#and accepting that you change with the world around you

[ssailormoonn]

❛ REPUTATION ❜

YANDERE!Chrollo Lucilfer X Fem!Reader

WC; 900+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: chrollo is a yandere here, well he def ats like one, fem!reader, virgin!reader, AGE GAP, gonna say reader is around 18-20 bc she a virgin and a good girl, chrollo is still 26, possessiveness, claiming + more

⋆·˚ ༘ * REQUEST :: (filled request) Hi! Could you please write with yandere Chrollo and virgin female reader(she likes him, but didn’t want to be with him because of his reputation) - ANON

HONEY'S A/NOTE :: I WAS FEELING DIFFERENT DONT MIND THE PINK/PEACH THEME LMAO, lmk if you like it tho 👀

m.list | hxh m.list

You knew this was a mistake the moment you caught his eye.

Chrollo Lucilfer was the type of man who commanded attention. He's dark, unreadable, and dangerous. You'd been warned by friends, by acquaintances, by common sense to steer clear of him. None of them knew that he was the leader of the Phantom troupe, but they could tell that something was up with him.

You, on the other hand, knew very well who he was. He had made it loud and clear that should you ever leave or do anything rash, Chrollo was in a position to threaten you with all he could do. Every time being on duty with him, fear always boiled up inside your stomach.

But the fear that was evident within you, there was just something so irresistible about him, something that couldn't make you stay away no matter how much you did. Chrollo's presence causes your heart to beat in ways that it really shouldn't. You, however, because of his reputation, are to be kept from him.

But standing now in this darkened room, boxed in by his stare, one knew there was no more escaping Chrollo.

Not anymore.

"I know what you're thinking," his voice is like silk. "You're afraid of me, you think you can keep your distance because of what you've heard. But you forget one thing."

He leans in closer, each movement intentional. His dark eyes never left yours, staring with an intensity that would make you want to shrink under his gaze, at the same time you wouldn't be able to look away.

"You want me, too."

Your breath had caught in your throat. How could he know? You'd tried so hard to conceal it, to deny the pull you felt whenever you were near him. It was wrong, all wrong. But his tone made it sound as though you had no say in the matter.

"Chrollo, I... I can't." Your voice less than a whisper. "You're dangerous. I don't want to get involved in. whatever this is. whatever you do."

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, and the touch sent your heart racing even faster. You suck in the air shakily while your lip trembled softly.

"I know that's hard to accept," he whispered, almost softly. "But I've made my decision already. You are mine. "

There was a finality in his words that dropped the bottom of your stomach into a sick feeling. This wasn't a silly love confession, this... this was more like he was claiming you. And much as you tried to deny it, the thought stirred something within you.

"Chrollo, I... I am not." You had managed to stammer out the words while a hot fire had burned in your cheeks.

How would you even explain that you have never been with anybody in your life? That part of you does want him, but the fear of his world and your inexperience holds you back? You have never done a relationship in your life, never kissed anyone, never touched anyone, never had sex.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. Something... changed in his gaze.

"You're scared of what you don't know," he whispered. "That's okay. I can be patient. But don't you ever think otherwise. I will have you. Every piece of you."

His hand slid down, stroking your jawline, and a chill ran down your body. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt in his claim over you. It was terrifying and yet you enjoyed it.

"You can run from me if you want," he said, continuing now in a voice so much lower it terrified you. "But I'll find you. Always get what I want."

Your chest constricted as Chrollo left you no choice. He made it clear no matter what you did, he would find you and when he did. he would take you in every sense of the word.

"I. I don't want to be a part of your world," you finally stammered out, beyond your shaking lips. "I can't."

He chuckled low and it was a shiver you felt run over your skin under his touch. "It doesn't matter. You're already a part of it. The moment I laid eyes on you, it was over. For both of us."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat as he leaned in, his lips caressing the shell of your ear.

"Accept it, love," he whispered. "You can't get away from me. Not now, not ever." "N-" Chrollo cut you off, his lips trailing up your neck, his voice low, humming against your skin. "You don't struggle against me. I'm going to take care of you. No one else can have you now. Can't you see? You're already mine, and nothing you say will change that."

His breathing was hot against your skin, the weakness rising inside you as the fear coiled in your body. But despite that, despite all you knew of him, the fact that he wanted you with such intent sent your heart racing within your chest.

Honestly, could you resist?

He drew back just enough to look into your eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew. Your gaze betrayed your thoughts, and he noticed, of course he fucking noticed.

"You're mine," he leans down, his warm breath dancing across your ear as your hands clench into fists against his black suit, trembling. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | hxh m.list

[thecommunityfridge]

The Eye Roll

TW: Ageplay, diapers, humiliation, bedwetting, spanking, manipulation

This story was inspired by and costars (with her permission) the wonderful @dearchloe. Go check out her amazing work!

"No, Mister, no way! You have wet the bed five of the last six nights. I am done playing around. Five nights of wet pull-ups in a week means you sleep in the nursery until you can prove you deserve otherwise. No exceptions!" Miss Chloe lectured me as she fought to get me diapered and dressed for bed.

