#all paragraph long defenses too

[shadowqueenjude]

Me replying to an Elriel tik tok that their ship was dead the moment Lucien told Elain she's his mate and Gwyn only further dug their grave and watching the chaos ensue:

[targaryenluvs]

Would you be willing do to a yandere Percabeth fic? Even if it’s like three paragraphs long…I need to know what you’d do with it. If you’re taking requests or anything because I can’t find it but you also don’t have to take it.

— OUR BEST GIRL

pairing: dark!percabeth x fem!reader

summary: percy and annabeth would do anything for their girl.

warning: dark themes, obsession, violence

a/n: ik it’s short but here you go @lady-ashfade ❤️

you didn’t exactly know how you ended up between the two. whether it was by accident or by their design, you were always seen as the third in their relationship, not that anyone dared to comment on it.

you were the balance between the two, the sweet, smart, clumsy girl, in their eyes you needed protection. protection that only they could provide. it was one of the few things that they didn’t fight over, you were far to sweet to be alone. they were completely infatuated with you.

you were also oblivious to their actions and behaviour, believing them to have your best intentions at heart, of course they did! they loved you! they’d moulded you into needing them, seeking their presence and approval. you trust them, truly. everyone else around you, all the campers could see how defensive they were when it came to you.

“where have you been?” annabeth turned around at your footsteps, sounding her to your arrival. you frowned, “that poor demeter girl, she ended up in the infirmary after training. we tried to ask her who hurt her but she was too scared to talk!”

percy feigned concern, “that sucks. do you wanna swim tonight?” the smile on his face made you giggle, “cmon perce! she’s injured the poor thing.” percy held his arm up, “annabeth sliced me in training, i’m injured, why don’t i get the same concern?” he pouted as you gasped, “oh my god! are you okay?”

you quickly surveyed the bandaged arm as annabeth scoffed, “please i barely touched him.” you swatted her arm, “i’m okay, but i think a kiss would help.” you rolled your eyes before kissing his cheek, “cmon, let’s swim!” you ran inside your cabin, gathering your swimming necessities and clothes as the two leaned against the columns.

“you think she’ll talk?” percy glanced over to annabeth who was intently viewing you excitedly pack towels and snacks for the three of you, “nope,” she spoke, popping the ‘p’ as she stood on both feet, “but even if she does, we’ll make sure she doesn’t ever again.” she shrugged, free of worry or concern as she made her way inside to you, percy following along.

the amount of campers that had ended up mysteriously injured, almost fatally, for even approaching you whilst they weren’t present? too many to count. after more than enough injuries and bruised egos, the camp began to take a hint, you were off limits.

you were their best girl, and theirs only.

[jaythes1mp]

5070 words, 29086 characters, 239 sentences, 116 paragraphs, 20.3 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

Please send me requests. I love writing but I can only do it with actual ideas to motivate me🙏

On your late-night journey home, you're cornered by one of the numerous street criminals prowling the streets of this cursed city. Getting mugged in Gotham isn't anything out of the ordinary, but even still, you can't help but feel surprised. It seemed that strangely enough, the past four years, thugs had begun to avoid you like the plague.

This was a situation you hadn't found yourself in since you were just a fifteen-year-old kid, still struggling to find your footing in the grimy underbelly of Gotham.

The street thug pinned you against the wall, holding you in place while her accomplice jabbed the cold barrel of a gun against your head.

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, fear and panic clawing their way up your spine. Your breath hitched in your throat, a cold sweat pricking at your skin as you instinctively raised your hands in surrender.

As the cold metal of the gun was pressed harshly against your temple, you fought to tamp down the tremors shaking your body. You knew that any wrong move could spell disaster, so you forced yourself to remain still, praying that the thugs would be merciful enough to let you free.

Your mind raced as thoughts of the worst-case scenarios flickered through your mind. The thug with the gun pressed against your head sneered, her grip on your shoulder growing tighter as she spat out a threat.

The sheer terror you felt in that moment was overwhelming, threatening to swallow you whole. The harsh reality of the situation settled on your shoulders like a crushing weight. You were all too aware that you had no experience in dealing with situations like this, leaving you feeling vulnerable and powerless. Your eyes squeezed closed, a lump forming in your throat.

The rough brick of the wall dug into your chest, the cool air of the night doing nothing to soothe the panicked frenzy of your heart. The thug's hand on your shoulder was a vice-like grip, their fingers digging deep into your flesh.

In times like these, you regretted ever turning down the self-defense classes that your old employer had offered. The weight of that decision settled heavily on your shoulders as you longed to have the skills to protect yourself from the imminent danger.

You silently berated yourself for your naivety and carelessness. It had been foolish to believe that just because the villains had avoided you for the past few years, you would be safe from any harm. Yet, here you were, pressed against a wall, a gun held to your head by street thugs.

As your thoughts ran wild, your mind spiraled into a whirlpool of grim possibilities. The thought of your friends' reactions to your potential death played through your mind - the pain and grief they would feel upon losing you. You wondered if Damian would be upset about his sketchbook, the most constant connection you had to him. If Jason would be filled with anger at the inconvenience of tidying up your belongings, if your... no. She’d probably find relief in your absence... You wondered if Tim would shed tears in sadness. The image of him crying, tears streaming down his face, left a bitter taste in your mouth. Then you thought of Bruce. Would he be disappointed you never got to accept his offer? Your thoughts spiralled as you got increasingly more upset. Who was going to feed your pet turtle...? Would she think you abandoned her?

The weight of those unanswered questions gnawed at your thoughts, the possible reactions of your friends, pet, and the people who had offered you a place to call home. Your mind latched onto the image of them crying, the thought of any of their tears causing a pang of anguish to settle deep within your chest. You didn't want to imagine your friends' pain upon your loss, but the what-ifs haunted your mind like a relentless ghost.

The rough bricks of the wall dug into your chest, the sharp edges of the broken and uneven surface biting into your vulnerable flesh. The cold, unforgiving metal of the gun against your skull pressed further against your skin, an imminent threat hanging in the air. You clenched your teeth together, fighting to hold back a whimper that threatened to escape from the back of your throat.

Damian's heart raced in his chest, thumping out a rapid rhythm against his ribcage. Disbelief and anger twisted his features into a fierce scowl. From his stealthy perch on a nearby rooftop, he had silently tracked your movements throughout the night, his gaze never straying far from your form. But now, as he watched intently as you were cornered by a bunch of worthless thugs, his protective instincts surged through his veins. How dare these lowly criminals think they had the right to touch you?! Especially after all the efforts he had expended to ensure your safety. You were his sibling.

The sight of you in danger ignited a fire within him, burning hot with both rage and protectiveness. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. How could he have let this happen? He had been so careful, making sure to keep watch over you from a distance, and yet here you were, at the mercy of criminals who were nothing but scum. His fingers dug into the edge of the rooftop, the urge to leap down and intervene overpowering his self-control. He didn’t have to think twice before swinging into action.

Damian swiftly made his way toward you, propelled by the rooftops with practiced ease. The cool night air kissed his face as he bounded between buildings, his agility and precision a testament to his years of training. He remained hidden from view, his black, yellow and grey costume blending into the shadows, allowing him to quietly approach the scene unnoticed.

As he drew nearer, he could hear the thug's threats, the cold barrel of the gun pressing closer to your head. His temper flared, a dangerous heat building in his chest. These worthless lowlifes were going to pay for putting you in danger.

Robin, perched high above, kept a vigilant eye on the unfolding scene. Every word from the thug's mouth only fueled his anger. He assessed the area, taking in every detail with a cold, calculated gaze. The street was eerily silent, devoid of any other souls. No potential witnesses or interruptions to hinder his intervention. This moment was perfect. A chance to make these pathetic thugs pay for their audacity. They dared to touch what was his.

Each breath Damian took was measured and steady, his heart drumming steadily in his chest. He knew he had to act swiftly and with precision. He couldn't afford any mistakes. You were his responsibility – his blood. No one was allowed to touch you. No one.

Robin’s muscles coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. His eyes flickered between the thugs and their guns, mentally calculating the best course of action. His instincts were on high alert, every fibre of his being focused on the mission: protecting you.

He’ll make a mental note to have you under tighter security starting in the immediate future.

With a final, calculated assessment, Robin silently prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation. He would protect you at all costs. The thought of you getting hurt, because of his carelessness, was unacceptable. He would eliminate these fools before they could even think to touch you again.

The woman holding you, pinned your arms behind your back in a rough and painful grip. Their hold was unyielding, causing your arms to bend in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. You couldn't help but let out a small, pained whimper, the sharpness of the maneuver making you wince.

Your eyes pinched shut, and you forced yourself to take deep, measured breaths. It was your attempt to steady yourself, to hold back the wave of panic and fear that was overtaking you.

Your chest heaved with the force of each breath, trying to regulate your racing heart. A small shiver ran through your body, the fear and helplessness of the situation gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pressure of the woman's grip on your arms made you want to squirm and struggle, but you steeled yourself against the natural inclination.

Robin, like a silent wraith, leaped into action. His katanas moved in a blur, swiping the gun away from the goons' grasps before they could even register the movement. His presence was both dangerous and deadly, every muscle tensed and coiled like a predator ready to pounce. His sharp, grey eyes fixated on the thugs, a silent warning in their depths.

A sharp gasp slipped past your lips as the cold metal of the gun abruptly lifted away from your head. The sound of it banging loudly against the gritty, dirtied concrete ground echoed through the air, the sudden absence releasing a tiny bit of the tension that had been coiling painfully in your chest.

You stayed still, barely breathing, your body locked in the woman's tight and cruel grasp. Her hold on you was unrelenting, an indication that any wrong move would result in snapped bones. You couldn't turn your head to see what was happening, fear and pain keeping you rooted in place.

The woman's grip on your arms tightened, a painful reminder of the danger of any movement. You were trapped, unable to see what was happening behind you. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to struggle and get away, but the fear of severe injury made you hold yourself perfectly still. The only thing you could do was remain in this terrifying, vulnerable position.

Robin's mouth curled into a snarl, his anger flaring as he saw you trapped in the woman's grasp. Your small gasp of relief at the gun being removed from your face only fueled his rage. How dare these pathetic humans touch you, his sibling, his family, without any regard for your safety and wellbeing. The thought alone filled him with anger he had trouble controlling. He had failed you.

As Robin stood before the thugs, his katanas held at the ready, he locked his gaze with the woman holding you in her iron grip. His eyes darkened with a fierce intensity, a silent challenge in their depths.

Robin's gaze, burning with righteous anger, fixated on the woman who held you captive. The air around him crackled with a dangerous aura, his muscles coiled tensely as he held himself back from pouncing on the pitiful excuse for a human being in front of him.

The woman holding you in an iron grip was clearly an amateur, her sloppy and harsh moves betraying her lack of experience. She seemed to rely on brute strength, rather than skill, to overpower her victims.

Her careless and overly aggressive approach was a stark contrast to Robin's years of training and discipline. He took in every detail, every movement and expression, noting the flaws in her techniques. She was like a novice facing a seasoned warrior. It was downright pitiful.

To Robin, the woman's every move stank of amateurishness. Her clumsy and brute force tactics were as subtle as a bull in a china shop. It was clear that she had never received any formal combat training; relying solely on the ability to intimidate and overpower her victims. In comparison, Robin was a paragon of discipline, control, and skill. The difference in their approaches could not be more stark. She was insulting you for even thinking someone like her could ever be in your presence.

The woman's lack of finesse and skill made Robin's blood boil. She was like a pathetic child playing at being a thug, an insult to the name of criminals everywhere. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck taut with restrained anger. He could see her flaws from a mile away, her amateur tactics screaming for correction. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, his mind racing with possible ways to take her down without harming you further.

Robin's intense gaze continued to pierce through the woman holding you. He was like a coiled spring, his muscles tense and taut, ready to pounce at the very next moment. He couldn't help but feel a sense of revulsion as he observed her sloppy moves. This is the type of amateur who would get themselves killed in Gotham in the blink of an eye. His anger flared further as he saw how carelessly she was handling you, her fingers digging into your flesh in a painfully tight grip.

For a brief moment, he considered just knocking the woman unconscious and freeing you from her grip. But then, with a cruel and calculated grin, a different thought occurred to him. He wanted to teach her a lesson. Maybe if she was truly frightened, she might actually learn something.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Robin tossed one of his throwing stars at the ground, the sharp and sudden movement drawing the woman's attention. Startled by the sound, she turned her head to look at the star, her grip on you loosening just a fraction.

