staircase with her heels muffled by the plush carpet, posture steady and eyes cold.

At the top landing, a man in a black suit stepped forward from the shadows near a closed door. He gave a short nod of recognition. 

“He’s inside?” Azzi asked, voice low but crisp. 

The man didn’t speak. He only nodded again and pushed the door open for her with a slight bow before escorting her in. 

She nodded back and followed with precision and authority. 

The bass from the club below dulled to a hum. Laughter echoed across the lavish suite, and Trey Fudd reclined on an oversized couch, arms stretched, head thrown back mid-laugh.  

His friends flanked him, drinks in hand, their eyes glazed. A tray sat on the table, glossy and too clean, with a thin line of powder untouched beside a gleaming credit card. 

Her eyes found Trey’s with a burn that could level buildings. 

His laughter died in his throat the second Azzi stepped closer.  

Her presence swallowed the room. The air felt heavier, colder.  

She glanced once at the table — at the powder, the mess, the recklessness — then back at him with surgical disgust. 

“Azzi,” he said quickly, as if her name alone might soften the blow. “How did you even—how’d you know I was here?” 

"Congratulations," she said, voice dripping with venom. "Barely a month out of rehab and you’re already back to snorting lines in public like it’s a family tradition." 

Trey straightened, color draining from his face.  

“I warned you,” she said, voice low and deadly. “One more slip, and I walk away. Completely. You overdose, you get arrested, you vanish off the grid again? I won’t lift a finger. I won’t bury you. I won’t save you.” 

Trey stood frozen. His hands trembled slightly. 

“You think I enjoy being the one who has to scrub your name from headlines? Who has to smile and lie while the company hemorrhages trust because the CEO’s son is a walking cautionary tale?” Her tone never rose, but it sliced deep. “You disgrace our name one more time, and I swear on what’s left of this family’s dignity, I’ll treat you like any other liability. And I’m very good at cutting those out.” 

Trey swallowed hard, eyes wide. 

But just Azzi turned to leave, the door burst open, and Paige rushed in, breath caught in her throat, hair a mess like she’d run from the end of the block.    “Azzi.” 

Her name rang out, sharp and urgent. 

The room shifted in an instant.  

Trey shot to his feet, eyes narrowing. “Who the fuck is this?” 

Before Paige could answer, two suited men reacted on instinct, closing the distance and seizing her arms. 

Her gaze swept the room, sharp with confusion, until it landed on Azzi. The sudden weight of where she was settled fast across her chest. 

“Let her go,” Azzi snapped, voice like flint.     Azzi was seething beneath her polished exterior. Rage pulsed beneath her skin, sharp and volatile, but so was the weight of exhaustion.    “Paige, what are you doing here?” she snapped, not hiding the edge. 

Before Paige could speak, Azzi motioned sharply to one of the suited men. 

“Tony. Please escort Miss Bueckers to my car. Now.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Make sure no one sees her coming out from this room.”    The suited man, tall and broad-shouldered, clasped Paige’s arm and pulled her out with deliberate force. She glanced back once, eyes searching for answers, but Azzi had already turned away. 

When the door closed, Azzi faced the room with an icy calm that barely covered the heat surging beneath her skin. Trey stood stiff, his face pale. His friends sat frozen. 

“That didn’t happen,” Azzi said, her voice like steel. “She was not here.”  

She took a step forward. “And if anyone says otherwise, I will make sure you lose everything you think you’re entitled to. Try me.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. May 2025. 

The black car rolled to a stop in the lower levels of the tower’s parking structure, headlights casting a faint glow across polished concrete.  

Tony got out and opened the rear door without much of a glance of his passengers. 

Azzi stepped out first. Her stride held purpose, movements clipped and controlled, like she had already filed the last twenty minutes under damage control.  

She didn't look back. She didn’t wait. 

Paige followed. 

Her limbs were sore from the game, her chest still unsettled from everything that had unraveled since. Azzi hadn’t spoken a word in the car. She hadn’t asked if Paige wanted to go home. She hadn’t even acknowledged her while they both sat in the back seat.  

Paige trailed a few steps behind, unsure if she was meant to keep going. She had no idea where they were headed, and Azzi hadn’t offered. 

They stepped into the private elevator without speaking. Azzi swiped her keycard, the motion fluid, practiced.  

The panel lit up and the doors slid closed behind them, sealing off the world below. Paige shifted her weight, eyes flicking toward the polished steel walls, then to Azzi’s reflection—composed, unreadable. 

The ride stretched in heavy stillness. No music played. No questions passed between them. 

When the elevator reached the top floor, a soft ding broke through the quiet tension. The doors opened to the penthouse.  

Paige followed. 

The moment she stepped inside, Azzi’s voice cracked through the air like a whip even before the door hadn’t even shut behind them. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” 

Paige stopped on her tracks. 

“Did you even consider what would happen if someone saw you in that room?” Azzi’s voice rose, sharp and biting. “If anyone had the tiniest idea you were even near that scene—” 

Paige stood still, heart hammering. Her thoughts spun, colliding with the sound of Azzi’s fury. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. 

Azzi’s words cut deeper. “There were drugs there, Paige. Drugs that could ruin everything.” 

“I didn’t know!” Paige burst out, her voice frayed. “I didn’t even notice.” 

“That doesn’t matter. Perception is everything.” Azzi’s voice was raw but sharp. “If a single photo, a whisper, even a fucking tweet gets out that you were in the same room as my brother with coke all over the table, you’re done. You understand that?” 

Paige stared at her, chest rising too fast. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find anything to say that didn’t sound like begging. Azzi wasn’t just angry. She was scared. And so was Paige. 

She slumped onto the couch, her hands covering her face, the weight of everything finally breaking through. Her shoulders shook once, then again, and when she finally looked up, there were tears on her cheeks she didn’t bother to hide. 

Paige dropped to her knees in front of her. She didn’t hesitate this time. 

“Hey!” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, ma.” 

Azzi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-heartbreak. “You really picked a moment to start using nicknames.” 

Paige tried to smile, but it faltered. “I didn’t want the night to end with you mad at me. That’s why I followed you upstairs. I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us.” 

Azzi’s eyes were searching Paige’s face like she was trying to decide if she could afford to believe her. The air around them felt too fragile to break, like one more word might shatter whatever thread still held. 

“I don’t even know what this is,” Paige said, her voice thinner than before, like the words scraped coming out. “But I’ve never fought this hard to matter to someone who won’t even look at me the same way twice.” 

Her fingers curled into her palms. 

“I joke around because I don’t know what else to do. I flirt because it’s safer than saying I care. But I do. I care more than I’ve ever let myself, and I don’t know if I’m making a complete fool of myself or if you’re just never going to meet me halfway.” 

She let the words hang in the air between them, her throat burning. 

“I followed you up there because I couldn’t stand the idea of tonight ending with you walking away. Mad. Hurt. Done. I messed up, I know that. But it didn’t mean anything. That girl didn’t mean anything. You—” 

Paige faltered. Her eyes dropped to the floor, voice barely audible now. 

“You mean more than I want to admit. And I don’t even know if I’m allowed to feel that way.”    Azzi’s voice came quiet, softer than Paige had ever heard from her. Barely held together. 

“You kissed her.” 

The words were fragile, not a question, just a quiet fact. Azzi blinked once, then added, “You literally made out with her in the corner.” 

Paige felt the shame hit square in her chest. “I know. That’s not—God, I know there’s no excuse.” 

She exhaled hard, rubbing the heel of her hand against her brow like she could scrub the mistake away.  

“It was stupid. I was stupid. I get reckless when I feel like I’m losing something I never really had. But that’s the thing. I keep trying to tell myself you’re just my boss, and we’re just two people who orbit in the same space. But it never feels that simple with you.”    Then there was a shift on Azzi’s eyes. It was darker than midnight outside.    “How did you expect your night to end with that girl?”  

Azzi grabbed Paige by the wrist and pulled her up to stand. The motion wasn’t violent, but it was forceful, laced with frustration, and with something deeper she hadn’t named yet.    “Huh, Paige?” She pushed with force. “Were you going to take her home?”  

