#and i feel like you would have taken them even more cynically than me.

[atlanticsea]

Hi first off I love your quiz! This quiz hit HARDD. I wanted your thoughts on this: I’m kind of ashamed I got poet. All I see about poets are that we reject duty and are free, and can say pretty words. I secretly wanted so badly to be the soldier but I knew no one would take me seriously bc I’m so obviously a poet. I want desperately to be strong and to protect those around. I want to prove I can handle duty. I have always considered myself not a hard worker and am genuinely shocked when someone tells me I am. I’ll never be as hard working or dedicated as the other 2. I’m “so kind” but if us poets are not the comedic relief or therapist of the group then are we worth anything at all? Sorry this got so deep LMAO, but I see like nothing super positive about poets lmao.

Hi! I'm glad you liked the quiz, but also really sad you feel bad about your result!

None of the archetypes are a bad one or good one to get, and none of them are a condemnation of who you are. I explained here my thinking behind the Poet archetype (and, sorry to say, this ask is giving peak Poet vibes in terms of wanting to affect the world in tangible ways 😭), but I also added in this answer and in this reblog that my writing for three archetypes is only true about said archetypes, and that I can't actually tell you anything about yourself -- your reaction to the quiz is what you can actually learn from. In the end while I love S/P/K as a piece of writing and as an interactive poem that gets a lot of people thinking, it is also just a piece of writing. You getting Poet is not a condemnation, just like it wouldn't be a consecration, just like getting any result wouldn't be either. It's just one of three options I wrote -- and I'll just add for your sake that none of them are really about being hard-working. I mean if anything I wrote Poets to be the most "hard-working" because they're so desperate to find a way to do things effectively. But again: that's just my writing.

I'll say, though, even though I don't know you: people in your life telling you you are hard working is probably a much better indication of what you mean to people than whatever people on social media interpreted from a quiz a stranger wrote for their friends three years ago. A quiz result, no matter what you think it means, can't stop you from being strong or hard-working or from protecting people -- that's fully up to you. Also, being kind is a good thing. Making your friends laugh is a good thing. People thinking you give good advice and are worthy of trust is a good thing. Being the "group comedian" or "group therapist" as long as the group genuinely values you and does not just take in the give-and-take is not a bad thing. Wanting to do good is normal. Nobody, especially not a stupidly large group of people that all got the same result on a random quiz, is worthless. You're a human being and you're alive. That's always worth something.

I genuinely kinda don't know how to respond to this ask because it really has nothing to do with the quiz itself, just with you! I just hope you manage to find value in yourself and love for yourself beyond external assignations.

[facelesssbirds]

Dancing In The Rain || Genshin

A.N. I found that some of these were longer than others, which I'm so sorry for <33 Enjoy! You dance in the rain, with, or without them. Implied F!Reader, Neuvillette, Dottore, Kaveh, Arlecchino Warning: None, though the Harbinger sections makes allusions to their "work,"

Neuvillette had never liked the rain, it was a reminder of his duty, a sick, twisted sign of his failures. He was the reason for the rain today, a court trial having just been finished when you had burst in, long after everyone else had left. Only he remained, standing in the centre of the room almost dramatically.

"Neuvillette," You spoke softly, setting down the umbrella you had been carrying to look at him.

He may've looked calm, composed even, but you could tell he was a mess, his face set in a firm frown, but his eyes softened when they met yours. You took his hand, quiet, intimate.

"Dance with me." You murmured, coming to rest your hand on his shoulder.

He frowned, looking around the court room, askew with chairs, desks and other obstacles, "We can't dance here," he said, a hint or remorse peaking into his voice, it was was hoarse from speaking all day.

You nodded in agreement, listening to the rain outside grow louder, a crack of thunder in the far off distance. Smiling, almost hesitantly you lead him out the doors, through the large, grandiose halls of the opera and out into the pouring rain, your umbrella long forgotten.

"We'll simply dance in the rain," You said, ignoring his protests, and forcing him into a ballroom waltz.

His hand slipped to your waist with little resistance, the harsh droplets of rain softening, wetting both of you to the bone. You should be miserable, standing here, dancing in the rain, and yet, a smile comes to your face, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of sunshine peaks through those dark, looming clouds.

Dottore was a man of science, cold and cynical, but the seemingly unending rain of the Sumeru Jungles bothered him more than he cared to admit. Omega had gotten some water in through his eye sockets, normally this wouldn't be an issue that he would deal with, and Omega could've just taken care of it himself, but naturally the idiot (himself) had ignored every sign of malfunction to work on the god project.

The one bright side was that he got to visit you, you oh, beautiful, perfect, you who stayed in Sumeru as a street dancer, and a scholar, despite the akademiya's terrible treatment of someone as perfect as you. That truly, was the only reason he was out in the rain, watching as you, despite being drenched in the warm rain, preformed a beautiful dance, your aerial dance had long been discarded, you hadn't wanted to ruin the silks, he assumed.

Truly, though, he was your only spectator. The only watcher of your fruitless efforts. The market had long since closed down, but you had barely seemed to notice, your eyes focused solely on completing your routine. He smirked from under his mask, watching as finally, your dance ended, your chest heaved as he offered you his umbrella, shielding you from the rain.

"Are you finished already, darling?" He questioned, watching as you glanced up at him, surprised.

"Zandik!" You gasped, your eyes widening, though you grinned, "I didn't know you were in town-"

He chuckled, "I had... matters, to attend to, and of course, I had to stop by and see you, my darling."

You giggled, giving him a look, "Well, then, I suppose you owe me a dance for being gone for so long."

"In the rain?" He mused, "Darling, perhaps we should wait, you could catch a cold--"

You hush him, patting his shoulder, "Oh it'll be fine~"

He huffs, but complies, his hands coming to your waist, watching as you revel in the feeling of water hitting your face, soaking you to the bone. He'll be there to nurse you back to help after you get sick, either way.

Kaveh was a hard worker, you knew, and sometimes, he worked a little too hard. You had stopped by his and Al haitham's house, looking for Kaveh, who had promised to go on a date with you, only to learn he had been in the library since yesterday.

Naturally, you were worried, thanking Al Haitham before running off to go look for your beloved. The rain hardly stopped you, running into the library drenched, your rain jacket soaked, and your hair a mess. The Library was empty, the lights shut off as you perused, looking for your darling little blonde.

"Kaveh," You mumbled when you saw him, rushing over to his sleeping form.

He was hunched over books and a intricate blueprint of some architectural design, it was beautiful, almost as breathtaking as him, even sleeping with ink smudged on his cheek he looked perfect. You knew he thought the same about you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you, rubbing the sleepiness away from his eyes in an instant to sit up, nuzzling into your arms for a hug.

"Darling!" He said into your arms, not minding the cold wet water drenching you, only for him to quickly turn sad, "I forgot-- shit-- I'm so sorry--"

You cut him off patting his back, "Kaveh, it's fine really, just-- rest." You said firmly, giving him a stern stare.

