#some stuff might get changed in the future

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part Three

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. future conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker. you are a bit of a yandere later as well.

word count | 5.3k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13.

conner makes his first appearance :pp

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthattimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley

previous. next.

The Wayne Manor hasn’t changed.

Not really.

The city evolves. The world turns. Gotham devours itself, spits itself back out, over and over again. But this house… this house stays the same.

The marble under his shoes still holds the faint scuff of childhood racing feet. The wood panels still creak in the same spots — the third stair from the landing, the right edge of the west hallway. The heavy scent of aged paper, fireplace ash, and expensive polish lingers in the walls, impossible to scrub out no matter how often Alfred tries.

Bruce breathes it all in as he steps through the front doors, loosening his tie with one hand, briefcase heavy in the other. Even here, the work follows him. The meetings, the shareholders, the endless faces wanting his attention. None of it ever really stops. It never has.

The Enterprise board meetings bleed into the evening now. They always do. Stacked hours of power suits and shareholders, of dry numbers and brittle conversations, while Gotham simmers just outside the tower walls.

It leaves him tired in a way the cowl never could.

He heads for his study on autopilot, steps measured, jaw tight, already sorting through the files in his head.

But he pauses in the living room.

The faint, flickering glow of the television spills across the dark floor. A faint hum.

His brows furrow.

The television should be off. Alfred is meticulous about the house’s order. Damian never leaves a screen running. Tim is in the city tonight. Jason—well, Jason rarely sets foot in the Manor unless he’s forced. And Dick…

Bruce’s frown deepens when he thinks of his oldest son.

He crosses the threshold into the living room, the quiet hum of static and aged video speakers meeting his ears. The living room is dimly lit, shadows curling across the furniture. The television sits against the far wall, the soft glow of an old video playing, the grain of the footage unmistakable — aged, imperfect, preserved.

The timestamp in the corner reads Gotham Academy Auditorium – March 2019.

And you’re there.

You are not there when he finds the tape. You are far from the manor. Far from Gotham. Far from him.

But you are there on the screen.

Frozen in time.

Dancing.

White.

Ethereal.

Your teenage frame moves with the precise, aching grace of someone born for the stage, wrapped in the soft shimmer of a Swan Queen's tutu, the tulle layered and crisp against your thighs. Your hair is pulled tight into a bun, not a single strand out of place. The stage lights cast a pale glow over your skin, highlighting the sharp, elegant lines of your arms as they stretch and flutter, the ghost of a bird in flight.

Your expression is serious. Focused. But vulnerable in a way Bruce can’t tear his eyes from.

He doesn’t remember this.

The realization roots him to the spot, chest heavy, heart sinking deeper with every note of Tchaikovsky that trickles from the old speakers.

You were— what, fifteen there? Sixteen? Barely holding yourself together behind a mask of effortless poise. And he— God, what was he doing that night? A mission? The Board? Chasing criminals in an alley while his daughter performed like this… and he didn’t even remember.

He studies the video as if his eyes can retroactively imprint it into his mind, as if enough staring will make up for the absence in his memory.

Your movements are flawless. Perfect control. The edges of your face still round with youth. But Bruce knows better than anyone how much pain hides behind discipline.

It’s written all over your face — the stubborn set of your jaw, the ghost of uncertainty behind your practiced eyes, the tightness in your shoulders.

You’re magnificent.

You’re hurting.

And he wasn’t there.

The tape is old. Not from a phone. Not from some bystander’s recording. This was filmed deliberately. Carefully. Preserved as if whoever held the camera wanted to keep you forever.

Bruce takes a few steps closer, his briefcase lowering to his side, forgotten.

His eyes trace the curve of your arms, the extension of your neck, the slight quiver in your breath as you leap, as you land, as you fight to stay within the perfection of your craft.

There’s no memory in his mind that matches this. Not a single one. He’s seen you at galas, at fundraisers, at piano recitals. He’s seen you in training rooms, balancing yourself on beams, sharpening your strength.

But a tutu? Ballet shoes? A studio filled with mirrors?

Nothing.

It’s like a life you had that he never noticed. Like a whole world you lived in while he was busy watching other shadows.

His throat tightens.

You are his daughter. His first daughter. He remembers your birth, born from a weeping mother who loved him too much, who loved you so much. How the red of her face went away, pale to the bone. 

He didn't cry her death, but he cried with your first word. He remembers your first steps. Your first trophy in Chemistry. How much you loved to chat his ear off, and how much power you held always above the others. 

You move across the stage with flawless control — shoulders high, chin poised, arms unfolding with the softest grace he’s ever seen. Your expression doesn’t falter. Not once. Not even as the music swells and your body pirouettes, weightless, fragile, untouchable.

The video has no crowd noise. No clapping. No background voices.

Only the music.

Only you.

And your face — that perfect, painful blend of determination and sadness. The one he’s learned to recognize far too late.

How many hours did you spend practicing this? How many times did you look for him in the crowd?

He takes a slow step forward, his hand brushing against the back of the couch, eyes never leaving the screen.

You were so small then.

Not a child. Not anymore. But still so… unfinished. Still trying to carve yourself into the version of you that they would finally see.

Finally be proud of.

His throat tightens, a rough exhale breaking free as your final pose holds, the swell of music lingering, your chest rising with practiced, shallow breaths. There’s a flicker of nerves beneath the confidence in your face — like you’re searching for something in the crowd.

You looked… flawless.

Untouchable.

But utterly alone.

The sound of quiet footsteps behind him breaks the trance.

Alfred stands at the doorway, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his expression as composed as ever but his eyes soft, distant, as if he too is caught somewhere between then and now.

The butler clears his throat softly, eyes landing on the screen.

“My apologies, sir,” Alfred says gently. “I meant to switch it off before you returned. It was… keeping me company while I tidied up.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the screen. “How old was she there?” His voice is low, rough around the edges.

“Sixteen,” Alfred answers, stepping to his side. “The Winter Gala performance. Her first lead role.”

Bruce’s brows furrow deeper.

“I don’t remember this.”

Alfred tilts his head, a hint of something unreadable flickering through his eyes. “No,” he agrees softly. “You wouldn’t.”

Guilt knots tighter in Bruce’s stomach.

“She danced,” Bruce murmurs, more to himself than to Alfred. “She danced. I didn’t know she—”

“She was quite fond of it,” Alfred interjects, gently. “Ballet, specifically. It was not a hobby, not a passing fancy. It was… vital to her. For quite some time.”

Bruce’s chest tightens. “Why didn’t I know?”

Alfred tilts his head, his eyes soft with something like sadness.

“She sent invitations,” Alfred says, his voice careful, not accusing. “Quite a few of them. They were never demands. Only… hopes.”

Bruce swallows hard.

“I’ve watched this more times than I care to admit,” Alfred confesses quietly. “She never saw me filming, of course. But I thought… perhaps one day she’d want the memory preserved.”

Bruce’s eyes darken with something complex — guilt, longing, helplessness.

“She shouldn’t have had to perform for a camera when her family was supposed to be in the audience.”

“Quite right,” Alfred agrees, but there’s no venom in his voice. Just quiet, well-worn sadness.

The video loops, restarting, and there you are again — poised, perfect, heartbreakingly young.

“She was good,” Bruce says, as if that’s the only thing keeping his throat from closing.

“She was remarkable,” Alfred corrects, soft pride threading through the words. “Is remarkable.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’ve seen her?”

Alfred hesitates for only a moment. “I’ve… kept in touch.”

That shouldn’t surprise him. Alfred always did what the rest of them couldn’t seem to manage.

Bruce runs a hand over his mouth, his eyes heavy with the exhaustion that no amount of hours at the office can replicate. He should’ve been there. At that performance. At all of them. Instead, he’s watching it now — through a screen, through years of distance and absence that not even money or apologies can erase.

“How did I miss it?” The words are barely audible.

Alfred exhales slowly, his posture softening. “You were… occupied. As you’ve always been.”

