#{ characterstudy }

[rosemarymoodboards]

Why My Post Hit a Nerve: When Critique Feels Like Exposure

Sometimes, a critique doesn’t just get pushback it rattles. It spirals people. It makes them lash out. And it’s not because the critique was mean. It’s because it hit something real.

Here’s why my post about a fictional ship, no less hit a nerve.

I didn’t insult. I exposed.

I didn’t say Zutara fans were delusional.

I said the pairing, while popular in fanon, wasn’t emotionally compatible or supported by canon.

That kind of calm analysis is more threatening than insults because it’s harder to dismiss.

People couldn’t play the victim, so they called me manipulative instead.

I challenged a deeper fantasy.

Zutara isn’t just a ship it’s a romanticization of emotional intensity, healing through pain, and being chosen after conflict.

My post said:

“That’s not intimacy. That’s trauma-colored projection.”

To someone who ties their identity to that narrative? That feels personal.

I said the past mattered.

I said Zuko being the heir to Katara’s colonizers isn’t just background noise. It’s baked into their power dynamic.

I said forgiveness ≠ romance.

I said Katara didn’t need to kiss the Fire Nation to complete her arc.

That’s uncomfortable. It disrupts the fairytale.

So instead of examining that discomfort, they attacked the person holding up the mirror.

I refused to center a man’s redemption over a woman’s peace.

Zuko’s redemption is valid.

Katara’s forgiveness is powerful.

But I said:

Katara doesn’t owe him her heart to prove she’s healed.

That’s a threat to anyone who thinks a “good man who changed” deserves the girl. And they called that misogyny. Think about that.

I stayed calm, and they lost control.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t name call.

I responded point-by-point, clearly, confidently.

And when people can’t win with logic or receipts, they fall back on:

-Tone policing

-Fake feminism

-Guilt tactics

-Character assassination

Because if they can’t discredit your argument, they’ll try to discredit you.

The truth? It hit.

This wasn’t about ships.

It was about the emotional stories people use to feel seen. And I critiqued one of those stories and stayed standing.

That’s why they deleted comments.

That’s why they reblogged to spiral.

That’s why they called critique manipulation.

Not because I was wrong.

But because they weren’t ready to hear it.

[yesvic13]

Losing the gamble pt.1

Gi-Hun x F!reader angst

S1 before the games, mention of gambling addiction, mention of age gap, some very light swearing, break up, violence mentionned, toxic relationship (quite depressing, really).

English is not my first language so sorry if there is spelling mistakes. I would love feedback on this!

A PART 2 RELATED TO THE GAMES IS COMING UP IN A WEEK.

It was yet another night Gi-hun came home to you, totally beaten up. Loan sharks had found him and made him pay for his unpaid debts. Gi-hun had promised multiple times to stop, to just try and quit gambling, but in reality, he couldn’t—it was an addiction.

Despite everything, you remained by his side, trying to help him as you could, even by lending him the little money you had to keep him out of trouble.

You even moved in with him five months earlier, and your presence had significantly improved his lifestyle. He was really trying to be better, for the sake of your relationship and himself. But it still wasn’t enough, and tonight was the last straw for you.

It was already 11 P.M as you waited for Gi-Hun to come home. He was supposed to be with you by now. You were worrying, as always, fearing that you would have to witness your lover being destroyed physically and mentally by his addiction yet again. As you sent him another text asking where he was, you heard the sound of keys in the lock, and the door opened.

You looked up, your eyes widening as you saw Gi-hun. His head was lowered, his bag dangling in his hand. You could sense his guilt in the way he carried himself and you knew, you just knew it was going to be a terrible evening.

"Look at me,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, but firm. He lifted his eyes slowly, meeting your gaze. They were red, his nose bleeding, his left eye swollen and bruised, and there was a nasty bump on his forehead.

You got up, your breath catching in your throat, and ran toward him. The smell of stale sweat and alcohol filled the air as you closed the door behind you. You guided him to the kitchen chair, his body heavy and uncooperative. He didn’t say a word, visibly shaken, only staring at you with deep regret. You helped him remove his jacket and cap, “Stay here.” you said gently.

You didn’t even bother to yell at him this time—what good would it do? This had happened too many times. Instead, you went to the bathroom, searching for the first aid kit in the mess of bottles and supplies. As you rummaged through the cabinet, you heard him let out a muffled sob from the kitchen. You paused for a moment, sighed and stared at your own reflection in the mirror, wondering if happiness was even possible in this relationship anymore.

Finally, you came back to him with the kit. You knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his knees to reassure him.

“I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered.

You didn’t respond and got up to pick a cotton pad, soaking it with disinfectant. You began to clean his wounds carefully. He didn’t say another word, knowing how disappointed you were in him.

You continued silently, now applying healing cream to the bump on his forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” you asked, concerned.

He shook his head no, but you noticed some bruises on his arms. “Go take a shower,” you said, pressing a hand to his back to guide him to the bathroom. “Then we’ll talk.”

He nodded, not arguing. He knew he had no right to. As you heard the water start running, you sat down in the chair he had just left, staring at your hands.

You couldn’t believe this had happened again. You didn’t know what to say to him anymore. He kept promising and promising to change, but nothing ever changed. There were good days and bad days, but the sight of him beaten up and hopeless was too much for you to bear anymore.

Tears formed in your eyes as you thought about how much you loved this man. You had even imagined marrying him one day. He made you happy, but at the same time, you felt so sick from worrying about him constantly.

Ten minutes later, Gi-hun came back from the shower, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. He wore a worn-out white shirt and striped pajama pants as he sat at the end of the table in front of you, his expression resigned and his bruises visible.

“Go on,” he said quietly. “I know I don’t have any excuses. I deserve this.”

“No!” you said sharply. “No, you don’t! Ever.” You paused, trying to compose yourself, “Who did this to you?” but you already knew the answer.

“Loan sharks,” he admitted, defeated. “They were stalking me earlier and cornered me in an abandoned bathroom at Ssangmun-dong Park.”

You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “Gi-hun, I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. How many times has this happened? Two? Three? Four? You keep telling me you’ll change, that you’ll stop gambling, and every time, I believe you. But look at you! I can’t bare you looking like this, you don’t listen to me!”

You had mixed feelings during this moment; you didn’t want to make him feel worse, he already knew he fucked up, but at the same time he was the real adult, a grown man fifteen years older than you, and you were the one giving him a lesson.

“And I suppose you gave them the money I lent you last week?” You were bitter, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

“Yes,” he whispered, lowering his head.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I keep thinking I can fix everything, that I can make it all like it was before. But I just keep disappointing you. I disappoint everyone—my mom, Seong Ga-yeong…” His voice cracked and he marked a pause.

"Please don’t leave me,” he begged, looking at you desperately.

You didn’t respond, you were just sick of all his excuses. Instead, you stood up, walked over to him, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He clung to you desperately, hugging your thighs, burying his face in your jumper as he sobbed.

You let him cry, his tears soaking your clothes. Your own tears fell silently as you held him close. Your heart broke for him, for everything he had gone through. You hated to see him like this.

And for Gi-Hun, he knew this meant the end. By wanting to fix things he only made it worse, to the point he made the one person who loved him unconditionally leave.

He was right. You finally moved and sat on the kitchen counter. “I can’t do this anymore Gi-Hun, I just can’t. I tried to help you, to save you, because I know you feel miserable but it started to take a real toll on me!" ... "I think I realized that I couldn’t help you if you don’t even want to save yourself!” You said now looking resigned.

You words hit him hard, he knew you were right, that you both deserved better.

The silence lingered as you tried to decide whether you should break up with him on the spot, knowing that you’d never get over it and that you’d blame yourself forever for leaving him in that position, or whether you should stay and end up dying of worry and poverty.

“I think it would be better for us not to see each other for a while.” You said, your voice painfully cracking.