He grinned, looking out at the glass balcony behind him, before deviously turning to you, "Say... do you like dancing?"

You raised an unamused-- slightly confused-- brow, "It's fun, yes, but really--"

You were cut off by him practically dragging you towards the balcony, opening the door, not minding as rain wetted his clothes, his hair, his face, smudging his makeup and washing off the ink stuck to his cheek.

"Dance with me." He muttered, breathlessly, looking out at the rain, the air surrounding him, at you.

And, god, those eyes. You couldn't help but comply, spinning out as you waltzed, a night to remember for you both.

Arlecchino had always enjoyed ballroom dancing, the elegant refinery of performance. She had taught the children how to dance when they were young, cultivating dance into an art form of itself, a show that must always go on. And now, the performance they had made Fontaine was finished, only the epilogue to be enacted.

"Father." Lyney said, bowing slightly, "This performance has been finished."

Arlecchino smiled, restrained in elegance, sharp as a knife and hard as an edge, "Very good. Fetch your Mother for me, Lynette."

Lynette nodded, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared, a flurry of wind replacing her, sleight of hand at its finest. Arlecchino directed her eyes towards Fontaine, unaware of the hours that would soon await it as the sun set.

"Arlecchino, darling-" You came to stand beside her, smiling, "You called?"

She nodded, looking over at you, tracing your shoulder, "Yes, walk with me one. One last performance."

You glanced up surprised, "Of course."

And so, it was. Arlecchino's hands gripped yours as you walked through the garden, marveling at the sunset, and the looming clouds in the distance.

"Arle..." You murmured softly, "It's going to rain soon. We should head back inside."

Arlecchino's grip on your hand tightened, "Nonsense. Dance with me," She smirked, her free hand coming to play with your hair, before trailing down to your waist in slow, languid movements. You couldn't ever resist this woman.

"I suppose I must," You say, sighing through a smile, watching as rain hits the pavement around you. Soon, you too will be drenched, but happier than before, after all, dancing with your darling was something everyone wishes for.

[tangibletechnomancy]

The (Personal) Is (Political)

~7 hours, Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

Or, Dear Microsoft and OpenAI: Your Filters Can't Stop Me From Saying Things: An interactive exercise in why all art is political and game of Spot The Symbols

A rare piece I consider Fully Finished simply as a jpeg, though I may do something physical with it regardless. "Director commentary" below, but I strongly encourage you to go over this and analyze it yourself before clicking through, then see how much your reading aligns with my intent.

Elements I told the model to add and a brief (...or at least inexhaustive) overview of why:

Anime style and character figures - Frequently associated with commercial "low" art and consumer culture, in East Asia and the English-speaking world alike, albeit in different ways - justly or otherwise. There is frequently an element of racism to the denigration of anime styles in the west; nearly any American artist who has taken formal illustration classes can tell you a story of being told that anime style will only hinder them, that no one will hire them if they see anime, or even being graded more harshly and scrutinized for potential anime-esque elements if they like anime or imply that they may like anime - including just by being Asian and young. On the other hand, it is true that there is a commercial strategy of "slap an anime girl on it and it will sell". The passion fans feel for these characters is genuine - and it is very, very exploitable. In fact, this commercialization puts anime styles in particular in a very contentious position when it comes to AI discussions!

Dark-skinned boy with platinum and pink [and blue] hair - Racism and colorism! They're a thing, no matter how much the worst people in the world want you to think they're long over and "critical race theory" is the work of evil anti-American terrorists! I chose his appearance because I knew that unless I was incredibly lucky, I would have to fight with this model for multiple hours to get satisfactory results on this point in particular - and indeed I did. It was an interesting experience - what didn't surprise me was how much work it took me to get a skin color darker than medium-dark tan; what did surprise me was that the hair color was very difficult to get right. In anime art, for dark skin to be matched with light hair and eyes is common enough to be...pretty problematic. Bing Image Creator/Dall-E, on the other hand, swings completely in the opposite direction and struggles with the concept of giving dark-skinned characters any hair color OTHER than black, demanding pretty specific phrasing to get it right even 70% of the time. (I might cynically call this yet another illustration against the pervasive copy-paste myth...) There is also much to say about the hair texture and facial features - while I was pleased to see that more results than I expected gave me textured hair and/or box braids without me asking for it, those were still very much in the minority, and I never saw any deviation from the typical anime facial structures meant to illustrate Asian and white characters. Not even once!

Pink and blue color palette - Our subject is transgender. Bias self-check time: did you make that association as quickly as you would with a light-skinned character, or even Sylveon?

Long hair, cute clothes, lots of accessories - Styling while transmasc is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, doubly so if you're not white. In many locations, the medical establishment and mainstream attitude demands total conformity to the dominant culture's standard conventional masculinity, or else "revoking your man card" isn't just a joke meant to uphold the idea that men are "better" than women, but a very real threat. In many queer communities, especially online, transmascs are expected to always be cute femboys who love pink (while transfems are frequently degraded and seen as threats for being butch), and being Just Some Guy is viewed as inherently a sign of assimilationism at best and abusiveness at worst. It is an eternal tug-of-war where "cuteness" and ornamentation are both demanded and banned at the same time. Black and brown people are often hypermasculinized and denied the opportunity to even be "cute" in the first place, regardless of gender. Long hair and how gender is read into it is extremely culture-dependent; no matter what it means to you, if anything, the dominant culture wherever you are will read it as it likes.

Trophies and medals - For one, the trans sports Disk Horse has set feminism back by nearly 50 years; I'm barely a Real History-Remembering Adult and yet I clearly remember a time when the feminist claim about gender in sports was predominantly "hey, it's pretty fucked up that sports are segregated by sex rather than weight class or similar measures, especially when women's sports are usually paid much less and given weirdly oversexualized uniforms," but then a few loud living embodiments of turds in the punch bowl realized that might mean treating trans people fairly and now it's super common for self-proclaimed feminists - mostly white ones - to claim that the strongest woman will still never measure up to the weakest man and this is totally a feminist statement because they totally want to PROTECT women (with invasive medical screenings on girls as young as 12 to prove they're Really Women if they perform too well, of course). For two, Black and brown people are stereotyped as being innately more sporty, physically strong, and, again, Masculine(TM) than others, which frequently intersects with item 1...and if you think it only affects trans women, I am sorry my friend but it is so much worse and more extensive than you think.

Hearts - They mean many things. Love. Happiness. Cuteness. Social media engagement?

TikTok - A platform widely known and hated around these parts for its arcane and deeply regressive algorithm; I felt it deserved to be name/layout/logodropped for reasons that, if they're not clear already, should become so in the final paragraph.