Miss Chloe, the domineering British woman who had shown up at my door one day, declared she was my Nanny, and somehow took over my life like an AB/DL Mary Poppins, wasn't wrong. I had wet the bed five of the last six nights, and I had invoked her prescribed consequence of having to move into my guest room turned nursery until I could prove I could keep my pants dry overnight.

Of course, it didn't matter to Miss Chloe that my accidents had all been her fault.

She had made me drink all that water right before bed every night, because 'I was too dehydrated.' She carefully monitored whether I got out of bed at night, spanking me for getting up before I had 'slept' a full ten hours, because 'I needed to get a good night's rest.'

How was I supposed to keep my pull-up dry when I was spanked every time I made a very necessary midnight run to the plastic potty she kept in her room, the only toilet I was allowed to use?

There was no use in explaining the unfairness of it all to Miss Chloe though. Each time I talked back, I was met with some explanation with infallible logic about how she was right, and I needed to just accept the well-deserved consequences of my actions. It was infuriating.

So, this time, instead of trying to justify my predicament, or talking back as Miss Chloe termed it, I tried a new tactic. I rolled my eyes hard, like a bratty preteen, turned my back on my self-declared Nanny, and said, "Whatever," with as much cool disdain as I could muster.

That was a bad idea.

Miss Chloe immediately rounded on me, getting in front of me, and cutting off any means of escape.

"Oh my! I didn't know my little poppet's eyes were so tired! That was quite the eye roll, Little One!"

I looked at my caretaker confused. Miss Chloe was usually much more in tune with why I did something than this. My eye roll wasn't because I was tired. It was a sign of disrespect and rebellion. It was a manifestation of my frustration with her domineering attitude.

I tried to tell Miss Chloe as much when she immediately cut me off.

"I mean, your eyes ~must~ be tired, because I know that a good little boy like you would never roll your eyes at me on purpose! If that was the case, why, I think you would definitely have to take a trip over Nanny's lap to be reacquainted with Mrs. Spoon!"

I physically swallowed my words. Miss Chloe had proven to be a savant with 'Mrs. Spoon,' and I was not ready to risk her wraith again.

"No! Of course not Miss Chloe, my eyes just must, um, be, very tired! It is bedtime after all!" I responded, backtracking faster than a cat walking in on a room of dogs playing poker.

"That's what I thought, you poor little thing. Let Miss Chloe help with that!"

My Nanny caressed my face as she spoke before placing a hand lightly on my back, leading me into the nursery I had been working so hard to avoid.

"I have just the thing to help those tired, little eyes of yours! Now stay right here!" Miss Chloe directed me, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. Standing there, I couldn't help but feel like the giant changing table, crib, and other furniture was silently standing guard over me as I listened to the warden of my infantile prison rummage through a dresser drawer behind me.

"Found it!" Miss Chloe exclaimed.

I felt her presence approaching behind me before, suddenly, the world went black. Something soft and totally opaque obstructed my vision. I raised my hands to pull the intruding object off my face only to hear as much as feel a loud smack as my hands were batted away.

"Nuh uh, my adorable little poppet. You leave that blindfold on! Those silly little eyes of yours need rest! Covering them and taking a much needed ni-night is the only fix for such worn out little peepers," Miss Chloe's said, her voice circling me as she spoke.

With the blindfold on, I felt so little and vulnerable. Despite this room being in my house for years, it's recent conversion to a nursery made it feel strange and foreign to me. Now, completely blind, I felt more like I was lost in some foreign country than in a room in my own home.

I strained my hearing, trying to catch any details to make me feel more comfortable in the nursery.

From my right, I could hear the soft hiss of the oil diffuser, emitting a soft, lavender scent. Behind me, a light ticking came from the small clock on the wall. From all around me, Miss Chloe's steps sounded soft and muffled by the clean, soft shag carpeting under her feet as she circled me.

"Alright, Little One! Let's get you ready for bed!" Miss Chloe's voice suddenly came from behind me.

Before I could turn, I felt the sharp tug of the shorts and pull-up I was wearing being yanked down from behind me. I felt my cheeks warm as cool air assaulted my exposed groin.

"Step!" Nanny ordered, lightly tapping my right leg.

I complied, lifting my right leg, listening to the crinkle of the pull-up as Miss Chloe removed my foot from my pullies' leg hole.

"Other foot!" Nanny's voice rang out from below me.

Just as before, I raised my leg as Nanny pulled my foot out of my shorts and pull-up. The sound of light rustling of my disposable undergarments my reward for compliance.

"Good job, poppet! You kept your pullies dry all day!" Miss Chloe said with a joy and sincerity in her voice that made her sound more like she was talking to a three-year-old than me, the 30-year-old standing half naked before her.

My blush deepened at her words.

"Thanks, Miss Chloe."

I wished I could see her facial expressions so I could at least guess at what she had in store for me next. Instead, I had to settle for the sharp sound of her hands clapping together.

"Alright, arms up! We're almost ready for jammies!"

With gentle hands, I felt my Nanny lift the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, careful not to knock off the strip of cloth cutting off my vision. I heard Miss Chloe giggle once I was completely naked.

"There's my big boy! All nakey and ready for jammies!"