Azzi’s voice rose, and with another push, Paige stumbled back a step. “Was that the plan?” 

Paige blinked, completely thrown. “Azzi, I don’t—what are you doing?” 

But Azzi looked like she didn’t even hear her. Like something had cracked, and all that restraint she wore so easily had started to splinter.  

Paige couldn’t make sense of it. She had seen Azzi composed in front of press rooms full of sharks. She had never seen her like this. Not this emotional. Not this affected.    “Were you going to fuck her?”     Paige flinched. 

“Were you going to fuck her good?” Azzi was seething. Her breath ragged.  

“I don’t know!”    “Stop lying to me.” Azzi pushed her back hard against the wall. “Was this what you were thinking when she had her mouth on your neck? When you dug your fingers into her hips like you couldn’t wait to fuck her right there?”    She stared at Azzi for a long moment. “Maybe I would’ve. I don’t know.”    Azzi’s stare didn’t waver.  

“She touched you like she had something to prove. And you let her.” Her voice dipped lower, bitter with restrained fury. “It’s almost insulting how easy you make it look. I could’ve done it better. I would’ve.”  

A beat passed. 

She took a single step forward, voice dropping. “You think that was good? The way she kissed you? The way she pressed into you like she had something to prove? I could make you feel like your whole body was mine to command.” 

Paige's breath caught somewhere in her throat, her back still against the wall. Azzi hadn’t even touched her, not really, and yet the room felt heavier, denser with every word. 

Her voice came out lower than she expected. “Azzi, what are you doing?” 

It was meant to come out sharp, teasing maybe. But it faltered under the weight of Azzi’s stare, under the bite in her voice, the promise in it.    Azzi’s voice dropped, eyes steady. “You want a girl who listens? Learns fast?” She leaned in, lips barely parted. “I can be your good girl, if that’s what you want.” 

Paige’s chest rose unevenly. Her pulse hadn’t calmed since Azzi backed her against the wall. She was still trying to gather herself, still trying to decide if this was a warning or something else entirely. 

“Last time I touched you…” Her voice broke through the charged air, low and hoarse. “You told me to ask for consent.” 

Azzi's expression didn’t soften. She only looked at Paige like she was daring her to try again. 

Paige swallowed hard. The tension curled down her spine. 

“So, I’m asking,” she murmured, heat tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Can I...” A pause, quieter. “Can I touch you?”    Azzi’s eyes flicked down to Paige’s lips. It looked soft and inviting.  

The silence between them stretched, full of sharp edges and everything unsaid.    For a long second, she didn’t move.  

Then, without warning, as if something inside her cracked open, she surged forward and kissed Paige. 

It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision of need and fury, messy and breathless. Teeth scraped. Fingers clawed at fabric.  

Paige stumbled a half step back into the wall, catching herself only because Azzi held her there. Every ounce of restraint shattered the moment their mouths met.  

“Touch me,” Azzi whispered, low and deliberate. “Touch me like you touched her.” 

The words made Paige go still for just a beat.  

Then she surged forward, pulling Azzi back into her like she’d been waiting to be told. 

Her hands roamed as her body answered without hesitation. Her mind losing ground to heat. Every inch between them burned with intent.  

The kiss deepened. Less war now, more hunger, more claim. 

Her fingers followed the curve of Azzi’s jaw, her thumb grazing the tender spot just beneath her ear.  

She leaned back slightly, their lips separating with a soft, lingering sound.  

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with longing.  

Azzi’s eyes drifted shut, her breath catching as Paige’s hand slid to her neck, fingers threading through the curls that framed her face.    Paige’s heart thundered as Azzi grabbed her by her shirt and pulled her toward the couch with deliberate force, their bodies colliding before Paige dropped back onto the cushions.  

The look in Azzi’s eyes was searing—hungry, impatient—and it lit Paige up from the inside. 

Azzi stepped back just enough to let the tension bloom between them. Her eyes dark, locking onto Paige like she was already imagining every way she was going to ruin her. 

Her fingers moved to the top button of her blouse.  

Paige watched, chest rising and falling fast, as Azzi worked each one open with deliberate slowness.  

One.  

Two.  

Three. 

The fabric parted inch by inch, revealing the glint of damp skin beneath, the curve of her collarbone, the faintest flush climbing down from her throat.  

Paige swallowed hard.  

The blouse slipped off her shoulders, caught for a second at her elbows before Azzi let it fall to the floor in a soft heap. 

Time stretched.  

Paige could feel the heat crawling up the back of her neck, pooling between her legs, spreading low in her belly like wildfire.  

Her eyes drifted over Azzi’s bare skin, down the taut lines of her abdomen, the way her bra clung tight to her chest, damp with sweat from anticipation alone.  

It was too much and not enough all at once. Every inch of her ached to touch, to taste, to lose herself in the woman standing before her like a slow-burning flame. 

Azzi stepped between her legs, the air between them thick, buzzing, ready to snap.  

Paige reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the side of Azzi’s thigh. She felt the slight tremble beneath her skin and knew Azzi was just as wrecked by the tension as she was. 

Azzi leaned in, close enough that Paige could feel her breath across her lips, but she didn’t kiss her yet. She hovered.  

Teased.  

Let the moment stretch until Paige was straining for more, her whole body alive with wanting. 

She climbed into Paige’s lap like she was staking a claim, her body flush against hers in one smooth, heated motion. Her grip on Paige’s shoulders was firm, fingers curling hard enough to make a point.  

The grinding started.  

There was nothing soft in the way she moved. Every shift of her hips, every inch of contact was laced with something deeper.  

Jealousy.  

Possession.  

A fury that simmered just beneath her skin.    “You let her touch you,” Azzi said, her voice low and sharp, almost a growl. “You let her kiss you like she had the right.” 

Her hands slid up into Paige’s hair, not tender, but demanding, forcing Paige to look at her. Her breath shook between her teeth, and her eyes were wild with something she hadn’t bothered to hide. 

“Did you like it?” she asked, her words clipped, dangerous. “Did it feel good when she put her hands on you?” 

She leaned in closer, her mouth barely brushing Paige’s, her grip tightening in her hair. The weight of her body pressed Paige down into the couch, every inch of her coiled and burning. 

"No," Paige whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“No?” she echoed, bitter and breathless, her hips grinding down harder against Paige’s lap. “That’s all you’ve got?” 

Her body pressed flush, heat radiating off her skin as she rolled her hips again, slow but punishing. Her breath hitched, but her gaze never left Paige’s, like she needed to watch every reaction, every falter in her control. 

“Because I saw the way she looked at you,” Azzi hissed, jaw tight. “Like she thought she had a chance.”    Her hand slid from Paige’s hair to the back of her neck, pulling her forward until their foreheads touched, rough and intimate. Her voice dropped, sharp and shaking. 

“Tell me she didn’t make you feel like this,” she growled, hips dragging against Paige’s again, rougher this time.  

She caught Paige’s bottom lip between her teeth, tugged—just enough to sting, just enough to punish. 

“Because if she did,” Azzi whispered darkly, “I’ll fuck you right here until you forget she even existed.” 

Paige felt it in the rhythm of Azzi’s body, the way she moved with sharp, almost punishing intent. Every roll of her hips came with a weight that wasn’t just desire.  

Azzi's fingers clutched her like she was holding her in place, like she couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.  

The heat in Azzi's eyes wasn’t the same kind she had seen before. It was darker. Fierce. 

Her breath caught as the realization hit her. 

Azzi Fudd was jealous. 

A slow smile spread across Paige’s lips, sharp and cocky, her fingers tightening at Azzi’s waist. 

“That’s what this is,” she said, voice low and taunting. “You’re jealous.” 

Azzi scoffed, fingers still tangled in Paige’s hair, her body grinding down with steady, punishing rhythm. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, voice tight and low, heat laced through every word. “This isn’t jealousy.” 

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the corner of Paige’s mouth as her hips rolled again, deeper this time. 