Computers, cameras and cell phones - My initial specification was that one of the phones should be on Instagram and another on TikTok, which the model instead chose to interpret as putting a TikTok sticker on the laptop, but sure, okay. They're ubiquitous in the modern day, for better and for worse. For all the debate over whether phones and social media are Good For Us or Bad For Us, the fact of the matter is, they seem to be a net positive-to-neutral, whose impacts depend on the person - but they do still have major drawbacks. The internet is a platform for conspiracy theories and pseudoscience and dangerous hoaxes to spread farther than ever before. Social media culture leaves many people feeling like we're always being watched and every waking moment of our lives must be Perfect - and in some senses, we are always being watched these days. Digital privacy is eroding by the day, already being used to enforce all the most unjust laws on the books, which leads to-

Pigs - I wrote the prompt with the intention that it would just be a sticker on the laptop, but instead it chose to put them everywhere, and given that I wanted to make a somewhat stealthy statement about surveillance, especially of the marginalized...thanks for that, Dall-E! ;)

Alligators - A counter to the pigs; a short-lived antifascist symbol after...this.

Details I did not intend but love anyway:

The blue in the hair - I only prompted for platinum and pink in the hair, but the overall color palette description "bled" over here anyway, completing the trans flag, making it even more blatant, and thus even more effective as a bias self-check.

The Macbook - I only specified a laptop. Hilariously ironic, to me, that a service provided through Bing interpreted "laptop" as "Macbook" nearly every time. In my recent history, 22 out of 24 attempts show, specifically, a Macbook. Microsoft v. OpenAI divorce arc when? ;) But also, let us not forget Apple's role in the ever-worsening sanitization of the internet. A Macbook with a TikTok sticker (or, well, a Tiikok sticker - recognizable enough) - I can think of little more emblematic of one of the main things I was complaining about, and it was a happy accident. Or perhaps an unhappy one, considering what it may imply about Apple's grip on culture and communications.

Which brings me to my process:

Generated over ~7 hours with Dall-E 3 through Bing Image Creator - The most powerful free tool out there for txt2img these days, as well as a nightmare of filters and what may be the most disgustingly, cloyingly impersonal toxic positivity I've ever witnessed from a tool. It wants to be Art(TM), yet it wants to ban Politics(TM); two things which are very much incompatible - and so, I wanted to make A Controversial Statement using only the most unflaggable, innocuous elements imaginable, no matter how long it took.

All art is political. All life is political. All our "defaults" are cultural, and therefore political. Anything whatsoever can be a symbol.

If you want all art to be a substance-free "look at the pretty picture :)" - it doesn't matter how much you filter, buddy, you've got a big storm coming.

[himejoshikomaeda]

i like that youtube has randomly started recommending videos with less than a thousand views on my home page, but sometimes it just makes me feel a really pronounced sadness seeing a person that doesn't have very many views on their youtube videos, even though most people on earth don't have very many views on their youtube videos (or youtube videos at all). i want you to succeed... i want you to find your audience...

i clicked on a person's channel that i found through this recommendation and there was a video where they were splitting a watermelon that had spoiled to let off steam after being scolded multiple times at work. and for some reason, it just made me sad. i wish that person's boss wouldn't scold them at work. it's mean to make people feel that way. everyone is trying... and jobs are really just... so terrible... so why make it worse? anyway, the watermelon wasn't even really in frame. but that's because they set up the camera by the watermelon after talking about their day. they couldn't see the frame, so they didn't know.

maybe "sadness" isn't the right word to describe how i feel when i get these little looks into strangers' lives, but it's close. it's more like... i'm taken by a sudden awareness that what i'm looking at is an animal. it's just an animal that wants to live. an animal that wants to be happy. an animal that deserves to be happy... in my opinion, happiness is the birthright of any living creature. we are brought into this world no matter whether we wanted to be or not, so shouldn't it at least be pleasant? animals are cute...

sometimes, a cynical part of my brain tries to say "well, you know, they could be transphobic or something" in a uselessly weird attempt at divorcing myself from the sadness i feel when i look into strangers' lives. like, see, you don't need to feel the inherent empathy of walking the same earth as this person, because they might hate you for something you can't control! wouldn't that be awful? ...but it doesn't work. why would it? in the first place, i don't want to live my life assuming that everyone i don't know hates me, just because it's common to hate me.

i hope things get better for that person. and for everyone else. it'd be nice if things just got better for everyone.

[ilynpilled]

ive been thinking about this a bit and i feel like i have some very different feelings towards certain things and strongly disagree with the implications present in the ways i see them discussed. i do not like to simplify these themes to “vengeance/punishment bad wahh”, because it does not at all feel complete enough to convey my true feelings, or the themes of the text itself for that matter imo, but like… ofc i personally cant read things like cersei’s walk of shame, where she is punished, humiliated, and dehumanized through the one thing she was unfairly condemned for her entire life— jaime’s brutal maiming and torture where he is humiliated, fed things like horse piss which he forces down because he is so thirsty before vomiting it back up, gets repeatedly beaten unconscious, and is nearly driven to passive suicide— theon’s excessive physical and mental torment that would take too long to list that breaks him entirely— and even a man as deeply evil as vargo hoat (who is not at all three dimensional) having his hands and feet and arms and legs cut off, be cannibalized, and even be forced to eat parts of himself, causing the pov character that swore to enact brutal vengeance on him to feel ill and repulsed once he finds out— and experience much, if any, catharsis, personal feelings about these characters aside. asoiaf is a series where the author pretty often deliberately places us inside the heads of bad people that have done terrible things, who some readers may feel a certain hatred for, as they are put through torment. not to make the reader feel good and satisfied about it, but to present it as something that should not really be a thing that we revel in, and encourage us to be critical about what is even gained through what they are going through. even a morally dark antagonist without a pov like joffrey and his death was meant to have elements of tragedy. during, tyrion notes that he is a young boy with fear in his eyes that he had never seen in the eyes of his father. whether you feel a certain way about it (and i am not arguing that you are morally flawed for not sympathizing with a fictional character, this isn’t real life, i am just discussing themes that i am identifying), the goal was not really to provide us with a feel-good “justice at last!” emotion through the brutally violent death of a 13 year old boy. it makes me genuinely wonder how some ppl come away with the idea that this series is intended to be a celebration and glorification of punitive justice. i am not saying justice in general is not a huge theme, and some catharsis, especially for victims, over the death/defeat of their abusers & tormenters is present in the text as well, understandably so, because it can mean safety. take pia smiling through broken teeth when jaime has her rapist executed and presents his head to her while setting a precedent with gregor’s men. some people need to die, and deserve it, but what does that look like? who decides it? why? by contrast, the instance of jaime actually feeling good when he hangs a bunch of random outlaws reads as something more tied to his current relationship to the self and certain selfish desires at this point in his story than real justice, and it is further elaborated upon and taken apart in the book. anyway, all these questions are present and the answers are not near as simple as i often see them made out to be.