“Occupied,” Bruce echoes, bitterness curling around the syllables.

He looks at the screen again — your form mid-spin, graceful, celestial, untouchable.

“She was always right there,” Bruce says, voice hoarse, more to himself than to the butler. “Always… there.”

Alfred’s eyes soften further. “Children often are. Until they no longer are.”

The implication twists in Bruce’s stomach like a knife.

“I didn’t… I didn’t see her.”

The butler’s expression softens, but he does not let Bruce retreat into his guilt without resistance. “You loved her, sir. You still do.”

“That doesn’t mean I saw her. I don't know her favourite colour. Don't know if she likes to paint or to draw more. I don't even know her dreams. If what she's doing is actually what she wants.”

Alfred crosses the room, his footsteps light, precise, as they’ve always been. “You were not an easy man to reach, Master Wayne.”

Bruce’s throat bobs. “No.”

“She tried.”

“I know.”

Alfred’s gaze is patient but not forgiving. “Do you?”

Bruce’s breath catches.

He remembers the box Dick threw at him.

The letters.

The tickets.

The invitations.

The recitals.

The soft, desperate handwriting.

He knows now.

He should have known then.

“She wrote to me,” Bruce murmurs, his voice thin, frayed around the edges. “More than I realized.”

Alfred’s silence is answer enough.

“She wanted me there.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred confirms. “She did.”

“She wanted all of us there.”

“She did.”

Bruce’s hands curl into fists, a familiar tension threading through his muscles.

“I failed her.”

Alfred doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t need to.

“She won’t come home.”

“Would you?” Alfred counters, one brow arching faintly.

Bruce exhales, his eyes dragging back to the video.

“You raised her,” he says after a moment, quieter now. “More than I did.”

Alfred’s shoulders lift in a small shrug. “As I’ve done for all of you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“Perhaps not.” The older man offers a faint, sad smile. “But I’d do it again. For her. For you.”

The room falls silent again, the soft static hum of the old video filling the space.

Bruce studies your younger self — your graceful posture, the way your fingers float like feathers, the quiet tragedy tucked behind your poised, serious eyes.

You were always trying to be seen.

And he never looked.

“I didn’t even know about this performance,” Bruce admits, the guilt dripping from every word.

Alfred inclines his head, the faintest trace of sympathy in his voice. “She sent invitations. More than one.”

His stomach twists. He remembers the box now — the old letters, the unopened envelopes. The things Dick shoved into his chest like an accusation. His daughter’s quiet, desperate attempts to earn his attention.

“How many?” Bruce asks, though he already fears the answer.

Alfred’s gaze sharpens faintly. “Enough.”

Enough to break your heart.

Enough that you stopped sending them.

Enough that you left.

“She’s angry.”

Alfred sighs, correcting gently. “She’s hurt.”

“It’s the same thing,” Bruce mutters.

“Not with her.” The butler’s voice lowers, steady, knowing. “She’s hurt, sir. But she still loves you.”

“She doesn’t want to come home.”

“Would you, if you were her?” Alfred’s brow lifts again, repeating it with enough hardness that it seemed protective.

Bruce presses a hand to his mouth again, shoulders rigid, jaw tight, eyes burning in a way that surprises even him.

“You think it’s too late?”

Alfred considers that, gaze steady, voice level. “It’s never too late to see your children, sir.”

Bruce exhales slowly, turning from the television, the weight of years clawing down his spine.

But your ghost lingers.

Dancing, weightless, frozen in the grain of an old recording.

Unreachable.

But not gone.

Never gone.

“Keep it on,” Bruce says quietly, finally moving toward his study. “I… want to watch the rest.”

Alfred inclines his head, a quiet pride hidden beneath the lines of his face.

“As you wish, Master Wayne.”

Galas have always been your thing.

It’s ironic, considering how much you claim to hate them.

You’ve always liked the ridiculousness of them — the glimmer, the grand chandeliers that hang like artificial constellations, the free food (god, the free food), the freshest champagne you could possibly imagine, crisp and cold on your tongue. And most of all, you’ve always liked being seen without really being seen. People looking at you like you’re a fixture. A diamond. A Wayne. But never looking close enough to see the cracks. It was predictable.

You’ve always liked that.

You’ve never missed a Wayne Gala.

Well, except the ones over the last four years. But that doesn’t really count, does it? You always had an excuse — busy exhibitions, international commissions, gallery showings too far from Gotham to justify the trip. It’s not like anyone ever reached out to convince you otherwise. Alfred sent a few reminders. A few check-ins. A few invitations in handwriting you’d recognize even if you were blind.

But from the rest of them? Silence.

Not even a half-hearted message from Bruce. Not even a poorly typed text from Tim. Not even Jason, who used to drag you to the dessert tables when you were kids.

Four years.

Four. Years.

And now? Now Dick talks about an invitation, carefully worded, with a little kiss to the forehead, like that’s enough to close a chasm that’s been bleeding open for nearly half a decade.

It took a lot of thinking.

Too much thinking.

It took pacing around your New York studio for hours. It took pouring over the invitation like it was a goddamn riddle. It took staring at the flight options for three days straight without booking anything. It took your manager nearly bribing you with the most luxurious hotel she could find near Gotham’s Diamond District — “You deserve to spoil yourself,” she’d said, “It’s not like you’ve ever stopped enjoying the perks of being rich.”

And she was right.

Why would moving away from the Manor, from them, mean you had to stop living like a Wayne?

You pack light. Just enough. Enough to look like the Wayne daughter you’ve always been, even if you don’t live like one anymore.

You don’t tell anyone you’re coming. Not even Alfred.

Let them be surprised. Let them think you wouldn’t show. Maybe you wouldn’t have, if not for the stupid way your chest tightened when you thought of Alfred standing alone in that sea of Gotham’s glittering snakes.

You check into the hotel the day before. The best suite. Floor to ceiling windows. Egyptian cotton sheets. The kind of place that feels like you’ve stepped into someone else’s life.

And that night, when the gala arrives, you dress like you belong in the stars.

The gown clings like it was crafted on your body — a river of silver and glimmer that hugs every line, the back nonexistent, with a dangerously low neckline that might’ve made Bruce faint if he still bothered to police what you wore. You wear your wealth without apology. You wear it like armor.

And of course, the only rule for tonight — the masquerade.

You slide the pearly lace mask over your face, delicate and sharp at the edges, just enough to soften your features but not enough to truly hide you. It settles against your nose, just right. Just enough for you to choose who gets to recognize you.

It doesn’t take long to find the pulse of the party when you arrive.

The ballroom is suffocatingly familiar, but you slip through the throng like you were born to haunt these halls. They don’t know you’re here. Not yet. You watch them from the corners — all of them.

You spot Dick first, of course — tall, broad-shouldered, radiant in the way he always is, in tailored black, mask dark as his hair, laughing at something Kori says beside him.

Jason lingers near the bar on the other side, glass of scotch in hand, sharp in a dark suit with no tie, his mask sleek, simple, leather probably — watching the room like it’s a battlefield.

Cassandra drifts near the edges, quiet, observant, a shadow that blends in until you know where to look. Stephanie’s at her side, bright and careless in silver sequins and an obnoxiously large feathered mask, grinning as she talks to Barbara, who’s leaning on her chair with a beautiful green dress that compliments her.

Tim’s buried in a conversation with Lucius. Duke laughs with some younger faces you don’t recognize.

And Bruce…

Your eyes catch him like a thread pulled tight across your ribs.

There, near the grand staircase, suited in sharp, quiet black, his mask more symbolic than necessary. Gotham’s unshakable stone.

Selina prowls near him, sleek as ever, her gown a slinking cascade of onyx and emerald, her mask feline and faintly amused, scanning the room like she’s already picked her next mark.

They don’t see you.They’re all here.

They’re all here and they don’t even know you’ve arrived.

You hide at first.