“This is control,” she whispered, breath hot against Paige’s skin. “I control you.” 

“Fuck.”  

Paige’s smile curled wider, lazy and smug. Her hands gliding down to grip Azzi’s ass, holding her there with just enough pressure to make her feel it. 

“You keep talking like you're in charge,” Paige groaned, her voice soaked in heat, “but you’re the one grinding like you can’t help yourself.” 

She leaned in, lips brushing Azzi’s throat without kissing, letting her breath drag slow and warm against her skin. 

“Tell me, baby,” she whispered, her tone low and taunting, “how do you want me to touch you?” 

Her fingers flexed against Azzi’s bare waist, teasing, not moving higher, not moving lower. 

“Fast and dirty like you’re pissed? Or slow enough to make you beg?”    “Fuck you.”    “Oh no, babe,” Paige licked Azzi’s throat up to her ear and whispered. “I’ll be fucking you.”    Azzi released a sound caught between a moan and a whimper, and Paige swore it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. 

Paige’s fingers moved with intent, unfastening the button on Azzi’s pants with a practiced ease. Her touch dipped lower, pressing just enough to make Azzi’s breath catch, her hips twitching forward.  

Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt like she needed something to hold on to. 

Paige’s fingers slipped just beneath the waistband, slow and teasing. The heat between them impossible to ignore. 

Then the phone rang. 

A vibration buzzed loud against the cushion beside them.  

Paige pressed her lips to Azzi’s throat, her tongue dragging slowly down to her collarbones. 

Every touch was deliberate, a wordless dare for Azzi to forget the phone completely. 

It rang again. Longer this time. 

Azzi’s body stilled. 

Her eyes dropped to the screen, and her heart thudded once—hard. 

Jake. 

The name glowed bright against the screen. 

Paige saw the name too. 

The tension in her spine pulled tight like a snapped wire, and she suddenly felt the weight of everything. The sweat on her skin, Paige’s hands inside her waistband, her thighs straddling someone who wasn’t supposed to be touching her like this. 

“Shit,” she whispered, voice raw. 

She exhaled shakily, then shifted, climbing off Paige’s lap with a kind of quiet urgency. Her back was already straightening.  

The phone kept ringing, insistent, a sound that sliced through the heat of the room.    Azzi answered the phone softly, but breathless. “Hey.” 

“Hey babe! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?” Jake’s voice came through, full of concern. 

“I was just in the shower,” Azzi replied quietly. The lie rolled in naturally. 

“You’re still flying to LA tomorrow, right?” he asked after a pause. 

Azzi glanced at Paige, who sat hunched forward, eyes fixed on the floor. Her jaw was tight, lips parted like a word had caught in her throat. One hand gripped the edge of the cushion, the other limp in her lap. The heat in her face had faded, replaced by something hollow and quiet.  

“Babe?” Jake’s voice was steady, waiting for a response. “You still there?” 

“Yes,” Azzi said, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Great! My parents can’t wait to meet you. Looking forward to it.” Jake said with relief. 

“Uh, yeah. I have to go now. I’ll message you when I land.”  

She set the phone down without turning toward Paige.    Something had changed, a tension neither of them wanted to admit, but both knew couldn’t be left unspoken.    Paige stood, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. The second Azzi ended the call, the weight of it hit like a brick. 

"You picked up," Paige said, voice tight. "You actually picked up his call." 

Azzi didn’t turn around. 

Paige stepped forward, her hands shaking. "After everything. After what you just said to me. You touched me like I was yours. You looked at me like I was the only thing in the world. And then you answered his call." 

Azzi’s shoulders rose slightly with her breath. "It was just a call." 

Paige let out a sharp laugh, one that cracked on the way out. "Are you serious? That’s what you’re calling it?" 

She moved closer, her voice rising. "You don’t get to be jealous. You don’t get to fuck with my head. You don’t get to put your hands all over me and then act like that call doesn’t mean something." 

Azzi turned around. Voice calm, almost cold. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t supposed to happen.”    “You’re afraid of wanting me.” Paige’s voice had dropped now, but it cracked on the edges. 

“I’m not afraid of anything,”  

Azzi held her posture with precision, but the pressure inside her was relentless.  

Paige’s words sank deep, scraping against everything she worked to keep buried. Her chest felt tight. Her pulse throbbed at her neck, a quiet tremor she couldn’t stop.  

She kept her hands still even though they itched to react, to reach for something, to push Paige away or pull her closer.    She hated how right Paige sounded. 

Paige stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s face.  

“I see you,” she said, voice steady. “Even when you think I’m not looking.”    Azzi’s breath hitched. She stayed rooted in place. Her breath shallow, her expression carved from stone. 

“You walk into a room like nothing touches you, like you’ve already decided how the story ends before anyone else can even read the first line.” Paige lifted her hand and touched Azzi’s cheek, the gesture soft, like she was holding something fragile. 

“But I see past all of that. I see the way your eyes flick to me when you think I’m not watching. I see how your hands tighten whenever my name comes up. I see you.” 

A flicker passed through Azzi’s eyes, too quick to name. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her stance rigid, as if any shift would crack through the restraint she fought to maintain. The heat behind her ribs rose, slow and aching, but she refused to let it reach her face. 

“I can’t do this, Paige.” 

The words landed like a final chord between them, cold and deliberate. 

Paige’s expression cracked. She didn’t speak, but something shifted in her shoulders, in the way her arms crossed tight against her chest as if bracing for impact. 

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” Azzi continued. “Any of it. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.” 

Her tone didn’t falter, but there was weight behind every word, the kind that didn’t come from doubt, but from resolve. 

“I let things get out of hand tonight. And almost,” she paused, her eyes flicking briefly to Paige’s mouth before she caught herself, “almost let it go further. But I can’t. You’re just starting your career. You deserve to do it clean without this distraction and mess tied to your name.” 

Paige’s brows drew in, pain evident in her expression, but Azzi pushed on. 

“I know I slipped. More than once. And it keeps happening, because around you I forget how to stay where I’m supposed to be, but it needs to end here.”    Paige stood still for a long moment, her jaw clenched, her eyes locked on Azzi like she was trying to memorize every angle of her face. Her voice came quieter, but there was no hesitation behind it. 

“What happened felt real,” she said. “At least to me.” 

Azzi didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened, stretched to its breaking point. 

Paige stepped closer.  

“When you stop being a coward to your own feelings,” Her voice lowered to a whisper, barely brushing the air., “you’ll know where to find me.”    Then she turned and walked out with every ounce of hurt carried in the quiet strength of her exit. 

The door clicked shut behind her. 

Azzi remained frozen, her arms stiff at her sides, her breathing shallow. The silence in the room echoed around her now, louder than anything Paige had said.  

She stayed standing for a moment longer, her eyes on the door as if willing it to open again, but it never did. 

The strength she had wrapped so tightly around herself finally gave out. 

Her shoulders dropped. Her hands trembled. And then her knees buckled beneath her, and she sank to the floor. 

The first sob caught in her throat, sharp and sudden. She pressed her hand over her mouth, as if she could contain it, but the emotion came in waves, rough and merciless. Her face crumpled, her body folding in on itself. 

For the first time that night, Azzi let herself feel all of it. And it wrecked her. 

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

So this is random but in the Blossom Reverse story does poison ivy ever think about her daughter or care I was just wondering anyways have a good night/ day

Oki dokey, so I plan to involve ivy in my story later on. But it will take a while.

And let me characterize Mom Ivy for you guys, since I want to give you some crumbs. A little spoiler Ivy as a mom is also a yandere. In my eyes, she would be one even in a non-yandere AU. When she found out she was pregnant after the affair with Bruce she was at first stunned. Ivy never imagined herself a mother—she sees herself as a force of nature, not a nurturer. But once it settles in…

The idea that she is growing something inside her, something that is half her and half him, turns into a kind of sacred obsession. This bloom will be perfect. No toxin. No corruption. Only life.

Ivy would swear off toxins and even isolate herself to ensure the child’s safety. She talks to her belly like it’s a seedling. She tells her growing daughter that daddy may be gone, but Mommy will protect you from everyone. Always.