it doesn’t feel like to me that most things that can be interpreted as enactments of punitive justice or moments of karma are these epic events that should just make the reader blindly cheer and applaud, or even feel good about. there is a reason that some things go awry (like with oberyn), and it isn’t cynicism. there is nuance, and not in a way where victims are condemned for fighting back, or a pacifist ideology is idealized. there just really isn’t a glorification of brutal punishment, ‘eye for an eye’ vengeance, and the needless causing of suffering. same with a blind upholding of duty and law based around flawed feudalistic constructs. and all these things should not even be conflated. not to mention that punitive justice exists also in a way where it is connected to institutions. take the faith and organized religion for example. the whole process is interrogated: what is sin? what sins are being punished? how? why? and what are the actual effects? be it jaime’s and brienne’s conversations/interactions with a bunch of different tertiary characters in affc, or cersei’s punishment in adwd. at the end of the day, she is punished for her body, for being a woman. she does not suffer “consequences” for her actual wrongs and the suffering she causes. she doesn’t really learn anything, and it will all just make her spiral more. the whole concept of punitive justice gets focused on especially with theon’s entire identity being withered away through torture. he experiences so much torment that there comes a point where he is robbed of his mind and agency. what does the “criminal” learn? how can a person change in these circumstances? what is the point, and why should we feel good about this? he is not even really “punished” for his crimes, and certainly not by people with any moral high ground over him, he is just being brutalized. same is the case with jaime in asos: it is a bad person being brutalized by men even more vile than he is, and they are not doing it because they want to deliver any justice to his victims. also, though the maiming does kickstart crisis with him specifically, it is not the determining factor when it comes to his reformation. this story is not actually saying that people can be, and should be, tortured into becoming better people, and if they can’t the solution is to just axe them. there is nuance, sure, mercy is not something everyone is entitled to in all circumstances. sometimes “mercy” towards certain evil people will lead to the enablement of the suffering of others, even entire populations. there are certainly circumstances where compromise isn’t an option. but, again, i dont think george is ever holding back on actually interrogating the moral quandaries when it comes to identifying cycles and ending them, and he is for sure not treating every single aspect of these conflicts as black and white. even tyrion murdering his father, who purposefully does have a very ironic and humiliating death scene, which is important thematically, doesn’t end in easy and feel-good catharsis, especially for tyrion, which doesn’t equal “oh, tywin should be forgiven and spared”.

all of this is also why i do not really see how events like the fall of house lannister (first of all, we know it is gonna include the likely very brutal deaths of two innocent small children), red wedding 2.0, valonqar etc would be these grand and glorious moments of justice and pay-off, treated as just the good guys finally getting an epic W. they will very likely be filled with tragedy, so i am genuinely curious about where these expectations for this kind of catharsis come from

[forbidden-sin-bin]

By Your Side | Chapter 2

Summary: You meet with the man who made Infinite, Eminem; Or as everyone calls him Marshall, for the very first time. 

---

“The hell do you want?”

You were taken aback by his aggressive demeanor, wondering what you did to provoke his annoyance. “Hey, take it easy man.” You raised your hands to show surrender. “I don’t want any trouble-”

“Then why’d you stare at me?”

You blinked.

“Uh... what?”

“You were staring at me.” He repeated, a little bit slower this time like you were hard of hearing. “You stare at people, means you’re looking for a fight or you’ve got a problem with them.” The guy huffed, looking a little less miffed. “You don’t know that?”

‘Sounds like this place is way too goddamn sensitive.’ You mentally quipped, still, you kept that to yourself.

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ as you lowered your arms. “I do now though.”

He hummed, tilting his head at you inquiringly. “A’ight then, so what do you want?”

“Looking for a guy named Eminem.” You replied. “Or, you know, Marshall.” At the mention of both his artist alias and actual name, his brows raised in surprise for a moment before furrowing.

“That’s me. How’d-”

“The guy in the store told me that you had the cassettes for Infinite and all. Mind if I can snag a copy of your album?” You interrupted quickly.

His face morphed into a variety of emotions in a matter of milliseconds, ranging from surprise, to a glimmer of hope, and then back to suspicion and a mask of cynicism that he was so used to experiencing. 

He was expecting disappointment, and he was long prepared for it as he gave you a scowl.

“Look, if this is a fuckin prank or something, just say it now.”

This time you had return the sour expression, half annoyed at his negative attitude, the other half confused as to how he came to that conclusion.

“Seriously?”

Marshall shoved his hands in his pockets, lifting his chin up to glare at you in a defensive manner. “I’m serious. Why the fuck would you wanna buy my album? There’s stuff like Kid Rock in that store ‘n shit. And how the hell did you know about it?” He shrugged, nodding towards your attire. “As far as I know, cause I know you ain’t from here, you had someone tell you about it.”

He was observant, that’s for sure. Yet his matter-of-fact tone like he already knew the situation and how it was going to end made your eyes flash with anger and chip harder at your patience that was running thin.

Not like you were a very patient person to begin with.

“And you think whoever told me is asking me, a total outsider that’s not from here, to pretend to be interested in buying Infinite?” You scoffed, hardly believing your own ears right now. “Actually, I saw the poster in the store myself, believe it or not; And no, this isn’t me feeling pity or some bullshit like that. I want to buy it cause I’m interested; I ain’t fucking with you buddy.” 

The two of you stared each other down, neither letting up. You were beginning to have second thoughts, if he was so sure that you were messing around. ‘That’ll be his loss anyway.’ You thought, narrowing your eyes.

Finally, Marshall threw his hands up in an ‘oh well’ manner.

“A’ight. If you say so.” He motioned you to follow him as he fished his keys out of his pocket. “Didn’t answer my question though.”

You followed him close behind. “What, you mean why would I wanna listen to it?” He nodded, and you shrugged. “Well, call it my gut instinct; Out of all the album covers I saw, it was yours that caught my attention.”

“Uh huh... And?”

“And... I guess I had a feeling it might be worth listening to.”

“Even more than, oh, I dunno... Vanilla Ice?”

You gave him a disbelieving squint. “You serious? Nearly ruined hip-hop for me.”

Marshall didn’t say anything, but you swore you saw a ghost of a smile on his face, and you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back before asking:

“I really don’t look like someone who would be into rap music, huh?” This time, he actually broke into a brief grin. 

“Fine, you got me.” 

Unlocking the trunk of his car, he lifted the lid wide open, revealing a messy pile of cassettes, vinyl's, and CD’s, all of them Infinite. You in turn had already fished out the required six dollar cost that’ll pay more than enough for your new addition to your collection. “You know what? You’re pretty chill, my bad man.” He admitted.

You grinned, glad that you’re getting along well with him despite the rocky start. “All good, honestly I can’t blame you.” You paused before adding with a smirk. “Well, not too much, anyways.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how it is.” Raising his free hand, he stuck his middle finger at you playfully. “Well fuck you too.”

