#IT WAS. AN ORDEAL

[thefinalwitness]

me when i was conceptualizing l'aiha: i want her to be a shapeshifter of some kind!

me actually designing her (pre-ARR, hadn't started playing officially): i looked into precedents for shapeshifters in final fantasy and found espers; it also sounds like they can traverse worlds/dimensions so l'aiha is originally from the esper world but winds up in ffxiv's world!

me in late ARR/early HW: i really like the ascians haha. and they actually sound a lot like ffxiv's version of espers! maybe l'aiha's like... an ascian for hydaelyn instead of zodiark? idk if thats a thing lol lol

me in late HW: MINFILIA IS KINDA DOING WHAT I WANNA DO RIGHT COOL COOL WE'RE HYDAELYN ASCIANS/ESPERS

me in shadowbringers when emet-selch starts implying i Should But Don't remember the world unsundered: wow the convocation is really neat.... haha what if l'aiha was one of the ancient persons? NOT on the convocation of course that'd be WAY too on the nose haha. lol. *wants that*

me right before the hades trial: OH MY GOD WE WERE AN ANCIENT PERSON???? FOR REAL???? OH THIS IS SO COOL

me when hythlodaeus gives you the 14th seat's memory crystal in 5.3: are. are you implying what i think youre implying.

me at the end of 5.3: L'AIHA WAS ON THE CONVOCATION BABEY HASHTAG CONFIRMED!!!!!!!!!!??????!!!

[catadromously]

[zandraart]

foxes

[huanghying]

an excuse to draw zoro in the tb hoodie 🫣

[critterbitter]

Congratulations! Your Tynamo evolved into an Eelektrik!

(Bonus below!)

(The eel dog quadrupled in weight)

Link to submas masterpost!

[ash-and-starlight]

hades atla bisexual simulator

[the-crooked-library]

the cardinal, #1 rule of hannigram is that while Hannibal is more evil in a traditional sense, Will is 100% objectively more unhinged, leading to a constant push-and-pull between exactly how far Hannibal’s plan reaches vs how far Will is actually ready to go, with jealousy acting as a spontaneity bonus. neither of them is in control and their love is a torrent neither of them expected or could ever have prepared for, largely because both of them were convinced they could never be loved for what they truly are

my point being. the ship endures because we all think the same thing, deep down

[roach-works]

i think some people got the wrong message after watching every movie where mean bullies call the quirky but ultimately loveable protagonist a "freak"

calling people freaks isn't bad just because sometimes you're wrong and that weird girl was actually very nice and saved everyone at prom from a mummy's curse.

calling people freaks is bad because dividing the world into "good people who are normal" and "bad people who are abnormal" makes you a tedious goddamn asshole

[sualne]

father.

(timeline)

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[mindfogs]

10/10 permanently changed me as a person and a victim of love

would slay again

[theemporium]

oneshots

☞the introduction

i. dry humping

ii. fondling

iii. handjob

iv. fingering

v. phone sex

vi. [redacted]

vii. [redacted]

viii. [redacted]

ix. [redacted]

x. [redacted]

.

blurbs

n/a

.

[liesandnights]

The mortifying ordeal of admitting you do want to be loved vs the mortifying ordeal of not wanting people to pity you or feel bad for you vs the mortifying ordeal of wanting to reciprocate affection but being useless vs the mortifying ordeal of being careless with others and actually feeling bad vs the mortifying ordeal of being perceived as vulnerable at all.

[noisyghost]

woof

[mynabirb]

My darling paramour, my infernal flame, my Figueroth.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Once they are in a relationship, do you think Jason would be more comfortable sleeping in a bed with reader or alone? I could imagine either for various reasons

I think for a long time, Jason would be more comfortable sleeping alone, all the while desperately wanting to physically sleep together.

At any stage in the relationship, but especially in its early stages, Jason would be deeply insecure about how his trauma and his work could affect his partner.

He'd come home at odd hours: at dawn, just before the sun rose, perhaps midday after a particularly long case, reeking of blood and gunpowder. And he'd find himself moving as quietly as he could in his own home, doing his best not to disturb you. He'd probably just collapse on the couch than risk waking you.

Then, there were the nightmares, the ones that would have him wake up with a scream still lodged in his throat, the ones that would have him rising from the bed on shaking legs, so that he could vomit in the bathroom sink.

The ones that he would do anything to hide from you.

Because while he trusts you, there is a part of him—the part that had once been Robin, the part that had been left alone to die in the dark—that is terrified you will leave when you find out just how broken he is.

I think for the most part, he'll want to sleep alone, even when he needs the comfort.

There might be days when you catch him off-guard, though. Perhaps after a particularly rough case, one that has him stumbling through the doors of your shared home, already half-asleep with exhaustion. Perhaps he'll find you reading a book in a patch of sunlight by the window. Perhaps you had just finished baking, and the house smells like coffee and freshly-risen dough.

And for a second he'll think that he doesn't want to be alone.

"Busy?" he asks in a voice so ragged with exhaustion that it doesn't even sound like him.

When you shake your head, he'll find himself sitting right next to you on the couch, still reeking of blood and gunpowder.

When you try to ask about the case, he briefly considers lying.

But when he looks at you, he finds that he doesn't want to lie. Because even through the thick leather of his gloves, your hands feel warm against his. Because you look beautiful in the honeyed light.

Because, he thinks, that maybe you will not leave him alone in the dark.

"Can I stay here?" he asks.

"Jason," you say. "this is your home, too."

Home, he thinks.

He hasn't had that since Wayne Manor burned down.

This time, he does not move quietly as he removes his helmet, his gloves. They hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thump.

This time, he does not move away.

Instead, he lays his head on your lap, and lets himself melt against the warmth of your skin. He watches the sun dance across the ceiling of the apartment, and he inhales the scent of coffee and freshly-risen dough and the sweet scent of you.

He feels your hand gently stroking his hair and he thinks: yes, this is home.

This time when he sleeps, he does not dream.