I felt Miss Chloe's hand wrap around mine and pull me forward. Hesitantly, but trusting that my self-appointed caregiver wouldn't let me hurt myself on accident, I let myself be led to the changing table that I knew from my memory was our destination.

"Hop on up!" Miss Chloe's voice intoned from beside me once we reached the table.

Delicately, I reached out and felt the soft padding and heard the loud crinkle of the plastic covered mattress set on top of the childish piece of furniture. Carefully, I lifted one leg into the table, only to be greeted by more soft crinkles. More confident, I lifted my second leg, getting my whole naked body carefully placed in the table.

I jumped a little as Miss Chloe's soft hands reached out for me, guiding me into the best position on the soft, cold plastic. With each movement of my body, I was reminded of my embarrassing situation by the crinkle of plastic.

Once I was safely on my back, without saying a word, Miss Chloe went to work.

I heard the soft rustle of fresh padding as she grabbed a diaper from under the changing table. The rustle only got louder as she folded and fluffed it.

I heard the sound of skin-on-skin before I felt it. The gentle slap to the side of my ass beckoned me to lift my naked tushy so Miss Chloe could slide the diaper underneath me. Resigned to my fate, I complied with the silent order, listening to the sound of the diaper sliding on the waterproof mattress on the changing table as the babyish garment was placed underneath me.

Still blind to the world, the next sound I heard was the almost imperceptibly noise of powder falling over my crotch. The sweet smell of talcum told me that Miss Chloe intended for me to stay in this padded monstrosity for at least my prescribed 10 hours of sleepy time tonight.

The diaper rustled again as my Nanny folded it up over my loins. The sound of the tapes being pulled and the light pressure of them being pressed flat signaled the end of my humiliating diapering was near.

"Perfect! A perfectly padded and properly protected little poppet!" Miss Chloe announced as I felt her gentle hands help me down from the changing table. "Now to get the sleepy boy into his jammies!"

I listened as Miss Chloe walked to the dresser pulled something out and returned to me.

As she did, I squeezed my legs together, marvelling at the thick feel of the diaper as well as how noisy it seemed in the otherwise quiet nursery. I didn't have long to examine my embarrassing new underwear before my Nanny returned with what was presumably pajamas.

In the reverse of being undressed, I stepped into what I could feel was a soft, fleece footie sleeper. I followed Miss Chloe's soft but firm instructions as she dressed me without question. Being blind to the world adding to my fear of the caring but dominate woman and made me more compliant.

The last noise as I was dressed was the tell-tale whir as the zipper was pulled up from behind me. The familiar noise signalling I was ready to be tucked into the horrible crib for the next ten hours.

"You're so adorable!" Miss Chloe preened as she guided me to the crib, my diaper whispering out my infantile state with each step.

Miss Chloe helped lift me into the tall piece of furniture. She helped me lay down, covering me with a soft blanket, before handing me what was I knew was a comically large baby bottle.

"Drink up!" my Nanny ordered as I heard her slide the side of the crib back in place, locking it with a sharp click.

I lifted the bottle to my lips and filled my ears with the gentle sucking sound that could only come from someone nursing the rubber teat of a bottle. A soft lullaby started playing from above me, signalling that Miss Chloe had turned on the mobile dangling over the bed.

A new click came from by the door, signalling that Miss Chloe had turned out the lights (a pointless gesture given I was already blindfolded).

"Goodnight, my sweet boy! Rest those tired eyes!" my Nanny called out as she shut the door to the nursery, locking me in.

As I lay suckling my bottle, diapered, blindfolded, and locked away in a crib, I couldn't help but relax. Maybe, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep and as I had many times before, Miss Chloe was right, and being put to bed in the nursery wasn't so bad.

[zutaranation]

You know, I always found it odd that Mai is just instantly taken in by the gaang. She doesn’t have a changed worldview at all from being perfectly fine with Ozai’s regime and Fire Nation imperialism. She only helped Zuko because she didn’t want him to die. Moments before, she told Zuko he was betraying the Fire Nation by going against his father and teaching the avatar to firebend to defeat him.

In my view, Mai is at least equally responsible for Aang being struck down with lightning as Zuko. She’s far more culpable than Zuko for the conquering of Ba Sing Se. She was literally a part of Azula’s coup to overthrow the EK.

So, in the finale, when the gaang is having an intimate dinner together to celebrate the end of the war, it’s bizarre they’re all fine with breaking bread with her.

It’s also bizarre for Ty Lee, of course. She is just as complicit as Mai and shows no change. Though, she doesn’t make any statements like Mai does, like when she called Zuko a traitor for standing against his father.

Ty Lee, however, is not present at the Jasmine Dragon. She is accepted into the Kyoshi Warriors, but I see that as a beginning for Ty Lee to right her wrongs and come to understand the Fire Nation’s atrocities as she will be spending time with Earth Kingdom girls and women and helping out around the world. It’s implicitly her redemption arc’s beginning, and it’s Suki who exclusively accepts her at that point, not the whole gaang.