This time, it was your turn to laugh as you returned the gesture. ”Likewise.” Letting the obscene gesture stay in mid-air for a few moments, the two of you cracked up, looking away as you both tried to stifle your snickering.

“Okay, okay, seriously.” You managed to calm down and gave him a crisp ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

Marshall raised a brow as if you were crazy. “You sure ‘bout that? I mean, I ain’t gonna say no, if you were expecting that.”

You shook your head, smiling.

“I’m serious. This isn’t a charity case or anything; just think of it as a future investment.” You winked, hopefully in an encouraging way and nothing else. “I got a good feeling you’re gonna go far.”

“Well then,” he took the bill out of your hand. “At least you’ve got more faith in me than my last manager-” He was about to hand you the cassette until a familiar voice hollered from behind you, making the both of you jump.

“MAMAAAAAAA!!!”

“Oh shit-!” Whipping around, your heart dropped to your stomach as you saw Quinn practically half-hanging out of the car window, arms flailing as he waved to get your attention. You could hear the voice of your mother shouting: “Quinn! Get down from there!”

At that point, you already knew she was holding into the edge of his winter jacket, trying to yank him back into his seat.

“Uh- hold that thought.” You sheepishly gave Marshall the finger guns as you began to walk backwards, jabbing a thumb behind you. “I’ve got somebody who needs me-”

The boy waved you off. “I ain’t going anywhere, go get your kid.” you gave him a thankful smile as you turned tail and practically sprinted towards the van.

“Quinn! What are you doing?!” Grabbing him by the shoulders, you gently pushed him back into his seat. “That was really dangerous, you know!”

Your mom finally let go of his jacket. “Look, he already wants to leave!” Forcing your temper down, you leaned into the open window, letting her angrily chastise you with a stony look on your face. “Are you done? Can you get back into the car, or are you going to idle around this place and waste your time?”

“I was talking to someone-” You were cut off just as soon as you tried to explain.

“Well stop talking and let’s go!” Your mom snapped as your dad was just as ready to hop onto the bandwagon of yelling at you into listening.

“Y/N, get in the car.” He warned. “Now.”

Clenching your jaw, you whipped back around and walked a few paces away from the van, hands clenched in fists as you fought to keep your rage in check. 

Once in a while, you’d let it slide and keep your head down to avoid having to drag it out any longer. Having to hear it often  - and sometimes you really didn’t know what you did to make them scold you - was tiring.

If it weren’t for Quinn quite literally in the middle of the conflict, you would’ve blown up at them by now. But no, you couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You have to do it for him; You have to be better.

Taking in a deep breath, you strode back to the car and once again leaned into the window. Before they could say anything else, you simply announced:

“I made a friend.”

It wasn’t a lie, but to say Marshall was a ‘friend’ was a bit off. Either way, it made both your mom and dad shut up a little bit. It had been a while since you actually mentioned anything about friends, if you had any.

Your parents stared at you incredulously, not exactly understanding what you were trying to imply. “What does that have to do with anything?” Your dad demanded.

“It means: It’d be rude to just hop in the car now without saying goodbye to my ‘friend’, while we just ride all the way back to our hotel doing absolutely nothing until tomorrow. And by the way-” You gestured to the child pressing his ears shut with the palms of his hands. “You can yell at me later, okay? You’re scaring him.”

Thankfully, that seemed to have quieted everybody for now as they all looked at Quinn apologetically as he slowly lowered his hands. “Hey, baby... I’m sorry about that.” You patted his head comfortingly. “What did you want to call me over here for?”

The toddler looked back innocently. “I wanna go outside, please?”

You stared at him, exasperated. ‘Well, at least he gets right to the point.’

“What do you say?” Giving the child a stern look on your face, making yourself clear that you weren’t happy with how he handled that situation.

He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh huh. And?”

“I won’t do it again.” He mumbled. 

You sighed, stroking his hair. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear.”

Glancing inside of the car, you waved to your parents. “Just for a minute or two. The whole place is safe, don’t worry.” Smirking a little, you added: “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Not bothering to wait for their response, you swung the side door open and lifted him into your arms. “We’ll be right back!” You called to them as you kicked the side door shut and repositioned him into being held sideways like a plank of wood. “Alrighty mister, it’s time to fly!”

Quinn giggled joyously as you spun around a few times before setting him down, taking his hand in yours. “You wanna go say hi to one of my friends?” You asked him. He nodded, already more focused on avoiding the cracks in the ground than actually listening. 

Leading him back to where an amused Marshall waited, the sheepish feeling returned as you rubbed the back of your neck with your free hand. “Sorry about that,” you started. “I, ah, hope you don’t mind my nephew tagging along.”

To your surprise, Marshall’s demeanor completely shifted. You watched as he bent down, smiling warmly at the suddenly shy toddler hiding behind your leg.

“Hey little man, what’s your name?” He held his hand out, offering him a handshake, but Quinn burrowed his face into your side.

You patted his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay baby. He’s not gonna hurt you, I promise.” You reassured him soothingly. “Why don’t you introduce yourself? Think of it like it’s the first day of school and you tell the whole class your name.”

Quinn was quiet for a few moments before he slowly turned to face Marshall, sticking an arm out. “Mmh... Quinn... Am’ four.” He managed to mumble out before hiding again, though he still stuck his hand out, and Marshall gently took it, doing a little handshake. You shared an amused look with him, holding back a laugh as you both knew he looked more like a three year old than what the child claims.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Quinn.” He replied in a soft tone, one that you didn’t expect. “You got a nice name y’know? My name is Marshall, but you can call me Eminem.”

Hearing the name of one of his favorite chocolate brands, the toddler stuck his head back out. “M & M’s?” His eyes glimmered with wonder, initial shyness beginning to fade away. “Like the chocolate?”

“Yeah!” Marshall grinned. “Do you like them?” The toddler nodded. “Woah, me too! Isn’t that cool?”

You watched the two interact silently, trying not to grin. ‘Who knew a guy who acts and dresses like a gangster could do so well with kids.’ You thought as you leaned down to join the conversation. 

“Be careful honey.” You reminded him as Marshall let him see his pierced ears, tilting his head to the side so he could touch the golden hoops.

Having completely forgotten his timidness, Quinn brushed his fingers across the earrings. “Did they hurt?” He asked, admiring the shiny metal.

“A little,” he admitted. “But only for a little bit. After that, I’d completely forgotten.” Quinn nodded along.

“Mama’s got earrings too.” Both boys looked up at you. “Right Mama?”

“Right...” You trailed off, not knowing if you should correct him. 

‘I really shouldn’t have let him get away with that, calling me something that I didn’t earn the rights to.’ You thought, holding back a sigh.

“That’s your mama, huh?” Marshall asked him, to which the child eagerly replied with an “Mm hm!” 