Not because you’re afraid. But because it’s… amusing, in its own way. To slip around them unnoticed. To watch them, burning, oblivious to the weight still hanging between you.

You slip to the bar, sighing in relief at the familiarity of the setup. “Double martini. Two olives. Don’t go easy on me.”

His gaze lingers �� not inappropriate, just… curious. Your dress, your mask, the way you carry yourself. You can practically hear the assumptions churning behind his eyes.

You don’t care.

The first sip burns beautifully down your throat, the familiar taste grounding you more than any polite conversation or shallow compliment ever could.

It’s only when someone settles on the stool beside you that you spare them a lazy side-glance, fully prepared to ignore whatever socialite or trust-fund brat is looking for conversation. But the air shifts.

A familiar hum of power. A warmth that prickles under your skin like static.

And then you see them.

Bright blue eyes. The same sharp jawline, same black curls, same Clark Kent perfection watered down with just enough edge to make your pulse stutter.

Conner Kent.

And fuck.

The years have been good to him.

You remember him being cocky when you were younger — flirting like it was his job, making the most of those ridiculous Kryptonian genetics and his boyish charm. You remember finding him obnoxious, occasionally tolerable, sometimes fun.

You also remember how much he looked like Clark back then. But now? Now it’s worse. He’s grown into that face. That jawline. Those broad shoulders. The cocky tilt of his mouth.

His mask is dark, simple, framing his eyes in a way that makes you briefly forget why you’ve spent years avoiding these kinds of nights.

“New York’s finest, huh?” His voice is smooth, playful. “Didn’t expect to see you here, princess.”

You arch a brow, twisting your glass between your fingers. “You recognized me that fast?”

Conner shrugs, his grin widening. “Please. You think a mask and a fancy dress can hide you from me?”

You hum, pretending to think. “Worked on your father just fine.”

His eyes glimmer, leaning in just slightly. “Clark doesn’t look at women the way I do.”

“Oh?” You sip again, not breaking eye contact. “And how do you look at women, Kent?”

“Like they could wreck me if they wanted to.”

You chuckle, resting your chin on your hand. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad at all,” he murmurs, his voice dropping just a touch. “I think I’d enjoy it.”

You tap your nails against your glass, amused. You forgot how fun this little dance was with him — the teasing, the unspoken challenges, the heat that lingers just under the surface.

“You’ve grown up,” you comment, gaze dragging slowly down his figure before sliding back up.

“So have you,” he counters, voice light but eyes serious. “Didn’t realize you’d turn into this though. Kinda dangerous for someone like me.”

You smirk. “You’re bulletproof, Conner.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not weak to something else.”

You laugh, genuinely now, and maybe it’s the first time all night that your chest feels a little lighter.

“Flirting, Kent?” You raise a brow, leaning in just enough to let your words curl between you. “Already?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity.”

His elbow nudges yours. “So what’s the plan? You hiding here all night or you gonna let your family know you’re back from the dead?”

You pause, rolling your martini between your palms.

“Not sure yet.”

He leans closer, voice dipping low. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You hold up your half-finished martini, unimpressed. “Already covered.”

His grin is shameless. “Dinner, then?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m available.”

“You just got back. You haven’t made plans yet.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Maybe you should cancel them.”

Your lips curl, a sharp glimmer in your eye. “You’re still cocky.”

“And you still love it.”

You don’t deny it.

“You filled out, too,” you allow, smirking faintly. “Congratulations. You finally look your age.”

“Technically, I’m still figuring out what my age even means.”

“You and me both.”

The banter is effortless, dangerous. The kind that makes old walls slip, familiarity weaving between syllables before you even think to stop it.

Conner leans in slightly, voice lowering conspiratorially. “You planning to reveal your identity to the masses tonight? Or just me?”

You swirl your glass, silver rings catching the light. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you make it worth my while.”

His laugh is low, warm, frustratingly attractive.

“You’re playing with fire.”

You lean in just enough to whisper, “I’m the one who taught you how.”

The air between you hums with something complicated. Heavy. Unspoken.

The banter continues, an easy, familiar rhythm neither of you have to work for. Conner’s good at this — at playful deflection, at toeing the line between harmless and dangerous. You’re better. You’ve been playing this game since you were old enough to balance a champagne glass without spilling.

You barely notice how long you’ve been talking — the subtle shift of your legs crossing, the tilt of his body angling closer, the way your laughter slips out easier than you intended.

It’s comfortable.

It’s dangerous.

It’s—

“Y/N.”

The voice cuts clean through the haze of conversation, small but sharp, like a blade sheathed in velvet.

You turn.

Damian.

All stiff posture and narrowed green eyes, black mask perched perfectly across his face. He’s young — far too young to pull off the possessive, territorial glare aimed squarely at Conner — but he tries.

His arms are crossed behind his back like he’s holding himself perfectly still, but you know him — you know the coiled possessiveness thrumming under his skin, the restless edge of a boy who can’t yet control how deeply he feels everything.

You blink, the amusement slipping slightly as you meet his gaze. “Little Bat.”

His eyes flick to Conner, sharp, dissecting. “You’re late.”

“To the party?” You glance around lazily. “Or to disappointing the family?”

“You shouldn’t be speaking with him.”

Conner snorts softly. “Nice to see you too, little Wayne.”

Damian’s shoulders straighten, chin lifting, the scowl deepening. “Your presence isn’t required.”

“I’m a plus one.”

“To whom?”

Conner grins. “Jon. Of course.”

You sip your martini, hiding a smirk. Damian’s glower only intensifies. Conner’s brows lift, but you wave a hand, sighing.

“Damian.” You say his name like an exhale, soft but firm. “It’s fine.”

His eyes cut to you, expression faltering — just a little — the jealousy bleeding into something more familiar. Sadness. Longing. That quiet desperation to know you. To pull you back into the orbit of a family that doesn’t know how to hold you.

You soften, just barely, your fingers tapping against your glass.

“Go terrorize someone else,” you murmur, leaning back. “I can handle myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” His words are low, too old for his age, too heavy for his shoulders.

For a second, the noise of the party dims — the hum of music, the clink of glasses, the distant murmurs of the wealthy. It all fades under the weight of his voice.

You meet his eyes again, steady.

And for once… you don’t deflect.

You see him. Your brother. Your blood. Possessive. Flawed. Hurting.

But still yours.

“Go find Dick,” you tell him gently. “Tell him I’m here.”

Damian hesitates — poised between stubbornness and reluctant obedience.

Finally, he exhales sharply, turning on his heel without another word, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow.

Conner whistles low beside you. “Protective, isn’t he?”

You sip the last of your martini, gaze lingering on the space where Damian vanished.

“Seems like it,” you answer, dry. “Planning to hover all night, Kent?”

“Only if you make it worth my time.”

You sip your drink again, letting your eyes trace over him, your smirk sharp.

“Trust me,” you purr. “I always do.”

He keeps his gaze on you, even when you step away, already knowing Dick's on your way. Conner's hand trembles when you are far enough.

You've always had that power over him.

The flow of the gala presses people into motion — like waves shifting you from one current to the next — and before you can slip away, you see him.

You should’ve stayed at the bar.

The thought strikes you the second you catch sight of him weaving through the crowd — tall, broad-shouldered, the sharp lines of his tuxedo crisp against the glow of the ballroom lights, mask perched slightly crooked as if he forgot it was there entirely.

Dick Grayson.

Golden boy. Gotham’s first darling. Your older brother.

His eyes land on you like a homing missile, the weight of recognition hitting him square in the chest. You see the way his whole expression shifts — from polite party smile to something cracked open and raw — and you have precisely three seconds to brace yourself before he’s barreling through the sea of bodies.

You barely manage to set your empty martini glass down when his arms close around you.

“Birdie!” Dick smiled, achingly fond.

Your body stiffens, shoulders locking as he pulls you in tight — crushing, familiar, suffocating.

You don’t hug back.