I would have liked more lead up to this though. A scene of Ty Lee bonding with Suki in prison or something would be nice to introduce the concept. Atla always needed more female character interaction that passed the bechdel test, so it could’ve been a good opportunity. I like the idea though, it’s poetic that Ty Lee finds herself enough to be okay with being part of a matching set. Plus, her hand-to-hand combat skills make her a great fit to be a Kyoshi Warrior.

But, for Mai, it just seems odd that Katara in particular would allow for her to be at The Jasmine Dragon with them. Obviously, it’s because they were trying to extend kindness to Zuko and Zuko wanted her there to meet his new friends he’s come to love and the writers did it to solidify a pairing “endgame” message, I assume. But, from the characters’ standpoints, it doesn’t make much sense.

She’s just super desperately in need of a redemption arc if she’s going to be a logical partner for Zuko and to be friendly with the gaang in a sensical way. I feel like the writers just disregarded her character entirely, even for a side character, and she was thought to have her story wrapped up as her entire identity being sexistly tied to being Zuko’s girlfriend. Her motivations don’t really exist on screen outside of this, which was a blatantly sexist choice for her character.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You know, I think Killer getting reunited with his brother after his escape with Color would be really interesting, whether it goes well or horribly wrong.

If it goes well, it would be really interesting to see how Something New Paps deals with Killer not really being his brother (though I am of the idea that he'd love Killer for Killer as well. I just also think it would mean him grieving his brother yet again. This time knowing he'll never have his brother back). It would also be cool to see how he'd get along with the Epic Sanses. I also really would love to see explored what his tentative new dynamic with Killer might be, and how that may change Killer's dynamic with the others too (would he be less codependent with Color with Paps in the picture? Or would he just become dependent on both?).

If it goes horribly, well, it would be interesting to see exactly how horribly. Would Killer panic enough to kill him again? How would he react to that after so long? Would Killer even believe that that's his brother? Would he just deny everything and turn away and then be haunted by the possibilities forever?

I just hhhhhhhh. I've been thinking about them so much. I've never see content about them explored, ever, and the possibilities are giving me brainrot

Yes! This is the stuff I want to see with killer from this fandom. Not more of the same! Let me watch these doomed siblings suffer or heal. The angst having to grief the person you never knew you lost while they’re right in front of you, looking at you, looking through you—only it’s something else with your loved one’s face. Uncanny valley im telling you.

I personally think Papyrus will have a difficult time actually accepting that his brother is gone. Hed subconsciously see signs in Killer—same smile, same twist of the corner of the mouth even if the nature of the smile is different from when Sans told an awful pun, because now Killer is smiling like that when he tells horrible stories he seems to think aren’t horrific at all.

I think how this reunion unfolds definitely depends on the exact situation. If Killer is still trapped under Nightmare or not, or if Color has rescued him.

And if Papyrus has any memory of what Killer did to him and everyone else—because Killer did spend years upon years murdering and horrifically torturing Papyrus and all the others as if they were nothing more than toys.

Killer could look at him, and all Papyrus could see is that empty, dead eyed look as he screams and cries while Killer breaks his bones. As if Killer didn’t recognize who Papyrus was, and if he didn’t care who he was.

And Papyrus, how his reactions during those times could’ve affected Killer. He was in unimaginable pain, terror, and confusion. Hatred and anger and spite are understandable reactions. What are some things he might’ve said to Killer during these moments that stuck with Killer? Begging and pleading, cursing and screaming? Attempting to get Sans to “remember who he is”?

As the world Reset around Killer, did others eventually start changing too? Even if only in small easily missed ways, even if they forgot by the next Reset. Chara and Killer were always in search of something new, after all.

Could Killer trust himself at all around Papyrus? Or would he immediately start thinking about how he has killed him before, how Papyrus could be here for revenge or even worse—for Sans.

Would some part of Killer despise Papyrus for being weak enough to forgive him, just like he always did for the human? Would Killer feel the need to kill Papyrus again—believing it’s what it has to do to prevent something even worse (Stage 4), or perhaps out of panic as you mentioned, or even that anger at Papyrus or just the unimaginable confusion and stress and pain that Papyrus’ presence brings (Stage 3).

Would Papyrus’ presence disjoint Killer’s “placement” in time.

Would seeing him make Killer think he’s back in the Underground with Chara, and thus Papyrus is another enemy he has to deal with. Would he be unable to accept that the Papyrus in front of him is his Papyrus, or would he think it’s just one Papyrus out of a gazillion more, and therefore not worth wasting energy on?

I can definitely see Stage 1 being reluctant to actually be around Papyrus. Not because he hates him or is disgusted by his “weakness” and not even because he thinks he has to kill Papyrus—although he’s very aware that some parts of him very likely do think those things—not only because he can’t trust his own mind, his own desires, but also because he just..feels horrible around Papyrus.

He idealized this image of Papyrus and the life he thinks they used to have, but he has changed. He has done a lot of things. He couldn’t even accept a hug from Papyrus for very long without pushing him away in tears. I think he’d definitely benefit from having his brother back in his life, although I doubt it’d be a very frequent thing.