“That’s cool, she’s a cool mom, ain’t she?” They shared a nod, which you held back a laugh. “What about your da-”

“HEY!! Hey, you wanna hold onto my music player baby?” You cut in, bitter ice rushing into your veins at the mere mention of Quinn’s dad. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice your panic as he was more eager to interact with your sacred walkman, bouncing excitedly.

You showed him the music player, holding it above his head as you laid out the ground rules.

“Alright, if you wanna hold it, promise me this: Do not drop it, do not wander off, and you have to be very, very gentle with it. Promise?”

His tiny hands reached for it. “I promise!” 

Finally relenting, you gave him the walkman as he held onto it like a priceless treasure.

“You wanna sit here buddy?” Marshall patted the edge of the open trunk, giving you a quick look that clearly meant he wanted to talk to you. You gave Quinn a nod as he looked to you for permission, and he reached his arms out to him as he was picked up in a manner that only someone who dealt with kids before could do.

“Now you’re a big man.” He patted the toddler’s head before turning to you, moving closer so he wouldn’t eavesdrop.

“What was that all about?” He asked, frowning.

You sighed, putting your hands into your pockets. “Well, first off, he’s actually my nephew.”

“Huh...” Marshall furrowed his brows. “So, where’s his mom?” You saw this was coming, but that didn’t stop you from wincing a little.

“Gone.” 

“What do you mean go- oh.” His face turned to one of realization. “Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

You shrugged in a vacant manner. “It’s all good.” You quickly changed the subject, praying he wouldn’t bring up either parent any further. “You’re pretty good with kids, have you got any younger family members at home?”

He smiled, almost shyly. “Yeah, I got a little brother, Nate.” He looked down, trying hard to contain his sense of love and pride. “And I have my little girl, she just turned one last Christmas.”

‘Ah, so that explains it.’

“Definitely says a lot about you, y’know.” You returned his expression warmly. I’m glad I bumped into you when I did, I put in a damn good investment.” 

“Aha, cause I know how to handle kids, or is it really cause of my rap skills?” Before he could hear your reply, he suddenly added: “Speaking of handling kids, you say that’s your nephew, how come he calls you mom?”

“Well-”

“Also, where’s his dad at?”

Giving him a grimace and a look that clearly showed you didn’t like to even think about the damn topic, his face turned to realization and disgust as he put the pieces together.

“Shit, he a deadbeat?!” There was heated snarl in his voice that matched the fiery rage lighting up his eyes. “Fuckin pussy jus’ fucked off and left his baby?!”

While your nod was a satisfying confirmation, his thoughts on this coward of a man weren’t. He turned away from you, muttering out insult after insult behind his breath before composing himself.

“Goddamn, I’m really sorry you have ta’ deal with that. It’s his loss, your boy’s a sweet kid.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” You replied, stealing a glance at Quinn, making sure he was still right where you left him. Sure enough, he hasn’t lost interest in your walkman at all.

“Well, there’s your answer. And judging by that look on your face, you want to ask me why the hell he calls me mom, eh?”

“Took the words outta my mouth.” He looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

You paused, feeling sheepish once again as you rubbed the back of your neck. “I mean - you know - I told you before, he’s my sister’s son. So... him calling me ‘mom’, well you know-

“-But you’re still his mom.”

You blinked in surprise, Marshall’s face turned into a slight frown.

“He sees you as his mom, and you take care of him like a mom.” He affirmed. “Doesn’t make your sister any less of his mom, but if he calls you mom, it’s cause you are his momma.”

There was silence after that, but not in an uncomfortable way; It was a few seconds of contemplative quiet, the occasional sound of cars passing by and Quinn’s fiddling with your walkman being the only background noise that gave way for a good time to consider his words.

Perhaps pausing one too many times before you finally found the words, you eventually replied: “You’re probably right.” Again, another pause as you kept your gaze to the ground, hands in your pockets. “Honestly, you’re probably the first person to tell me that; Doesn’t make me feel any better though.”

“I getchu.” Marshall nodded in understanding, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at your downturned face. “An’ I don’t blame ya, wouldn’t be surprised if your parents beat yo ass if you ever brought that shit up.”

The two of your shared a nearly humorless chuckle.

“Either way, don’t take my word for it.” He added with a shrug. “I just think he’s a real lucky kid if he gets to have a mom or aunt like you, fuck anybody who says otherwise.”

You shared eye contact, though this time it was out of mutual comprehension for each others’ situation, rather than uncertain intent of potential hostility.

While it was a pleasant interaction between two strangers, you both knew your conversation was coming to a close. After all, you had a plane to catch tomorrow morning, and he had a job to do to pay the bills and put food on the table.

“Speak of the devil,” You muttered as you heard the obvious noise of the family van’s engine creeping. “I ain’t gonna keep you for much longer, you probably-”

“-Yeah, yeah.” He was quick to finish, suddenly feeling awkward. “Shit, it was nice talking to ya. But- yeah - I got stuff to do, working on my next album-”

“Oh shoot, really?” It was a sudden knee-jerk reply, likely feeble in attempting to make the moment last a bit longer. “Damn, you know when you’re gonna release it?”

Marshall made a mix between a grimace and a pondering look as he made the guesswork in his head. 

“Probably... maybe late this year or early next year. Gonna try somethin different, like, ‘fuck everyone’ kinda different. How ‘bout you?” He inquires.

Tilting your chin in acknowledgement, you replied: “Yeah, I got an audition coming up in a few days in New York. It’s supposed to be some sort of minor role in this… fighting movie? Not too sure yet.”

“Oh, word?!” Marshall looks a little shocked, eyes wide. “Shit, I got a movie star buying my album. That’s dope.”

You huffed an amused chortle. “Hey, don’t get your hopes up yet. I’ve got a couple dozen other people I need to compete against if I ever want to get another callback or a test screening.”

He replies with a confident glint in his eye. “You’ll make it, like I said: Fuck anybody who says otherwise.”

You grinned. “Fuck anybody who says otherwise.”

He holds out his hand, and you return it with a firm clasp and a shoulder bump.

“Hey, you know whether if your next album is mailable or not?” You asked, and he raises a brow quizzically.

“I mean, you could ask my manager if you’re that desperate? You got a pen’n’paper? I ain’t usin mine...”

Like a remote controlled button press, you reached into the inside pocket of your hoodie and whipped out your notebook, pen clipped to the cover. “Does this technically count as an autograph?” You thought aloud, to which he laughed.

“If it is, you’re the first one asking for it.” Taking the pen and notebook from your hands, he flipped to a blank page and quickly jotted down the contact info. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

As he handed your notes back, you quickly glanced down to skim over his writing, seeing the name ‘Paul Rosenberg’ on it. Noticing another name at the bottom corner of the page, your brows raised, intrigued.

“Slim Shady?” You read out.

Marshall tilted his head up proudly. “My new alias; Gonna be the side of me that holds nothin back next album. Jus’ you wait.”