Not entirely out of malice. More… discomfort. Half reluctance, half uncertainty. The kind of uncertainty that comes from years of space wedged between you, built brick by brick by neglect and distance and a silence none of them ever really bothered to break.

Your hands make a vague gesture against his back — a touch, not an embrace — more of an acknowledgement than a return. You don’t melt into it, you don’t lean your head on his shoulder like you used to when you were younger and still believed he would always notice you. You don’t really want to be in his arms now.

You want to breathe.

You want to escape the knot forming in your throat.

“Hi, Dick,” you manage, voice cool but not cruel, your arms hovering at your sides.

He doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens, fingers curling against your back as if sheer proximity will undo the years you’ve spent away, as if your presence alone might stitch the fractures shut.

“You came,” he says, pulling back just enough to search your face — to really look at you. His eyes glint behind the mask, blue as ever, full of that frustrating, unbearable love that knots low in your chest. “You actually— Jesus, look at you.”

You resist the urge to step away, tilting your head, expression unreadable. “Looking’s all anyone’s done tonight.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know you,” he says pointedly. “Not like we do.”

You nearly laugh.

Before you can, though, the rest of them close in. Stephanie’s practically vibrating at Cass’s shoulder, bright and eager, grin wide even beneath her delicate blue mask. You catch the subtle way her hand tugs at Duke’s wrist, grounding herself as her eyes flick across you, cataloging every detail.

It starts with Jason — tall, broad, dressed in a black suit sharp enough to cut glass, his own mask sleek and minimal, jaw tense as his eyes drag over you like a silent, protective scan.

“Took you long enough, dove,” he mutters, crossing his arms. His voice is rougher than you remember, older, carrying the weight of too many second chances and not enough time. “Thought you’d ditched this city for good.”

You shrug, noncommittal. “Almost did.”

Jason’s lips twitch, the barest ghost of a smirk cracking through his walls. “Figures.” But there’s relief there too. 

Tim clears his throat, stepping forward, hands shoved in his pockets. His mask doesn’t hide the flicker of cautious joy when he steps beside Jason, shoulders loose but eyes sharp. “Hey.”

You raise a brow. “Hey.”

It’s awkward — painfully so — but you let it hang, let the silence linger just long enough to make him squirm before Stephanie bursts in, smile wide, voice bright.

“You look insane, by the way,” she gushes, eyes sparkling. “Like— like movie-star insane. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“You always did outshine us, though,” Duke adds, his grin easy, his voice warm.

You give them both a faint smile, but your heart thrums tight, your pulse skipping at the weight of so many eyes, so many family eyes, trained on you after so long.

“Four years’ll do that,” you reply smoothly, though your grip tightens slightly on your own skin.

Cass steps forward, close enough that her presence hums at your side — quiet, steady, eyes soft. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to. Her gaze lingers on your face, your dress, your mask — and something like relief flickers there, sharp and fleeting. 

A quiet understanding passes between you, wordless, raw.

“Welcome back.” Barbara’s voice cuts gently through the haze, her smile warm but cautious. “We’ve… missed you.”

Your lips twitch faintly, too practiced to let the bitterness leak through.

Duke gives you a small nod, eyes sharp beneath his mask. “You picked a good night to crash the party.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur, though the lie tastes sour.

Damian steps forward, shoulder brushing your side, posture tight. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming.”

Your eyes slide down to him, amused. “Didn’t think I needed permission.”

He scowls. “You should’ve told me.”

You chuckle softly, unbothered. “Upset, aren’t we?”

“You’re my sister,” he snaps, quiet but fierce, green eyes dark under his mask. “I’m allowed.”

You grab a glass of champagne when one waiter passes by your side, and sip it almost immediately, the bubbles cold against your tongue, but your gaze never leaves his.

“This is so cool,” Duke says, almost a little breathless. “You’re like a legend in our circles, y’know? The Huntress, the prodigy, the one who got out. We used to trade stories like—”

“Duke.” Tim’s quiet warning is a shade too late.

But you just tilt your head, amused, not angry. You flick a glance at him, voice a little cooler now. “Got out? Is that how you talk about me now?”

Jason’s jaw flexes, guilt flickering briefly across his face, but Duke just looks caught, nervous but not apologetic.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Duke mutters. “I just— you know, you’re like—”

“A ghost?” You offer, arching a brow. “A story the family tells?”

Duke’s grin falters. “No. More like the one that got free.”

Finally — predictably — the weight of the room shifts again.

You feel it before you see him.

Bruce.

Stoic, untouchable, tall enough to part the crowd like smoke as he steps into the loose circle your siblings have unintentionally formed around you. His mask is simple, sharp black against the silver at his temples, but his eyes — dark, unreadable, exhausted — land on you like a goddamn hammer.

The air tightens.

You square your shoulders.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Your father — the reason you learned how to hide your heartbreak behind pearls and piano keys — stands there, watching you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face.

Finally, you speak, cool and distant.

“Father.”

His jaw tightens. “You look well.”

You offer a sharp, humorless smile. “Money tends to have that effect.”

“You’re here,” Bruce says, quiet, low, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You shrug again, keeping your voice level. “It’s a party.”

Dick’s arm slides back around your shoulder, fingers curling lightly, his grin more subdued now, softer.

“Birdie,” he murmurs, almost chiding. “Let us have this one.”

You shrug beneath his hand, not quite leaning in, not quite pulling away.

The others hover, circling like hawks, their excitement simmering beneath the awkwardness, their possessiveness sharper than you remember. It coils through the group like tension on a tripwire — subtle, constant, impossible to ignore.

But your gaze flickers. Not for wishing to be in another place.

Just for wishing to be in another's arms. 

[saintshadow]

Pick a Card

….... what is your current

🦋 METAMORPHOSIS 🦋

pile i

your outlook & vision are shifting into something way more stable & realistic. you’re becoming less gullible, not in a bitter way but in a “i see through the mirages & bs now” kinda way. you’re learning the difference between what’s real & what’s not. who’s actually down for you vs who’s secretly an enemy. a lot of you are waking up from delusions, misconceptions, & outdated or straight-up unhelpful survival tactics that were passed down from family. this might lead to you cutting off certain family members in the future. you’re releasing burdens, fear, & trauma that were subconsciously and even genetically passed down to you. Some of you could be marrying or having children with some one that has a healthier family than you. This person could also have a family history that doesn’t include genetic mental health issues. This could be a confirmation that your child/children in the future will not suffer how you did. True happiness is attainable. Back to the messages, For some, you will be finding undiscovered family (dead or alive) or connecting with people that feel like found family.

there’s a lot of ancient, ancestral energy around some of you. i gotta be honest though, if you’re not doing the work, not doing veneration or communicating w the ancestors and haven’t ever gotten nudges or messages from spirit around this… then this part isn’t for you. but for those of you who have - the ancient ancestors want more dedication. I’m seeing shells & bones, also land mammals that dig holes? Like a groundhog or a meerkat. I saw a meerkat and meerkat bones specifically. Someone’s family could be Nigerian I’m hearing.