“I’m sorry, Gi-hun, I need to think, I need to know if you’re really a lost cause or not. I do love you, more than you can ever imagine, but love is not enough anymore. I want to be able to come home without wondering if you’re dead in a sewer because you owed money to some asshole, you know? I can’t keep living like this.”

You were now crying without shame, it was exhausting to feel so useless. And deep down, you knew it wasn’t entirely Gi-Hun's fault. He was a sweet, gentle boyfriend who always did everything for you, he made you happy, but he was also an addict, and things had gotten very bad.

He knew that if he kept going you were going to leave him, and it was now happening. “Please, please, (Y/N)... I’m so sorry. I never wanted this. I never wanted to make your life harder...” He was pleading, at least fighting for you to stay.

You smiled tenderly at him. “I know you’re sorry. I’m not mad at you Gi-Hun, I just think it’s better this way for a while.”

Gi-hun had gotten up from his chair, but as you went into your bedroom to pack some things for the night, he sank back down. With his head in his hands, he sat there, watching his life fall apart. He was now losing the love of his life because of his addiction and his inability to change. It felt like he was being brought back to five years ago, when his ex-wife had divorced him for the same reasons.

You finished packing and walked back through the kitchen. Gi-hun sat with his head in his hands, resigned too. He knew the situation wouldn’t change unless he did. You put a hand on his shoulder “I’m going to a hotel for the night. Please, take care of yourself, Gi-hun.” Your voice was soft, you were sorry that it had to end like this.

You pressed one last kiss at the back of his head, one that lingered a bit too long and you left your shared apartment. As soon as you stepped outside, you broke down, feeling sick and guilty to your stomach.

You knew this was for your sake, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Inside, Gi-hun remained seated at the table, still processing what had happened. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he realized he had lost it all—again.

[raypakorn]

CHEERCEMBER 2024

🎁: akk pipitphattana + character study & petrol blue palette ↳ requested by @malikson for @ropebunnykant

[inkdrinker1862]

"Don't Be Afraid, Just Start The Tape." I love Daniel Molloy.

[shiklah]

resurrection

Castlevania

Alucard x reader

Every night was just as exhausting and sleepless as the one before. The darkness reigning in the castle was blacker than the night itself, and the quiet sobs echoing through the high corridors did nothing to calm her pounding heart. She wanted to rise, to run from her chamber, to take him in her arms and promise that everything would be okay—that he hadn't lost everything, that he could count on her. But she knew there were two things Adrian despised most: her and showing weakness. So she sat there, wrapped in her bedding, feeling the chill of the night air on her back, hearing the rain tapping against the windows and his weeping, which broke her heart like nothing else.

It was she, along with Trevor and Sypha, who had awakened him in the crypts beneath Gresit. She had helped them defend the towns and even kill Dracula. And in the end, at Sypha's request, she had stayed in the castle so Adrian wouldn't drown in his grief and despair alone—so he wouldn’t lose himself to sorrow and solitude. But what good was her presence if he didn’t want to see her? They didn’t eat together, didn’t talk; he avoided her at every turn, drifting through the halls like a shadow, either confined to his room or wandering outside. They could go an entire day without exchanging a single word, despite living under the same roof.

She had long understood that her presence wasn’t welcome. She tried her best to be a support to him, to help him, but he pushed her away time and again, refusing to even listen. So she stopped speaking altogether. They endured each other’s company only when necessity demanded it, and it broke her heart.

She loved him so much it made her physically ill just to think about it. She admired his love for his mother and humanity, his friendship with the hunter and the Speaker. She admired how good he could be—though never to her.

She knew he was mistrustful, and she didn’t blame him. Still, she hoped that after all this time together, he might show her a shred of sympathy. But she was wrong. It seemed to her that, day by day, his hatred for her only grew, and she couldn’t understand the source of his relentless, loathsome disdain.

But that night, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Whether it was the sound of the rain or the fact that his sobs seemed even more anguished than usual, she couldn’t stand the sorrow tearing her soul in two.

She untangled herself from the sheets, her bare feet meeting the cold marble floor. She walked to the door, opening it with a loud creak. She glanced down the corridor, lit only by long slashes of moonlight streaming through the tall windows. She listened to the silence—for his crying had stopped.

Still, she slowly made her way toward his chamber, her mind swirling with thoughts. She didn’t know if what she was doing was right; she was almost certain he would throw her out the moment she crossed his threshold. But she couldn’t stand the unbearable inaction any longer; it gnawed at her, and was surely one of the many reasons she couldn’t sleep.

The castle was as grim and foreboding as ever. No one cleaned it, no one decorated it, no one cared for it. She was too afraid to change anything, fearing Adrian would disapprove of her initiative. Even though she believed the remnants of that fateful battle only deepened their shared melancholy, she dared not touch anything.

At night, it was the worst. All the haunting memories crowded her mind. The wind howled outside the windows, the chill seeped under her quilt, and the castle loomed in its oppressive darkness. On those saddest nights, they both cried.

She slowly opened the equally creaky door, peeking inside timidly. On the grand bed at the center of the room, she saw his silhouette, curled up and frail, bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight.

"Get out," he growled at her in that low, warning tone he always used. But she, surprising both herself and him, stepped deeper into the room, closing the wooden door behind her. She leaned against it hesitantly, not wanting to anger him further.

And silence fell. Heavy, dense, oppressive silence. Only the rain, the wind, and her short, quiet breaths could be heard.

The man sat up, still hunched over, uncertain, furious, and full of sorrow. He glared at her from under his brows with a venomous gaze, giving her yet another signal that she was unwelcome. Yet she ignored even that warning, slowly making her way toward him. He still didn’t speak, his eyes carefully tracking her every move. Stray strands of his long hair fell across his tired, tear-streaked face, but he paid them no mind.

She stopped halfway between the door and the bed, her gaze never wavering from his. She clasped her hands together, nervously picking at her skin. And the silence remained.

“I want to help you,” she said timidly, cautiously. Adrian narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t move an inch.

“I don’t need help, least of all from you. Leave.”

She looked at him with warm, compassionate eyes. Taking a deep breath, she took a few slow, deliberate steps closer before sitting on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. She placed her hand on the plush quilt and ran her fingers over it. Its coldness surprised her. But she closed her eyes and exhaled softly. His room smelled like the rest of the castle—damp, musty, and full of death.

She could feel his piercing gaze on her. She also felt a flicker of hope, for he hadn’t yet thrown her out.

“You’re just like Belmont,” she finally said, not even looking at him. She didn’t want to see his reaction, didn’t want to be intimidated, angered, or saddened by it. She needed to say what had weighed on her soul for so long but had never found the opportunity to voice. “So stubborn, relentless, vengeful, and angry. You’re always angry, but also full of grief. The only difference between the two of you is that he’s no longer alone, while you treat your solitude like a cross you carry with both pain and pride.”

He didn’t respond. He just watched as the moonlight danced across her face, as her hair slipped free of its messy arrangement, as her pale hand moved across the quilt, as her chest rose gently with each shallow breath, as her lips formed each cruel word. And he was mesmerized.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

That question echoed in his mind like a church bell. Did he hate her? Quite the opposite.

When he had first seen her, he hadn’t noticed her uncertainty, hesitation, or fear. His eyes had fallen on her hands—slender, pale, delicate, and refined, so unlike those of a warrior. And he thought of them often—when she placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him some anecdote, or when she lit a fire, cursing softly at the leaping flames, or when she tended to Sypha’s wounds, speaking warm, comforting words.

That’s how she was to him—delicate, refined, and warm. He liked her calm voice that soothed his frayed nerves. He liked her cool touch, which burned him like the hottest flame. He liked her laughter, echoing through the castle’s walls. He liked her wide smile, which she offered him at every opportunity, though he gave her so few. He even liked her sticky tears because they showed him they shared something in common.

And she was so unique to him, one of a kind. So he knew he couldn’t trust her—because he had come to love her so deeply. And everything he loved so deeply turned against him.