Ivy sees her daughter as the most perfect thing in the world—a living blend of human and nature, something divine. She raises her like a rare flower. Ivy controls her environment, ensures no pesticides (aka people) get too close.

On the surface, she’s the gentle, nurturing garden mom, brushing her daughter’s hair with rose-petal fingers and telling her stories about nature spirits and betrayal. But there’s a line—and when crossed, Ivy becomes terrifying. One raised voice at her child and you might end up buried under a blooming bed of vines, face frozen in fear.

She feels conflicted about Batman, since he is also responsible for the sweet little bloom in her arms.

And when she gets captured and send to Arkham? Oh yeah that‘s her reason to crashout.

It was foolish of her to join the other goons in their plans of robbing a building. She had just wanted a bit more money to provide a better place for her sweet baby, but when Batman but the cuffs in her she knew she was done for.

t begins the moment she’s captured. Bloodied, cornered, and restrained, she reveals the existence of their child—not as a threat, not to manipulate—but as a mother whose world just shattered. For the first time, Batman sees something behind her eyes that isn’t cruelty or seduction, but raw, trembling fear.

As she’s locked in Arkham, her psyche begins to decay in silence. Her obsession with control twists into delusion. Without her daughter, Ivy becomes unmoored. The natural cycles she once worshipped feel meaningless. Seasons blur. Her grip on reality slips.

She stops seeing Arkham as a prison—she sees it as rot infecting the roots of her life. She turns inward, building a world of vines and fantasy where her daughter is still safe in her arms. She cultivates that world obsessively in her cell: sculpting figures from leaves, whispering to blossoms, assigning names and memories to plants.

She is a grieving mother redefined by obsession.

Not out for justice.

Not for balance.

Only for her daughter.

In the quiet of her cell, surrounded by creeping ivy and the scent of damp earth, she closes her eyes and breathes in the memory of her daughter’s laughter—soft, high, blooming. She knows Y/N is safe for now. Bruce may be many things, but he protects what’s his, and he knows how to raise broken little souls with steady hands. Still, Ivy’s fingers curl against the cold stone floor, the vines at her wrists tightening like promises. This separation is only temporary. One day, the walls will crack, the roots will reach, and when they do, she will take back what was stolen. And this time, her little bloom will grow only in her garden. Forever.

[andromedicasphyxiate]

Morning kuntz

Mummy's awake ⏰️

Peed like 3 times and contemplated my breakfast choices for a bit, could come to no obvious conclusion, so im probably gonna ask my dad to just surprise me with whatever he gets. Unless its on my list of blacklisted dishes, in which case i will throw a fit and curse everyone. My mom has an exam in like 3 days so we're forcing her not to cook till then

and now im omw to watch meaningless YouTube vids. Really tryna make the most of the last few days of the summer u know

So yeah

Just wanted to let all you peasants know

I also want a hat like this little guy

So that I may look like a stunner too

#fossilOut (remember the McDonald's fries and Pooja what is this behavior post from a couple days ago? Or maybe it was yesterday?? So in that i said that the dog called me a fossil and I thought that was freaking HILARIOUS so now im gonna sign off like that on every post.

This is also how "stay safe on the blur" and other shit I say on the reg reg were created wheeee

I cant recall what else I say on the regular #soAnnoying

[magicalmatcha]

now playing ♪ adult diversion by alvvays

"you wont let anyone out and keep a padlock on your door"

cw: n/a (?)

“But I want ice creeeaaam!” Yume whined, her voice reaching that glass-shattering pitch only small, determined children can summon.

Yn didn’t even flinch. She kept slicing cucumber with mechanical precision, the thud of the knife against the cutting board steady and unbothered. “You can have ice cream after dinner,” she said coolly. “Which means after your uncle brings the salmon. Which means—”

“I have to wait,” Yume groaned, flopping dramatically onto the kitchen floor like a Victorian widow. Her penguin was already lying face-down beside her, clearly also a victim of this injustice. "But I want ice cream nowwww!"

Yn shrugged, “We don’t always get what we want, Yume.” Her tone was calm, but firm—the kind of line every mother earns the right to deliver with weary authority. She turned around to find her daughter still sprawled on the kitchen floor like a tiny protester staging a sit-in.

“You want to help Mama?” she asked, crouching slightly as she opened the fridge. “Maki needs her medication and water. Think you can be in charge of that?”

Yume perked up immediately, the glimmer of purpose replacing the earlier betrayal. “Like a nurse?” she asked, already inching toward her feet.

“Exactly like a nurse,” Yn said, pulling out the water pitcher and grabbing a plastic cup, the kind that wouldn’t break if (when) it hit the floor. She poured it three-quarters full and handed it over carefully. “Big responsibility. Don’t spill it or Maki might explode.”

“She might explode?” Yume gasped, gripping the cup like it held state secrets.

“Terrible side effect,” Yn deadpanned, nudging her daughter gently toward the hallway. “Now go save her.”

Yume took off with her penguin tucked under one arm and the water in both hands, her tiny footsteps echoing through the apartment.

Yn leaned against the counter, sighing to herself as she picked the knife back up. “Should’ve been an actress,” she muttered.

The jingle of keys at the door snapped Yn’s attention away from the cucumber she was slicing.

Yuuta burst in a moment later, grocery bags in both hands, looking like he’d just escaped a hostage situation. His hair was a little damp from the drizzle outside, and his expression teetered between panic and mild existential dread.

“You good?” Yn asked, brows furrowed as she watched him kick off his shoes with a little too much force and march to the counter like the groceries were evidence he needed to get rid of.

He dropped the bags with a dramatic thud, exhaling sharply like he’d just finished a marathon. “No,” he said. “And don't be mad at me when I tell you this because this literally couldn't be my fault in any way shape or form."

Yn narrowed her eyes, already skeptical. She walked over to the grocery bags, "Sounds like it's your fault."

“It’s not, I swear.” Yuuta held up his hands in surrender. “But you won’t believe who I saw outside.”

Yn gasped. “Grammy winner Megan Thee Stallion.”

He blinked. “I—no. Fushiguro.”

Her expression fell flat. “You’re kidding.”

“You wish,” he muttered, starting to unpack the groceries like it would make the moment less cursed. “And I know we, like, hate him or whatever, but he saw me. And came up to talk. So what was I supposed to do? Not talk back?”

“Yes,” Yn deadpanned.

“Well, I didn’t do that,” he admitted, sheepish.

“How’d that go?” she asked, already bracing herself as she dug through the bags.

Yuuta scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, so again, not my fault, but we were talking, just, like, basic catching up, and… I may have accidentally let it slip that I was bringing these groceries to you.”

Yn’s head snapped up, glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Yuuta!”

“I know!” he groaned, running both hands down his face. “And it didn’t hit me until after I got off the elevator that I might’ve just led him to your exact floor. Like breadcrumbs.”

“Damn it,” Yn muttered, dragging a hand down her face. Her pulse spiked, mouth dry with dread.

Yuuta winced. “Sorry. But like… this might be a sign.”

Before Yn could respond, a knock echoed through the apartment. Sharp. Intentional.

Both of their heads whipped toward the door like startled animals. Then, slowly, in unison, they turned back to look at each other.

“He wouldn’t,” Yuuta whispered, eyes wide.

“He would,” Yn groaned, already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

She smoothed down her top with trembling hands, brushing the crease from her sleeve like it mattered. “Keep Yume in Maki’s room,” she muttered over her shoulder.

Yuuta nodded solemnly, already gathering the toys Yume had scattered on the living room rug. “Good luck,” he whispered.

Yn took a deep breath and opened the door.

Megumi stood there.

A little damp from the drizzle, curls clinging to his forehead, collar of his jacket slightly askew like he’d been running his hands through his hair. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, those deep blue eyes, were loud. Loud with confusion, longing, guilt, desperation.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days and had finally found the thing keeping him awake.