Robin seized the opportunity, and in the blink of an eye, he moved behind her, his footsteps so silent that they made no sound.

The woman's eyes widened as she realized Robin's presence behind her, but before she could turn to face him, he had her by the throat, his hand encircling her airway in a firm grip.

As Robin observed your trembling form, your eyes still squeezed tightly closed, his heart clenched in his chest. He could see the fear and helplessness your body was radiating and it infuriated him. You looked like a terrified animal caught in a trap, desperately trying to hide from your captor. The thought of how scared you must be only served to fuel his obsession. You needed their protection.

Robin's grip on the woman's throat tightened as he drew her closer to him, his face inches from her ear. His voice was low and filled with a dangerous edge as he snarled, "You dare lay a hand on MY family and think you'll get away with it? You're a pathetic excuse for a thug."

The ringing in your ears and the shortness of your breath is all you can focus on, having not heard the boy’s words. Luckily for him.

Seeing that you were still too scared to open your eyes or listen, Robin tightened his grip even further on the woman, his eyes narrowing as he leaned his head closer to her ear. "You thought you could get away with this? Pathetic."

As the woman began to struggle in his grip, her eyes widened as she realized the severity of the situation. Fear and panic filled her gaze, and her chest began to heave with labored breaths. Robin took a sadistic pleasure in seeing her fearful reaction. He smirked, his grip unwavering.

He was enjoying this. Teaching this low-life a lesson was like music to his ears. He wanted her to be terrified, to feel the same fear she had inflicted on you. You were his family. His.

As the woman gasped for air, her attempts to break free growing more frantic, Robin leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching her ear. The smirk on his face only grew wider. "Not so strong now, are you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery.

As the woman's grip on you suddenly loosened in panic, it caused you to lose your balance and fall unceremoniously onto your knees with a thump. The sudden movement startled you, freezing you in fright. Your limbs locked up in response to the sudden movement, leaving you vulnerable and exposed as you knelt on the dirtied ground.

Robin's heart stopped as he saw you fall to the ground with a thump. His eyes widened briefly, his grip on the woman loosening slightly in shock. He watched as you knelt on the ground, frozen in fear and vulnerability.

His protective instincts flared up, and he had to suppress the urge to immediately rush to your side. Instead, he forced himself to remain focused, keeping the woman pinned in his grip.

Robin's sharp gaze snapped from the woman to you as he heard the thud of you falling to your knees. Concern immediately replaced his previous satisfaction. He could see the terror freezing up your body, rendering you frozen and vulnerable.

He gritted his teeth, feeling a mixture of anger and worry. He needed to get you out of this situation, preferably without causing you further stress or harm. His grip on the woman tightened again, cutting off her panicked gasps as he held her at bay.

With a quick, sharp jerk, he slammed her against the wall, the force knocking the breath out of her lungs. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice harsh and authoritative.

He then turned his attention to you, quickly crossing the distance between you. He crouched down in front of you, his eyes flicking over your form, assessing for any signs of injury.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness of moments ago. He reached out a hand, gently touching your shoulder as he tried to coax you out of your frozen state.

You looked up, your eyes wide with surprise and wonder, as you took in the sight of the young vigilante towering above you. Your throat closed up for a brief moment, your mind struggling to fully believe that it was indeed Robin, the Robin, standing before you.

You managed to force out a meek whisper, the word barely audible. "Robin...?"

In your current frightened and bewildered state, there are a million questions and thoughts running through your mind. In a normally clear state of mind, you would have jumped at the chance to ask the Boy Wonder for an interview. In this moment, however, the only thing you manage to let out is a hesitant whisper, his name. Your mind trying to piece together the reality of the situation.

Robin knelt down in front of you, watching as realisation flooded your eyes. He could almost see the thoughts spinning through your mind like a whirlwind. For a brief moment, he was thankful for your stunned silence. It gave him a chance to assess the situation without being bombarded by a thousand questions.

He watched you take in his presence, your gaze wide and filled with wonder and disbelief. The word 'Robin' escapes your lips in a barely audible whisper.

He nods slowly, acknowledging your tentative recognition, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He could see the questions brimming behind your lips, but to his surprise, you remain silent. It seemed your fear had rendered you speechless, and for a moment, he found himself relieved. It gave him a few precious seconds to focus on the task at hand: getting you out of danger safely. He gave your shoulder a firm, gentle squeeze, his voice remaining hushed as to not startle you further.

"I'm here, you're safe." He tried to keep his tone calm.

Robin swiftly scooped you up, pulling you against his chest in an easy movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to pause, relishing the feeling of having you so close to him. His heart beat fast and loud in his chest, an undercurrent of fierce protectiveness and possessiveness rushing through him. The thugs already forgotten, as he now focused solely on getting you to safety.

As he quickly leaped from one roof to the next, never slowing his pace, he spoke, his voice low and even. "Where do you live?" He’s already running in the direction.

He kept a firm but gentle grip on you, making sure that you were held safe and secure in his arms as he ran. The wind whipped around you, cool and exhilarating, as Robin navigated the Gotham rooftops with practiced ease. He repeated his question, his tone now slightly more demanding, as he continued traversing through the city.

You tried your best to gather yourself, blinking against the cool night air buffeting your face as Robin held you against his chest. Your voice was soft and slightly shaky as you spoke, the wind attempting to carry your words away.

"Just... just around the corner.."

Robin nodded, accepting the information without question. His strides didn't slow as he continued moving, the muscles in his legs propelling him forward with trained speed.

The city lights flashed by as Robin swiftly carried you through the maze-like labyrinth of Gotham's rooftops. His strides were long and purposeful, his movements fluid and precise. His arms held you firmly, one hand tucked under your legs and the other looped around your back.

Despite the circumstances and the speed at which you were moving, he took great care not to jostle you any more than necessary. It was clear that you were in pain and scared, and he wanted to minimize any further distress.

“... thank you.”

As you murmured your thanks, Robin's heart clenched in his chest. The pure gratitude in your voice was a stark contrast to the vulnerability and fear he could feel in your trembling form. He wanted so badly to respond, to tell you how much you meant to him, how much he was willing to do to protect you, but he remained quiet. He had to stick to their plan. Right now, he was solely focused on getting you home, where you would be safe from harm. His arms wrap tighter around you. He gives a simple nod in response.

You lifted your hand slightly, carefully pointing in the direction of your apartment balcony. The gesture was small, but it was enough for Robin to understand your meaning.

Without a word, he altered his course, angling his body to head towards the balcony you had indicated. Each leap and bound over the city skyline brought him closer to your apartment, the destination in sight.

Despite his casual demeanor, Robin was fully aware of the path they were taking. Years of patrol and countless hours of study had etched the city's layout into his memory, a map constantly present in the recesses of his mind.

He could flawlessly navigate the maze of Gotham's buildings, his muscles and movements guided solely by pure instinct. Every twist and turn was memorized, a testament to his extensive knowledge and dedication.

As they approached your apartment, he adjusted his hold on you, preparing to make the final leap onto the balcony.

With a final powerful bound, Robin lands on the balcony gently, steadying you against his chest. He carefully lowers you to the ground, his hands lingering on your body for a moment longer than necessary, as if ensuring you were truly safe and sound.

He takes a moment to glance around the vicinity, his eyes scanning the area for any potential threats. The Gotham night is relatively quiet, the sounds of the city reduced to a hushed hum in the background.

Once satisfied that the area is clear, he turns his attention back to you. He takes a step back, giving you a moment of space. His eyes watch you closely, searching for any signs of distress or injury.

He lifts a hand, reaching out to gently touch your cheek. His touch is gentle, but his voice is firm. Emerald eyes searching your form. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

Despite his mask concealing his face, the concern in his voice is palpable. He takes a step closer to you, his hands moving to your shoulders as he steadies you against him. His gaze remains fixed on you.

You gently shook your head, a small, reassuring grin playing at your lips. Despite your earlier fear, you were clearly feeling somewhat better. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rushing through you, or the simple fact that you were safe now.

Robin noticed the shift in your expression, a slight furrow forming between his eyebrows as he looked down at you. He could feel the tension slowly draining out of your body.

Robin observed the small smile on your face, his eyes studying you closely. The brief moment of relief he felt at your reassurance was quickly replaced by a sense of caution. He could see the adrenaline still coursing through you, but he knew from experience that it was a temporary high. The fear would return sooner or later.

He nodded, accepting your answer but still feeling a small pang of unease. "Are you sure you’re okay?" he repeated, his hands still on your shoulders.

Your brows raise in slight disheveled amusement. This was the infamous arrogant vigilante? You call bull.

“Yeah, I’m alright now. Thank you.”

Robin's eyes narrow slightly at the amusement in your tone. Despite your gratitude, he can sense your slightly disbelieving and slightly amused. For a moment, he wonders if you are treating him like a kid playing dress-up.

He straightens up, his grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly. He cocks his head to the side, his voice a mix of annoyance and determination.

"What's so funny?" he asks, the slightest hint of defensiveness in his tone.

Despite the irritation in his voice, there's a hint of vulnerability. He's not used to being questioned, especially not by someone he feels responsible for. He wants to be taken seriously, to be seen as more than just a young boy playing at being a hero.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze never leaving your face. "I'm serious. You could’ve been seriously hurt," he says, his voice stern. He's not used to expressing his emotions openly, but the thought of you in danger is making his typically controlled facade start to crumble.

You bite your tongue, holding back the sarcastic remarks and jokes that usually come so easily to you. You were well aware of how close you had come to serious danger, and the severity of the situation.

Robin can see the restrained smirk, the flicker of a joke on your lips, and it irks him more than the actual sarcasm. He's used to dealing with sarcastic criminals and sarcastic bats, but the thought of you making light of your own safety is frustrating. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his annoyance under control.

"This is no joke," he finally says, his voice firm. "What you did was stupid. Walking alone in Gotham at night."

Robin's eyes held a mixture of emotions, anger and frustration and worry and protectiveness. But beneath it all, he was most angry and frustrated with himself. He should have been there sooner, he should have been able to stop those thugs before they even got close to you. This event was only proving to him what he already knew - you were not safe in the city, not without someone to protect you. They needed to speed up with their plan before he goes insane.

He withdrew his hand from your cheek, the loss of his touch leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. He fidgeted with his utility belt, a nervous habit.

"I have to go." He murmured, his voice low and laced with a hint of reluctance. His eyes scanned over you one more time, mentally committing your features to memory. It was as if he were trying to memorize every detail, every curve and contour of your face.

"Be sure not to walk alone at night. Or ever." The last words came out as more of a command than a warning, a hint of desperation laced in his tone.

Before you could even think of a response or express your gratitude, Robin had already vanished into the night, leaving you standing alone on your balcony.

Despite the circumstances, a soft, almost wistful grin crept across your lips as you replayed the events of the night in your mind. Despite the danger and the near brush with violence, you couldn't shake the thrill of meeting the young vigilante, the Batman’s associate himself.

Even though you didn't get to ask all the questions you wanted, the encounter was still something exciting.

You silently crept into your room, taking care to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Jason who was probably asleep in his room down the hall. You shrugged off your bag and jacket, discarding them to the side before crawling into the safety and warmth of your bed. You bring your hand out to tap softly against the glass of your turtles enclosure as a silent good night, cuddling further under the blankets.

Feeling the comfortable weight of the sheets surrounding you, you let out a soft sigh, already feeling the exhaustion starting to pull at your eyelids. Unaware of the chaos that was brewing at Wayne Manor, nor the many sets of watchful eyes observing you through the carefully placed cameras that dotted the room.

The cameras strategically placed throughout your room recorded every subtle movement as you got yourself settled into bed. Every blink and every shift was captured in sharp, high-definition video, the images streaming directly to the computer screens at Wayne Manor.

In the depths of the batcave, the video feeds played on several large screens, each one displaying a different angle of your room.

Multiple figures looking over the room full of monitors, displaying your every breath, every toss and turn as you drifted off to sleep. Watching each and every twitch, each flutter of your eyelashes.

The silence in the batcave was heavy, only disrupted by the soft hum of the computer equipment and the occasional murmur between the group of figures huddled in front of the bank of monitors.

Each screen showed a different angle of your room, the camera feeds streaming smoothly, giving an intimate view of your every movement. Every breath, every twitch, was recorded, observed and analyzed by the watchful eyes monitoring you. Every inch of your room was on display, the cameras capturing even the tiniest detail.