“Just leave,” he muttered more calmly this time. He lay back down in his previous position and covered himself with the quilt. He only heard her sigh in disappointment, and it broke his heart.

She began humming a melody under her breath, one he had never heard before. But he didn’t move, waiting passively.

And she didn’t stop. She closed her eyes again, running her hand over the bedding, listening to the sound of the wind.

“They often sang this song in my village,” she whispered, trying to recall even a few words of the song her grandmother used to sing to her in moments like this—moments filled with sorrow and the weight of unspoken words.

She finally rose from the bed, smiling warmly, though she knew he couldn’t see it. Once again, she felt the chill of the floor beneath her feet, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Don’t cry anymore. It breaks my heart.”

“What do you mean?”

She laughed softly, her voice a sparkling sound that quickened his heartbeat. He sat up again, this time propping himself on straightened arms. He studied her once more, his gaze much gentler now.

“That I’m tired of loving you.”

He didn’t know what to do. Should he throw himself into her arms? Should he respond to her confession with one of his own? Should he kiss her warm, soft lips, or grasp her cool hands and kiss them instead? Should he apologize for every bitter word? He did nothing.

“This castle makes my head spin. I’m leaving.”

After a wave of euphoria, he felt the icy shock of disappointment and despair wash over him. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and his breathing became uneven. She couldn’t leave him. She had promised Sypha, she had promised Trevor... she had promised him.

"No"

he finally said in a firm voice. He got up from the bed, standing tall, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"I need you here."

"Many people need me."

That silenced him because he knew she was right. How much more useful would she be in the simplest village, defending those who couldn’t defend themselves, spreading knowledge to those without access, healing those who didn’t know how? And by his side? She merely lingered in the dark, old castle, enduring his difficult character, mood swings, and constant humiliation, wasting her potential within the four walls of her room, which was no longer a chamber but almost a cell.

And yet, as selfish as it sounded, he couldn’t let her go. Not when he knew he loved her as much as she loved him.

"Give me a chance," he whispered mournfully. Slowly, he stepped toward her, enveloping her hands in his. He looked at her with an expectant gaze, but she didn’t intend to speak. Not after everything, not in a moment when she had decided to let go of that cursed love. Despite her surprise, it was the first time Adrian addressed her with such care, kindness, and calm. The first time she saw, instead of hatred, his need for her to be there. "I live only to see your face every day"

"You breathe, you eat, you sleep. But that can hardly be called living."

"Then help me come back to life."

[green-quiver]

new beginnings

Pairing: Oliver Queen x Reader Summary: The first time you meet Oliver Queen Word Count: 1,068 Trigger Warning: None

The first time you meet Oliver Queen, the world feels different. It's not every day you encounter someone who embodies the paradox of a billionaire playboy with a brooding, almost haunted air. Standing there at the event—some lavish, high-profile charity gala downtown—you barely register the extravagance of the venue, all the gold accents and crystal chandeliers, as your eyes fall on him.

He moves through the crowd like he's part of it but separate at the same time. People part around him, not because he commands attention overtly, but because there's something about him. The sharp cut of his tuxedo, perfectly tailored to his athletic frame, is a stark contrast to the casual, almost distracted way he glances around the room. His hair is neatly styled, but there’s a rugged edge to his appearance, something raw and untamed lurking just beneath the surface. It's in the tension in his shoulders, the way he scans his surroundings, calculating, never fully at ease.

The first thing you notice as you edge closer is his eyes. They're green, piercing, and they hold a depth that draws you in and makes you curious. He's talking to a small group, some local politicians, perhaps, and a few well-dressed socialites, but there's a distance in his expression, like he's going through the motions without really being present.

And then it happens. His gaze flickers over the room, and for a split second, it locks onto yours. It's fleeting, but it hits you like a jolt of electricity. You freeze. He doesn't linger, his eyes moving past you like they were never there in the first place, but the sensation stays with you. It's like he's seen something about you no one else does, even though he didn't really look. It’s unsettling, yet fascinating.

You busy yourself with a glass of champagne, trying to shake off the odd feeling when you hear a voice behind you. “Not your kind of scene either?”

You turn, and there he is, Oliver Queen, standing right next to you. Up close, he’s even more striking, though there’s a roughness to him that the perfect suit doesn’t quite hide. His jawline is strong, with just a hint of stubble, and you notice the faintest of scars above his brow—almost unnoticeable, but there if you’re looking close enough.

You blink, caught off guard, but manage a smile. “I’m just here for the free drinks.”

His lips twitch into something that might almost be a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “You and me both.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not awkward. In fact, it’s as though the rest of the room falls away for a moment, leaving just the two of you standing there, watching each other.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” you finally say, though it’s more of an observation than a question. Of course you know who he is. Everyone knows who he is. Oliver Queen, the heir to Queen Consolidated, the man who came back from the dead after five years lost at sea.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Oliver Queen.”

His name carries weight, as if it should mean something more than just two words, and it does. But there’s something in the way he says it, almost reluctantly, as if it doesn’t quite fit him anymore. As if, somehow, he’s outgrown the name.

“I know,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Something flickers in his eyes again—amusement, perhaps? But it’s gone too quickly to tell. He tilts his head, studying you, and for a moment you wonder if he can see right through you, if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. It’s unsettling, the intensity of his gaze, but you hold it.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

You tell him, your voice steady, though your heart is beating just a little faster than usual. There's something about being the focus of his attention that makes you hyperaware of every movement, every breath.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice soft but deep, with a hint of something that feels like distance. He’s right here in front of you, but you get the sense that part of him is somewhere else, somewhere far away. It's like he’s carrying the weight of a thousand memories, each one darker than the last, and they're pulling him down even as he stands in this bright, glittering room.

Before you can say anything else, someone from the crowd—a woman in an elegant gown—approaches him, interrupting the moment. He glances at her, then back at you, and for a brief second, it looks like he might stay, might continue whatever this conversation was going to be. But then, with a small nod, he excuses himself and disappears back into the crowd.

You watch him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. He’s a hard man to figure out, Oliver Queen. On the surface, he’s charming enough, playing the part of the billionaire philanthropist, but there’s something underneath that makes you think he’s more than just what people see. He’s hiding something. Or maybe he’s just hiding from himself.

As the evening wears on, you catch glimpses of him here and there, mingling with the elite, shaking hands, smiling politely. But every time, there’s that same sense of detachment, as if he’s going through the motions but not really present. And yet, there’s also something dangerous about him. It’s not overt, not in the way he talks or carries himself, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. A simmering intensity, like he’s a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment to release.

You find yourself wondering what kind of life he’s lived—what could turn a man like Oliver Queen into the person standing in front of you now. The news stories paint one picture: a reckless playboy turned survivor, turned philanthropist. But the person you met, even in those brief moments, seems far more complex. There’s a darkness in him, something that the lights of this glamorous world can’t quite erase.

As you leave the gala that night, you can’t shake the feeling that your encounter with Oliver Queen wasn’t just a chance meeting. There was something about it—about him—that felt like the beginning of something, though you don’t quite know what. You tell yourself it’s probably nothing, just a fleeting moment in a world where such moments are common.

But deep down, you know better.

[gingerbredman1989]

Some character studies of a cartoon bodybuilder.

[ballinandcantgetup452]

Terry McGinnis is the only person who can be the next Batman

I don't normally make hard statements like this. I typically hate it when somebody makes hard statements like this, but hear me out.