“Hi,” he said, quiet, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

Yn didn’t speak at first. She just looked at him, really looked at him. This wasn’t the boy who kissed her wrists in the dark. This was a man with a vintage porsche and a Spotify profile, standing on her doorstep like the last five years hadn’t passed.

“What do you want, Megumi?” she asked, voice calm. Too calm.

He hesitated. “I… I just wanted to talk.”

Yn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“I know. I know it is.” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t know you were still here. I didn’t know anything.”

“No,” she corrected sharply, “you didn’t ask anything.”

He winced.

Behind her, somewhere down the hall, the low hum of a cartoon played from Maki’s room. A child’s giggle followed. She saw Megumi glance past her shoulder, subtle, but not subtle enough.

Yn stepped forward, forcing his eyes back to hers. “You’re not coming in.”

“I just… I just need to know,” he said. “I saw her. At the restaurant. I heard her say she was four. And then your text message—"

“And?” Yn raised an eyebrow, daring him.

“And I need to know if—” he stopped himself, jaw clenched. “I just need the truth. All of it."

Yn’s expression didn’t flicker. “You should go.”

Silence stretched long between them.

Then, finally, she spoke, quiet, cool, devastating. “I built a life without you. Don’t try to retroactively insert yourself into it.”

She started to close the door.

“Yn,wait,” Megumi said quickly, stepping forward. “Just, please. One conversation. That’s all I’m asking.”

She paused.

Then opened the door a little wider. Just a crack.

“Tomorrow,” she said, tone firm. “Meet me at Blue Salt at noon.”

And then she shut the door

extra extra read all about it! (no seriously read it)

I'm not proofreading that or I'm never posting this chapter

I realized Yn can't be five years fully. Given the timeline so she's just five years sober off heroin

I rewrote this chapter like five times bc I couldn't figure out how I wanted it to flow. That whole lock screen has been changed 6 separate times.

Maki is still sick (it's only been a day since the last chapter) but she might be milking it at this point

Yuuta has a key because sometimes he babysit Yume while Yn is at work (and since Maki is sick that's what he was going to do today)

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[veryfruitywriting]

even more headcanons of mac !

—from date everything—

it is currently 4:18 in the morning and i cannot fall asleep. i saw some cute fanart of mac and decided to write more content about them <3

this will probably be queued later in the morning hehe please ignore any mistakes as i’m just doing this as i go!

keep in mind this will be loosely based on their more “humanoid” forms that we see in the polaroids!

— it can be a bit tiring sitting in a chair all day, especially when it’s mostly forced upon you. you can’t afford those unique table that can change its height so being hunched over your desk will have to do for now.

— you can tell Mac gets tired of it as well. They have a comfortable chair and all—as it’s their only mobility—but the sound of just laying down and allowing their body to be one straight line sounds wonderful.

— you both look at each other and decided it’s time to take a break from the computer and its demanding duties.

— “after you,” you open the door swiftly, allowing them to wheel through and follow them to the living room.

— it was a daily routine now between the two of you. after hours of being glued to the screen, you both decide to wind down on the couch and take a breather. basking in each others presences during this downtime.

— you firmly lift them up from their chair and hold them close to your chest, planting a quick kiss on their jawline before falling onto the couch. a quick ‘oof’ and sigh was heard from you as you sunk into the couch.

— mac crossed their leg over the other as they adjusted themselves on your lap. their shoulders pressed at your chest and their head at the crook of your neck, they found themselves in a very comfortable position.

— you both talk softly. whether its about how tiring work is or plans for dinner, it didn’t matter. just hearing their voice was just enough for you.

— your eyes are closed while you two chatted. you were trying to heal your eyes from your bad habit of not blinking when it came to any large screen. you could feel air hit your now exposed neck as you felt mac lean back slightly. they were simply admiring your resting expression now. your slightly frowned eyebrows and your faint eye bags were the little things they loved to witness.

— you continued to hold them. your hand on their outer thigh and the other one at their waist. you know mac has a strong core and won’t allow them to slip off that easy, but you couldn’t help but be so physical with them.

— they are the same way with you. at this moment, they are currently brushing the strands of hair behind your ears, keeping them away from hiding any wrinkle or freckle that you were blessed with.

— and when they’re done with that, they tug at the fabric of your shirt. or possibly trace imaginary lines on your exposed arms. or might even mess with any wrist bands you may have. it doesn’t matter. they cannot keep their hands off of you.

— and neither can you.

it’s now 5am RAAAHHHHH. future me, was it worth it 💔

also i’m fixing the photos, themes, and possibly titles for my other hcs/posts so don’t fear!!! they’re just getting a little makeover! all of them are linked on my pinned <3

[rivereverie]

Just some observations on Astarion learning to see that he is loved

I just saw a clip of Astarion's response to his partner cheating on him with Mizora and it got me thinking. While his entire reaction is very telling and meaningful in its entirety, one line stood out to me:

"I really thought there was more to you. That you were better than other people"

This was striking because it immediately reminded me of something else he says, in the scene after his siblings attempt to capture and return him to Cazador:

"You're the only one. Other people don't have a heart like you. You're you. No one is like that."

These lines feel a little odd at first, because Astarion isn't known for putting the PC on a pedestal. I don't think that's exactly what he's doing here. I think these lines are just capturing the inner chaos and contradiction that naturally come with the gradual unraveling of a long-held worldview. At this point, Astarion is able to process that one person cares for and accepts him, but only one. They must be an outlier: an exception to the rule. Surely they're something special.

Obviously this isn't true, though, and the next step is for him to learn that the PC isn't actually unique in their ability to accept and care for him him. In fact, Astarion is already loved by others and just doesn't see it. This line of his is beautifully contrasted by Karlach's reaction to Astarion's near-abduction. She is righteously angry and protective because she loves Astarion too.

"I dare Cazador to sent more lackeys our way. This is our territory. I'll crack anyone who tries to come into my house and hurt my people."

Earlier in the story, we get a similar moment during the confession scene, showing again how Astarion isn't always able to see the truth of what others feel for him.

When he says this, he sounds surprised. Like the idea of a friend is a revelation. This kind of broke my heart when I first heard it, because I thought it was obvious to him that he already had friends, in both the other companions and my character. But I think a part of him genuinely was stuck in that old thought pattern of assuming that anyone who showed interest in him just wanted to use him. This also makes it clear just how divorced sex is from affection in his mind and experience. Though they've slept together at least several times and grown more emotionally intimate too, Astarion still needs confirmation that the PC actually cares for him.

I made a post once about the two triggers for Astarion's confession here, which further reveal his mindset: going out of your way and into danger to get his scars translated, or choosing not to force him into complying with Araj's dehumanizing demands. Both of these things are concrete demonstrations of respect and care for him and what he wants. Astarion knows very well how empty words can be, so actions are what finally help him believe that the PC cares about him, and gives him the impetus to confess.

Later, If you break up with Astarion, his reaction is extremely telling in that he regresses slightly from this healthier mindset he had developed:

"I can hardly blame you. I don't exactly have much to offer right now, beyond new burdens to carry."

Typically, we witness any traces of Astarion's self-deprecation filtered through irony or dark humor, so his vulnerability in this moment is stark.

He claims that he has very little to offer, but that just isn't true. He may be going through a bit of a crisis, but he is still a shockingly good partner given the circumstances. He is unwaveringly supportive, caring, and clearly tries to lighten his partner's emotional load when they begin to feel the strain of responsibility. Not to mention, just being himself still makes him perfectly worthy of being loved. In any relationship, there will be times when one person needs more support than they themself can give, and that doesn't mean that they aren't enough. We're seeing, yet again, that he sometimes just doesn’t recognize how deeply he is valued by others. At this point, maybe a part of him still feels like he needs to be of service in order to be accepted, let alone loved. I also personally interpret this line as partially concerning his insecurity around not "providing" his partner with sex at this time, reiterating this deeply internalized belief that he needs to perform in order to be valued.

All of these little moments add so much subtly and humanity to his character, and make his development feel natural and earned. The payoff is clear after Cazador's death, when we get to see his new confidence:

He doesn't have to ask "really?" this time.