Even in your sleep, you were still being watched.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features for reader, no mention of gender.

Does anyone have any ideas for the name of your pet turtle?

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I know your requests are closed so feel free to ignore this but if I don’t type it somewhere I WILL forget it lol. I’ve been re-binge reading your works and just thought of this…

Civilian reader kills someone out of self defense for the first time. And it’s the whole staring at her bloody shaking hands panic attack what have I done fiasco. And her boyfriend or husband helping her through it and dealing with it all (I can see it with Ghost or Price idk)

But yeah feel free to ignore, I know your requests are closed rn

Love your work! You are so talented!

This has been in my inbox for so long, lmao. Sorry for not answering right away - take a few paragraphs w. soft, worried, Simon in compensation.

Warnings for gore, death, blood, panic attack, etc. F!Reader.

Your body shakes violently, blood dripping down like crimson tears from your hands. The overwhelming sense of dread sits with bullet fragment aggression in the delicate make-up of your psyche.

You weren't meant for this.

Not the blood or the terror. Certainly not the body laying out in the hallway.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp out, shuddering as your throat swells in on itself. Your form had slipped down the wall just across from the door not minutes prior, legs weak and heart pounding like a war call. Now all you can do is stare into the vacant eyes of some random burglar—at the knife you'd stuck in his chest when he'd backed you into Simon's office.

It was a miracle that you remembered where your husband's combat blade had been, seen on some off chance when you'd been cleaning. He tries to keep this all separate, you know.

The blood just keeps slipping out of the corpse. It's a pool now, and you don't know how long you'd been huddled like this until the sounds of rampaging feet and hurried yells of your name bounce off your eardrums.

All you can see is the uncleanable amount of red.

Simon had only gone out to the corner store half an hour ago, getting a quick supper so you both could sit in each other's company. You'd been hesitant to watch him leave so soon after getting home, but he'd sworn he'd only be a few minutes.

None of you had thought too much about the local break-ins. After all, Simon was...well, Simon. And he was home.

S-Simon was home.

There's a loud, barked, curse when the body is discovered, stomping feet that make the entire house shake like it was the epicenter of an earthquake. Your husband's form slashes the front of your vision as he kneels in the blood on the floor. Frantic brown eyes behind his balaclava snap from place to place; taking in the familiar handle and blade in nanoseconds. In his left hand he clutches a pistol, white-knuckled.

But you can't even say anything, because you're as still as stone—breathing in concrete as the gravel shreds your vocal cords and trachea. Reality slips in quick streaks of color as Simon's face flashes into the open doorway.

He sees your wide eyes with a mirroring of his own, bone-deep fear striking in his head with a heated pulse.

"Love!" Simon's rushing to you. Your body can't help but startle back, spine shoving into the wall; fingers still saturated and stained.

Inside your chest, your lungs jerk in a strained whimper.

Your husband freezes, one foot ahead with his widened legs as he fights his mind to rush to you and take you into his arms. Simon puts the gun away with little thought to look for more assailants—all that matters is you.

And you looked terrified.

"Hey," hands reach up to this balaclava, slipping the fabric off as he kneels down slowly to one leg. He tosses it to the floor and you try to focus on the strength of his jaw; those scars and pale hairs as your eyes well with tears. A delicate sob builds. "Hey, now. It's just me, alright?"

Simon speaks softly, hands splayed out and a few feet from you. He wishes to hold you tightly but refrains even as his chest tightens at not being able to calm you. The man can't stand that look on your face.

Your fingers curl into shivering fists, "Simon," you cry, finally able to get a solid word out even if it sounds slurred and ragged.

It's all the permission your husband needs.

Simon jerks forward and takes you up into his large arms; the wide encompassing of his palm on the back of your head and the other circling your waist. He angles you away from the body as he glares into it with hatred and vile curses, hissing venom.

When he found the door busted off its hinges, he'd never felt so panicked. Even now as you release a small wail into his neck Simon's heart races, breath coming in short puffs.

"You're alright, Sweetheart. You're alright. I'm right 'ere." You sag into him, grabbing at his leather jacket with nails digging into the brown material. Simon nuzzles his nose into your scalp, muscles tense, "Breathe, it's over."

All you can focus on is Simon's scent, his words. They're the only thing keeping you from oblivion. Eventually, as your husband rocks you back and forth, you can gasp enough air down to push away the black at the sides of your vision.

"That's right," he whispers, gritting his teeth. "Good girl, keep focusin' on me, yeah? You're doin' perfect." Simon doesn't care about the blood or the screams of sirens in the distance.

For the first time in his life, he doesn't care if someone else happens to see his face.

Your husband pulls his head back and shifts his hold to your cheeks, angling your runny and chilled face upwards. He grits his teeth and his eyes bleed with concern; fear.

"...He do anything?" You can only make out half the words as the sounds all huddle together in a ringing tone, but you shake your head in small flinches. Lips find your forehead—heated and firm. Muttered words. "Did so good, Love, I'm so proud of you. S'not your fuckin' fault, you hear?"

Sniffling, you only whimper once more before lips kiss away your tears; thumbs coming up after to swipe at the remnants. Curling over you, this beast—defined so often as ruthless and deadly—shields you from the image of the man you'd killed in self-defense like a demon of smoke and ash. Holding you as if he can make everything else disappear.

After all, you weren't meant for this. You were meant for your soft skin and your loving eyes. Everything else that Simon tied himself to you for—goodness.

"Simon," you gasp again and shove your face into his chest. For the life of you, you can't say anything else. He knows what you mean.

"I'm here," he repeats. Caressing the back of your head, his hand tenses and softens with leaving adreanaline. "Nothin'll happen to you again. It's all gonna be alright."

You believe him.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

there's something about the Walt Disney in Saving Mr. Banks saying "Because that's what we storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again and again."

just like there's something about the critic in Ratattouille saying "...the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends."

and the way Neil Gaiman said "The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page, and suddenly it all makes sense and you know what it’s about and why you’re doing it and what these people are saying and doing, and you get to feel like both the creator and the audience. Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising… and it’s magic and wonderful and strange."

with posts writen by users like @hallwriteblr saying "to you, it’s a shitty sentence. to some random bitch 500 miles away, it’s a fire line that’ll haunt them for the next 17 years. you don’t know how impactful your writing is because it’s been in your brain for far too long now. you’ve stared at it for hours and repeated “this sucks” over and over again to the point that you killed your capacity to feel anything about your work. but trust me, once you get your shit out there, someone’s gonna go over that paragraph you hate and go “jesus fucking christ” and put the book down to have an existential crisis."

and how @pascalcampion wrote a comic that said "People don't always remember the details of what you do. They remember how it impacted them. How they felt. How what you did made them feel. That feeling will stay with them longer than the memory of the act itself."

that makes me want to write

and think its worth it

[ouiouimochi]

Imagine he discovers you write about him

pairing/s : soshiro hoshina x reader

genre: romance, secret adoration until it wasn't, mutual pining, a little crack

wc: approx 3k

warning: VERY long imagine/drabble (got carried away pls this has been in drafts and been written on for weeks ), swearing, suggestive content, unedited and grammatical mistakes, uhmn interchanged usage hoshina and soshiro

✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑

just imagine— IMAGINE you were the average tumblr hoshina writer (ahem ahem) but working under operations manager okonogi as her assistant.

imagine hoshina discovering Tumblr and searching members of the defense force. he gets curious and searches himself. he discovers fancams and amusing edits of himself. he also finds it entertaining with how feral his fans are.

then he randomly stumbles upon the soshiro hoshina x reader tag and curiously taps on it. the first thing that greeted him was a story written by you— but he didn't know it was even you. he reads in interest actually, finding that it resonated as to how he would've acted— like the writer understood what he was like. he also liked how well-structured the story was, being a fan of reading himself.

before he knows it, he finishes the story. he goes to the comment section and sees fans wildly saying their thoughts. some even arguing that he was ooc in the story.

with plenty of time to spare, he scrolls through the tag and finds plenty of other stories, even coming across multiple ones made by you. he notices how he related most to the fictional him in your stories than in other ones.

so he goes to your blog, finding that you had published a lot of stories about him, and reblogged multiple posts about him as well.

so with all the time he had to burn, he reads through each and every one. (yes even the mature ones lmao-). he actually flushes and gets embarrassed at how this writer was capable of grasping his character and also flustering him with the descriptively beautiful words they describe him with— like damn they're so creative and even poetic sometimes. heck, he found some references to other works of literature he'd read already. it was also scary with how accurate this writer was able to depict him when he read all of their posts.

he concluded the writer to be quite knowledgeable in the arts of literature, psychology, technology, weaponry, and combat with how it reflected well into the paragraphs. he theorizes that maybe that person was just a diehard fan, a staff member that leaked info(quite a problem when he thought about it), or an actual member of the defense force. he waves it off for now, noticing that he read everything in the blog during the entire night.

so he awaits their next post, and it arrives. he immediately removes the theory of the writer just being a diehard fan. his eyes would scan the work again and again, finding similarities and a parallelism to what happened a few days ago in the base. he gets very interested in hunting down this person now. but nonetheless he enjoys this unknown writer's works.

the second time around, he got alarmed at how the next fic was VERY accurate despite being hidden behind flowery words and phrases. he NEEDED to hunt down who this was. admittedly, you got too carried away with your recent work— so you put in some red herrings here and there to deter suspicions since you were too lazy to actually edit now. but chile, hoshina saw through that and wholly believes the writer is someone in the defense force— in the third division.

so at the operations room, doing normal monitoring— it was quite a slow day indeed. hoshina thinks deeply to himself. you, being the sweet and observant person you are, noticed how he'd been donning a serious expression as of recently. okonogi asks what got him thinking deep, and you pay attention.

"do you know Tumblr?" you freeze, but it went unnoticed.

okonogi would say she's heard of it but doesn't have an account with how busy she already was. she'd ask what about it.

"got curious and searched how people viewed people of the force before searching my name" —he remembers all the narumi love and slander and mentally chuckles before getting back to topic.

you were crossing your fingers, hoping he didn't come across a certain... tag— knowing well some of your works gained popularity and had a high chance of being the first thing that popped up when you searched the tag .

"... and I must say I found some... interestin' things..." you start sweating a bit, stomach twisting, feeling your heart drop. 'f u c k'

okonogi notices and asked if you were okay. you smiled a bit wobbly— obviously straining. you were stiff and unconsciously gripping the desk.

"... my stomach hurts, ma'am..." you'd manage to lie through your teeth, convincingly enough too— you weren't exactly lying since your stomach felt like a bowling ball had sunken into it.

"ya should have it checked out" hoshina says, a bit concerned since you were quite the sweet person. he didn't wanna see you suffering.

"yes sir, thank you." you quickly bow and leave the room, completely sweating bullets.

'i shouldn't have gotten too carried away, s h i t' you knew very well how sharp your vice captain was — having observed him beside okonogi. basically a vip seat to witness all of his glory.

you thought about how you should really lay low for a while. you head to the medbay to not further raise suspicions. you've been careful all these years with how much information you added into your stories, derailing some details to not allow speculations about your identity.

hoshina awaits for an update but there was none, so he resorts to rereading your works. that was how he was able to actually confirm that the writer was someone from the force. his mannerisms at work— the way he sometimes speaks in a Kansai dialect or how he calls his subordinates with endearments like dear or lil fledglings. even though those were no secret, it was an unusual knowledge for just a fan to know.

so narrows it down to someone knowing about the ins and outs of the defense force. he crossed out the possibility of those people in his platoons. so he narrowed it down to someone in the operations room— his mind immediately thought of you but he dismisses it since he can't imagine it being you.