I can see many instances where guilt, fear, and shame just leads to him trying to “hide” from his emotions in Stage 2, which leads to the usual avoidance behaviors. Which may also lead to him subconsciously blaming Papyrus for being able to have any effect on him at all—given how Stage 2 views it when situations and people are able to make him “feel” anything. As if they are attempting to control him.

So many interesting possibilities—especially given how much Papyrus may know. How much knowledge is he working off?

{ @stellocchia }

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

This is also me shamelessly submitting another request alongside my very NSFW one: could we get Raphael being there while Tav gives birth?

Tav paced back and forth, hands resting on her swollen belly. Each time a contraction tore through her she would grimace, bend forward as much as possible, and bear it with whatever dignity she scrounged up. When the pain passed, she’d resume pacing.

“Mistress,” said the Infernal physician, “perhaps you should lay down -”

“No,” barked Tav. “I don’t want to lay down.”

“So you intend to wear a trench into my floors instead?” Drawled Raphael.

“Yes,” replied Tav, glaring daggers at him.

“Mistress,” the physician tried again, “it would be easier for both you and the child if you -”

“I’m not bloody laying down,” growled Tav. “I’ve been laying down for the last three months of pregnancy. I need to move around or I’m going to cut this baby out of my stomach myself.”

“You won’t change her mind,” Raphael said lightly, “she’s a stubborn creature. She’ll do things her way until she simply cannot any longer.”

The physician sighed, rubbing her eyes.

Tav’s waters had broken several hours ago – much to poor Haarlep’s horror. Raphael was away on business at the time, but as soon as word reached him that his first offspring was about to be born, he’d burst back into the house, physician in tow. The birthing room had been ready for a few days, Tav slightly exceeding her due date, so the three had sequestered inside. Now it was simply a waiting game. The physician hovered nearby. Raphael sat in a plush, comfy chair, seeming to all the world as indifferent and relaxed as usual. Only the occasional twitch of his tail gave away his potential anxiety.

It felt like the entire House of Hope, even every wailing soul within the walls, were holding their breaths. Teetering on the edge of anticipation for the ushering in of a new era: the birth of a prince.

“Ah…!” Tav stopped in her tracks. Hissed as fresh, furious pain wracked her. Different, sharper than before. It didn’t fade. “I think…argh, I think he’s coming…!”

The physician touched Tav’s belly, felt lower, between her thighs. “Yes. You’re open enough. I feel his head. You need to get into the water.”

The physician helped Tav out of her sweat-soaked nightdress and in to the bathing pool of hot water. Raphael watched intently, his onyx and ember eyes never blinking, as Tav – teeth gritted – eased herself into a sitting position, knees up and apart. The water and its soothing magic helped, but the baby wanted out, now. Demanding, just like his father, and damn was she feeling it.

“Gods…he finally decides he’s ready and he’s just going to…to rip right through me…” Tav panted. Curled her fists. Cried out as a violent contraction signalled the end, and the beginning.

“Start pushing,” instructed the physician. Tav groaned, a sound that morphed into a dull scream. Raphael stood up, crossed the room, standing close. His tail thrashed wildly but his expression remained neutral. Tav gave him a foul, pained look.

“This is your fault,” she snarled, slapping her palms on the sides of the bath. “I’ll kill you for this, I swear it.”

“Of course you will, darling,” purred Raphael.

He was not indifferent to her suffering, she knew. Part of him enjoyed it. That she was agonising to bring their – his – son into life only made her pain taste sweeter. It was the simple truth of Raphael’s nature. Something Tav had accepted long ago. Birthing this baby was the scariest thing she’d ever done, scarier than coming to terms with how she felt for a diabolical devil, that she was willing to give him her soul and her heart. Even facing down the Netherbrain didn’t compare. She was hurting and she was frightened, but Raphael was there, strong and assured and steady, and Tav knew she could get through it.

Not without one Hell of a fuss, however.

“GET THIS DAMN THING OUT OF ME!” She bellowed between screams.

“Keep pushing!” Yelled the physician.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” Tav roared back.

“Push, Tav,” Raphael intoned. Commanded. “Let our son’s life begin.”

Eventually, amidst the blood and pain and chaos, it did. A wrinkled, wet and wailing infant was placed on Tav’s chest and she, exhausted and delirious, loved him instantly and irrevocably.

“Healthy,” declared the physician, “and strong. Very strong.”

Tav tiredly adjusted her baby, who latched onto her nipple and began to suckle. His thin, ropey little tail curled. Raphael looked down at them, smug and preening with pride. He would never be the type to offer her his hand to squeeze for comfort, or become overly emotional and adoring of his new son, but he was there. He stayed. And those things mattered more to Tav than her pride would ever let her admit.

[hyperlexichypatia]

What some of y'all call "recovery" and "healing" is just... growing up.

The theme I keep coming back to, the theme I keep writing about over and over, is the inextricability of ableism (specifically neurobigotry) and ageism.

The pathologizing of youth. The infantilizing of disabled adults. The structuring and micromanaging of childhood leading to ever more opportunities for "deviancy" to be classified as "disordered." The "neurological" push to raise the age of majority. The constant framing of disabled parents and caregivers as "unfit" or "bad influences" on children. And on and on.