"You believed in me - believed I was enough just the way I am."

He truly knows now that he is loved.

[iamthedukeofurl]

I feel like the issue with "Moral Complexity" takes on Superman is that they try to make superman a stand in for, say, The American Military. Somewhere, in a foreign country, some people are going to kill some other people. Those people believe that they have the moral right, often the necessity, to do so. What does stopping that killing mean for the American Military? Well it usually means either dropping bombs to kill people and destroy things, sending in a small group of people with guns to kill people, or doing a massive effort to deploy a large force, which MAY have a chance to intimidate The Bad Guys into laying down their weapons, but will probably end up killing people. The latter two options also risk your troops, more deaths. After you have stopped this killing, you need to figure out what to do next? Like, you could kill the people trying to do the bad thing this time, but atrocities are rarely just because a few people wanted to do a bad thing, and obedience due to threats goes away when the threat goes away. It's not effective to just drop bombs or shoot some people, say "No more killing", and leave. Regardless, people Die, resources are expended, and you probably don't solve the underlying problem. "Should the United States Millitary intervene to stop violence in a foreign country" IS a sticky question from moral, political, and practical considerations. But...none of that really applies to Superman. Superman doesn't spend millions of dollars to fly across the world. Superman can stop the killing without killing anyone himself, so even if he's wrong about who the "Good Guys" are in the situation, there's no permanent harm. Superman isn't at risk, so there's no question of if it is worth risking lives to stop this particular killing. Yeah, he's probably not going to solve the underlying conflicts, but Superman can say "Don't try anything like this again" and then go home, and the threat remains real without him leaving an occupying army around. Yeah, his arrival violates sovereignty or whatever, but Superman isn't a nation. If Superman stops you from committing an atrocity, and the worst thing you can say about is actions are that he Wasn't Allowed To Do That, that doesn't exactly paint you in good light. Just as mutants don't really work as an allegory for oppressed classes when some of them can kill you with their brains, Superman doesn't really work as an allegory for any real-world person or group. He's Superman.

not to shit on zack snyder again but it's really funny that he tried to make a big, grand, complex moral quandary on where superman should stand when he saves people around the world and then james gunn is like "he wants to do it because he thinks it's the right thing to do". sometimes going simpler means you get to the crux of what the character is all about much more efficiently. like wow it's really that easy

[that-faerie-in-the-corner]

you know what I find fascinating about how Helen is talked about in the works in the epic cycle?

everyone has argued to death over whether she was kidnapped, went willingly, was influenced/controlled/threatened by Aphrodite, whatever, but the thing is the actual TEXTS can't seem to make up their minds on Helen. everyone will be cursing Helen's name as an unfaithful wife and destroyer of men in Agamemnon but then Paris will be called a "robber-rapist" which would obviously heavily imply that he stole and assaulted her (plus the part where Clytemnestra basically says "shut the fuck up about Helen she didn't force you to do all that", although how much we're supposed to agree with her is debatable). In Iphigenia In Aulis we're going to war to get REVENGE on the Trojans AND HELEN but then Agamemnon will accuse Menelaus of "lust(ing) only to hold a lovely woman in (his) arms", calls him crazy for wanting her back, and then when Menelaus changes his mind about killing Iphigenia to get the winds back he says "Could I not obtain A perfect marriage elsewhere, if I longed for Marrying? But a brother whom I should Most cherish, I was about to forfeit To gain a Helen, so bartering excellence For evil" which is still pretty spiteful towards Helen but also really fucking weird to say if he only wanted her back to kill or otherwise punish her. Then, in the same play, the Greeks are described as wanting to sail to Troy so "That they may halt the plunder of marriage beds And the rape and seizure of Greek women" which would also imply Helen was, in fact, raped and seized, otherwise why would it be phrased like that and not like, "seduced" or "whisked away" or whatever? In Orestes Elektra and Orestes interpret Helen's actions in the worst possible light while when Helen actually speaks she seems generally sympathetic towards them, distraught and grieving over the whole situation, and claims that she went because Aphrodite made her mad, which could absolutely be a lie, but the thing is we just don't know who's the unreliable narrator here Is this a translation thing? Indicative of a really weird idea of what rape is? Is this an intentional writing choice? This got me to thinking and then I realized that if Menelaus was away when Helen left then he almost certainly doesn't actually know what happened. He didn't see or hear what happened, he doesn't get a chance to talk to Helen and have her explain until after the war, and obviously none of the other Greeks would know for sure either, right? And I just think it is kind of a missed opportunity that adaptations don't really do anything with this kind of unspoken conflict at all. Paris the Musical kind of does (Menelaus believes Helen was abducted when she ended up begrudgingly going with Paris trying to help him to escape) but like, why do all the greek men have one idea of Helen in adaptations? Why don't they argue about it? Why don't they question Menelaus about his motivations more? What if (especially if Aphrodite fucked with her head, as I am one to believe) Helen doesn't even trust herself on her own intentions? What if Menelaus tears himself up debating this with himself every night? Like, could I trust that she wouldn't do this to me and our daughter? Is it better that my wife doesn't love me anymore and is safe with her new lover, or that she does but is trapped against her will having who knows what done to her? Do I know my wife anymore? Did I ever know her in the first place? What if he lays eyes on Helen, his Helen, for the first time in ten years and his sword slips from his grasp as he realizes that yes, of course he knows her, how could he have ever doubted? Or maybe he still doesn't know if he knows her, but maybe he doesn't need to, because he knows that she is tired and scared, and he still loves her, and he just wants to take her back to their home? What then? Hm?

[mona-risms]

Just figured it out. The entire Huntr/x group has a massive praise kink, most likely from their ✨shared trauma✨ of being rejected/isolated for one reason or another. Honestly I can't picture any of them responding exceptionally well to any form of degradation (again because they've already been there and done that already). Literally that one audio just:

Rumi: Give me the biggest fucking praise buff- 🤗

(Reader): You're such a good girl~

Mira: HOLY FUCK TREAT ME LIKE THAT 🫢

(Reader): Good fucking girl

Zoey in the background: YES I AM!! 🤩

Literally three losers trapped in hot bodies 😭 but you'd be absolutely right and you will be hearing NO objection from me. They've already dealt with some form of degradation in their lives (not in a fun way), and even if it IS a sexual setting and sure they're aware that some people kinda like it bc it's a form of reclamation anyway, it's. Unless it's VERY light and teasing degradation, it's really really not for them. Methinks they'd have individual preferences when it comes to it though

Rumi would respond best when it comes to being praised for her appearance, which seems shallow at base level but think about it w me for a sec. She's grown up believing that she should be ashamed, that she should hide her patterns or else she'll be nothing but a demon to everyone's eyes—even managed to convince her that Zoey and Mira would NEVER accept and understand her if she told the truth and showed them proof of her descent. If you tell her how she's such a pretty girl for you, all ruined while you fuck her brains out, and if you even target the parts that she thinks are 'monstrous' like her patterns or her eyes or literally anything? She's gone. Her entire body's shaking from the force of her orgasm and her claws might damage the bed but oh well!!!!

Zoey would LOVELOVELOVE being praised for being good, which is why in one of my earlier entries I've said how she adores petplay. She CRAVES affection AND approval, especially considering her people-pleasing tendencies—she wants to be more than enough for you, she wants to do everything you ask of her, she wants to give you everything you want, she wants you happy bc you happy and satisfied is her own reward!!! There's that small nagging feeling constantly inside her that gets her thinking if she isn't good then you won't want her anymore :( so bombard her with praise about how she's your good girl, taking everything you give her and squeezing down, all dripping wet and obedient, and those thoughts'll float away as she keeps on babbling and saying thank you with tears in her eyes

Mira wouldn't really voice it out, not really, but the way to get to her may actually be by being possessive during sex. Stay with me here, right. She's never felt like she belonged anywhere, considering her 'problem child' status that most definitely got her feeling shunned left, right, and centre. She's not possessive in general, and if YOU were like deathly possessive yourself she'll even sit you down just to kinda like have a talk w you about it. But when it comes to intimacy and kinks? Oh. Oh my god. There's something about you calling her yours and no one else's, about you gripping onto her tight as if letting go would tear her away from you, that gets her so fucking hot and bothered. Bc her whole life she didn't belong anywhere and yet now you're telling her she belongs to you??? FUCK she'd have such a deathly grip on you too, and her body's movements as it arches as close to you as possible more than speaks for her

Overall these girls def need to be praised so much :( not just in sex but in general as well. It gets them feeling a bit of heat in their core but also it makes them so happy :(((( they deserve love

[quantummindclassicalheart]

Some thoughts on what makes this genre compelling: one simple framework for thinking of rules (and their more muscular cousins, laws) is as a set of guidelines for action determined by an individual or institution with the power to enforce the rules.