No prior Batfamily character can be the next Batman. I'll keep it brief and explain why going person by person (obvious headcanon warning)

Dick is definitely a likelier candidate than most. He can cover for Batman if the need ever arises. But I believe that Dick Grayson hates the idea of actually becoming Batman. He can play the role. He was a circus kid and he's got the heart of a theatre kid, he can play the role all day long. But he was the first. He arguably saw Batman at his natural worst. He and Alfred, anyways. I'm going to drop some OP lore to further elaborate. My dad's a pastor. He's a really good pastor. He's a good man, and he may be an ass, but that's because I know him as "dad". For YEARS, people would tell me that I was just like him, and for a long time, I wanted to be him. It's what boys do when their dad is at the very least decent. But, as I got older, I saw the tapestry and saw the flaws. I saw how tired being a pastor made my dad. I saw how much of his life being a pastor was taking up. I would never tell my dad to stop being a pastor, because that's him. That's his calling; and if he was anything else, then he'd be a soulless, husk of a man. But I've seen what being a pastor does to you, and I don't want that. I want to be better than that. Dick Grayson has seen what The Batman does to a person. He's seen Bruce do things that Dick would never do, and the idea of being the next Batman is something that got soured to him. And it definitely doesn't help that that's what a lot of people used to do to him. So yeah, traumadumping aside, Dick would never STAY Batman. Even if he doesn't know it.

I honestly think it's best if Jason stays as far away from the idea of The Batman legacy as possible. Jason's at the best possible spot right now. He's taken his trauma and has turned it into his empowerment. I don't care what Three Jokers says, that's dumb. Joker's an ass, we don't listen to him. ESPECIALLY if he's swapped out his gun for a crowbar and has a no-kill rule, Jason could be Red Hood until he's 90 and it'll be narratively fulfilling.

Tim is one I see get thrown around a lot. However, I believe that The Batman would absolutely DESTROY him and he would be too stubborn to acknowledge it. One common denominator I believe every Robin goes through is the realization of "oh wow, Bruce is not okay" and trying to be better than that. While I do believe that Tim went through that, I also believe that Tim is arrogant enough to believe that he's better than that. Even putting all of the "alternate Tim evil gun toting Batman" futures aside, I think that Tim is obsessive enough as is. Giving him the mantle of The Batman would cause him to obsess even more to be like Bruce thus causing ANOTHER evil gun toting alternate future Batman. Tim is best as Red Robin. An independent agent that can go well with ANY Batman to keep them on the straight and narrow.

Babs is best as Oracle. No I will not be elaborating. If you want her to be Batgirl, then say that she can Batgirl every once and a while but doing it stresses out the microchip in her back.

Steph is best as Spoiler. She backdoored her way into the Batfamily by being competent enough as Spoiler. I honestly wish that she could be like Batwoman and establish herself as Batfamily adjacent and have her own supporting cast and such. If she does have one, then I'm sorry. Cassie is kind of a blind spot.

Sadly, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, and Harper Row are even bigger blindspots of mine. From what I've seen of them, I can't think of any reasons they couldn't be Batman. However, I can't think of any reasons why they especially should be Batman.

Damian Wayne is my personal vote for becoming the next Batman out of everybody pre established. Not for any birthright reasons. That's dumb. Admittedly, DCeased really turned me on to the idea. I think that the idea of Damian being the child raised by Bruce that turned out the best is a really good idea. In retrospect, I guess the idea of birthright is technically why I'm choosing Damian. BUT, understand I'm doing it with the caveat that Damian is fully developed as a person and as a character. That is the END of his arc.

HOWEVER, Terry McGinnis takes the cake for me in terms of Batman successor. This is going off of the idea that he isn't a Bruce clone. I don't know how canon we've made that, but canon is relative, so I'm saying it's not for the sake of argument. Terry is an outsider. He has no baggage with the idea of The Batman. He's just a guy working through some grief with The Batman being used as a vehicle. He doesn't know any of the Bruceisms. He never had to explain to his friends that his dad is crazy and he's sorry he made contingency plans for all of them. Terry McGinnis gets to make Batman his own. And, luckily, he gets to have a fully realized Bruce to guide him along the way. I also think that it opens so much more story potential. It's essentially a soft reboot for The Batman as an idea. Everybody else can be out doing their own thing. But I think this works in the same way that Miguel O'Hara can ALSO be Spider-Man. I believe that every intimate Batfamily member would follow Bruce's footsteps by making Batman an UNHEALTHY obsession. Terry would be different, he'd lead the pack by turning The Batman into something HEALTHY.

Or maybe I don't read enough comics and all my interpretations are super surface level. Let me know. I'm willing to be wrong.

[athenanfaymont]

💬 "Don't Even Try to put Her in One Box"

Steph Brown and the Found Family That (Sometimes) Tries to Parent Her

If you’ve read my previous post on Steph as Gotham’s chaos-bringer 💥💜, you’ll know I believe she isn’t just a hero — she’s a survivor with sparkles, a subversive ray of sun in Gotham’s shadows.

But no one survives Gotham alone. And Steph? She chose her family. And they chose her back — in wildly imperfect, deeply meaningful ways 💫

💜 Cass & Steph — The Soft Power Duo Cass is silence. Steph is noise. Cass reads bodies. Steph overshares. And yet, they sync in a way that goes deeper than words. Steph offers light without demand. Cass offers presence without pressure. They fight side by side, they sleep on rooftops together, and in each other’s company, they are safe. It’s not a sisterhood born of matching trauma — it’s chosen solidarity. 🫂

💙 Tim & Steph — The Glorious Disaster That Is Love Let’s be real: Tim and Steph are a mess, and I mean that lovingly. They bicker, they break up, they reunite, they screw it up again. But underneath the drama is a bond built on knowing the real version of each other — the insecurity, the exhaustion, the want. Tim pulls Steph into the mission, but Steph pulls Tim out of his own mind. Is it always healthy? Not exactly. But it’s real, and when it works, it works💔💞

🟣 Babs & Steph — Mentor, Sister, Teammate Barbara didn’t just give Steph the cowl — she gave her a vote of confidence when no one else would. But what began as mentorship evolved into partnership. They push each other. They annoy each other. They believe in each other. Babs teaches Steph how to fight smarter. Steph reminds Babs why the fight is worth it. And sometimes they argue about snacks and surveillance. As it should be 🖥️🍕

Steph’s story isn’t just hers — it’s written in connection. These bonds are messy, but authentic. Traumatized, but tender. And so full of love, even when it’s badly communicated or wrapped in angst.

So no, she doesn’t fit in a box. But she fits into hearts. Especially theirs💜

[Javier Pina]

[fokk3rs]

[COM] Study

A character study for an OC!

Posted using PostyBirb

[rosemarymoodboards]

Why Neither Aang Nor Zuko Were Right for Katara (And Why That’s Not a Bad Thing)

Katara is one of the most emotionally rich and complex characters in Avatar: The Last Airbender.

She’s compassionate, fierce, morally grounded, and driven by her own internal compass. But when it comes to romance, the show failed her because instead of asking what she needed, it only asked who deserved her.

Let’s talk about why neither Aang nor Zuko were the right match for her, despite what the fandom (and canon) tried to sell.

Aang Loved Katara But the Story Never Let Her Choose Him

On paper, Katara and Aang could have worked. Air and water are complementary. They went through war together. They clearly loved each other in some way.

But here’s the thing: Aang’s feelings were consistent and foregrounded. Katara’s were buried and undeveloped.

Her romantic feelings don’t evolve over time they just appear at the end because the plot needs it.

There’s no moment where Katara realizes she’s in love with Aang. There’s no mutual build-up. No shared romantic turning point. Instead, we get:

-One-sided tension

-An unreciprocated kiss

-A sudden, silent kiss at the end after the war is over, and after zero emotional resolution.

It reads like this: Aang earned her, so he gets her.

But Katara was never a prize. She was a person. And her emotional journey didn’t point to romance it pointed to healing, to grief, to self-discovery. The fact that her romantic arc was stapled onto Aang’s doesn’t feel earned. It feels like narrative obligation.

Zuko and Katara Were Intense But Intensity Isn’t Intimacy

The Zutara ship is compelling in theory: fire and water, enemies to allies, deep emotional tension. And they do share some raw, powerful moments especially in The Southern Raiders.

But let’s be honest: trauma bonding is not romantic compatibility.