Back to the message: you’re all being taught how to actually follow through with the vision/dream you’ve carried for so long. maybe you used to put in a ton of effort & it never went anywhere. but that was then. you were young, & things aren’t the same anymore. you aren’t the same. new opportunities are coming that will push this transformation forward. some of them might seem completely random but they’ll bring you back to yourself & even closer to your original dreams & desires.

the weird, unexplainable stuff is going to start happening again. this time, you’ll understand. a lot of you came into this life carrying heavy stuff: anger, confusion, frustration, like your soul hadn’t moved on from the last lifetime; & now, whether you want to or not, you’re being pushed forward. some questions won’t have answers for a while. for some of you, not even in this lifetime. your purpose feels hard to define because it’s not meant to be put in a box. right now, you’re just being called to live. to be who you are, loudly & without apology. this is hitting especially hard for people with leo or taurus north node placements, or 1st, 2nd, and 10th house north node placements.

the ground you’re standing on is becoming more solid but you have to keep showing up with effort. You are literally surrounded by blessings, both physical & spiritual. some of you are deeply intuitive or spiritual by nature, prayer could be a literal gift from your bloodline. i’m hearing “healing hands.” and there are ancestors trying to teach you their ways.

someone is being called back to their ancestral practices. this might be an art that was lost, or maybe there was someone in your family who practiced in secret, who got disowned, or who was estranged.

a lot of strange stuff happens around you, & people can feel it. it makes them uncomfortable. they might not like your authenticity, or they just don’t understand you, & that’s ok. you’re becoming more secure in yourself & more at peace with change. you’re healing your inner child in real time.

things are getting harder right now, but not in a way that’ll break you. it WILL be manageable, & ironically it will free you. strangely enough life will feel better than ever. this is a test. you’re facing resistance because you’re meant to create the life you’ve been asking for. your spirits, your ancestors, your guides - they’re watching to see if you’re gonna fold, or if you’re gonna show up like you mean it. How bad do you really want it?

some of y’all have spirits around you who are fully capable of moving mountains and making miracles.

they just need to see that you’re gonna stand on what you claim to want. You are going to learn about the value of hard work, & you will begin to understand that the best things in life MUST be maintained with balanced effort.

pile ii

you’re becoming more whole right now. for some of y’all, that means realizing how far you’ve gotten from your real self. there might be masks you wear without even noticing. some of you could be dealing with body dysmorphia or feeling really triggered in how you see yourself physically. it’s like something in your environment is pushing you to your limit. honestly, this whole energy feels very scorpio-coded. deep fear of loss. fear of being left with nothing.

Living in survival mode. abandonment wounds. fear that no one really cares. where pile one was more overly attached to the emotional/spiritual , y’all are overly attached to the physical world- material human values.

for some of you, life is giving you a big, uncomfortable shove right now. you might feel confused, disoriented, frustrated, maybe even angry that the path forward looks so unclear. but the path isn’t out there. the path is within. & it’s different for each of you. what i can say is: it’s probably gonna come through an uncomfortable truth that’s getting exposed. something you might’ve wanted to keep buried.

this truth could show up in different areas of your life. i feel it in my solar plexus. this is tied to how you were loved. or not loved. maybe you had a jealous or competitive mother, sister, or feminine figure. someone who couldn’t stand your light. someone who made you feel invisible. whether that was childhood or something more recent, it still stings.

you’re being asked to examine the role you play in your own suffering now. when we actually confront the uncomfortable truths without taking offense & integrate them- we can find real & profound peace. even in chaos. For some reason i channeled money trees by kendrick lamar while writing this lol. some of y’all might have saturn in the 2nd house, or serious karmic themes around money & stability. i’m picking up on asia too, specifically cambodia- or this might hit home for someone who grew up in their home country and later immigrated.

you might carry this internalized sense that you’re always behind. like you have to work ten times harder just to be seen or to feel like you belong. but here’s the thing- you have a massive goal on the horizon. it’s something you don’t talk about much. This is about your ultimate freedom or a public exhibition.

i keep getting this “death” energy, but not in a scary or literal way. it’s transformation. like people will watch you evolve in real time. & some of you already are. you’ve been sitting with the pain & the realizations, & even if it’s slow, it is healing you.

You’ve begun to actually act on your self awareness.

example: instead of spiraling because trauma is getting in the way of a healthy relationship, you catch the trigger & choose trust. you choose calm. You choose emotional maturity and stability, even when doing so goes against your knee jerk reaction.

you’re learning how to show up better.. as a friend, a lover, & person.

but this will only happen if you let yourself actually accept the criticism that’s come your way.

some of y’all are learning the truth about a friend group. or specifically an air sign woman. (libra, gemini, aquarius placements: sun/moon/rising.) this person might be fake. or maybe the whole group dynamic is about to collapse in a full tower moment.

truth is gonna come out. maybe you’ll be the one to speak it. & if so, it’s gonna lift a lot of guilt off your shoulders.

sometimes the life we built just… isn’t meant to hold us anymore. spiritually. emotionally. materially.

accept the redirection.

you’re being led toward way better.

pile iii

Some of you may be called to pile one. Someone could have gone no contact with abusive family members, you are taking a chance on your independence. You are evolving beyond traumatic relationship experiences as well- coming above what you were told and taught to be. Or what you observed the women/men in your family to be like in relationships. witnessing yourself clearly. seeing who you really are without the projections, the expectations, the shame, or the fear that’s been built up over time. this energy feels like you’re stepping out of a fog, but your eyes are burning from the brightness of the world around you. You need time to adjust. Adjustment can be found through engaging with this new iteration of reality & getting hands on experience.

some of you have spent a long time adapting to be what other people needed. you might be someone who’s changed shape depending on who’s in the room. Maybe you were praised for being agreeable, easy to manage, or “strong.” but that wasn’t authentic, it was 100% survival instinct with a dash of you.

right now, you’re shedding old skin.

A very difficult & maybe even uncomfortable & ugly feeling shedding. This is the detachment from how other people

you’re mourning the version of you that helped you survive, because you know they can’t come with you. You have persevered through much more than the average person in your group/community. Faced a lot of loss, confusion, or pain. you’re waking up parts of yourself that were silenced.

& they are not being quiet anymore.

especially if you were raised in a space that dismissed your sensitivity, intuition, voice & shamed your inner world. that wound is cracking open to be healed, you may for the first time in your life be surrounded by authentic love. I sense that you scare easy, it takes little to nothing for you to doubt or run from someone or something. The relationships around you are showing you how to have true loving and trusting connections.

you’re learning how to stop betraying yourself to stay loved.

Speaking your truth while holding space for the truth of others without internalizing the unnecessary. You’ve developed a strong discernment, & now it’s being challenged- especially in the way of where you may FEEL you are right & instead you learn there is nuance to these problems or issues. Things aren’t always as black and white as you perceive them, you have to understand that people are multidimensional. Your loved ones are rooting for you, and they want to stay- you have to take the actions necessary maintain your relationships with yourself and others. Look more to you, the more you pour into yourself the more others will pour into you & the less you’ll accept low efforts from others.

[kozykricket]

i think theres a lotta good points in the above posts ^ but id like to add some of my own two cents.

ive talked to friends about like, themes of Preservation in deltarune, and like... yea, i think something that undertale and deltarune will end up both confronting in their own ways is... yearning for the past. in undertale, asriel... admits that he really just wants to reset everything, and go back to how things were. he misses the old days with chara. and what do we see in deltarune? well, two families: the dreemurrs and holidays... who seemingly had a fun past together - one spoken of very fondly, at least. Tenna sure speaks of asriel, dess, and noelle fondly.

I think... the main motive / theme around everything going on with Dess and the Knight .. is about bringing back that lost past. Carol particularly seems... very nostalgic and very determined to preserve what is left of the past. I mean, shes shown to be a bit obsessive with the whole "getting paper snowflakes bronzed so as to not lose them" she keeps dess' stuff completely untouched. She doesn't want to move forward... but now things are different and also! asgore! seems to be involved in all this weird stuff, and he for sure misses the old days of a happy family life. he wants it back.

I think it all ties in well with the clear themes of escapism. Escaping from the rough experience of the present, to the idea of different events having taken place, leading to a different present. But... we can't go changing the past or yearning for how things couldve gone. We can only change the future, y'know? Embrace the new, be hopeful of a new future. Maybe there seems to be only one path forwards now, fundamentally a sad one, but… its not just about that One Sad Way Forward . its about what you can change about the path. How, yes, there IS perhaps only one way to go from here, only one ending.

idk, this is very unorganized, which is funny bc this is the second draft. but. I think deltarune as a whole might dive particularly deep into how... maybe we are "stuck with one way to go" as in, forward. but we can still change how we approach that way forward, and... as toby has said, theres something more important than reaching the end. We can make little changes, here and there, to make that one-way-forward into a better one. And, I think susie represents a bit of both past and future. she wants a better future, but she also... like anyone else, wants things to stick to the way they are. Shes certainly not an "upholder of the status quo" by any means, but i think she... wants the "status quo" of ch2 fun-times to be how things always are.

but most of all, just. Shoutouts to this post

if dess is the knight i hope we cant restore it back to normal but it still hangs around. noelle voice this is my freaky scary sibling and i love them. and meanwhile it's just floating ominously behind her.