You smirked, giving him a look of approval. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Quinn broke focus off of your walkman as you called for him, letting him know it was time to head back. Shuffling himself off of the car trunk, he toddled his way over to you, taking your awaiting hand, taking the walkman back and putting it in your pocket.

“Nice meeting you Marshall.” You gave him one last nod, which he returns with a faint smile, before you leaned down to Quinn’s ear. “What do you say to the nice man?”

Quinn turned to face Marshall, looking a bit sad, but far less shy than he was initially. “Thank you...”

Marshall chuckled, giving the toddler a pat on the head. “No problem lil’ man. You take care of yourself, aight?”

Nodding, Quinn waved as you slowly led him back to the van. “Bye!” He eagerly waved with his free hand, not breaking eye contact until he heard the door of the van open, and he climbs into his booster seat obediently.

Buckling him in, you slide the door shut and go to climb in on the other side, but not before turning around to call out to him one last time.

“Hey Marshall!”

“Yeah?”

“Remember me once you’re famous, okay?”

The surprise on his face was one to remember, just as much as the loud and joyful “HA!” he lets out; One that he really needed, before hollering back:

“Only if you remember me once you’ve made it big, baby!”

Your face breaks into a massive grin that you couldn’t remember ever doing in ages, as you give him one last salute.

‘I’ll be holding you to that… Slim Shady.’

——————

A/n: IT’S DONE. IT’S FINALLY DONE, HOLY SHOT.

*me literally saying that chapters would be quicker when I posted chapter 1*

*five months later*

*me, sweating like a sinner in church*

HHHHHHHHH-

I’m Canadian, the amount of apologizing is normal don’t worry-

But for real. I’m so sorry. Thank you all so much for your patience. I hope I was able to deliver and that it was worth the wait. I promise you guys, the reason it took so long was me constantly rewriting the conversations you and Marshall were having. I needed it to feel right, and I’m still feeling it’s not completely right, but it’s maybe right enough.

If you read this far, thank you very much and I hope things will be much better and quicker from here on out!!! &lt;3

[juliettedunn]

Luz’s Softness in Thanks to Them

We all knew Luz was going to have an angst arc in Thanks to Them. Her angst had been building long before then, and King’s Tide was the final straw.

Angst is popular in characters like Amity and Hunter, who act cold and mean as a result of deep pain on the inside. If they cry, it’s in secret, hidden away from anyone who might see through their confident persona. The “bad but sad boy” / “I act like I don’t care but I secretly do” type, to quote Luz.

That’s not what Luz does. Luz cries multiple times in  front of others in Thanks to Them, and even has an emotional outburst in front of her teacher in classmates.

It’s the classroom scene that has a lot of people saying Luz is being “cringey,” and that they have to cover their eyes from “second-hand embarrassment.” I’ve seen post after post mocking that scene, saying Luz needs to “sit down and shut up” and that she has a “y/n complex.”

Whether a vulnerable person gets sympathy or ridicule from others is based on mysterious standards of what are acceptable and unacceptable ways to act when we are at our worst. And what is acceptable for some isn’t acceptable for others (white favoritism, especially in the fandom’s response to Hunter’s over-the-top emotional displays vs Luz). 

Luz’s outburst in the classroom was highly impulsive and not something many would do, but Luz doesn’t know how to ask for help, not when she feels too guilty to confide in her friends and family.

Luz is at best passively suicidal in TTT. It’s actually one of the first times she DOESN’T see herself as the main character, she sees herself as the selfish villain, the “evil Lucy” rather than the good witch Azura. Her self esteem is at an all time low, to where she doesn’t think she truly deserves love.

It’d be so easy to lock herself away, bottle those feelings inside and turn cold. Many thought this was the direction her character was headed in. And Luz does indeed isolate and keep her inner feelings secret.

But she remains soft and tender-hearted, constantly cheering on her friends and supporting Hunter through his hardships even when she herself is at her worst. She even lets her silliness peek through, calling a possum a “little angel.”

Despite her low self esteem, she very clearly WANTS someone to help her and intervene. She wouldn’t have had the classroom outburst if she didn’t think there was some worth in making her feelings clear, some hope that someone might respond to her and perhaps tell her something different. Which makes it even more heartbreaking when the class gives her a weirded out look and then ignores her.

If someone behaves this way in real life, it should be taken as a serious warning sign, not as a “Oh my god that’s so cringe” moment. 

You can see multiple times in the episode Luz fighting her depression, like when she goes to cuddle with Camila. When she asks Camila to let her stay in her bed, it struck me how amazing she really is for being able to do that.

Luz feels she doesn’t deserve to live, yet she still desperately wants to. She wants to hold on so much that she manages to seek comfort, despite her guilt telling her she shouldn’t be receiving it.

When I was her age and in her mental state, I didn’t have the ability to do something like that. Seeking help when you’re in that kind of state is one of the hardest things to do, and Luz does it multiple times.

For people to call her a cringey embarrassment for having an outburst is in very poor taste, and a bad sign for how we view signs of mental illness in real life.

Not everyone who angsts will be like Hunter and Amity, becoming aggressive and/or cold towards others. Not everyone can hide behind thick skin. Some become softer and more sensitive, cry more easily. The latter is in fact the healthier and often more difficult option. 

Some expected a cold, withdrawn cynic, hiding away her emotions. Instead we got a messy, tender-hearted girl desperately seeking help in impulsive outbursts.

The fandom is finally starting to focus on her angst and trauma, but let’s not forget the strength that lies in her unfaltering softness as well.

Luz is a loving, kind, strong, beautiful disaster, and she deserves better from this fandom.

[blindmagdalena]

Hello, how about a request of Homelander x fem reader slow dancing with each other. At a Vought party, or just the two of them alone with soft music.

The nature of Homelander’s relationship with you isn’t one of simple romance. It’s transformative. Through you, so much of the world has been made new to him.

Music, for example, has taken on an entirely new meaning. Formerly, he’d only ever viewed it as a utilitarian thing. Instruments fill the conversational lulls during parties, giving him something rhythmic to focus on. It’s better than the endless cacophony of a hundred human bodies breathing, swallowing, pulsing, and nattering on. 

Jingles carry their capitalist agenda and nest worm-like into consumers’ ears. Songs on the radio sell love, lipstick and laughter. All of it is perfectly engineered for the demographic with the most spending power.

Now, music is your arms around his neck, your body moving with his. It’s the one two three four, one two three four your lips move to as you track your steps. Music is one of the many products of the world that you utilize so naturally to express your love and your joy. He would have been cynical about it if not for the fact you use it to express your love for him.

At the sound of your voice, Homelander snaps out of his thoughts. He blinks several times, refocusing on your eyes. You’re smiling, as soft and warm as summer sunlight, while music wafts through the penthouse. The sway of your bodies has become so practiced, he had zoned out for a moment. “What?”