Ageism and neurobigotry are such an interconnected tangle loop mobius strip that people are using the "healing"/"recovery" framework for basic human maturation.

When you were little, you uncritically accepted the worldview of your parents and other adults in your life, but now that you're older and "recovered," you see it differently?

That's called growing up. You grew up.

When you had less information and experience informing your worldview, you saw things one way, and now that you've "healed," you see things differently?

That's called learning. You learned new information and changed your perspective accordingly.

Look, learning and change and growth and maturation are (or should be) lifelong processes with no endpoint, and one of the cultural factors making people so weird about "maturity" and age of majority issues is the assumption that a "Real Adult" is in their fixed final form. So people think "If I've changed and grown in the past 5 years, that means that 5-years-ago Me was Still A Child and should not have been allowed to make major life-altering decisions," and also think that once they reach An Endpoint, they can or should stop changing. And that's a problem.

But. But. Changes in one's relationship to oneself and one's family of origin are especially common during times of major transition. That's not pathological. That's not even abnormal. If you see the world differently than you did before a major life transition, that does not mean that you went from a diseased state to a nondiseased state ("recovery"), or from an injured state to an uninjured state ("healing"). Time passed. You got older. Everyone else got older. You changed. Other people changed. Your family changed. The social context in which you live changed. The pathology paradigm has no place in this phenomenon.

People are out here saying that "People should heal themselves before they have their own children," and then when asked, what they mean by "heal themselves" is "learn how to effectively communicate with children." That. That is a skill. Learning a skill is not "healing." Lack of a particular skill set is not a disorder you have to "recover" from. You just have to learn the skill.

But that's also why when we say "You don't have to recover from your disabilities, recovery isn't a moral obligation," people say things like "You want to use your disability as an excuse not to change and grow."

My good bitch, what does change and growth have to do with recovery?

And this isn't even a new observation, because people have talked about how parents of developmentally disabled children will credit "therapy" and "recovery" for their children's natural developmental trajectory (if your child gained a skill after a year of intensive therapy, that doesn't mean "the therapy worked," that means they got older and developed the maturation to acquire that skill). A lot of the rhetoric around early childhood education does the same thing (the reason your 6 year old can hold a pencil now and he couldn't last year is because his bones got stronger and his fine motor skills improved, not because his high-quality preschool made him ready to compete).

But this. This is adults doing it to themselves! And it's so very original-sin-coded. You are born Unhealthy, but through continual effort and right practice, you can Recover and Heal.

No! You just grew up!

[farshootergotme]

Thinking about the Bruce-Dies scenario...

You know, that is going to be a definite whole mess for Damian.

The way we've imagined the timeline in the comments, Talia dumps Bruce in the Pit, amnesiac Bruce stays a while with the League, meets Damian, is told this is his kid...the whole heartwarming stuff...

And then Bruce - somehow, maybe something triggered the memories - finds out what Talia did. Finds out his sons and Alfred (dad) have been mourning him these two years, his sons have been fighting for Gotham alone, they almost died way too many times and she kept him from them...

I think it's 100% that Bruce bolts. And about 80% that he'd take Damian with him. No way he'll trust Talia with his kid, not after what she did (she might have reasons, but no reason is going to suffice for Bruce, given what happened)

Well, there's the return, everyone is overjoyed...except for Damian. The kid has had his entire life upended. His father now hates his mother, he has two brothers - three, assuming Tim is tagging along - to compete with for father's attention, he's in a completely different world with different rules...

That's true. It'd be a big change for Damian plus the culture shock. And that's not considering how young he'd be since he's around 7 years younger than Tim(?) and Tim would be about 15 years old, so that'd make Damian 8 yo (ironically the same age as Dick when he lost his parents, which makes me think he'd be, again, perfect to help him adapt to this new environment as he did at his age. He can relate to suddenly being taken away from the place and people he's known his whole life to out of nowhere be part of a completely different dynamic that's nothing like his old family.)

At first I think it'd be specially a mess because of the shock it must be for the others to see their presumed dead father suddenly walking up to them, carrying a child and telling them he's been alive for the past two years without his memories.

So, at least for two months, Damian wouldn't be able to properly get used to this new life. He'd probably even try to escape and go back to the LOA (possibly as he also tries to convince Bruce to come back with him). But, in the end, he'd be stopped everytime.

From then on it'd be a matter of how long it takes for him to warm up to the others and how much effort they put into trying to get Damian to like them.

And since Damian would've been raised by both his parents in this alternative, I think he'd be much less... Deadly? What I mean is that he'd be less likely to attempt to kill his brothers since, unlike in the original universe, he doesn't have to prove himself for Bruce to see him as his son as Bruce would've already accepted him by then. However, he would be hostile due to what you mentioned about having to share Bruce's attention with the others.

I'm honestly not sure how this would unfold, so I'm taking any suggestions.