[forveiin]

who is the basilisk and whats a brain eellll

im glad you asked!!!!!!

The Basilisk is a genetically altered hybrid between a Slugcat and a lizard, specifically, a white lizard (And yes, they can camouflage, just not very well). They were created by an iterator (name pending) who has been experimenting with hybrids and how they interact in simulated environments, and possibly, how they could help with the Great Problem.

baby basilisk :) Basilisk's specific body structure was the result of a bet between their creator and a neighboring iterator: "What creature would be more powerful? A prey animal with a predator's body, or a predator with the body of prey?" The process of actually creating Basilisk was a tedious one, with many failed experiments. Basilisk is the 7th attempt at a specific hybrid between a slugcat and lizard, though there were many other iterations of "prey with a predator's body" involving a number of different species.

At some point, after a near-death scenario, Basilisk is forced to flee from their iterator, who is enraged by their escape attempt. Basilisk tears out the tag in their ear that contained a microchip tracker, and flees far from the grounds where their creator's can resides. Now alone, and with no idea how to survive out in the wild, Basilisk learns from watching the creatures around them. However, they quickly realise that they never belonged out here, lizards attempt to fight them, seeing a rival lizard on their territory, vultures see a meal, scavengers see a threat, and other slugcats? they see a monster. Basilisk attempted to communicate with them, recognising parts of themselves within the slugcats, but all the slugcats saw was a horrifying creature with the face of one of their own. Basilisk was chased far away, but the spears embedded in their back could never match the pain in their heart. Now truly alone, basilisk must find out what their real purpose is. Somewhere along the way, Basilisk finds an abandoned slugpup. They decide that they should bring the pup back to the colony, and begin the long journey to find the nomadic slugcats.

:D LORE!!!!!!!!!!!! there's a lot more I didn't talk about, such as the whole reason why basilisk fled their iterator in the first place, but i'll probably go way more into depth later on ehehhehe, then! you can meet The Aberration >:)

Now! Onto the "brain eel"

A hybrid that exists within the same iterator that made basilisk. A mix between an Overseer and those red things I forgot the name of, It is basically a glorified alarm system, it floats around, undulating it's sail through the air to navigate, and drags it's long vein-like structures along the walls, searching for any kind of crack or blemish in the structure, if it finds one, it hooks on, and sends out a strong chemical signal which alerts any Inspectors or Overseers in the area, which immediately report to the puppet. If it is attacked, it will "bleed" a bright green toxic liquid, designed to kill anything that attempts to damage it. This toxic blood was designed as a defense mechanism in case the iterator ever gave themselves the rot, but that never happened, at least, not yet. The brain eel also performs basic information transfer, and is capable of sending an electric shock through it's vein-structures, however, this is purely used for connecting with neuron flies, and is incapable of doing any real damage.

[maelancoli]

i'm kind of late to this but i just finished reading the scholomance trilogy by naomi novik and i feel like it is such an underrated urban fantasy?? taking the chosen one trope and turning it on its head with a fmc who has been prophesied to bring death and destruction, who is imbued with terrible power, but cannot even properly use said power to solve any of her obstacles because it would obliterate them and her soul. it takes a tired trope and the idea of an 'overpowered mary sue' and throws it back in your face by showing how all the power and destiny in the world is useless against a system filled with corruption that has burdened you with an easy way out (evil/destructive magic) that you can't take so now you have to work twice as hard as everyone else just to do simple, constructive spells instead of flicking your wrist and being done with it.

[kagooleo]

happy new years 2025! it's been nearly a whole year since I started posting about fluffyriceshipping here, and my art has changed a lot since then! what better way to start the new year than with some sweet potatoes with their partners 🍠🌅

[batlcver]

❝I do. I was looking into it for a few months. It's what I wanted, room for people, for my things, to grow with.❞

That was the main appeal of it for him, having so much room, and three rows of seats meant that he didn't have to constantly think about looking around again should his needs change again. It was roomy enough, and if he didn't need the back seats they could just fold down giving even more room. Not to mention the fact that it was all so dark black, and having the windows already tinted, it was a dream.

Hands drumming on the steering wheel as they approach a red light, reaching up to close the sunroof's cover- didn't need any of that heat coming in right now. Moving to mess with the radio next, it was gonna be some getting used to with a screen instead of just a regular radio and aux cord. Shuffling through channels as he peaks up at the light, finally settling on a classic rock station for the moment it would have to do.

❝I am gonna miss the old one too. It was with me for a decade, it's seen a lot, but it was just time to part. I probably would've kept it even longer if things weren't changing my life, if it kept being just me using it- and maybe occasionally driving someone else- then I would've ran it into the ground. But now there's you, there's him, might not seem like big changes, but they are.❞

At least to him they were. They were important life changes, you didn't just think about the present when you're in a relationship, you had to envision the future too. Stuff he used to put off while he was single, 'cause it was just him. Who cared if he had a shitty car so long as it got him places, right? So long as he was happy with it then it didn't matter, but now he had other things in the mix. Not that big changes were going to happen soon, but still, it was important to get a head start on stuff even when that stuff is a distant "what if".

❝It was time. Easier than I thought it would be at least.❞

He thought he was really going to be hard to pull away from that car, that even though he had been looking into it for months that he'd just change his mind immediately on the lot and leave. That even though he was trying to think of the future that it would be hard to leave the past behind. Too many memories resurfacing about his life with his father, with his moving out, with going to college, all of it would deter him, but it didn't. That was probably some kind of growth if you asked Sydney about it. Probably again 'cause of Eros, not only being there, but being someone he wanted to have a future with.

❝I think I'm gonna have to get used to having AC again though, I'm already freezing.❞

Not an attempt to diffuse like he probably would have before, god forbid he ever speak his mind without making it a joke, but this time genuinely because he was cold. Quickly turning aside his fan before getting his attention back on the road. It's not too long of a drive to the store, or maybe it felt shorter because he was genuinely excited and having a good time. Parking and running a hand through his hair as he takes a second, grabbing his phone before taking off his seatbelt. Turning his attention to Eros and the puppy, pointing at the little guy just to for it to lick his finger, a chuckle escaping at that.

❝I forgot what I was gonna say.❞

Shrugging as he exits the car. Force of habit as he circles around and opens the passenger side door for them, shoving his phone in his pocket as he begins to walk to the entrance. A thought passes his mind to see if Susie needs anything for Ed, but it's quickly thrown out as he remembers that he'd have bags of bugs in his brand new car if he did check. Loved Ed as he did, that was not happening.

❝It's his time.❞

     To be honest, this was sort of a bittersweet thing for him, too. As much as he'd jokingly complained about the car, they had memories in it. Hell, they'd kissed for the first time in there. It had been a bit rushed and a surprise to seemingly both of them, but it had been in there. Suppose, though, they would make new memories in a new car, too. It just wouldn't be the same.

     It was definitely better – nicer, too. To be in the AC as he set the little puppy in his lap. The seatbelt over him as he held onto the little creature. He was all too happy to have the attention, too. What a cute little guy. 

     Waiting for mason to get back didn't feel like it took too long, either. Though, suppose, again, that was because he had something to occupy his time. It was really fun when animal videos came on and the void of a dog was so excited to see them. He'd even touch his little nose to the screen and pause or scroll past one. Oh, he really was just too adorable!

     His attention runs for a moment over to Mason in the other car. Getting everything from there and into a backpack. Taking out all the important things he'd probably forgot were even there. His gaze lingers for awhile.