'it can't be her'

you're treading on hella thin ice LMAO

now you're in the library, finishing up some reports. you were exhausted and got careless in believing that it was okay for you to scroll through your some of your socials.

so you opened THE tumblr acc(tbf it was ur only one)— mindlessly scrolling, liking, commenting, and reblogging. you disregarded your overloaded notif bell… also completely disregarding the fact that someone can sneak up on you

‘its way too late into the night anyways’

“oh ya’ got tumblr too, m’dear?”

his eyes quickly scanned your screen where you had a post of mina posing for an advertisement— hearted and reblogged. his eyes then get magnetized to the distracting notif bell that had 99+ pings. then it trailed to your profile picture— the whole world stops. (actually dunno how desktop tumblr looks like oop)

you were too slow to react as you watched the gears turned in his head just from a quick glance on the screen.

there are multiple ways this can go to... : the fleshed out, fanfic route… or the… nsfw route lmao

Long route

you hurriedly closed your laptop and excused yourself before bolting away to lock yourself up in your room. you screamed into a pillow, overthinking. you tried to convince yourself that he definitely doesn't know— no way he does. however, the negative thoughts consume you that you ended up crying.

you absolutely done fucked up

you filed for a sick leave the next day, okonogi approving but having a slight suspicion that something was wrong. even though it was normal for you to do so after an all-nighter of finishing reports.

you were just in your room sulking. ashamed to face the world. too ashamed to face hoshina.

you were not prepared to be punished in the not so kinky way.

on the other hand, hoshina was also in denial. there was no way someone as sweet, demure, and mindful as you would write things so....

he gets flustered at the thought. he really did enjoy your writing— but GOD, how was he supposed to react now that he learned that YOU wrote him in that way.

he wonders if you saw him the way you wrote him— the words you described him with, the words you portrayed him as... the way the "reader" feels in your works.

but the more he denied and wondered, the more his rational thoughts pushed itself through his mind. making sense of all the content you wrote so far— the parallels, the facts, the knowledge, and each detail— they all made sense. it also figures how he was able to relate to the fictional him. he felt more shy than violated— the way you wrote him, the way you took time to understand his whole character... made him feel so seen.

so hoshina goes to the operations room to hopefully talk to you. he asked okonogi of your whereabouts to which she answered that you took a sick leave . her suspicions raising that you taking a break had something to do with their vice captain.

so he goes to your room and knocks on it(can branch out further into fluff or nsfw routes— I'll stick with fluff for now)

he waits a while but he eventually hears shuffling from the other end of the door. he gets greeted with the sight of you wrapped in a blanket like a burrito with bloodshot eyes.

he's unsure if you cried or were actually sick or something... he has suspicions that it was the former but who was to say that it wasn't both (fun fact when one's feeling depressi mode, their immune system also gets brought down, making them more susceptible to illness).

you don't recognize him at first since you had your eyes squinted from the light. but you immediately knew it was him due to his easily distinguishable silhouette even if your eyes barely adjusted to the harsh light.

you gasp and immediately go to close the door. he quickly stops it, quite easily too. but you stay stubborn and put your whole weight onto the door, pleading for him to leave you alone.

"we need to talk"

your illness riddled brain immediately dreads that you're definitely gonna get fired— so you responded by pushing your door even more vigorously with a "no!"

soshiro would relent and let you close the door on him as you leaned on the other side, heaving. another knock on the door as he calls your name.

a bit of silence before a response from you.

"what?"

"'yer not in trouble"

silence passes again before the door clicks, slowly opening. you stare up at him like a puppy

"really?" you hopefully asked

his heart jumps and twinges. it m e l t s at the sight of you.

"yes, dearest"

although you've never noticed, he had always been calling you by a pet name different from the rest.

you let him in your room, trudging over your bed to entrust him in closing the door behind him. you were convinced to do so because of the rather soft expression he was directing at you— heck you were sure you were one of the few to notice his changes in expression. maybe that's one of the reasons why you were able to write him so scarily accurate.

you sat yourself on your bed as soshiro follows by seating himself beside you.

"I'm sick...." you try to convince him to sit on a chair but he doesn't move. you look away, feeling awkward as you start fiddling with your blanket

he was considerate enough to start the conversation at least. he calls you by name and endearment, causing you to flush. you thought how unfair it was that it has so much of an effect on you than you'd rather admit. but it also calmed you down

just as he was about to speak, you interrupted him with apologies, strings of words whizzed past explaining how it even happened... with apologies woven in-between sentences .

"...I understand you're mad—" he interrupted you this time

"'m not" that shuts you up

it was his turn to be embarrassed , hearing about it on your side— directly from you. he's also reminded of how he likes your stories.

"I like them... your stories" he starts

"they leave me not with feelings of being objectified... but rather flattery with the amount of adoration in your work..." he admits

"it was so scarily accurate that it made it easy for me to relate to the 'other' me"

silence, you think how that must've been creepy behavior on your part.

soshiro had a question to ask but hesitated when he saw how you looked at him like he wasn't real. as if your fictional character just popped out of your screen.

you were doing things to his heart

he asked if the way you wrote him was how you actually viewed him. not influenced by your readers.

just you and your thoughts alone.

"yes" of fucking course it was

it might've been the sickness getting to you, causing you to be honest. but God. you praised him, adored him, admired him— all of the sort

unabashedly telling those things straight to his face causing him to feel hot in the face.

"...but I knew how I had no chance with you, that's why I resorted to writing it all out— letting my imagination run wild just to satiate my feelings for you"

he gapes

"you like me?"

you widen your eyes, realizing you basically confessed to him. you completely flush and turn your head away from him after a stare down.

he laughs.

what the fuck

you flush redder thinking he was laughing at you and your feelings but you can't help but think your writing couldn't do his laugh justice— it was just... just so nice(?)

you simp— you actually crumpled at his laugh as he stops himself. he gently turns your body to face him, his hands settling on where your shoulders were under the blanket

you were actually pouting for some reason (you were slightly hurt he laughed at you, but u misunderstood)

as if you can't get any cuter in his eyes. his gaze locks itself with yours.

"'yer so adorable, (y/n)"

he explained how his heart feels so light when around you. that his heart constricts at your innocent gaze— really makes him wanna protect you and shield you away from anything.

even from a fortitude 10 kaiju if it so happens.

sure he was friendly around a lot of people, but he gets inexplicably softer in his treatment with you. he may call others dear and such, but he also calls you differently if you haven't noticed.

he admits how discovering you were the author of the fics he liked reading made him want to protect you even more. how he wanted to stop you from running away from that night he discovered and regretted not doing so.

a tear fell before becoming streams dripping down your cheeks.

soshiro hugged you, caressed your head and hair so carefully.

heck you didn't even know why you were crying— but to be fair you were physically and emotionally vulnerable due to your sickness.

hearing him say all these sweet things gave you relief, the floodgates basically opening on their own.

and here you are now, crying in soshiro's embrace as if it was a dream. as how you have always fantasized to be held by him.

"I like you too, dearest"

and so you laugh at yourself for the predicaments you've placed yourself in— you could've avoided it if you had the courage to say it straight to his face. you would've wanted to avoid the embarrassment brought by him discovering you were writing about him.

but ig this is fine too, you liked this. so you hugged him back so tight as if he'd disappear like smoke.

as if he wasn't real, as if this wasn't real.

you were glad when your worst thought did not come true as hoshina gently held your face in both of his hands while staring so lovingly in your eyes.

the end for fluff route

WARNING: suggestive content, you've been warned don't come after my ass

now for the nsfw route

I actually need to separate that (if I ever even write it lmao)

I cannot write smut to save my life... but butttt

nsfw route 1 where he managed to corner you before you got away the night of the discovery.

basically just like "oh? so ya' ve been imagining me doing all those things to ya? how bout a taste of the real thing~"

nsfw route 2 is sometime after you two start dating. he basically takes inspiration in how you wrote his smuts— with consent ofc, didn't want to hurt you. he's overall sweet about it but teases you if the real thing was better than you'd imagine.

if someone can take over the smut/nsfw part, pls PLEASE I give permission to continue on with the prompt. I'm looking at ahem ahem @justwinginglife, but ik how busy she is currently— absolutely no pressure. anyone's free to take over ^^

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Hi 👋🏻 are you taking requests for the creators child AU.

Could the child be Alhaitham's or maybe Diluc's.

Thank you

The creator had

Such a smart child

WC: ~900

This feels more like a collection of head cannons but enjoy!

I believe Nahida would be able to dull the hit to the archons enough for them to not have a public outbreak like in other scenarios, so most of the gossip around is from people of sumeru.

“Stop speaking like that of the acting great sage! The matra will get you punished if they hear you talking like that”

“I'm not claiming anything! I'm just saying it's weird how much time he spent around them”

“They were reviewing the structure of the akademiya”

“Sure, and my wife and I were just studying so many years ago”

“Profesor…”

"that is why my daughter was finishing highschool when we both published our thesis. We were 38 but you get the point"

"professor please... Stop..."

It has been a running rumor for a few months, but nobody really believes it, the stone faced great sage and their welcoming grace? No, never, impossible. There are scholars attempting to refute it but their attempts are short-lived as a few months later you settle back in sumeru, and your lazyly hanging robe you wear now is pushed slightly forward around the abdomen, just enough for it to be an untold fact.

“Why am I returning? I guess it just felt right, given everything” slowly after the theory took traction.

On the later months the baby gets calm whenever he is read books, the kicking stopping for as long as anyone recited paragraphs of dense knowledge, it was a common occurrence for you to tag along thesis defenses, something that professors enjoyed the opportunity of chat you up and students suddenly put delays because of sickness on masse.

“I wonder why they are all so nervous to defend their statement! I don't even ask them questions for them to be scared of me!”

“I think regardless of what you did or didn't do any of them would be at ease”

“And I heard they sit through thesis defenses and lectures because the child is calm hearing long speeches”

“I heard that too! I even heard that once they summoned one of the great sages to read a book so they could fall asleep”

“Really! Could it be…” the teen girl looks at her friend mischievously “great sage al haitham?” Making her friend look away feigning not knowing.

°•°

“I'm extremely sorry for calling you so late, Haitham” you lay on your bed, back flush against the wall. The covers on your lap make little to cover the almost watermelon sized bump “I attempted to read to see if he calmed down on his own but when I stop he starts kicking up a storm”

Alhaitham drags your vanity stool to your bedside, a soft creaking sound coming from the friction between the woods. He just hums as he skims the bookshelf “don't fret so much, it's only natural for me to do this” his fingers dance softly caressing the spines of various books ranging from Inazuma novellas to published investigation on bird care “what has been working best? Early language dictionary? Transcripts of old manuscripts?”

“alchemical botany has been doing alright”

“great, it's coming out to be a spantamad or amurta. I'm sure Tighnari and Cyno will be elated with the news” he rolls his eyes and pulls out a leather bound book with vine engraving.

“Aww, is someone jealous?”

“I'm just saying that something like ‘development of runic language during the last 300 years’ might be more interesting” you just snicker “weren't you attempting to sleep? Close your eyes”

You side down the pillows with a smile on your lips “fine, if you don't want to read alchemical botany why don't you use the white book?” as he glances over he read the simple title ‘weight distribution in columns depending on materials’ and sighs heavily.

“Spantamad might not be so bad.”

There is a small whisper in the last few months that the child could be meant to be one of the great sages but the matra keeps it down when someone starts with it.

When he is born Alhaitham reads to his son some of the books he kept from his parents.

The one year old is perched on his lap, leaning against one of his arms while they both look at the book, one of them reading attentively the words and explaining some concepts while the other is attempting to fall asleep.

“I doubt he is truly listening to you”

“You would be surprised by how much the biology faculty showed children can learn before school”

“I believe they meant before the 5 years mark, not 6 months”

Maybe even wants you to do something similar, it could be an essay, thesis or even storybook but he would want it to have some banter between you two or little comments like “it's good that you remembered to spell correctly postganglionic fibers, I don't have to correct you anymore”

He uses kaveh as an underpaid nanny just plopping the toddler on his lap and leaving without saying a word. He does stop when his son's drawings start to feature more houses and structures than people.

“Are we sure he is mine?”

“For the sixth time, yes. He is a carbon copy of you”

When your baby grows he is the smartest of his class, reciting everything his father read to him since before his birth, even if he refuses to acknowledge it al haitham is really proud of his son and his little shelf with math Olympics medals or the certificate he got from the first place in a writing competition.

Even then the moment your son turns 18 and has to decide what branch he wants to go into is the hardest week of his life, dreading the possibility of another architect in his life. He is quite happy when he choses spantamad, even if he would have like him to go for haravatat.

[sporesgalaxy]

Pacific Rim isn't anti-nuclear in the same way Kaiju movies usually are. The resolution is facilitated by the detonation of a nuclear warhead and a nuclear reactor power core. So........what's up with that?

I mean, it's deeply American, obviously, but what else? Why does it not feel particularly pro-war in the same way, say, a typical MCU does? What does it mean that the Kaiju are prompted by human activity (carbon pollution "practically terraformed" Earth for the invading aliens), but are ultimately not a true manifestation of Nature's Wrath (not even from Earth)?

What arguments is Pacific Rim making in the place of the typical kaiju movie anti-nuclear-pollution, wrath-of-nature fare?