Their strongest connection comes from shared pain. Zuko helps her confront her past, and it’s beautiful. But it’s closure, not chemistry. It’s healing, not a hint that they should kiss.

There’s no romantic subtext from Katara’s side. No longing looks. No hesitation or hope.

Just intensity and intensity without trust becomes volatility.

And let’s not forget: Zuko betrayed her

He sided with Azula and nearly killed her. She held onto that pain for a long time. They barely have time to rebuild trust, let alone develop a loving foundation.

If they got together, it would be on unresolved tension and projected fantasy, not emotional safety.

Katara Was Always Framed Through the Lens of Other People’s Arcs

This is the real issue.

Katara was vital to both Aang and Zuko’s journeys:

She grounded Aang, comforted him, forgave him, mothered him.

She challenged Zuko, distrusted him, helped him become better.

But when it came to her needs, her desires, her emotional resolution the show gave us silence.

We never see Katara talk about what love means to her.

We never see her struggle with choosing herself vs. choosing someone else.

We never see her define her own romantic needs, because the narrative decided that her role was to be chosen, not to choose.

Whether it's Aang’s destined love interest or Zuko’s redemption companion, Katara becomes a function of the men around her. That’s not romance. That’s narrative sacrifice.

Maybe Katara Didn’t Need a Love Story at All

This is the take that gets overlooked.

Maybe the strongest ending for Katara wouldn’t have been choosing between Aang or Zuko.

Maybe it would’ve been choosing herself.

Because here’s a girl who lost her mother, carried the weight of her tribe, became a master, led a revolution, and stayed emotionally available through it all. That’s power. That’s healing. That’s arc worthy.

And instead of letting her arrive at a place of inner clarity, the show rushes her into a kiss with no romantic arc of her own.

Conclusion: Katara Wasn’t Meant to Be a Reward

Whether it’s Aang’s long suffering crush or Zuko’s redemptive spark, both love stories treat Katara as something that happens to them.

But she was her own story. And she deserved a romance that treated her that way.

Letting Katara choose herself or at least letting her romance grow from mutual, earned connection would’ve been revolutionary.

Instead, we got a pairing that satisfied the hero’s journey, not hers.

[yesvic13]

Losing the gamble pt.2

Gi-Hun x F!reader angst

S1 in the games, some swearing, deaths, violence, blood mentionned, angst, 6000 words.

English is not my first language, sorry if there is spelling mistakes. I would also like feedback on this! (not sure if this is an original idea, if you find a similar fanfiction, please lmk). Can be read without having read pt.1

can't really write any stories atm as I have bad grades and need to focus on school ☠️

It had been a little over a week since you moved in with a friend to think about your relationship with Gi-hun. You felt immensely guilty, but it also felt good not to have to constantly worry about him, you were sick of all his promises when nothing ever changed.

You hadn’t tried to contact him, and he hadn’t reached out either. It surprised you, and you even imagined the worst, it wasn’t like him to let you go so easily. Deep down, you truly hoped this breakup was just a rough patch—that you would eventually find your way back to each other.

Every night at your friend’s place, you had to resist the urge to run back to him. You still loved Gi-hun, you never stopped. You still wanted to marry him, to live the life you deserved together. But in a week and a half things had surely not improved on his end. He was probably still being chased by loan sharks, his debts certainly hadn’t decreased, and you would still fear for your own safety.

One evening, on your way home after a long day at work, you stopped on a bench at the park near your friend's flat. You knew you had to move out soon and also had to retrieve your stuff from Gi-hun’s place. The thought of seeing him again filled you with shame, you wouldn’t be able to look at him in the eyes. You hated what you had to do.

As you sat moping on the bench, your face in your hands, you saw a shadow approaching. You immediately looked up, sensing danger as it was quite late and the park was eerily empty. Your eyes met the ones of a handsome man wearing a tailored black suit with a tie. He was also carrying a briefcase that didn’t seem to be empty.

Even though he didn’t look like the usual suspects you saw on the news, you knew damn well that a psychopath could be anyone. Sensing your suspicion, he introduced himself as a salesman and sat beside you.

He didn’t appear threatening but you were already strategizing how to leave the park without seeming suspicious. As you considered all the ways this encounter could go wrong, he spoke.

“I can tell you’re scared—don’t be.” he began, his voice calm and smooth. “As I said, I’m a salesman. I often help people in distress, and when I saw you here so late at night, I thought I could help.”

“How so?” you asked, your tone defensive though his proposition intrigued you.

“I’m sure you’ve played ddakji before, right? Play a few rounds with me. Each time you win, I’ll pay you 100,000 won. I’m sure you could make good use of this money.”

“… What? Is this some kind of shady offer?” you asked in complete disbelief.

“No, no.” he said with a slight laugh. “I just want to help.”

“You just want to play ddakji and if I win, you give me money?”

“That’s about it, yes.”

You looked away, thinking this was all a setup and you were about to be kidnapped. But nothing happened.

After all, you had all your chances, you played when you were younger and you were quite good at ddakji.

“There’s no catch.” the salesman said, sensing your hesitation.

“Okay, then I have no reason not to try and win a bit of money. How many tries do I get?” You asked.

“The game ends when you either win or decide to stop playing.”

“Right.”

The man opened his briefcase on the bench, taking out a red and a blue envelope. You stood up and chose the blue one. It had been years since you’d last played, but you believed in yourself. Besides, he hadn’t mentioned what would happen if you lost, so you had to win.

You stared at the red envelope on the ground and threw the blue one with such force that the red turned over.

You had won first try.

You looked at the salesman shocked, you weren't actually thinking that after years of not playing you could succeed, but you did.

He seemed surprised too but he clapped for your victory.

“Is that it?” you asked, feeling proud of yourself.

“Yes, that’s all. Here’s your 100,000 won. Congratulations.” He placed the bills in your hand, then smiled as he handed you a small card. “If you want to play other games for bigger prizes, call me with this number on the back.” He pointed at the card, smiled and left the other way with his briefcase.

You quickly pocketed the bills and the card, wanting to leave the park as soon as possible but staying still for a moment. You watched him walk away, your heart pounding in your chest. What was that? Was this even real money?

Yes, it was. Your friend, who worked as a cashier, confirmed it.

“You’re lucky nothing bad happened. I would never have played with him, no matter how handsome he was!” she laughed.

“Yeah, I know. It was so weird. I don’t know why I didn’t just run away. But he didn’t seem threatening, and look—I won 100,000 won from his stupid game!” you said, showing off the bills. But something slipped out of them and fell on the floor.

Your friend didn’t notice but you did. It was the card the man had given you. There was a square, a circle, and a triangle on it, along with a number on the back. You dismissed it as his business card and put it back in your pocket.

Later that night, your friend expressed her worry. “I was scared. I thought maybe the men chasing Gi-Hun were now after you. I’m glad it was just a random game of ddakji” she said with a half-smile, knowing how much you still thought about him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” you replied, brushing it off.

That night, you had nightmares about Gi-hun, the salesman, and the card. At two A.M you woke up, panicked. Your thoughts immediately returned to the card. It didn’t look like a business card at all, and what was this number on the back?

In a moment of despair, you called. Hoping the salesman wasn’t the one supposed to pick up. A generic robotic voice answered, instructing you to go to a secret address in three days and to provide a password to the person who would pick you up. From what you understood, you’d be playing games in a sort of reality TV show to win a lot of money.

You hung up, contemplating your options. You were struggling financially, you needed a new place, and you wanted to help Gi-hun. If this was just about winning stupid games, you thought you’d manage.

Three days later, without telling anyone, you went to the secret location. You had taken a few days off work, only imagining the look on Gi-hun’s face when you’ll return with enough money to solve all his problems.

You woke up feeling extremely groggy, your body heavy, and a strange fog clouding your memory. You struggled to piece together how you had ended up in this place. The last thing you remembered was stepping into a white car and now you were in a huge room, filled with bunk beds stacked incredibly high. The walls were painted half white, half blue, giving the space an unsettling, sterile atmosphere. The air was cool, almost chilly, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had never seen a place like this before.