     This is a nice memory, he thinks. Or it will be. Like a new beginning for things – for them? Something like that. And then he looked idly around the spacious SUV. He'd never really taken Mason for an SUV guy, but then it made sense when he could drive people around. Asher and the others. Eros, too. Plus there being that nice little space between the seats would be a nice space for Agape to sit or lay when she went anywhere with them.

     He runs his fingers absently through the small puppy's fur, head canting to the side as he looks back at his boyfriend. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging just as surely as the creature in his arms' was. 

     When the door opens, he quickly looks away with a whistle, pretending he hadn't be staring at the other the entire time. Quiet as he fiddles around with figuring out the new gizmos in the car. 

     “ Pet store time~. Y'excited, baby boy? Yeah, I bet. ”

     His gaze turns back over to look at Mason when he speaks. It was definitely nicer – cooler. It felt like they were on a whole new sort of adventure. And getting to share in all of this with him… it made Eros feel all the closer to him. Like he had a nice place carved out in his life just as surely as the new little puppy.

     “ I like it. S'nice and cool. But… I am gonna miss that old thing, y'know? Jus' means we're gonna need t' make new memories with this one. ”

     He stretches out a bit before putting his sunglasses back down from where they'd been in his hair before. Reaching over just enough so he could squeeze the other's leg in a sign of affection. Today was exciting. More than exciting, it was fun too. Even if it wasn't done yet, he was looking forward to the pet store and introducing the dogs. 

     Would Agape like getting to meet her new sibling that she'd get to see when they went out together? Would she like him as much as she liked the triplets? She let those little freaks climb all over her and never complained unless they tried to bat at her tail. And even then all she'd do was bark and paw at them to get them to stop.

     “ D'ya like it? I mean – of course ya like it enough t' buy it but… y'know what I mean. ”

[unlikelyapricot-art]

redraw of the pjsk card 'one who laughs at the world' but make it mira and change themed >:333

monochrome under the cut and some rambling in the tags <333

[evilmagician430]

mabeline/jonah wolf in my 2020s timeskip au! read my tags for more information about her

[xxplastic-cubexx]

comic fans aren’t saying that we hate the fact that cherik are in the mcu we just hate how badly it’s going to affect the comics (and how it’s CURRENTLY affecting the comics) Charles and erik’s relationship is one of the staples of x men and they’re literally ruining it before our eyes since they’re bringing them to the mcu, and let’s be honest the comics are 10x more important for these characters then the movies (changes in the comics can change how the characters are portrayed in the movies so who knows maybe they’ll bring lilandra to doomsday to fight off the cherik gay stuff like what happened to the fox movies ahem ahem charles and moira stuff) It’s not only affecting cheriks dynamic and relationship ofc but also the other characters and where the storyline of the modern comics is heading!! so much regression has been going on!! the comics have been backpedaling into old storylines that we’ve heard thousands of times to appeal to the movie watchers + 97 fans.

now i dont want to say we're SCREWED INDEFINITELY..... waters are def rocky is all ima say...

[darlingsart]

Hi everyone! 💕

I made a Patreon if anyone's interested in supporting me a bit more:

Patreon.com/Darlingsart

My patreon will run more or less like this blog, but with a few extra goodies! Over there, I'll be posting a few more sketches/doodle pages, WIPS, voting polls on what I should draw next, and some speed draws!

I'll still be posting all of my art on here like I always do! Patreon will just be like a little tipping jar so if you enjoy my art and my fics (and if you're able to!), feel free to subscribe to help me out. If not, I still appreciate all of the love! 🥰

[kudamono94]

So I saw your tags on that post with Dark Might and first of all. Real. Secondly... care to share some of those thoughts™ you have about him? 👀

First and foremost, sorry to Anna in advance but, while I myself would also most likely have been scared for a short period of time seeing Dark Might in action, that's the key phrase there - a SHORT period of time - for you see, what with my terrible taste in fictional men combined with my barely being 5'ft, had I indeed been in her situation this picture pretty much sums up how I would be acting around that bastard fr (feel free to slap some blush stickers on there for reference btw)

I'm so sorry orz - if it's any consolation, you can blame characters like Zapp Brannigan from Futurama and fucking Ryuji Yamazaki from King of Fighters for this XD Without them, I would not only have not developed a taste in awful men BUT I would also not have a penchant for big/muscular dudes✨who could lock me in a choke hold so I would be at their mercy at any given time or straight up just pick me up and run off with me- who said that(⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝)

No but seriously tho, going back to what I had mentioned before in my prior post, have you seen Gollini's character design??? I seriously want to know if this guy can crush watermelons with his thighs alone - if he can, that means he's a keeper imo :3 Oh - and his personality is garbage too - that's also a huge selling point imo! Yeah, after seeing his trash personality and smug attitude, I would be lying if I said he didn't have me hooked by the half hour point, and it was only after seeing him interact with Anna that sealed the deal - it was at that point I knew I was fucked bc I'm a sucker for the villain with yandere tendencies/no sense of personal space x innocent heroine/heroine stuck in a bad situation kinda dynamic and this movie 100% delivered on that end imo

Now don't get me wrong, I adore the Anna x Giulio ship (in fact I almost cried seeing them in the end, it was very touching) - however, I would be lying if I said I wasn't low key shipping Anna x Dark Might throughout the film, and Dark Might himself didn't help, again, with this whatsoever orz

That said, as I have mentioned on yet another post regarding this bastard on my blog, in the spirit of being nice, I would be more than happy to take Anna's place both in the video as well as just in general - like in the movie✨ Given how often those employees of his kept screwing up, I would be more than happy to lend him my services - whether that be cooking, or cleaning, or providing him with company in case he gets lonely - what happens after that happens idk ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Sorry you had to read this mess of an answer anon, but for now I hope my ramblings got across at least some of my feelings regarding Dark Might - ngl I wish we could've seen him get worse :3

Also, I think he is just as hot without having to look like All Might, especially since imo I think both versions of him are big, buff guys - this is why threesomes and selfcest exist~

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[twilightofthesandwiches]

When talking about the distinction between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King,  it’s important to remember that originally, the Crown wasn’t trying to turn Simon into Ice King -

It was trying to turn him into this guy.

At the time, the Ice Crown - or rather the Wishing Crown - was programmed with Gunther’s wish to become Evergreen. So everything related to making the current wearer like Evergreen is a very direct result of the Crown’s Magic. The physical changes -

And the obsession with the name ‘Gunther’ -

And maybe some of the irritability and anger issues -

That is something the Crown is very directly forcing unto its current wielder. 

But everything else?

Ice King, personality-wise, was not much like Evergreen at all, or even like Gunther's view of him. And Ice Finn of the Farmworld Universe was also pretty different from the both of them.

At the time, I remember people assumed Ice Finn’s behavior is more indicative of what the Crown is actually trying to do with its wielders. That Ice King is so different because of Simon’s subconscious resistance against the Crown - while Finn’s much younger and dumber brain is a lot susceptible to the Curse’s influence to become some sort of mad world-conquering emperor of ice and snow. 

But, with the context of the Crown’s actual backstory. That doesn’t seem very likely anymore. I think what’s actually happening there is that the Crown is just trying to make its wielder an Ice Wizard on par with Evergreen (who was the Actual Goddam Ice Elemental) and that means pumping the wielder’s brain so full of Magic, Madness and Sadness to a level that is bound to overwhelm anyone.

And Simon’s and Farmworld Finn’s very different behaviors after putting on the crown is indicative, more than anything, of how their psyche reacts to Madness and Sadness in general. You know, Finn has a very proactive and kinda aggressive personality - and you add Crown-induced-Madness-and-Sadness and a compulsion to use Ice Magic as much as possible and you get all of…. this 

Meanwhile, for Simon, the compulsions of the Crown originally filtered exclusively via the language of protection 

As his madness always manifested as romantic obsession 

And using goofy humor to try and deny the pain he’s going through 

Because that’s how Simon’s mind specifically reacts to being flooded with so much Madness and Sadness.