[yemaomeow]

I’m thinking about the significance of atla showing both sides of every nation once again because it is so fucking important to understand for everyone, but especially youth that want to make change- that war isn’t as simple as good vs bad and evil vs good or black and white. war is such a complex thing and people are such complex beings that thinking about media that deal with these types of topics through only two lenses, is not a good way to try to find understanding. there is “good” and “bad” in everyone- atla stresses that the people who do manage to find peace in themselves are those who can balance these sides of themselves, but to get to that balance, you must accept that you have these qualities and that while people do not change, they can grow and accept.

there are examples of these kinds of people in every nation: the earth king is so naive to a fault that he led his own nation into ruin, but he did not have ill intention: he truly did want to keep his people safe vs long feng who used the king’s naivety and stubbornness to gain power. he did not care about the people.

in the fire nation we have lu ten, jeong jeong and roku. i feel that zuko and sozin and azula are talked about enough, but they are still relevant. anyways. lu ten was a product of his nation, yeah? he was raised to serve and to make the royal family proud. he was not evil. he was just working for the goal instilled in him- he was a soldier, a cousin and a son. this was his job and this is what he wanted to be- but because he had no other choices for what to make of his life, this is what he also had to be. he was a boy. jeong jeong did not find balance and peace in his work as a general so he escaped it- he did not escape it because he saw wrong in being a general, he escaped it because he saw wrong in the way fire was used as a whole. but he did not work to better the nation or to use his teachings for good. he vanished. roku had a similar approach like jeong jeong. he cowered away from confrontation, unlike others of his family and nation, and only pushed back when he (and other’s) were pushed to having no choice. with their inner conflicts about how to use their bending abilities, they made mistakes that concerned others and passed down their issues and solutions. this is incredibly human: learning from your mistakes while leaving others to solve them

in the water tribe: we have hamma, paku and kurkuk. hamma was a deeply scarred POW who craved the stability and freedom and home she was taken from, so all the suffering she endured, she wanted to give back simply because she wanted the people who hurt her to feel that pain and stop inflicting it onto others, but she got carried away. she became consumed by the urge to retaliate with feeling that she became the monster she accused others of being. paku was so focused on conserving tradition that he refused to open eyes to making brief changes because he feared toppling structure and the ideals he had- he feared ruining his home and culture, but he learned and he found a balance. kuruk relied on the world around him to determine his actions. he was a live and let go type of man, who should have acted sooner- he is similar to aang who just wanted to watch the world as it was and help where he was needed, but both of them needed their loved ones to be put in danger to make an ultimate decision. all of these characteristics are what lead to the downfall or upbringing of people who fight wars.

and the air nomads even: gyatso and aang. they spoke too late and acted even later. they were so consumed by the physicality of being good that they didn’t take action until they absolutely had to which just did not serve in their times. being pushed and letting yourself be pushed to extremes is just as bad as being the one to push others because you fail to stop or go at appropriate times.

everyone has faults that play into the destruction of lives. but no single person is at fault. we are all just products of our surroundings, but how we choose to become individuals as time moves and we grow is what makes it better or worse- but all of these characters? What did they do? What do they have in common? They all had significant scenes showing that they accepted this life and they can only grow or not grow in it

[mylovelylittleobsessions]

Stealth Attack

A Rings of Power One-shot

Featuring Adar and his kids. Pure fluff.

Enjoy!

Wrûg bared his teeth as he crept forward, soot-coated stick in hand. This was it; today was the day he’d finally be taken seriously as a hunter by the rest of the clans. They’d have to accept him, and let him go on the big game hunts after this! No other Uruk could do what he was planning; they were too scared.

Not that he hadn’t tried to convince them before. He’d made it clear that he would bring the best game, the tastiest meat anybody’d ever had, if only they’d let him come along. But every time it was the same: they’d agree condescendingly, or coo at him, or pinch his cheek, then send him off with a pat on the head and a piece of sweet root.

He didn’t deserve to be treated like this. He’d seen seven winters already; he was practically a grown-up! (Though, of course, he didn’t turn his nose up at the sweet root; he wasn’t stupid.)

Tonight, however, would change everything. His bared teeth became a grin as he snuck closer to his goal: Adar’s tent. He’d teach them all a lesson by leaving a mark on the ancient Uruk, and they’d all see how clever and crafty he was! Even Adar would be impressed, right after he scrubbed Wrûg’s mark off.

Wrûg slipped into the tent and almost huffed with disappointment. This was going to be too easy; Adar was asleep! There he was, the eldest of them, snoring away in his nest of blankets without a care in the world! He tiptoed over to the nest and peeked in, stick in hand.

Adar had his face tucked under his arm like a sleeping warg (and snoring like one too), so putting a mark on his face was going to be tricky. He’d wanted to draw face hair on him like the dwarves had, but now he’d have to think of something else. Maybe he’d put a frowny face, or a skull, or a —

Wrûg’s feet flew off the ground as he was suddenly scooped up in a grip like iron. He rolled head over feet into the nest, and found himself nose to nose with Adar himself, eyes glittering with mischief.

Ooh, Adar tricked him! He wasn’t sleeping at all! His snores were made of lies!

“Well, well,” he graveled, in that soft, deep voice that every Uruk associated with the safety of their eldest, “what’s this I’ve caught?”

Wrûg squirmed, but couldn’t wriggle out of the hold Adar had him in, perched on his lap.