Looking around, you saw other people slowly stirring, their faces etched with unease. They looked just as lost as you. There were so many of them—a crowd of strangers successfully recruited by the salesman you thought.

You then lifted the blanket that had been draped over you and froze. You weren’t wearing the clothes you’d had on when you left. Instead, you were dressed in a green tracksuit with a white trim. The number "282" was printed on the front of your shirt and on the back of the jacket.

You had entered the games—the ones the salesman had spoken of. The room around you was buzzing, participants murmuring inaudible words to each other as others extricated themselves from these unfamiliar beds.

Before you could think of what to do next, the front door opened and a group of guards entered the room. They were dressed in bright pink jumpsuits, their faces obscured by black masks. On it was either drawn a circle, a triangle, or a square. The exact same geometric figures that were on the card the salesman gave you.

One of the guards stepped forward, he seemed to be the leader. His voice was robotic, like the man you had on the phone. He explained why you were here and the rules of the games. He then gestured upward and a lever was pulled. From the ceiling descended a massive, transparent, empty piggy bank. It glimmered under the harsh fluorescent lights.

It was supposed to fill up with money as you won games. You thought the idea seemed absurd—childlike games for something as serious as money!

The murmurs of confusion and faint protests from the crowd were ignored. The guards were indifferent to it and turned to leave, announcing that the first game would begin in a few minutes.

You glanced around frantically, hoping to see a familiar face but you found no one you recognized. You felt more isolated than ever, and also kind of trapped.

Moments later you arrived in a vast, open-air room. The ground was covered of a fine layer of sand and the walls were painted sky blue with clouds.

At the far end of the room stood a massive animatronic doll with a frozen expression. The rules of the first game were announced, you were going to play “Red Light, Green Light.”

The doll began to sing, her voice oddly cheerful. You moved forward, careful not to move as you told yourself that if you did you'd be eliminated, you'd go home and you couldn't win any money. And you really needed that money, for Gi-Hun.

The doll’s song paused. You froze, holding your breath but one of your neighbors moved and the doll’s eyes turned red, the man was eliminated on the spot, falling loudly on the sand.

Your body froze. At first, you thought it was a performance, that the man had fallen for the sake of entertainment for the reality TV show.

But as you decided to look closer, you saw blood coming out of him.

Suddenly, a woman screamed, and others followed. Panic rippled through the participants. Some of them sprinted desperately towards the door they had entered through but they were shot one by one by snipers stationed above the doll.

You were paralyzed by the sight of dead bodies. Yet, your body remained still, partly out of sheer terror and partly because your body still felt anaesthetised. You understood the doll detected movements and you saved your life by not moving.

The atmosphere had changed in an instant. People who dared moving fell one by one, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds. Only a handful of participants managed cross the finish line behind the doll at the end.

When you finally reached the line yourself, you turned around and saw the carnage. A hundred bodies littered the ground, blood sprayed in every direction, with corpses stacked near the entry door where people had tried to escape.

Your eyes widened in horror as the realization sank in. You were choking on your sobs, your breath catching in your throat because of what you had just witnessed. Fear had stolen your voice, no sound came out of your mouth.

This was it—you were going to die. What had you been thinking? Why had you agreed to participate in a game proposed by a stranger? You were stupid. So, so fucking stupid.

You sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, desperate for some comfort, but finding none. You couldn’t escape the truth now—you were playing these games with your life.

Eventually, the guards arrived to herd the survivors back to the dormitory. They were armed now, their rifles slunged over their shoulders, their presence suffocating. Not a single word of defiance uttered from participants, everyone was too afraid.

You had never seen dead bodies before in your life, and now you had seen more than a hundred in just a few minutes. Too shocked to process the situation further, you simply returned to your bed.

It was positioned quite high, giving you a clear view of what was happening below. Chaos reigned as everyone was clamoring to leave, shouting, crying, and begging for a way out.

The guards silenced the crowd, contestants instinctively backing into the far corners, terror etched on their faces.

None of the guards spoke, instead one of them activated the lever, and the piggy bank suspended above the room came down again. You watched as bills filled it—this money represented the lives who had been lost to the first game.

The sight of money made the eyes of a few greedy participants light up. As if wealth could justify the loss of human life.

The guards said they would come back in an hour, leaving the participants to contemplate their grim fates. You sat on your bed, trembling. Tears streamed down your face uncontrollably as you clutched your knees to your chest. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop crying. You were traumatized.

You were so consumed by your sobs that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you looked up, and your breath caught in your throat.

It was Gi-Hun.

The horror on his face mirrored your own. His eyes widened in shock scanned your tear-streaked face, and for a moment, he looked as though he couldn’t believe you were really there.

You realized you were no longer alone but this thought brought no comfort, if anything, it was worse. The man you loved was here, in this nightmare, and that meant he could die too.

He didn’t say a word, he simply pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly that you felt the faintest sense of security. You could feel his body shaking against yours, his breath uneven, he was crying too.

You buried your face in his chest as he held you, his voice breaking with frustration and fear.

“Oh my God, Y/N, what are you doing here!? Why are you here!?” His voice cracked with desperation. He pulled back slightly, gripping your shoulders and looking into your eyes. His tears glistened under the dim lights, his face a mix of panic and disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you came here for me. Please, tell me you didn’t come here because of me!!” His voice grew louder, frantic, as though he couldn’t bear to hear your answer.

Your tears didn’t stop as you looked at him, guilt and sorrow written all over your face.

“I… I’m so sorry, Gi-hun." you whispered, your voice trembling. “I… I came here because someone told me I could win a lot of money playing these games. I thought… I thought if I won, I could help you. You wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. You wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again and I could be by your side.”

Gi-hun’s face twisted with anguish, his grip on your shoulders tightening. He shook his head, his voice raw with emotion.

“No… no, no, no. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have come. I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking as he let go of your shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of you, burying his face in his hands.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t deserve this. You shouldn't be here, you should be safe, happy, not… not trapped in this hell because of me.”

You knelt beside him and wrapped your arms around him. “Gi-hun, stop. Please. I chose to be here, I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer, I’m so sorry to have left you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, a mixture of guilt and love. “But you shouldn’t have to do this for me. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me.”

“I didn’t know that you played these games with your own life...” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tears.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You both realized you had been trapped in a sick game to manipulate the most distressed people. You both sat against the wall on the bed as Gi-Hun held your hand.

“I swear we’re going to get out of here, and from now on don’t ever leave my sight.” He said firmly.

The guards indeed returned one hour later, and the leader stepped forward.

“Please, remain silent.”

The murmuring stopped almost instantly, replaced by an eerie silence. All eyes were fixed on him.

“As stated in the contract you all signed, if the majority of participants agree to terminate the games, you may leave immediately.”

A wave of gasps and shocked whispers rippled through the room. You felt a glimmer of hope ignite in your chest. Could it really be that simple?

“To proceed, we will conduct a vote. Each participant will have the opportunity to make their choice. A vote to continue the games will be indicated by pressing the green button. A vote to terminate the games will be indicated by pressing the red button. The majority will win.”

The guards brought in a voting machine and a giant digital screen deployed from the wall.

“As a reminder, the prize money accumulated so far will only be distributed if the games continue until the end. If you decide to leave you’ll leave with nothing.”

You glanced at Gi-hun. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on the panel with a mixture of hope and dread. Around you, people debated furiously with one another. Some argued for survival, desperate to escape the horror they had just endured but some greedy ones insisted that they had to continue.

A loud beep silenced the room again. The leader gestured towards the panel. “Participants will vote in numerical order. Participant 001, please step forward.”

All eyes turned to the elderly man standing at the front of the room, his green tracksuit hanging loosely on his frail frame. His steps were slow as he approached the panel.