That’s why there’s so many parallels between Ice King and the sort of mistakes and screwed-up stuff Simon does right now! He’s even kidnapping people again!

Because the Madness and Sadness of Ice King might’ve been induced by the Crown, but now Simon has plenty of personal home-grown Madness and Sadness inside him - and it’s no surprise that Curse-Induced or not, his mind reacts to it in a sorta-similar way. (Although obviously not as intensely, again, there was a LOT of MMS in the Ice Crown).

Now as for Ice Thing, and the fact that he seems to be actually rather well-adjusted under effects of his version of the Wishing Crown. I mean... not by the time of the 1000+ Era, but that’s literally eons in the future and also maybe more Gibbon’s fault. Even if the Crown will eventually take some sort of toll on him, for now he seems to be doing pretty well considering his wish. I mean, there's still some sort of Loss of Identity stuff going on

But everything we've seen of Ice Thing (in the present day, at least) shows him as a friendly and cheerful individual that gets along well with others. A far cry from how maladjusted every single wielder of the Ice Crown acted.

At the very least, if there's any notable amount of Sadness in him, we really haven't seen it yet.

There might be several factors here:

First things first, I should acknowledge the possibility that it’s just that Orgalorg’s eldritch brain is better at intaking all that MMS juice. That could play a part, but I think it’s probably more important, at least thematically, to look at the distinction between ‘I wish to be Evergreen’ and ‘I wish to be Ice King’. 

First in the sense that while Ice King was occasionally mean to Gunter at times - he was generally much kinder than Evergreen ever was for ‘his’ Gunther. So, like, pretty much the one Personality Flaw of Ice King that you can directly link to the Ice Crown’s attempt to mimic Evergreen is the occasional anger issues.

And how they relate to Gunther’s view of Evergreen, so grumpy and controlling and constantly saying ‘NO!’

(Both Finn and Simon’s demonstrable not-crown-induced trauma responses can make them pretty short-tempered as well. So I’m not going to say this is purely the effects of the Crown. It still probably plays some sort of factor at why the wielder of the Ice Crown is Like That).

And that is not a factor in how Gunter views Ice King. For him, Ice King was a doting and loving father figure - so if the Crown was ever trying to implement any sort of specific negative personality traits, this is absolutely no longer a factor. Because the original Ice Crown was a reflection of Evergreen’s abuse, and now Ice Thing is a reflection of Ice King’s fatherly love.

Which is, itself, probably an echo or remnant of Simon’s own strong parental instincts. 

Secondly, while the Crown was trying to make the Ice King just as powerful as Evergreen…. Ice King was obviously not as powerful as Evergreen. Because he was already a second-rate copy of the Ice Elemental’s power, and because Ice King was often just too doofy to use his powers correctly and probably because some remnant of Simon’s original sensible self is subconsciously holding his powers back.

Either way, being ‘like Ice King’ as Gunter sees him requires less Magic than being ‘like Evergreen’ as Gunther saw him - and therefore less Madness and Sadness. Leading to the wearer or, um, the eater being a lot more well-adjusted from the get-go.

And I think that the implication that Ice Thing has fused with the Crown, so there's never going to be another poor sap who puts on the Crown and gets Ice King'd. But if there is one somehow... at least the process is going to be less mentally detrimental that time around?

Maybe one day Simon could look back and appreciate how much he (or Ice King, or both of them, or however you want to look at the situation) is responsible for basically neutralizing the Crown that ruined his life in the first place.

[bweirdart]

nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024

F.A.Q

do i have to draw?

not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)

do i have to make new content?

nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!

do i have to post every day?

nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want

can i start early?

you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!

can i re-upload your prompt list to another site?

i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!

event tag?

#bweirdOCtober

have fun!

image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october

prompts:

WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS

⭐ 1: FAV OC

what makes them your fav?

2: NEW OC

how recently did you make them?

3: OLD OC

how long ago did you make them?

⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC

an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like

5: RE-DESIGNED OC

an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?

WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY

⭐ 6: PAST

where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child?

7: LIKES

what do they like (and why?)

8: DISLIKES

what don't they like (and why?)

⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS

doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc)

10: PERSONALITY

what are your oc's main personality traits

11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES

what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal?

12: FUTURE

what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?

WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES

⭐13: MEMES

do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one?

14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC

are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom?

15: MUSIC

share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc

⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND

draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!!

17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART

put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer

i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart"

⭐18: SWAP

swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them?

19: PALETTE CHALLENGES

draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)

hex codes for the colours:

palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3

palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4

palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8

palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA

WEEK 4: COMMUNITY

20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF

if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!

some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's

WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN

⭐27: FEARS

is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose?

28: MONSTER

what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster?

29: PUMPKIN CARVING

your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life!

30: GHOST

this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you!

⭐ 31: COSTUMES

what are your ocs wearing for halloween?

[mellowwillowy]

Yan! Hacker × GN Reader , drabble

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Hacker who jerks off to the live video of you touching yourself while watching some porn from the website. You should have unplugged the webcam from your PC darling, you never know who is currently watching you through it right?

Yan! Hacker who knows just what kind of videos you enjoy watching. He has your whole browser history, including the porn sites you visit every time you feel sexually frustrated.

Yan! Hacker who does feel a pang of guilt for doing these to you, tapping and hacking all your stuff just to satiate his needs. Oh gosh, look at you wearing that flimsy shirt, he can see your nipples perking through!

Yan! Hacker who wishes he could just visit you and rail you dumb just like what the people are doing in the video. You really like vocal men huh? As much as he is the silent type, he could try grunting or letting his moans slip if you'd just let him slip his cock inside you!

Yan! Hacker who has everything on record, the video of you touching yourself including the audio where you are whimpering at your own touch. Oh, you look so ravishing and adorable! He feels the need to blackmail you just to see your face pale up for fun but that would be a boomerang for him because you'd shut yourself.

Yan! Hacker who won't stop jerking off even though you are long wasted already. No, he still wants more. The old recordings could help him while he watches you sleep, pleased after your previous masturbation.

Yan! Hacker who zooms the video until it's pixelated just to get a close-up of your sleeping figure, his tip smearing the screen with his precum as his hand pumps his shaft fastly, audio of you moaning playing in his headset.

Yan! Hacker who wishes he could just fuck your mouth as you dazed away in your sleep. His hand will play with your nipple while the other hand strokes your hair, he knows you like it when people stroke your hair after all.

Yan! Hacker who trembles as he thinks of the audio playing in his headset as you moan into his ears, his hand as your hand, and the video as you yourself.

"Fucking take it all..."

Yan! Hacker who cums right into the screen, he'll clean the mess later but for now, he wants you all to himself virtually. He will play another video of you, this time in a different setting. Just how many hidden cameras has he set inside your place?

Yan! Hacker who contemplates whether he should just make things easier by confessing to you or keep things as it is. It's not like he doesn't have a chance, judging by how you hump the pillow while moaning his name out.

'Seth, Seth...'

Yan! Hacker who will for sure fuck you dumb the moment the two of you become official. The bed will be creaking until the sun rises and you'll need to change your bedsheet again unless you want to sleep on a damp, smelly bed. As much as he'd like to just fuck you raw, he's still considerate enough to slip on the condom from future problems.

"God, what the fuck are you Seth? A stallion? We've been doing this for hours!" You yelled at him while you stuff your mouth with your pillow, his cock hammering into you with his hand spanking your ass every once in a while.

"I'm no stuck in like you said," right, you once teased him for being a disgusting otaku back when the two of you were transmigrated into that damn game, "seems like you are the hikikomori here? How adorable ♡"

Yan! Hacker might not look like it but he's actually a fit figure, not to mention one of his favorite sports being basketball because of his friend.