Implicit in this is the idea that disobeying the rules may lead to you coming to harm (either becuase the rulemaker cannot protect you from external harm, or because the rulemaker will cause the harm itself), but also the converse promise of safety if you do follow the rules.

In short: "if you follow the rules you will be safe."

Rules horror turns this on its head by asking questions like the following:

What are the rules keeping us safe from?

What if the rules contradict each other, so there is no way to consistently follow all the rules?

Who or what came up with the rules? How were they determined, and why were they made?

What if the rules were made by a force that is either malevolent or largely apathetic to your wellbeing?

What if the rules were never meant to keep you safe to begin with?

These questions are relevant in our real-world systems too-- laws and regulations, of course, but also codes of conduct, classroom policies, organizational bylaws, social media moderation policies, and so on. (One could also extend this to religious laws, but that's a whole can of worms.)

And there are different ways to answer the questions to promote trust. Community-generated agreements, for instance, ask for every member of a group to contribute to and approve the agreements of how they want to be in relationship with one another.

More broadly, in the systems of power we live under, what agreements are made between those who wield more power and those who wield less? How are those agreements negotiated, and by whom, and how are they enforced? Can those agreements promise safety? Can they promote flourishing?

Depending on how we answer these questions, this might lead us to contractualism and social contract theory or to anarchism or any other number of political and philosophical destinations.

In any case, rules horror (in the form presented above) invites us to consider what we give up when we follow the rules, whether the promise of safety through obedience is worth it (and even achievable at all!), and which consequence of disobedience is scarier: the wrath of a known authority or the threat of an unknowable danger.

...might've discovered a new genre to lose my mind about, hold please

[zazaiafe2]

How to shift from a lucid dream?

You try to shift via a lucid dream, but:

- your dream becomes unstable,

- you can’t open your portals or doors,

- you wake up too quickly ,

- or worse, you wake up... into another dream , sometimes even a dream of your DR.

If this sounds familiar, stay here. This post is for you.

1) The most effective ways to shift from a lucid dream:

1️⃣Maximum stabilization of lucidity: Before attempting the shift, you must stabilize the lucid state.

That means:

- touching objects,

- mentally describing the environment,

- fully feeling the dream body.

The more stable the lucidity, the smoother the transition.

This also reduces all risks related to waking up abruptly before shifting.

2️⃣ Clear but non-forcing intention: This is not the classic LOA assumption where you "force" the belief.

It’s rather an internal alignment.

-> A gentle and fluid decision: "I’m going there now."

We’re talking about intentional letting go.

3️⃣ Gentle transition techniques rather than forced visual portals:

- Act as if you're falling asleep inside the dream (WILD-like) .

- Subtly visualize elements of the desired reality (DR) around you without trying to "push" or "force".

- Feel the sensations of the target DR (e.g. temperature, smells, air texture…).

Body transfer usage:

- Feel your DR body in parallel while still lucid.

=> e.g.: feel the different gravity, weight, breathing, body posture you would have in your DR .

2️⃣ Visual portals (classic types: doors, mirrors, elevators, vortex) and why they may fail:

✅ Used by some can be useful for some people

❌ But in my opinion, it's often counterproductive if it triggers anxietyor doubt.

Basically, trying too hard to force the portal's visual creates cognitive and emotional stress , which hinders the transition.

Thus, portals are sometimes secondary.

It’s more a matter of stabilizing internal focus than creating spectacular imagery .

3)Why lucid dreaming is a valuable base:

Lucid dreaming is already an advanced form of ECM that can serve as a bridge toward shifting:

- Cognitive dissociation is already present.

- The brain is much more malleable and plastic in this state.

- Logical limits are softened.

- You’re already in a non-fixed environment , so reality shifting happens more naturally.

However, the transition often remains invisible.

4)Is the portal from a lucid dream the most effective?

Not necessarily.

Many shifter report that portals are very popular because they are visual, easy to conceptualize, and well-suited for people who need a clear image.

But in practice: The portal is not always the most effective.

Often, it acts more like a metaphor or cognitive aid to symbolize awarness transfer, but real shifting doesn’t happen because of the portal.

Some experienced shifters say that the more you focus on "opening" the portal, the higher the risk of "recreating" another dream, as the unconscious mind simply generates a matching scenery instead of producing the true release.

5)Why do many end up in another dream or fail with the portal?

It’s quite logical:

Creating a visual portal often activates a creative part of the brain, producing a new dream rather than a true shift.

The lucid dream state is already cognitively unstable. Trying to force a major visual transition (like opening a portal) often destabilizes lucidity.

If dissociation, focus on awarness transfer , and deep letting go are not present at the right moment, the portal becomes just another dream event.

6) Which methods are considered more effective for shifting from a lucid dream?

- Drop the body / Fade out (progressive bodily sensation loss):

Focus on sensory fading of the lucid dream. Let the scene fade and gently transfer awareness without trying to "actively create" my visual transition.

- Stillness & Transfer (inner calm + pure intention):

Stay still, centered on the intention: "I am there now", without visualizing or building anything.

The less you try to produce a scene, the more awarness shifts naturally.

- Consolidation of identity (DR identity anchoring):

During lucid dreaming, solidify your DR identity before transfer. Example:

"I am already myself over there. My DR body is ready, waiting for me."

Use spontaneous dream instability moments (visual fading, blurriness, vibration) as natural triggers for transfer.

7)Why do some manage to shift easily from a lucid dream, and others don’t?

Several factors explain this:

- Level of natural dissociation

- Level of cognitive letting go (less overthinking, less voluntary control)

- Stability of identity intention (feeling you already "are" in the DR , without having to create it)

- Neurocognitive habit of sliding between states of consciousness

=> Lucid dreaming isn’t necessarily the magical bridge many imagine; it’s just another altered state of consciousness.

Basically, stabilize your lucid dream.

Set your intention without forcing.

Create the sensory and bodily state of your DR.

Let the transition happen like a natural slide.

-> The more the consciousness transfer is treated as an internal state shift (awareness shift), and not as a visual event, the higher your chances of success from a lucid dream.

[dustcrumbs]

Have Dust's new design from this 'au'

@dreamy-fever decided the height..

Also, I haven't gotten to Horror yet. Because I haven't been able to figure out what he should look like.

Since this Dust hasn't met Killer, he's still closed off and reserved to only himself. He doesn't have any close bonds with anyone (till he met Horror). He also has a LOTT of pent up feelings..

Dust is a lot closer to canon Murder sans, but still not exact.

Dust gets a tail because I SAID SO.

There are pins supposed to be on Dusts duffel bag, either to express his interests or just because he likes the designs on them

Dust always changes his hats. Its a mean of expression

That'll prove to be horrible when he grows obsessed with Horror.

This Dust masks A LOTTTT. He may look friendly, but he's a piece of shit under that facade.

Some of his thoughts are just insulting you in his head. The other was just intrusive thoughts.. That sometimes turn into impulsive.

Dust goes to a group counseling for rehabilitation. He doesn't really give a fuck about it, he was forced to take this group to even enter the omega timeline.

Dust works a plain office job. He would be a scientist, but he's rather lazy to do all the work they do. But this helps a lot more with his bored life before Horror.

Horror works as a butcher too! (Which proves to be useful down the path if ykw I mean.. slice..)