Adar looked him over appraisingly, smirk growing. “Looks like a tasty little Uruk-child for my dinner! Let’s see if he’s any good…”

Hang on a minute! He knew where this was going!

“Adar, no!” He squealed. “No tickle!”

But it was too late. Adar had descended, pretending to gobble him up as he made fake-eating noises and gummed at Wrûg’s tummy. Wrûg shrieked with laughter, unable to escape.

Adar hummed. “Not quite. Perhaps some seasoning.” He mimed sprinkling something on Wrûg before gumming his exposed arm. “Much better.” He grinned and resumed his tickling onslaught.

“Adaaaaar!”

After a few minutes, Adar stopped, letting Wrûg catch his breath. “Now,” he rasped, voice filled with mirth, “what brings you creeping in here to me, little one?”

Wrûg stiffened a little, having snuggled up to Adar in the meantime. “Umm…”

Adar raised an eyebrow, then looked around and picked up Wrûg’s soot stick. “This, perhaps?”

Uh-oh, now he was in trouble. “I w-was…”

Adar tipped Wrûg’s chin up so they were looking eye to eye. “Were you going to play a prank on your Father, child?”

Wrûg nodded.

“Why?”

His lip wobbled. Nononono, he was not going to cry like a little baby in front of Adar! “I ju-just wanna be a hunt-ter…”

Adar’s gaze softened. “Oh, sweetling,” he cooed, rocking him a little, “you need not worry about such things yet. You have your whole life to be a hunter or a warrior or whatever you wish. For now, you would please me best by living your childhood without fear in our new home. Can you do that for an old Uruk?”

He nodded, then flung himself around Adar in a tight embrace. “Love you, Adar…”

“I love you too, little one.” Adar got to his feet, balancing Wrûg on his hip. “Now, no more sneaking in my tent!” He teased, booping Wrûg’s nose with the stick and leaving a soot spot on the tip. He carried Wrûg out and into the camp, where his mother was looking around for him.

“You could have been squished by a warg in there.” He sniffed the air and gave him a look. “Although you smell like you might have already. What did you do, child, roll around in a bog?”

Wrûg looked away shiftily. “No…”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No…” he lied.

Adar rolled his eyes with a huff and passed Wrûg over to his mother. “I believe this smelly creature belongs to you, daughter.” He teased, before looking him in the eye. “Be a good boy for your mother, Wrûg.”

“Yes, Adar!” He nodded with a bright smile. Adar called him by name! He was a grown-up!

Adar gave a small smile and murmured something in his mother’s ear about new soap. Wrûg contentedly rested his head on his mother’s shoulder as he was carried away to the other side of the camp. His mother patted his back while she chattered about the stew she was gonna fix for dinner—

Wait a minute.

What did Adar say?

Soap?

But that meant—

“NO!” He howled. “NO BATH!”

[displayheartcode]

Want to write something something about Ronan’s constant transformations something something parallels to certain Irish fairytales something

[allyriadayne]

There's something about maekar naming most of his children after other targs while baelor gave his own names free of any burden. something something maekar wanting glory and recognition through them something something baelor gifting autonomy to his sons under his own legacy. And in valarr's case it's interesting because he's free of an overbearing father like maekar but being baelor's son is such a heavy weight too. he's a mediocre knight, he wont be dunk's champion..... maekar saying when there's a drought and valarr's king, the smallfolk will wish for baelor and blame him.

Of course, this IS maekar projecting (fork spotted in kitchen etc) but it'd be true if valarr had ever become king. how noble baelor was, how honorable, how brave, how good. and these would be enough for someone to resent him (maekar!) but valarr kept participating in tourneys to try and become his father. and when I think about baelor just accepting nothing is ever going to change, accepting maekar's unfair stubbornness and valarr's indifference I want to screammm. he must be the good he wants to see in the world. and he dies.

[laniidae-passerine]

Danver’s specific brand of racism is so intrenched in love it’s fascinating. Her daughter is precious to her and her daughter is Indigenous and in this town, an Indigenous woman is not viewed as a precious thing. They are abused and raped and murdered and therefore, being white is the ‘better’ choice. She is actively whitewashing her daughter, not only because she’s afraid of what she doesn’t understand and because of typical coloniser mentality, but because she doesn’t want to lose her. Danvers can’t distance Indigenous identity from white violence and it’s killing what she loves.

[bumblingbabooshka]

[Tuvok & Janeway: Control, Distance, Duty & Connection.] Sources: St Voyager Transcripts / Mitski 'First Love Late Spring' / Disco Elysium

[saline-coelacanth]

With DR season 2 part 1 out, I wanna draw Oliver during some of the scenes, but in order to do that I needed to draw him in the new suits. Technically he is still one of the kids, but I already committed to giving him the same suits as the ninja for season 1, so now he's gotta have updated ones to match.

Idk maybe if I get to a point of not wanting to constantly change his outfit, I might make a new uniform look for him, but for now he gets new suits like the older ninja

[flyinglowdown]

i have a dream. and that dream is cressida/eloise/lord debling

[cyberpunkboytoy]

My DID-having ass is experiencing so much world-envy for the fictional country of Vaugarde I'm going to throw up