The screen finally lit up with a single green dot.

The vote had begun.

One by one, participants shuffled forward, their decision made public. As the numbers climbed, the split became evident. Green and red dots alternated as tensions rose among the contestants.

You was called, Gi-hun squeezed your hand before letting you go, your eyes searching his for reassurance. You approached the panel, your mind racing. The red button would mean safety, a chance to escape dying. But the green button… winning the games could solve all your problems. It could save Gi-Hun from his crushing debts and give you both a bright future.

Your hand trembled as you pressed the red button.

The screen updated, and you returned to your place beside Gi-Hun, your heart hammering in your chest. He whispered to you “We’re going to get out of here, I swear.” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Gi-Hun was the last to vote, all eyes were on him as he approached the panel. He pressed the red button.

The masked leader stepped forward, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions in the room. “The majority has decided to end the games. You will all be at your homes by the night. You have three days to think about your decision, if a majority of you decides to come back, you’ll all have to do so.”

Gi-Hun and you watched the chaos happening at the center of the room. Some people were yelling, they knew their life would still be miserable when they came home, this was their chance! Others were crying from relief, they were promising themselves to do better, to really try this time.

You also cried from relief, your hand on Gi-Hun's arm.

“We’re going to come home.” You said, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, and I’m never going to let you leave again.” He said with a faint smile.

As the guards said, you had to wait for the night and for every contestant to fall asleep in order to be able to come home. They were probably going to anaesthetized you again, so that none of you would remember anything and wouldn't be able to go to the authorities.

“Can you sleep with me tonight?” you asked Gi-Hun shamefully.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have let you sleep alone anyway.” He paused. “Stop feeling guilty about what you had to do Y/N, you had every right to leave me. I was such a mess, I’m so fucking sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say to him, he was going to promise all sort of things again, but this time you’d believe him more than ever. You hugged him tightly, whispering “I love you” in his ear.

He released himself from your embrace and placed both hands on your cheeks to pull you towards him in a slow, passionate kiss. He poured all his emotions in it, he was desperate, you could sense it.

“I thought I had lost you forever.” He said, unshed tears in his eyes.

“You didn't, I’m always going to be here for you, I love you so much.” You smiled at him.

He smiled at you too. “We should sleep now, I want to get out of here quickly.” You agreed and he held you close to him, his face buried in your hair with his hand on your stomach.

But after a few minutes of trying to fall asleep you realized you just couldn’t, not after the horrors you had just witnessed. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m so scared, Gi-Hun." your whispered, your voice cracking.

He tightened his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. “I know." he murmured. “I’m scared too. But we’ll get through this, we’re going to investigate this as soon as we come home, too many people died.”

You sobbed quietly, you body shaking against his. Even if his presence was reassuring, you were going to be traumatized forever, with probably no answers to what those games were.

Gi-Hun’s hand moved to your arm, gently tracing soothing circles as he tried to calm you. He hated himself in that moment—hated the decisions that had led both of you here.

“This is all my fault. You shouldn’t be here. None of this should have happened.” He hated that you were suffering because of him.

You shook your head weakly, your hand resting on his. “It’s not your fault, we really need to get out of here to understand what happened to us.”

“I know, but you deserve so much better.” he whispered “I’m going to be better, for real this time.”

Slowly, you both felt reassured, knowing you’ll soon be back in your appartment. You fell asleep first, even if you kept trembling in your sleep. Gi-Hun watched you, determined to get to the bottom of these “games”. He wanted to understand.

“I’ll protect you” he whispered to your sleeping form. “Even if it costs me everything.”

@pink-apples001

[raypakorn]

CHEERCEMBER 2023

DAY 12: ray pakorn + character profile character study ↳ requested by @dilfmas for @milfmas

[inkdrinker1862]

"What Makes You Fascinating?"

I just love them. I love everyone in this show. Here's a Devil's Minion piece for ya!

[shiklah]

reciprocation

Castlevania

Alucard x reader {NSFW}

It was dark, silent, unsettling. She could see the outline of his tall figure lingering in the doorway of the chamber. His hair cascaded over his slender shoulders. His breathing was shallow, weary, uncertain. With a graceful hand, he leaned against the doorframe, as though guarding himself from collapse, yet his posture was confident, upright, proud. His piercing gaze traveled over her face, her legs, her bare chest. She exhaled seductively, pressing her hands into the mattress. Arching her back, she tilted her head, exposing her long, pale neck. The light reflected off her skin, making it appear ablaze. She took a deep breath, then a slow exhale, and didn’t need to look to know where his curious eyes had wandered.

He adored her perpetually cold body—the thin, veiny skin, her lifeless eyes, the bony hands with long, delicate nails. Only the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, her quiet sighs and feline purrs, the sound of blood flowing through her veins, and her calm, languid movements reminded him she was alive.

She lay on the grand bed, draped in red velvet, which he had brought at her request. She looked as if she were floating in a stream of scarlet blood, a vision he found irresistibly alluring. Her delicate movements maintained the illusion, never allowing the fabric to slip from her body for even a moment.

She reached for a goblet—a large, golden, expensive one. Raising it to the light, she examined it from every angle. The vessel glinted in the moonlight, and a brazen smile played on her lips. Adrian noticed the desire in her eyes, a hunger that frightened him more than any other emotion. Perhaps because she was usually indifferent, cold, vengeful. She relished inflicting pain, consuming completely, sparing no one.

Except him.

He felt it—no, he knew—she loved him. She gave him so much goodness, so many beautiful experiences that left him utterly lost, so many cool kisses whenever he asked, so many dispassionate embraces he could only dream of. And he worshiped her madly.

“Be mine tonight,” she purred in that feline way that made his knees buckle. As if entranced, he approached her bed and climbed onto it clumsily, never breaking his gaze from her. He could hardly catch his breath, watching how her steely eyes slid over him, how she tilted her head coquettishly as if scrutinizing him even more closely, how her fingertips traced circles on his skin, diverting his attention from the gravity of the moment.

Her eyes, though still icy, were now filled with a lust that terrified him. She tilted her head coquettishly, but a threat lingered in her gaze. Her fingertips barely brushed his skin, drawing small circles, as though trying to distract him from something far more daunting—the truth that each touch brought him closer to something irreversible, something that would change them both forever.

“I love you,” he choked out, tension mounting within him. She rested her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. Her gaze was empty yet resolute. Everything seemed in its place.

“I love you so much…”

“I know, Adrian,” she purred, and a shiver ran down his spine. The way she said his name made him ready to do absolutely anything for her.

She enjoyed using him, asking for miracles and watching as he struggled to fulfill her increasingly demanding whims. She felt appreciated and fulfilled, knowing she held such a powerful, naive man in her grasp. She adored men like him—easy to manipulate yet authoritative. She never hid this, demanding much but giving everything she had in return—knowledge and her meticulously tended body.

Most women didn’t look kindly upon her, considering her a kept woman, a sweet fling, a delightful moment of forgetfulness. Few, however, could afford her; she valued herself highly.

Adrian was exceptional. Beyond his peculiar background, he was the first man in her life capable of holding her attention for more than a moment. The first man who wanted to hear what she had to say, and she had much to say. She knew he adored her body, driven by the same desire as many before him, yet he was never repulsive in his lust.

He enjoyed giving her pleasure more than receiving it himself. She was not particularly expressive in any aspect of life, so her stoicism during intimacy didn’t surprise him. However, he attuned himself to the faintest sighs from her lips, learning how to improve. He observed her face, searching for the slightest grimace, understanding what not to repeat.

He loved pleasing her, whether through intimacy or showering her with gifts, both of which he provided often.

Before they met, he had heard much about her from Trevor, with whom she also shared a history. From Trevor’s stories, she seemed consumed by greed and power, incapable of feeling any other emotions. But he soon realized she was simply human—hurt, trying to use what she had been given. He could never hate her, though he initially wished to.