This Is all I can think of atm. There may be more ideas incorporated about Dusts personality!!

[sanotymanjiro]

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 ꨄ︎

𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙧𝙤

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

fluff, soft, set in whatever timeline the reader wants, secret crush; mikey on reader, mild swearing

⚽ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

mikey is a manchild. he is your best friend and soulmate, the boy you grew up with and the boy who has protected you, teased you, cared for you but also been a pain in your ass forcing you to spend countless nights fetching him some dorayaki dead at night because he couldn't sleep. you knock as quietly as you can covey your annoyance without waking the entire sano household up and the door instantly swings open revealing the golden haired boy with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. you fight the urge to roll your eyes and shove the bag his way ready to turn away until his hand catches your wrist.

mikey: waittt!

y/n, practically hissing: what?!

mikey, with a pleading grin: movie night please please pleaseeee?

y/n: are you mad?! u may skip school but i very much still have an 8 to 3 schedule manjiro! i'm getting no sleep at this rate!

mikey, begging: please! fine fine fine! ill...ill let you do my hair...?

and thats how you ended up in his room snuggled together with an assortment of coloured hair ties and accessories in your lap with spirited away rolling in the back at a low volume. you brush his golden locks using your portable hairbrush smiling to yourself as you lean down to sniff it since it smells like your favourite shampoo when you were a child, baby johnson's. you had teased mikey for using it at his big age of 15 but every time he would pout and explain how it was the only thing that isn't damaging and even try to force you to use it just to prove his point, he had a serious fear of going bald in the future and you once caught him trying to generate himself as a bald on man on ai which had you dying of laughter while he whined in embarrassment.

mikey: owww- hss- ow! slow down y/n!!

y/n: stop being a baby i'm done, i'm done...

after untangling the knots in his hair you split it down the middle and gather it into two small pon-pons before sliding a baby blue hair tie with a bow attached to hold them in place, smiling to yourself at how cute it looked while applying some white clips to his bangs.

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐯:

mikey pretended to watch the movie but the mirror on his closet opposite him reflecting your joyful face wouldn't let him. his fingers fidgeted with the covers of his bed which you had bought him as a gift claiming his room was too plain and mature, his eyes darting to the gentle curve of your jaw in the warm light flowing from the bedside lamp. manjiro had always found you cute, sure you were bratty, nagging, extremely stubborn and persistent and maybe sometimes annoying but your cuteness won all of that ten times over, and mikey was one of the few to notice it. the way you tilt your head to check the sides of his hair, the way your tongue would peek out when you were focused, the soothing motion of your fingers as they brushed his hair over and over thanks to your perfectionist nature, the light of satisfaction that would swirl in your eyes when you were finally pleased with the result; two cute ponytail sort pon-pons with baby blue bows, white clips and a small butterfly clip right on the top of his hair.

mikey couldn't understand why you were so proud of making him look like a walking clown but that didn't matter because he got to see your smile, he got to see you happy and that mattered most of all. before he even notices theres a gentle smile etched onto his lips like second nature and the movie is forgotten completely.

it hurt like hell whenever you would tug too hard at his locks or brush through a knot but if he could watch you like this without you noticing that was all he could ever want not because he didn't want to confess, but because he wanted to make sure that when he does, he'll no longer be the manchild he is now, but the reliable man of your dreams.

2025 @sanotymanjiro

tags (for everyone who enjoyed bubble baths): @dolledupformanjiro | @tetsuyuuuuuuu | @artsjiwoo | @mikeysgf1 | @natsumis-stuff | @katsukisat0 | @dancingnewcat | @whyme287 | @destinyfleur | @banana-revenge | @bebacebe | @mikeys-therapy | @peensas | @afterunigoths | @skr1mps | @beetusbritt | @dollrndo | @yourbabydolllll | @cherry-blossom5 | and anyone else!

[manyegos]

Originally posted on May 3rd, 2023 This movie made me cry. I posted about it before. It really reflected a deep seated pain I had, a trauma I had as a kid. I love that movies and start help us make sense of things that we all go through but no one dares to speak about it. The movie is heavily inspired by the study by Niobe Way on Boys friendships and crisis of connection, titled "Deep Secrets" . . . I happen to have such book next to me. there is this moment in the life of men, when we all stop having such rich incredibly and intense friendships with one another. . . and even with ourselves. This is not an attack to masculinity or a forced advocation for sensitivity and delicate gentleness of males, but rather a conversation of a deep unspoken pain men carry. The movie does have some "imagery" a little over the top given that these are kids and they are boys, but it is not sexual nor it is intended to be this way. However, in context as a boy growing up with straight friends I can tell and I can remember very well how closed and sensitive we all were and little by little that went dying. At some point because of whatever it was, we wouldn't dare to hug, cuddle or have heart to heart conversations (remind you women do this all the time without being lesbians and gay men do this with their friends without engaging in any sort of sexual activity) We as men, and specially straight men carry this heavy burden of not being able to relieve their pain. It is a crisis. We are emotional animals, we need to touch, we need to feel and cry, and we need to be close to one another. Women have (and even used to have way deeper) friendships, stronger at times than their marriages. It enriches their lives. We men do, but something loose and aloof. We live without really living. There have been times I wish I knew how my buddies felt, I have a friend for example who lose his mom at 20, was a virgin and feeling lonely. I wish He had talked more about his feelings to me, how he felt, that He knew we would be there for him. Men only get "touchy" seek affection, connection, closeness, emotional, they get real when they drink. That's why men drink in my opinion which is dissapointing. While very few have the fortunate luck of having a wife that knows their most sensitive vulnerable side, even there is as if they abnegate everyone that can understand aspects of them than even women can't, but designate their poor wives to assume all these roles (not only their mother, but also an equal male buddy... ) Women unfortunale will never understand what is like to go through life as a man, same as us will never understand what is like to go through life as women (not even if we transition) So why do we live limited lives? why we as men have this strange disconnection with ourselves and lack of deep friendships? anyways, I love this film. _______________________________ Funny Story I used to have a best friend around the age of the characters, we were close like this. At some point because my inner fears of my own sexuality, I treated him so bad so I could push him away. He was my best friend from childhood. I destroyed a possible meaningful friendship and life story. I deeply regret of such. It was one of the worse emotional pains I went through and I caused it because I was afraid our closeness was too gay (he was not gay, and I did not have romantic or sexual feelings for him, I was just deeply scared of his closeness and that He found out there was something broken with me) I wish I could take all of that back.

close (2022) + male intimacy

[cloudygremlin]

Mikayla Raines from Saveafox has taken her own life.

Her partner posted about the tragedy, citing critics from people as close to her as would-be friends, but not limited to internet trolls.

I met her briefly at the state fair after an illegal breader dumped two domestication-attempt foxes at a wild life refuge near me. She was so sweet.

She may not have been perfect, but she was trying to do good. The foxes she "purchased" was a fur fame she bought out and contractually forced them to shut down. She was slowly finding homes for the foxes there but was deeply underwater with not enough support. It was 500 foxes in total. The weight of those foxes was also due to to conditions of said fur farm.

She was also criticized for pets she had prior through legal means. Snakes, and fennec foxes. Neither are illegal to have

The foxes are not legal, but animals who can not be released into the wild will always end up a pet. It's just how it is. And it's a gruesome cycle. Does not change that she didn't deserve to die. Or have her death celebrated for that matter.

Many of these people are doubling down while blaming it on her being too mentally ill, or two Tumblr posts in question (post 1, post 2) that claim that due to being on Tumblr they couldn't have contributed. Which is not even remotely true. All of the internet is connected no matter the platform and every Tumblr user knows this. We all know Tumblr posts go viral online, especially when reposted to Facebook, and all Tumblr users have more than one social media.

It's disgusting. I hope you never know a day of peace.

Update on someone who commented on my post and is now dirty deleting and blocking so I'll make the statement I have here.

Archiving VS insinuating blame are entirely different things. She was slut shamed and also shamed for owning snakes. Owning snakes is NOT a crime. You were archiving shit you were bullying.