I stream-of-consciousness rambled about this for multiple paragraphs and don't feel like cleaning it up much. Basically: I think Pacific Rim is a commentary on the myriad problems with political responses to climate change over the years.

•••

So, in the Great American Kaiju Movie, two nuclear blasts save the day rather than creating all the problems. Despite the fact that at least one of those nuclear blasts still probably did a lot of collateral.... I do wish Pacific Rim had focused a bit more on collateral, and the environmental damage caused by both the Kaiju and, inevitably, the Jaeger project AND Wall of Peace. Food rations are mentioned once-- but surely metal and construction equiptment rationing must also be in place to allow for wall construction! I want my environmental messages shoved violently down the audience's throat, damnit! But I digress

I think an important detail to consider in the Kaiju/Nuclear discussion is how Mako and Raleigh's Jaeger's nuclear power generator is what really allowed them to save the world, multiple times.

The history of politics around nuclear power plants vs nuclear warhead production is interesting, especially in the typical kaiju movie thematic context of man carelessly abusing nature. The argument in defense of nuclear power plants is that, despite the need for extremely rigerous and long-term nuclear waste disposal considerations, there is a lower volume of waste created by nuclear power plants in relation to the energy provided by them, when compared to other modern methods of energy generation like coal power. So, in theory, nuclear energy could be a beneficial power source for minimizing environmental impact.

In the Kaiju movies I've seen, nuclear power is only ever addressed as an extension of the inherently unnatural and harmful abomination of the invention of.the nuclear warhead. It's understandable, the environmental devastation caused by radioactive pollution is massive, and its something a nuclear power plant is very capable of doing if enough goes wrong.

So, what do the Jaegers represent within this conversation? what does the Wall of Peace represent? Here's my thought: they represent (more) active versus passive solutions to the growing threat of climate change. Jaegers represent the way that active work against climate change is only funded as far as it is beneficial to the image of the government.

Yes, the Rift was found to be impossible to blow up with nukes, but it's pretty clear that the world governmemts were putting more money into the publically popular and flashy Jaeger program than they were putting into researching the increase in Kaiju frequency and a permanent solution to the issue. Because of the complicity the world fell into once Kaiju and Jaegers were Rock Stars, the root of the issue with Kaiju goes unadressed for an entire generation, in favor of defeating each Kaiju in impressive and propogand-izable ways.

Only once the problem becomes too big for the propoganda-friendly Jaegers to manage do the world governments start looking for alternate solutions, and the Wall is immediately shown to be too little too late. As soon as it stops being useful for propoganda, the government loses interest in truly solving the problem, and begins investing in moving itself inland and leaving poor coastal populations to die.

The kaiju are only able to be defeated in Pacific Rim because a group of people separate from the government comes together and searches for a solution to the root of the issue-- the Rift being open in the Pacific at all.

Nuclear power is therefore not posed as a solution to war against fellow humans, but is used as a solution to a collective human effort to fight the exponentially speeding destruction of the Earth. The Jaeger pilots and everyone else working in the resistance HAVE to be willing to do anything, willing to take drastic active measures, in order to stop the destruction of the Earth's climate. Yay :)

[crabonfire]

Engineer! cuddling you for the first time and falling asleep afterwards 🗣🗣💯🔥🔥

character: engie

note: I was reminded my a mutual that I have a fucking tumblr blog 😭😭😭 so here's uh yeah engie posting cause I miss him and also...this one goes out to u moot... xoxo...

also it's 4 am and I wanted to make this short but...yk me...I'm a yapper ☺️

also first 4 paragraphs are just a bit of backstory but you can skip that!!!

warnings: this is CORNYYYY super CHEESY so BE WARNED 🥶🥶🥶🥶

and also I'm making the reader the shy one ❤️ not engie ILL MAKE ONE WHERE ENGIE IS SHY OKKKK calm down

♡♡♡

• I had a lot of different scenarios for this but I'm choosing this one cause I feel like it fits ❤️

• It was a hard day for the both of you. Your team had suffered an embarrassing loss, with scout constantly dying to the enemy's sentries and spy getting caught by the pyro again and again. It was especially bad for you, though. You got three whole kills, a devastating drop from your usual 7.

• And Engie? He got tired of getting his sentries sapped over and over. His usually flawless strategy crumbled at the enemy spy who kept on tearing down his defenses. After he made dinner for the team, you saw him dissappear into his workshop, and not coming out at all after that.

• You tried to sleep it off, but one, you were disappointed in your performance today, and two... you wanted to see how Engie was doing.

It was, what, 2 am? 3? But who cares, right? You missed your boyfriend, and you could tell he was still awake when you walked over to his workshop and saw the light pouring out from the door.

There was no sound as you approached the door. Maybe he was asleep? You hesitated, but you opened it quietly, careful not to potentially wake him.

• But he was awake. His back was hunched over, goggles still attached firmly to his eyes. He definitely had creases in his face from how much he wore them. And that signature hardhat of his. He sat staring at- whatever contraption he was working on.

He didn't notice you, walking over and standing behind him, quietly taking a look at what it was he was so focused on. A little remote, you had never seen it before, but you assumed it had something to do with his sentries.

"What'cha working on?"

• He visibly flinched, not expecting to hear your voice. He blinked, shaking his head and turning to look at you.

"Darlin'! Ya scared me."

He chuckled, his voice was low and rasped as if he hadn't spoken or drank in a while. Now all he wore was a t shirt and more comfortable joggers, atleast he bothered to put on something softer before working.

He gave you a small smile, but you could tell from his voice and the creases near his eyes that he was exhausted.

"What're you doin' up so late? I thought you'd be asleep by now."

He commented very ironically, that smile still plastered staying even with the exhaustion written on his face. You stood there for a moment, before crossing your arms and tilting your head, mimicking that smile.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Another chuckle, this one less energetic and strained. He looked over at what he worked on, "I'm workin' on somethin' that I think will really bring us back. Its just...lots of trial and error." He looked back to you, taking off his hardhat and setting it to the side.

"But I think I'll take a break from that. Did ya need somethin' from me?"

You blinked, realizing that, you didn't really have anything to talk about or do with him. After a moment of contemplation, you shrugged and went quiet when you spoke.

"I...no, not really. I just missed you."

• You two hadn't been dating for very long at all, so admitting all this lovey dovey stuff was embarrassing. You couldn't see his expression too well, but the way his lips curled into a big smile made your knees feel weak. It was like his exhaustion faded at your words, as he fully turned back to you and hummed.

"Ya missed me, huh?"

He felt so happy hearing you say that. He couldn't help it, the sudden shyness in your tone made his heart skip a beat. "I missed you too, sugar."

• Your own lips formed a smile when he said that, and that little pet name? He could make any corny nickname into something cute. You two just stared at each other for a little bit, before he broke the silence with a small yawn.

He murmured a quiet "sorry", which made you giggle. Even if it had only been a minute or two, seeing him had already made you feel better about how your day went.

• You approached him as he sat on his chair, he stared quietly, tilting his head with a smile when you stopped and stood closely over him. You hesitated, but quickly blurted it out.

"Can we...yknow.."

You made a gesture with your hand which he couldn't help but smile at.

"Cuddle?"

It sounded so silly and embarrassing to say outloud. But you two were adults, goddammit. And you had to engage in some sort of cheesy romantic thing if this was gonna be a real thing.

He looked even more surprised then when you admitted you missed him, and somehow, his big smile grew even bigger. He nodded, chuckling once more and finding your hesitance charming.

"Of course we can, darlin'. C'mere."

• He wasn't nervous at all. Well- maybe a little. But definitely not more than you.

"How do I-"

You hovered awkwardly over his sitting form, but he only opened his arms up to you, his hand gently guiding your waist as he pulled you closer. He watched your nervous face, feeling his heart beat quicken at the way you seemed so scared to "mess up" or make him uncomfortable.

You sat down onto his lap, your chests close together as you settled your arms against his shoulders. This was the first time you two were this close. Everything else was just- a short hug or a kiss that lasted a little longer than most. You stared through the lenses of his goggles, it was a little silly but, you found the sight to be endearing. He felt the exact same.

His arms slowly wrapped around your body, making sure you were comfortable, too. You spoke up quietly, feeling a bit more nervous when you realized how close your faces were.

"Is...is this okay?" He only nodded.

"Mhm. More than okay."

• You relaxed a little bit more as you looked at his calm expression, and slowly, wrapped your own arms around him too. Feeling braver, you rested your head on his shoulder and sighed. You had been needing this. His body was so warm, so nice, like an oven.

He had been needing this too. He didn't realize how tense he had been until he calmed down from the feeling of your weight on him, his muscles could relax. He had been waiting for this, honestly. He wished it had happened sooner because if he knew how nice it would feel, he would've done it at any chance he got.

Being able to hold you felt therapeutic, felt comfortable and familiar. He leaned against the table as you settled in his lap, his eyes closed as he could hear the sound of your faint breathing. He hoped you couldn't hear the fast beating of his heart, but you secretly hoped he couldn't hear yours.

• "This is nice."

You mumbled quietly. He hummed softly in response. Your voice sounded so nice to him, so quiet, you could lull him to sleep and he wouldn't complain. He could never complain.

Instinctively, he started to rub random circles around your back, your own eyes closing at the soothing feeling.

• You'd break the silence occasionally by talking about random things that he'd be happy to answer. He was supposed to take a small break and go back to work but...you had fallen asleep. Well, how could he work if you were sound asleep on his lap, hm? Guess it would have to wait till tomorrow.

♡♡♡

was that a satisfying ending I can't tell I'm so tired OMG this was lowkey me rambling sorry for shit writing English not first language + I haven't written in so long kmg.

[activesplooger]

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Notes: (MDNI) SORRY ITS ALMOST BEEN A MONTH I'VE BEEN BUSYYY. feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: Confronting Vox and attending a meeting! CW: Angst, platonic heartbreak, fluff, reference to pt. 3 paragraph 2 (hint hint). Word Count: 2,626

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Masterpost!

The room fell dead silent. Vox sat in his chair looking unamused and bored as he waited for you to speak. A hint of dread in his eyes, like he knew this was coming. You open your mouth to speak, yet, no words come out. It's hard to articulate everything you need to say along with how you should even start a conversation like this.

All these years of anger and a hankering for confrontation. Yet, here you are, the opportunity laid out in front of you and all you can do is stare in silence.

Vox exhales roughly in impatience, "Are you gonna talk or-". "What's wrong with you?" you blurt out. Yeah... That was definitely not the right way to start this conversation.

Vox quirks an eyebrow and glances at one of his monitors displaying the time, "Can you speed this up?" he huffs dismissively, "I have things to do.". At that moment, his audacity led you to find the words to speak, "No! I can't!" you step closer, waving a pointed finger at him sternly, as if you were a mother scolding a child, "I have waited far too long for you to just disregard this as if it's some type of chore! Now, you are gonna sit there and listen while I talk!." Vox's eyes widen as he straightens out his posture. Surprisingly, your little rant seemed to catch his attention. Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak calmly, "Look, ever since that day- the one with the whole Alastor thing- you've been... different, to say the least. Meaner, colder-". "Like I wasn't those things before then." he chimes in defensively. "Don't interrupt!" you begin, "And, you know what I mean... Even if you weren't the greatest person before, it got way worse after... It wasn't just that either... You're more distant now... and cruel..." "Well, what am I supposed to do about it? You think I'm gonna do a 180 just because you 'called me out'?" Vox laughs bitterly, "Nice try, sweetheart, I've come up with worse things to say about myself." Your face contorts to one of confusion and concern. Did he just openly admit to self-loathing? And brag about it?! This was gonna be a long talk... "Was that supposed to be a flex? You know what, that's beside the point," you say.

"Then what is the point?!". he says exasperated.

"The point is that ever since your fight with Alastor you've been a major shithead!" You snap, narrowed angry eyes meeting his red ones. "So what?!" Vox pushes on the arms of his chair as he gets up, a frustrated scowl etched across his features. "So? SO?!" your eyes bore into him with a fierce glare, stepping closer until you're less than a foot apart from him, "So I wanna know what happened! I wanna know what Alastor did to make you such an INSUFFERABLE PRICK.". Vox looks at you as if you had said the most offensive thing imaginable, "I'm the bad guy? I'M THE FUCKING BAD GUY? No, you don't get to do this. You don't KNOW me. You don't know what happened that day!". "Then tell me!" you plead sharply. Vox's voice glitches as he speaks, "₦Ø!".