As much as she loved extravagant gifts—jewelry, ornate dresses, carved furniture—she equally loved expanding her knowledge. She gave herself to him for the first time on the day he gifted her stacks of books and notes that had once belonged to his parents. That was also the first time her eyes weren’t empty and steely; he saw tenderness he was desperate to claim at any cost.

Adrian was rather clumsy as a lover, which was new to her. Yet, she appreciated being his first unforgettable adventure. Moreover, though she didn’t show it overtly, his initial uncertainty melted her. She guided him slowly through every stage of their peculiar relationship, which only invigorated her more.

“Please, stay here with me forever,” he almost whimpered, placing one hand on her hip. Her cold skin was the most soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the perfect remedy for his tangled thoughts. She was everything to him.

He wasn’t the first to declare his love, yet he was the only one worthy of her attention and time. She didn’t know if she loved him, but she was certain she had never been so happy. No objections, no demands, no jealous wives, insults, or beatings. Just peace, a beautiful, understanding, and naive man, comfort, and countless books she had yet to read. Life with Adrian was her dream.

“I don’t make promises,” she reminded him sharply, removing her hand from his face. He inhaled sharply, tightening his grip on her hip as if afraid she might flee, angered by his plea. She fixed him with an impassive look and, sensing his unease, smiled faintly. “Don’t think about the future now. I’m here to help you forget.”

The man nodded quickly and visibly relaxed. He felt her cool hand on his cheek again, slowly moving down, touching his jaw, tense shoulders, torso, and stopping at the lower part of his belly. Adrian inhaled sharply, his eyes fixed on her hand. His already hard member twitched restlessly, craving her touch like nothing else. He felt a drop of cold sweat trickling down his back, but he dared not move.

They had made love so many times, yet he still felt that youthful anxiety. Perhaps it was because every time was completely different, unique, allowing him to experience many new emotions and fall in love with her even more.

Seeing his stress, wanting to tease him a little more, she once again removed her hands from his body. She placed them behind her back, thrusting her chest forward. Her breasts moved seductively, and she smiled coyly. Adrian did not know which of these things made his heart momentarily lose its rhythm.

He tentatively extended his hand and ran the tips of his fingers over her delicate skin, brushing against her nipples with just the pads of his fingers. She did not take her eyes off him, though her gaze had softened a bit, letting him know that his actions were not unwelcome.

This time he moved more confidently on the bed, towering over her delicate body. The woman instinctively leaned back against the pillows, her hair tickling her back and shoulders, causing her to shudder slightly. Only then did she feel the tingling cold on her face, coming into the chamber through the open window. But that was not what occupied her thoughts at that moment.

"You deserve love" she whispered almost inaudibly, tangling her fingers in his hair. With a decisive move, she pulled him closer, connecting their thirsty lips in an almost rehearsed kiss.

He felt a shiver run down his spine, the taste of her sweet lips on his tongue, her sharp teeth grazing his lips. Her small hand tugged at his long hair, making that kiss seem even more intimate. He felt her slender fingers near his manhood, a touch so unexpected that he gasped into her mouth.

She pulled him even closer, wanting to feel the weight of his warm body on her. Her cool breasts touched his torso, his member brushed against her core, to which he sighed with affection. He pulled away from her lips, breathing deeply, and stared into her eyes, sparkling in the moonlight, filled with emotions he had never seen there before.

"Show me that I am yours" she murmured, getting closer to his ear. She tugged on his hair again, this time more firmly, expectantly, almost painfully. He tilted his head back, and a nearly animalistic groan escaped his throat.

Her sweet, sweet words echoed in his head. She was his, his, only his... Nothing that had come before mattered, nor what was to come, for that night she whispered in his ear, that night she snuggled into his body, and that night she made love to him.

He placed his hand on her core, gently tracing small circles with his fingers. His warm, delicate hands worked wonders; she could not help but let out a quiet moan from her saliva-slicked lips. She quickly covered her face with her hand, not wanting such an incident to repeat.

For him, however, it was the most beautiful sensation. She trembled under his calm touch; he could see how hard it was for her not to squeeze her thighs around his hand, he saw how dramatically her breasts rose and fell with each deep breath she took.

He slipped one finger inside her and felt like he was in heaven. Her core was the only part of her body that was genuinely warm. He felt her desire coating his entire hand with its stickiness. His manhood throbbed impatiently, along with his legs, which were ready to give way beneath him.

He moved his hand slowly, not just to avoid hurting her but to make that moment last as long as possible. However, she grabbed his wrist, gently moved her hips, and looked expectantly into his eyes, demanding something more. He quickly obeyed her, adding a second finger and moving much faster. Once again, her head fell back against the bed, eyes closed in ecstasy. She spread her thighs further with her hands, allowing him to fully see her core, dripping with desire and euphoria. He bit his teeth together to hold back the embarrassing groan that threatened to escape him, and then he grabbed his manhood, wanting to relieve some of his tension.

"Don't touch yourself"

She admonished him, sending him a warning look, to which he immediately withdrew his hand.

"I want to feel you."

With those words in mind, he quickly sat at the foot of the bed, positioning himself near her core. He desired her like never before, for she was behaving differently than usual. Her parted lips, fingers gripping the sheets, her back arched, showed him that she needed him like never before.

He entered her quickly, decisively, in a way that was unlike him. The woman, surprised by his sudden eagerness, let out a short gasp, fixing him with a bewildered look. He responded in kind, then placed his hands on her hips and her legs on his shoulders, drawing even closer and sinking deeper into her.

"I love you so much"

He gasped, then began moving within her. He immediately set an unusual pace for them both, yet it did not seem to bother her. She was focused on his member filling her so well, as if it had been made for her, on his fingers tightening on the delicate skin of her hips, on his quick, ragged breaths that still betrayed his uncertainty.

"You're so good" she panted, digging her nails into the skin of his muscular arms. He let out a surprised whimper, not knowing if it was in response to her words or the combination of pain and pleasure washing over his body head to toe, making him unable to think of anything but her sweet core and her soft voice. With each passing moment, he quickened his movements, and in her bedroom, the only sounds were the slapping of their naked bodies against each other, her shallow breaths, and his desperate moans.

His hands glided over her hips, stomach, legs, breasts, wanting to have her entirely, just for himself, forever. She felt the desperation in his movements, but that was what she loved about him.

"I love you so much" he repeated, feeling his orgasm approaching. She threw her head back, pressing herself more into the velvet pillow.

She hid nothing anymore; broken gasps escaped her lips, interspersed with his name, which sounded like a spell on her tongue. She panted heavily, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. However, his desperate voice, filled with longing, his large hands gripping her body, and their moans echoing off the walls of the room made it impossible for her.

He was the first man she hadn’t been afraid of, the one she felt safe with, the one she didn’t want to leave.

"You are mine, right? I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Suddenly, he stopped his movements, still breathing heavily. A shiver ran through his body, and she felt warmth spreading within her. He reached his climax with her name on his lips, then collapsed uncontrollably onto her body. Panting heavily, he nestled into her breasts, unable to look her in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to" he began to apologize, and in his words, she heard genuine remorse. He did not pull out, did not raise his gaze to her, just lay there nestled against her cool, sweaty body, still unable to catch his breath.

And she was in even greater shock. She fixed her gaze on the ceiling, wondering what to do next. She had never loved any man, rarely did she tolerate any of them, and now she had declared her love to someone so young, naive, and immature. Maybe that was why he had stolen her heart; because he was so different, unlike all the other disgusting, bitter men.

"Will you stay?"

He asked when he had somewhat regained his composure, still not raising his gaze to her. He could not believe the reality of that moment; he was sure that when he looked at her, she would dissolve like a dream. He didn’t know what made that night different from all the others they had spent together, but he was grateful to himself for never giving up on winning her attention and care.

"I will stay."

[3lix13]

More development from the end of April (for my original characters). Working to get the big sister more youthful & the housecat more of a plumpy furball (like OG Garfield)...