"Why?" you ask, pretty much at the end of your rope," you can't put all these walls up and act like a douche for some big ominous reason only to shut people out when they ask!". "You don't know what you're talking about!" he dismissively replies. Letting out a sharp huff, you repeat, "For the love of Lucifer- Then fucking tell me!"

"I CAN'T" he yells, breathing heavily before speaking in a softer tone, "I can't... you don't know how badly he fucking hurt-" a voice crack cuts him off. Bringing a large hand to cover his mouth, he swiftly walks past you to avoid you seeing him. You weren't certain, but you could've sworn you saw his eyes water... Turning your body to face him, you watch as he walks to the edge of the platform and sits, legs dangling off the edge just above the water. He watches the sharks swimming below him, taking a deep breath before he murmurs, "Just- Drop it. Okay?". Ugh. You hated that you felt bad for the fucker. You shouldn't feel bad, you had every right to leave him here wallowing in self-pity. But, you didn't. Despite everything, you just couldn't leave it there... You kept telling yourself that you just wanted to yell and make him feel horrible for everything he did but, in reality, you wanted him to go back to normal. At this point, you wonder if he can be normal anymore... Still, there was no harm in trying... Curse you and your savior complex.

Before you can second guess yourself, you walk over and sit beside him. Your hand reaches out and hovers over his shoulder hesitantly. After a brief moment of contemplation, you shake your head and rest your hand back down beside you.

"I really loved him, you know..." Vox quietly admits. Eyes widening to the size of bowling balls, your head sharply turns to face him. Vox looks back at you and groans, "Not like that!". You let out a soft "oh" in response, your expression relaxing as you turn to look back out at the vast array of sharks.

A sharp exhale leaves Vox's lips, "What I meant was that he was my best friend... I told him everything, trusted him, loved him... I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life.". You nod and gaze sympathetically at him as he explains. "I was too blinded by this idea that Alastor could never hurt me to realize that the whole thing was completely one-sided. I told him everything, but I was too dense to realize that he didn't tell me ŞⱧł₮! That smiling bastard just wanted me to spill my guts so at the right moment, he could use it against me... and he did..." "Oh," you start, "so that night is when he-" "Yeah.". Vox rests his elbows on his knees, hunching over and resting his head in his hands, "I invited him over to join the Vees and- fuck.". As he cusses, his voice croaks, and tears well up in his eyes once more. "And," he proceeds, "he denied me. When I got mad and asked him why he said, "Why would I ever want to do something so frivolous as working with a vain incompetent TV? I know you Vox. And this isn't what you think it is."". You speak, a bit astonished, "Shit... And that's all because he didn't like your business proposal?" "Yeah, I mean, I didn't react calmly to his rejection by any means but still. Nothing warranted that kind of reaction... Anyway, then we got into an argument. I said horrible things I didn't mean, and he said even worse things that he did mean... As a last resort, I tried hypnotizing him, I was just so desperate, I couldn't believe what he was saying to me... And that didn't go over well since he beat the shit out of me after..." As he explains, the pieces of information start clicking together in your head, "Oh yeah... and that's when I found you-" "Yep. That's when you found me."

…

A familiar silence fills the air after Vox stops explaining. His expression is thoughtful as he looks down at the sharks below him, as if he’s debating on whether or not to break the silence.

Your eyes are fixed on him as he looks out, unable to look away. Before, you saw him as this powerful, callous, sadistic overlord… But now, all you see is a broken sinner. A tired defeated sinner. Just like everyone else in Hell. Just like you.

A few minutes of silence roll by, the only sounds being the buzzing of monitors and the occasional quiet splash of water. Vox takes a deep breath, “I almost died that day… That is if you hadn’t saved me.”. Not knowing how to respond, you stayed quiet.

He turns to meet your gaze, “I never thanked you.”.

“You did not.” you respond matter-of-factly, with a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Vox’s eyes meet yours with sincerity, “Well, thank you.”

A soft smile grows on your lips, “You’re welcome.”

Looking back out at the water, he apologizes, ”-And sorry.”. Your eyebrows furrow, “For?-“.

“For being an asshole,” he states flatly. "Oh yeah..." you reply with a casual tone. Vox looks at you with an almost-offended look. "No hesitation, really? No, "Mr. Vox you could never be an asshole!"", he says half-jokingly. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "No way in here would I ever say that.". The two of you share a short-lived bittersweet laugh before Vox's tone grows serious again, "Seriously though, you didn't deserve that... no one did...". You sharply exhale, not saying anything in return. He was right. He was an asshole and he wasn't off the hook for it because he had some backstory to prove it. You felt bad for him, but it felt worse to be mistreated and see others be mistreated by him.

"Earlier, when you said I grew distant... You're right, I was- or, am," he affirms... "I know," you respond, not making eye contact with him anymore as your mind races with thoughts of his maltreatment. "Yes, but do you know why?". This seems to snap you out of your thoughts. Your mind is screaming 'YES', however, you keep it casual and nod slowly.

Vox takes a deep breath, "I stopped being friends with you and well everyone because I don't want another Alastor in my life...".

"What about Val and Vel?" you inquire.

"That's different" he shifts over, swinging his legs over the edge and onto the platform, sitting crisscrossed in front of you, "Val and Vel are... business partners. I only really keep them around for appearances.".

"How charming," you say sarcastically.

"I just thought you should know," he says softly, eyes never leaving yours, "I didn't want to hurt myself again, so I distanced myself and didn't give anyone a reason to like me.". Fuck. You wanted to just forget everything and go back to normal, but you know that can't happen. After all, these are just meaningless words. He hasn't even promised to get better or at least try to! You need time to process everything and he needed time to get his shit together. Not everything could be fixed in this one moment, and you both knew that.

Silence fills the room once more, there's nothing left to say now that everything is out in the open. 'It's not your job to fix him' keeps repeating in your head, as if to convince yourself of it. His eyes stay fixed on you with a slight frown on his face. Maybe you should go.

Pushing off the floor to get up, a large hand grasps at yours, "Wait-". You stumble a bit when he grabs at your hand, "Wh-".

"I really need you to know that I'm sorry," he pleads, "Y/N I know I'm an asshole that you could never forgive but trust me, I hate myself just as much as you hate me... please...".

Taking your hand back, you sigh and step back. You look down at his pleading, desperate form, "I never said I didn't forgive you... but that doesn't mean that what you did and what you're continuing to do is okay by any means... I can't keep forgiving you Vox, and frankly, I'm the only person that will even forgive you to begin with. You need to change. You can get better, I know you can. I've seen you better...". And with that, you leave, not bothering to turn back. You know that if you look back now at his sorry-ass you'd stay. And what good would staying do?

You've done enough. The rest was up to him.

-- The blaring sound of your alarm wakes you up. Groggily sitting up, you rub your eyes and hop out of bed. Today's an important day, you had to accompany Vox to an important meeting with the overlord Carmilla Carmine.

After a much-needed cup of coffee, you take a shower, letting the soothing hot water wash the grime of yesterday off you. As you wash up, you can't help but wonder what today would be like... 'Would Vox be nicer? Would he stay the same?'. Questions plagued your mind throughout getting ready.

Stepping out of the shower, you put on a robe and plug in your hair dryer to style your hair. You style your hair and put on your make-up after. Glancing over to check the time, you panic a bit, 'Shit, I'm gonna be late if I don't haul ass!'. Hurriedly, you put on your uniform: a form-fitting white blouse and navy blazer, a teal and navy tie, navy pants, and black stiletto heels. Taking one final glance in the mirror, you leave for work.

Pulling into your parking space, you speed walk into work, worried that Vox will be pissed if you make him late for his meeting. You push open the large circular doors to his office and hurry down the walkway. Vox is sitting in his chair with an annoyed expression as an employee stands beside him. Of course, your nosy ass wanted to see what was happening, so you stood and watched.

Neither Vox nor the employee had noticed you as you eavesdropped. Vox sits with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth as he holds back his anger, "You want a what?". "A raise, sir." the employee squeaks. The hand that was previously pinching his nose drags across his face as he tries to restrain his anger, "Why the ₣Ữ- ahem- Why would I do that?".

You could tell Vox was trying to not berate the employee. An involuntary smile crept across your lips. 'He's trying...'. "W-Well because I've been working here for a long time and-" the staff member goes on and on, stuttering about why they should get a raise. Vox felt frustration rising in him as the employee went on. Vox rose up from our chair quickly before the staff member could continue any longer, "Fine! Just-" he pointed a large teal claw towards the door, "GO!". The employee says their thank-you's as they swiftly rush down the walkway.

His eyes land on you, standing there with a grin, "What that look for?". "What? Oh! Nothing, just here to remind you of your 10:00 meeting with Carmilla," you respond. "Oh," he begins, "right, let's go.".

-- A sleek black VoxTech limo chauffeurs you and Vox to the meeting. The ride was fairly quiet, and a tad awkward since you both didn't know how to talk normally after what went down yesterday. Luckily Carmilla's office was a short ride from the Vee Tower, so you didn't have to sit in awkward silence for too long. Upon arrival, the two of you briskly walk into her office so as to not be late. When you walk in, Carmilla and Vox exchange formal greetings and pleasantries 'How are you' 'Nice to see you' blah blah blah. Carmilla's sharp eyes fell on you after they finished the courteous exchange, "And who would this be?".

Vox's eyes flicker to you, then back to Carmilla, "Oh. This is Y/N, my assistant... and friend."

-

ITS DONE WNIWEHIWHFOUIWHEI. i hope you guys liked it! lmk if u wanna be tagged for future chaps! if theres any grammar mistakes or parts that dont make sense lmk!

-

TAG LIST:

@lovelyemily, @preppyfellaa, @diffidentphantom, @lil-glum, @leonotlara,

@matpatsstuff, @rapunzelbro, @n0tmentallystable, @that-one-person-blue If I missed anyone or incorrectly added anyone, let me know!

[cellarspider]

Spider's Big Prometheus Thing: Index Post

Being a list of all the posts produced in the course of this inexplicable project of mine. This project is now complete, at an unexpectedly extensive thirty entries long.

I swear, I didn't intend for it to go like that, but it was fun to write.

All entries have at least a minimum level of citations for where to start looking for more facts on any subject external to the movie itself, which includes everything from how DNA is sequenced to how Nickolodeon slime is made, and from the comedy in mislabeled portraits of early church fathers to the correct attribution of a cat's contributions to historical linguistics.

Be aware that there's also hidden rambling and bonus facts in the image alt text. A lot of them.

0. Introduction

Setting the scene, including my background, my intent, and where this movie is going.

1. Opening

Expectations, landscapes, and aliens.

Rambles: DNA, whether aliens would have it, and why it doesn't look like a pale bacon ladder.

Alt-text rambles: nano-bubbles.

2. Discovery

The Isle of Skye is gorgeous, the movie attempts to establish its themes, and why it had already got my hackles up. Rambles: how cool ancient and pre-modern peoples were, the implications of humanoid figures in European cave paintings, and misplaced lions. Alt-text rambles: seriously, Skye is just so cool. Erich von Däniken and modern publishing royalties are not.

3. David

We meet the loneliest android, and his fandom of choice. Rambles: I go nuts for a paragraph over Proto-Indo-European. Alt-text rambles: Help me remember a dude's name, that time Ron Perlman saw Sigourney Weaver do something so cool he forgot to act, and a Coronation Street conspiracy theory.

4. Humans (Derogatory)

We meet the human crew, and analyze why they're a mismatch to the movie's established expectations, and what subgenre they fit in most. It isn't the one the movie seems to be aiming for. Rambles: 50s B-movies and their Men Of Science, modern movies and their quietly suffering scientists. Alt-text rambles: inconsistently moist characters, Idris Elba's christmas tree decorations.

5. Pseudoarchaeology (Extremely Derogatory)

We meet Old Man Capitalism, poor logistics, and how the movie began to really lose me through dropping in some racist pseudoscience tropes. Rambles: more logistics (of alien bioengineering), historical art styles, what the world was getting up to in the 600s CE Alt-text rambles: Linguistics, more ranting, the life and extraordinarily ornate death of Kʼinich Janaabʼ Pakal. Rants: the existence of writing, people who don't look like you can still think, stargazing and how conspiracy theorists don't understand it.

6. Roads

Poor firearm safety with Chekhov's Gun, when movies move too fast, atmospheric chemistry, and the moment I began to yearn for blood. Rambles: First contact protocols, why 3% CO₂ won't kill you but it will make you weird, my personal experience digging up a Roman road. Alt-text rambles: the logistics of securing items in moving craft, linguistics, atmospheric science, colorblind-friendly diagram design, swearing about orology, and cursing the crew for their fictional crimes against archaeology. Rants: Why they should've stayed in orbit, and my impassioned defense of historically significant transportation infrastructure.

7. Masking

The bit that made most people realize these characters were idiots. Featuring an attempt at themes. Rambles: NASA's policies on biological contaminants Alt-text rambles: Benedict Wong having nothing to do, helmet design, driving on dusty track, the tiny overlap between archaeological horrors and Minecraft, the CDC's excellent captions on men sneezing. Rants: Nominating a man for the Heinrich Schliemann Archaeology Award, all these people are catching space covid

8. Ghosts

Comparing the Engineers to their series antecedents, and I develop a slight soft spot for the geologist. Rambles: Set design in Alien, how carbon dating works. Alt-text rambles: Adventure games, GET DOWN MISTER PRESIDENT, I get very excited for Dune: Part Two, the archival devotion of people with rare blorbos.

9. Dignity

Personal, professional, social, and media context for the treatment of people's remains. Rambles: Personal experiences around the archaeological discovery of human skeletons, professional codes of ethics, movies that handle dead bodies better by being more crass about it. Alt-text rambles: None, the main text gets full focus this time.

10. Atmosphere

How intertextual imagery is overused, how the one major character arc is developing, and a whole grab bag of miscellaneous shambolic events. Rambles: How tourist-breath can destroy artifacts, and a deleted scene Alt-text rambles: Whether explaining mysteries is always the wrong decision in fantasy, the usefulness of helmets, Mass Effect's loading screens, please someone give me more recommendations for things where Giger creatures aren't all bad, and how cultural variation in gestures can make you look like an asshole. Rants: they aren't done desecrating the dead oh boy it's just gonna get worse

11. Decontamination

How to present an audience with events that make no sense, how to do it eerily, and how Prometheus does this by accident. Rambles: NASA's Apollo 11 quarantine policies Alt-text rambles: How 2001: A Space Odyssey put on a cosmic lightshow, how traditions are faked for political and social power in Midsommar, confusing lab equipment, robot arm safety, the use of camper vans in space exploration, umarell behavior, and robot horror movies. Bonus text rambles: pressurized gas cylinder safety, and how the cargo of one truck apparently tried to join Roscosmos. Rants: Laboratory safety

12. Shocking

Mary Shelly would not be proud of them. Rambles: Which home electrical appliances their tomfoolery is equivalent to. Alt-text rambles: Semiotics and Alien, reuse of props and art department equipment, the cast's inability to look at things, how the first chestburster scene intelligently incorporated spontaneity, and I completely lose my mind over a single computer readout, finding out in the process that the Engineers are close cousins to the common house mouse. Rants: I didn't think that "don't stick electrical plugs in people's ears" would be something that needed to be said, but here we are.

13. Family Tree

A soothing ramble about some of the cool bits of my job. Rambles: How evolution has made some vertebrate blood white or green, how genomes are sequenced, and how to determine the relatedness of species. And more. A lot more. I love my job. It's so cool. Alt-text rambles: How Nickelodeon slime was made, how hecking tiny molecules are, why blue-tongued skinks have blue tongues, my review of Dune: Part Two, how hard I worked to not turn Gene Wilder into a jumpscare, lots of enthusiastic explanations of DNA sequencing techniques, the aesthetics of the machines wot do that for you, how "snip" no longer sounds like a verb to me, and how I started out as a computational scientist.

14. Cheers

David poisons a man, and how his character arc ties into christian-influenced existential dread. Rambles: series continuity, gnostic theology, Ridley Scott's beliefs. Alt-text rambles: How to ruin petri dishes, Vickers' questionably carbon-based existence, the game of Operation, hand doubles in filming, how the funniest possible misidentification of an early church figure is wandering around the internet, the cool genders of suit actors, gnostic Archons, and the Engineers as Sophia. Rants: Holloway seems unaware that archaeologists study dead people, Ridley Scott is his own biggest problem.

15. Unworthy

The movie does something I'm not going to joke about. Don't read this if you're having a bad day. Big content warning for Holocaust imagery.

16. Intimacy

Your asexual commentator grapples with Hollywood's terrible track record on romantic and sexual chemistry. Rambles: Why we don't say an archaic-looking species is "older" than another, how religious scientists do what they do Alt-text rambles: the human family tree, Abbott and Costello, pitcher plant cultivars, the creative possibilities of a Buddhist version of this movie, and Stephen Still's lack of accordions. Rants: I've never been a boyfriend but I'm pretty sure that's not how you do it

17. Threat

Prometheus takes a hard turn into old slasher movie tropes. Rambles: A movie trailer that gave Wee Spider the screaming heebies Alt-text rambles: The age rating of Prometheus, a spontaneous X-Files crossover AU, Pitch Black, how likely it may or may not be that the images in the post will get flagged, critter behavior, insufficient EVA suit design, and the content balancing I take into account when selecting screenshots. Rants: This movie does not seem to know what it is. Alt-text rants: Ditto, focusing on characterization.

18. Flames

"Mac wants the flamethrower!" Rambles: I wandered off in the middle to watch a 40k comedy video, does that count? Alt-text rambles: More content-balancing, what kind of very English critter David appears to be, dune buggy design, Star Wars: The Old Republic is worth your time, Dune: Part Two is worth your time, an extremely long ramble about integration of CG background elements, and Oblivion memes. Alt-text rants: Movie color grading and lighting, undercutting scares.

19. Stars

The movie shows how good it can be when no dialog is involved. Rambles: The movie Contact and how Prometheus could've learned from it. Alt-text rambles: How I estimate large numbers from a still image, a brief Baldur's Gate 3 appearance, the set design and staging of a room made for giants with squishy computers, the use of color to make a cohesive scene, facts about Uranus, visual intimation of threat, VFX wizardry, practical FX wizardry, Michael Fassbender's wordless acting.

20. Expectant

The movie shows how good it can be when character choice is removed from the horror. Rambles: the inspiration and place of chestbursting in Alien movies, the continuing religious symbolism in the movie, the clunky dialog, how to build or undermine tension, and the good blending of practical and CG effects, and how tiny creatures of the ocean manage to be more uncanny than horror critters. Alt-text rambles: reading details the prop department never meant for you to see. Alt-text Rants: the return of the head-exploder and the first sight of actual PPE, slowly mangling a plot point's name until it has been thoroughly folded, spindled, and mutilated.

21. Underdelivered

The movie shows how terrible it can be when horror doesn't build tension. Rambles: Contortionists in horror, hillbilly horror/hixploitation movies. Alt-text rambles: Resident Evil 7, Dead Space and "strategic dismemberment"

22. Hubris

The movie tries to do some themes again Rambles: my ineffable desire to genetically sequence ditch weeds, Left Behind Alt-text rambles: Brad Dourif's commitment to the bit in The Two Towers, nigh-invisible wheelchair product placement, the Fallout series in general and the upcoming show in particular, praise for an epic-length critique of Left Behind, Robert Zemeckis' bizarre quest to mocap everything Rants: This movie does a terrible job representing both religiosity and atheism

23. Informed

Exposition is delivered, and plot points try to knit together. Rambles: The Silent Hill movie, Pacific Rim Alt-text rambles: Pyramid Head's secret unclothed backside, demanding environmental enrichment for scientists, greebling, Tumblr's favorite shitty copper merchant Rants: What could've been done instead of an exposition dump and daddy issues Alt-text rants: these people and their interior design are tempting fate and testing my patience

24. Inscribed

I go rogue and ramble about constructed languages and cuneiform for an entire post. Guest appearances from Klingon pop music and a delightfully eccentric Assyriologist. Rambles: All of it. Alt-text rambles: the self-awareness of conlangers, fingernail length, Schleischer's Fable as a warm-up for the next section, my primary conlang derangement, speculation about whether cuneiform was legible for the blind, my beef with the cowards at Lucasfilm for refusing to use Star Wars' coolest letters, my love for Warframe's Grineer, going into far too much detail about redesigning Prometheus' Engineer script, and finally, the many crocodiles of ancient egyptian hieroglyphs. Rants: None/all of it

25. Judgement

We discuss some of what the movie doesn't. Rambles: Fiction and morality, Blade Runner, biblical allusions the story could've made and doesn't Alt-text rambles: Lance Henriksen's insane career, the paintings of John Martin and a surprise George Washington, Rutger Hauer's effect on Blade Runner, my tentative plans for the next essay series. Rants: Germs, old man makeup. Alt-text Rants: The characters are reading ahead in the script again, the half-assed Engineer writing system continues to hurt me

26. Awoken

I go bananas over PIE. Rambles: fix-it fic for this damned movie, PIE, how to avoid PIE, how to analyze PIE, and my personal alternative to PIE. Alt-text rambles: calculating how long the Engineer's overslept, their potential spiritual kinship to Moominpapa, behind the scenes photos of the suit actors, Prometheus rants in the days of LiveJournal, the game Hades, how hard it personally is to get PIE right, the linguistics nerdery of the Hittite empire, and watermarks. Rants: how the movie fails its premise and hurts my soul with linguistics

27. Shortcomings

The characters, and movie, fail to get their message across to someone bent on their destruction. Rambles: David's confused religious symbolism, Star Trek Alt-text rambles: My desire for fanfic, behind the scenes photos, what other critters the Engineer's suit actor has played, the naming of Australopithecines, crash-proofing a movie set, alien gender, Gandahar and how French animated SF in the 80s was awesome, Scorn and its expert consultation from a cenobite, and Doctor Strangelove. Rants: the assumptions of the human characters, I go from trying to be measured to actively spiting the writer for his take on thoughtful SF Alt-text Rants: Del Toro is the only one who gets me, the movie has forgotten its main character just had a major surgery, one last rant about how terribly unsafe the Prometheus was as a ship, before it becomes definitively not a ship.

28. Momentum

It's the bit where she doesn't turn. Rambles: How to fix the dumbest thing we've seen in a hot minute, Edge of Tomorrow and feeling Tom Cruise's fear, how the dead thing is never really dead in horror. Alt-text rambles: How hard it is to find the most catchy song in We Love Katamari, more behind the scenes pictures of my blorbos, Friday the 13th Part IV, bad braille, and trilobites. Rants: I mean how can you not when the movie forgets how space works? Like, the idea of 3D space as a concept? Also, a particular rock earns my ire, and my ranting about interior designs on ships finally pays off.

29. Dissonance

The ending of the movie, and its tonal incoherency. Rambles: Protagonist-centric morality and lack thereof Alt-text rambles: Star Trek TNG, green blood, caecilian teeth. Rants: shallow christian themes, sequels that could have been, Shaw's confusingly deployed robo-racism Alt-text rants: sequel disappointments, inadvisable post-caesarian activities, how the hell do you fit that much 'burster into one chest, biological plausibility in alien extend-o-mouths

30. Justification

A breakdown of a post-release interview with Ridley Scott, explaining some missing details. Rambles: Gnosticism again, Mesoamerican and European human sacrifice and the exoticization of shared cultural practices, and a hearty book recommendation. Alt-text rambles: Icelandic volcanoes, The Collector (2009), Stephen Speilberg's War of the Worlds and how scaring the shit out of someone isn't necessarily the job of a horror film, the Tollund Man, unique cultural practices, Hello Future Me, and my opinions on what we've seen of Alien: Romulus. Rants: Ancient peoples weren't stupid, an unexamined christian-centric worldview, an unexamined christian-centric worldview, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGh

[lakesbian]

ok Worm Bigotry Breakdown in more detail for @silverflyingpikachu

tl;dr: author is Cishet White Guy From Canada In 2011. he ostensibly thinks he is progressive. this does not change his proclivity for tossing his Cishet White Guy From Canada Biases into the books and then saying even more bigoted things in defense of those writing decisions on forums. wildbow is just some cunt on the forums with bad opinions on wildbow's writing. the book is 1.7 million words long but i believe in my ability 2 categorize this shit with decent accuracy. everyone who has ever said worm's CWs can't be categorized, including wildbow himself, is a lying ass bitch. this will include some vague spoilers, because i can't really go in-depth without a few examples, but i'll stay away from anything too plot-critical.

racism:

- worm is fundamentally a book abt systems of power and the ways in which they suck. some of the critiques worm issues--e.g, its depiction of how school systems enable bullying, inspired by wildbow's own experiences w/ the school systems as a deaf kid--are viscerally accurate and incredibly compelling. but wildbow fundamentally doesn't understand how certain systems of oppression work--e.g policing--and subsequently, his attempts at depicting them occasionally fall flat onto their face and land in racist territory. this gets particularly nasty when combined w/ the White Guy Author propensity for racist stereotypes--for example, his chosen face of police brutality is a black girl portrayed as predatory & animalistic.

- who is also one of the only black people in the book overall, alongside--for example--an addict portrayed as having less interiority & being less deserving of empathy than A Literal Fucking Nazi. also, the main characters have to team up with the nazis "for the greater good" (defeating the mean asian villains) at one point. it is a mercy to the readers when this part of the story ends. - there are two black characters in the main cast. for the first, wildbow just Straight Up Forgot to include the most compelling aspect of their background + characterization in the text (it was provided via WoG instead, which i provide to all wormreaders like a fuckin' DLC patch when they get to where it's relevant) & entirely forgets they exist towards where the end of their character arc should have been. the second is introduced w/ the most misogynoiristic description on the planet but blessedly has a largely compelling and well-written arc as the book goes on. - depiction of china is just like. fox news level sinophobic "it's all a brainwashed indistinguishable evil cult" shit. not relevant for very long relatively speaking but insufferable to read. asian characters are also like. we got Brutal Yet Honorable Asian Man. we got Fiery Asian Girl With Blue Eyes. it fucking blows it's not good

- oh yeah forgot this one someone mentioned in the tags. #it's an insignificant paragraph and nobody talks about it but the part where it goes #“yeah literally EVERY cape in South America is with a cartel and the heroes are barely distinguishable from the villains” #fuck you #not that the others aren't bad the fatphobia gets really gross but nobody mentions this and that one got me so yeah typical Insufferable Awful Imperial Core Author Understanding Of What Other Countries Are Like - i could make this section one million bulletpoints long but the gist is summarized i think--wildbow's varied racist biases leak fucking everywhere, into character design, into narrative assumptions about who's deserving of interiority/empathy or not, into attempts at Saying Anything About Society, into which characters he prioritizes, into who he offers validity via the narrative, etc etc etc.

homophobia: - theres a girl named amy dallon in it and she is the worst lesbophobic stereotype ever known to man. no other Problematic Lesbian™ you can think of has anything on this girl. the worst part is that she genuinely has a decently compelling character concept and arc, which her being awful is integral to, so you might accidentally find her interesting anyway and then she'll move into your brain - wildbow kept accidentally writing characters that scan as massive dykes and then got really mad about f/f ships for the book being popular in the fandom. he responded by making a deranged forum post involving the phrase "pandering is pandering" insisting everyone (but the bisexual "hedonist") is straight and writing a scene into the book where one of the characters literally turns to the camera and tells the readers "not to get the wrong idea" about her hugging her friend. - over the course of 1.7 million words he finds excuses to loudly inform you that all of the relevant female characters are straight and it's sooo shoehorned in you can always tell when he's doing it - basically worm is like if naruto was about homoerotic teenage girls who do violent terrible things, in terms of levels of unintentional homoeroticism, and the author responds to ppl going "lmao gay" about the unintentional homoeroticism with poorly restrained seething rage

fatphobia: - generic brand of fatphobia you'll see in p much all mainstream media where only side/bg characters are fat and it's obliquely used as a descriptor to indicate that someone has negative personality traits or should be viewed as sort of gross

anti-addict shit: - wildbow generally likes writing about how social circumstances--i.e neglect from society, oppression, failure on behalf of systems--causes crime. he generally likes demonstrating the ways in which the villainous main characters are traumatized teenagers failed by society fumbling to keep existing & holding each other up through The Horrors. unfortunately all of this intelligent writing flies out the nearest window when addicts are involved. there is a gang comprised entirely of addicts, all of whom are portrayed as disgusting, violent, dangerous, and of course often racially stereotyped. it is a mercy to the readers when they're no longer relevant to the story. - on a more subtle level, characters are every so often just like. a little more anti-drug than they would realistically be and you can tell it's wildbow's opinions leaking into their characterization. this is largely what the anti-addict writing is kept to after The Addict Villains leave the story iirc.

if youre wondering wellwhy does anyone read this book then. to that i would say that unfortunately despite it all it'sa fucking excellent book. so we all carry on reading the parts that suck and thinking about how they suck and then reading the parts that fuck and going "ouuugh my god" and rolling down 20 flights of stairs about how hard they fuck.

[augustjustice]

Sunday Six

Long time, no see! I actually have been chugging along (albeit slowly) on the next chapter of the bodyswap fic, so in honor of Sunday Six, here's a few paragraphs from that:

“Seriously, Eds, press up against me. It’s not like I’ve got cooties–not any that aren’t literally yours, at least–and I swear I don’t bite.” The smirk that curled at his lips was all casual, confident Harrington charm, and Eddie found it a little disconcerting his face could even make that expression. “Not too much, anyway, or so I've been told.” Eddie was pretty sure he had a dream like this, once, though without the basketball and with Steve decidedly in his own body at the time. So…nothing like this, not really, but the words were still enough to send a tingle through Eddie from his now perfectly coiffed head to Nike-clad toe.  There was probably something decidedly demented about feeling a surge of heat at the sound of his own teasingly suggestive voice. But he had always been weird, proudly so, and there was really no time at present to have a full-blown crisis about it. He could save all that for…later.  “Shit, man, talk a guy into it, why don’t you,” he muttered. His mouth was running away with him, as always, but in his defense any sense of self-preservation or impulse control he’d had swiftly left the building the moment his chest connected with Steve’s back.  This close, a few of his own stray flyaways tickled the end of his nose. A mix of cigarette smoke, the off-brand shampoo Wayne got down at Melvald’s, and the Harrington’s expensive laundry detergent wafted through the air, like a perfect blend of him and Steve together. His brain short-circuited a little, not quite sure how to process that particular combination and the hazy feeling it stirred in him.  “Just watch,” Steve boasted, confident grin still in place. Warmth built between them, seeping beneath the thin gray cotton of their t-shirts, and Eddie was hyperaware of every line and plane of his body against Steve’s as Steve shifted on the balls of his feet. “I’ll convert you into a sports fan in no time.”

[pseudopigeons]

I came up with maybe not a theory but more of just an observation that the east blue 5 seem to parallel the 5 love languages and it's kinda reframed all of their actions and behaviours towards each other so much for me on my watchthrough. Got brainworms from that one oda interview where he said zoro doesn't like verbally expressing gratitude and prefers to show appreciation through actions and it got me thinking

The 5 languages:

Physical touch - Luffy

Acts of service - Zoro

Quality time - Usopp

Receiving / giving gifts - Nami

Words of affirmation - Sanji

Funnily enough in OPLA we definitely see a lot of physical touch Luffy. He's always playfully punching or hugging crewmates, despite having known the crew for such a short time he's just instantly clingy and physically present around them in east blue.

Zoro is very much an actions person. He's a little emotionally constipated and doesn't verbalise his feelings very much, in fact that seems like the last thing he wants to do, but he will always be looking out for any member of the crew silently, and is almost always the first to spring into action when it's called for. He shows he cares through acts of service and being there for his captain and crew.

Usopps language being quality time is shown pretty well in syrup village with his relationship with Kaya. Kaya is a girl who has everything she could wish for financially, but ussop provides her with a much needed friend, someone to support her and just physically be present and talk to her. He risks so much just to make her smile because being there for his friends is such a crucial and important thing for him.

Nami's love language being giving/recieving gifts means so much to me because it is so often seen as the most shallow of the love languages and I have seen so many poor analysis and digs at Nami's character, reducing her to just being greedy and money hungry. Did they watch Arlong park with their eyes closed??? For Nami, gold or money is a means for her to provide for the people she cares about, to ensure their financial stability and freedom and to keep her crewmates fed and afloat. She spent so long scorned and alone and (believed she was) hated because she created this money hungry persona to save her village and to best Arlong. Every piece of gold she bled to get was meant for that end goal. Nami deserves the financial freedom and gold that being a strawhat pirate could give because for years and years every bit she earned was tucked away for the well-being of others and was then stolen from under her nose. (This paragraph got very long but I'm not sorry I am the captain of the Nami defense squad.)

And finally Sanji reflects words of praise as a love language. I think it's the most clear to see with how Sanji is so quick to praise any female character he comes into contact with, especially Nami, but I think it also reflects his strained relationship with zef while working at the baratie. Zeff is always verbally critical of Sanji as a way to rile him up and to encourage him to leave the restaurant. Zef weaponises what makes Sanji tick to antagonise him and tries to get him to leave that way, but Sanji is far too stubborn and feels too great a debt to leave.

I think east blue definitely shows the 5 dynamics in a pretty clear way and kinda helped me understand what makes the characters tick. Also why some of the characters end up butting heads or getting into arguments. They all show and recieve love in different way, sometimes there are misunderstandings or clashes but at the end of the day they all trust each other with their lives and it's such a strong bond.

Anyways I'll eventually draw some more OP but I'd love to hear any thoughts or other people's ideas if they have any on the matter. Sometimes I get analysis brainworms, and I first shared the idea on discord, but figured why not post it to Tumblr too

ALSO please if anyone has examples from the series that fit the love languages PLEASE share it, makes my heart oougggghhghg.

[autistichalsin]

Don't know if this helps but I think a lot of people (esp neurotypical ppl) see multi paragraph responses as hostile or confrontational, bc length = very strong feelings. Ppl (subconsciously) emotionally view them as ranting. I blame the fact most ppl communicate online through social media that favors short, punchy/glib comments. Even multi tweet threads are a bunch of short comments in a row; nobody talks on forums where conversations span weeks anymore. I think that's why I don't see long essay response chains on Tumblr as often as I did pre 2018.

Oh, also, ppl not understanding a lot of non-neurotypical folk's communication where you prefer to make absolutely sure you're both getting across the point you want to make and saying everything you want to say. And since the only way to do that is use words (which are such terribly misunderstood things) you use as many as you need to. And then ppl see multiple paragraphs and instantly get defensive.

I still don't think that means you need to change the way you communicate though. Someone can always ask you to clarify your intent after all. Just thought maybe I could offer insight on that one part you questioned. My best friend is autistic and we actually had to have a long conversation about communication bc I was misinterpreting her verbosity for irritation, so it's something I had to think a lot about. Anyway! The tone indicators can probably help, hopefully.

(Tone: appreciative/thoughtful)

That's a good point too, because it has become less popular (and suspiciously right at the same time TikTok became the preferred socmed site). I remember when multi paragraph responses were just kind of the standard. Like I'm a Fandom Old, I've been around since Livejournal and I was one of the first 10,000 users on AO3 (on my first account).... this is all new etiquette.

TOTALLY agree about the autism thing like. Using a lot of words makes it less likely I'll be misunderstood... until now I guess lol.

I appreciate you very much, thank you for this ask! I won't change how I communicate PER SE, though I am probably not going to be posting disagreeing posts to anyone but moots again for a while because uh... there are definitely people reading my stuff in bad faith who will be waiting for their next chance to twist my words lol

[nightingale-bloom]

I wonder if anyone else has thought about how many people were named after one of the original Infinights, and how many people ended up named after members of the main party post-campaign. I am still thinking about who would have the least people named after them. (giant ramble under the cut, it's about three paragraphs long if you're willing to read it)

For the original Infinights,- I'm thinking about them in their heyday for context,- maybe Leanord/Spectril? He became a rogue as a defense mechanism and might tend to stay hidden when things get a bit too stressful. It makes logical sense to me that less people would care enough about him to name their kids after him. He's probably not a people person, at least that's how he reads to me. Like he wouldn't be in the public eye as often.

Ostin/Slique though? He's a bard. He was extremely excited to share his symphony with the world, too. He likely would've been a fair bit more popular amongst the people (Until the events of Deja Urbloom, that is.) Alongside Marcy/Elleve because she's a healer, people tend to see legendary healers as saints in fantasy, you may already know how this goes.

I'm not entirely sure about Bo/Grislee though. I don't know if people would think of her fiery personality as a good or bad thing. Some people may see her as being passionate about her work as an Infinight, while others may just think she's too aggressive. She might just be middle of the road in terms of people named after her for all I know. Or maybe she has a lot of people named after her because of her more neutral name, who knows?