You huff a little laugh. “I said you’re getting good at this,” you say, leaning in to press your lips to his. He reciprocates eagerly, once again committing to memory the feel of your smile against his. You’re right. He used to be worse at this, stiffer. He was better at structured dances, where he moved and followed the math of it in his head. Letting himself relax into the music itself was another beast entirely, but with time, you’ve coaxed it from him.

After you kiss him, you ask, “Where’d you go?” 

“Not far,” he says quietly. “Thinking about you.” “While I’m right here?”

“Can’t imagine what else I’d wanna think about.” “Smooth talker,” you accuse, a pleased glint in your eye. “What about me?”

“Your powers,” he says, the answer coming easily to him. Your brows pinch slightly. You aren’t a supe, but before you can remind him as much, he continues, “You change things. You make meaningless things mean something.” Your features ease, your smile turning sentimental. He relishes in the scope of influence he has over you, how unguarded you are in your responses to him. No calculations, no reservations, no agenda. It’s just you.

“What brought this on?” You ask, voice brimming with fondness.

“This,” he says, emphasizing the movement of his body with yours, pulling you into a deeper sway. “Music. Dancing. Home. Life. You made it all… different.”

“Different good?” You ask, though you both know the answer. Your smile tells him as much. He pauses the dance to pull you into his arms, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep the sweet smell of you. As you have a thousand times, you accept him into your arms. You may not have his strength, but the power of your embrace is undeniable. He has never felt more secure. Holding you against him, he gently lifts into the air, savoring the sharp little inhale you take in, and the way you tighten your grip around him. You instinctively step onto his feet as he lifts, steadying yourself. The familiarity and intimacy of it never ceases to soothe the aching, empty pit that lingers inside him, ever craving even the simplest shows of your love. Floating like this, the rest of the world falls completely away. He's no longer aware of the thrum of the earth beneath him. He can focus entirely on you.

“Different good,” he confirms, closing his eyes. He presses his lips to your pulse point, and loses himself to the melody of it.

[galeorderbride]

Could I request headcanons for Raphael, Haarlep, Cal, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with GN Tav who is a martial pacifist please?

Got you anon! I did my best with Haarlep and Dammon, I hope you like them all! Also, I admit I had to google what a martial pacifist was lol, I live under a rock. Pray I did it right!!

More requests are going to be rolling out!! Keep an eye out :)

HC under the cut!

Headcanons for Zevlor, Cal, Rolan, Dammon, Raphael, Haarlep (in that order) with GN!Tav

Zevlor:

This type of person has to be Zevlor’s favourite (or one of them). While calling him a pacifist is a stretch, given he’s a hellrider and sort of a solider at heart, but he isn’t arbitrary with his violence. He leaves it as a last resort. For example, in the grove, his consideration to kill Kagha is not taken lightly and framed as a last resort. While he’s willing to do that to keep his people safe, he seems rather reluctant and even a little worried about things coming to that.

To see Tav in all their peace, prioritising discussion and talking disputes down rather than with force is incredibly admirable to him. He’d strive to be like that every day, and it seems to come naturally to Tav! While his utmost respect would be quiet, he’d never want to make you uncomfortable by overstating how he feels, he’d smile a bit every time he’d hear or see you resolving an issue with words alone. Convincing everyone involved that they all won out in the end.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that punch Tav threw at Aradin, right before the raging adventurer struck Zevlor himself. And even more when you returned with your companions to announce they’d finished off every goblin they could find. Knowing now that Tav could dole out punishment as much as they could peace, if it meant protecting the vulnerable. His affection for Tav would definitely sprout from this practical, moral approach to conflict, as it’s something he’d try to emulate if he could.

Cal:

Cal would feel similarly to Zevlor, maybe even more! He’s always trying to calm the less cool heads of his siblings when they argue, although he definitely isn’t always successful. Cal strikes me as someone who wants to avoid violence and confrontation in general, even if he may be a bit more capable of fighting than some other tieflings at the grove.

He’s gentle at heart, so of course he’d be drawn to Tav with a similar energy! Though, unlike Zevlor, he might feel a bit nervous when he first sees them throw a punch after they see an injustice. Maybe a Druid bullying one of the tieflings, or one of Aradin’s adventurers spewing the word ‘hell spawn’ loud enough for Tav to hear. A panicked heartbeat within Cal as he witnesses Tav socking someone in the face with the fury of Avernus.

After the first time seeing it, he’d come to love it! No longer worried that the pacifism was simply a mask for a bigger darkness, but rather a strong sense of justice that Tav hates to be compromised. Not to mention, the two of you as a team works best when one of you can at least be forceful!

Rolan:

Might see Tav’s pacifism as an ‘act’ initially. Seeing how popular and trustworthy they became to the rest of the tieflings. Rolan, as with everyone he meets, approaches them with a hint of cynical suspicion. Look at them, he’d think, traipsing about like a bloody folk hero! He’d question their reason, see that they had no material benefit to just being…decent. Yet they do, every time. How puzzling. How frustrating.

At least Tav would have some flaw. Their peaceful nature juxtaposed with the lack of a backbone, maybe. Something to make them a little less perfect. Only to find Aradin skulking about with his posse in their little hideaway. Bruised on the side of his face from what appeared to be a rough punch. Lakrissa told him that Tav intervened in a conflict between him and Zevlor, swinging at Aradin before the human could do it himself. No wonder he was packing up quickly, mumbling tiefling slurs under his breath as he declared himself ‘done with this hellhole’. So, not only was Tav a much-too-good Samaritan, they also fashioned themselves a paragon of justice.

He wished, at first, that they didn’t need someone like Tav to stand up for them. But even he isn’t immune to the charms of someone with such natural kindness. Especially at the celebration after the goblins were dealt with. When he performed a small incantation for Cal and Lia, and Tav watched behind them. Waves of lavender weave dotted like fireworks above him, and they clapped with an enthused smile. Rolan joked with his siblings to stave off the tingling warmth in his stomach when Tav applauded, embarrassing little butterflies that told him he’d have no choice but to warm up to this folk hero adventurer.

Dammon:

Excitement, through and through. Of course, Dammon appreciates Tav’s kindness and patience with others, a natural desire to help. What a rare thing to see anywhere, he’d think, especially for Tieflings. But with that appreciation comes a vexing feeling when he sees them in action, standing up for the ‘little guy’ as they say, ready to go in swinging when they’ve been wronged. A heat around his cheeks and chest to rival Avernus. He was never a fighter himself, how odd that he still had a thing for danger.

For Dammon, a moral pacifist is a match made in heaven. Senseless violence and carnage is not only unacceptable, but a reminder of his time in Avernus, no matter how nostalgic he can be for his access to infernal metals down there. Tav isn’t confrontational for the sake of it, but chooses their battles carefully, and always with a moral justification. Dammon enjoys the sight of them in their combative element, knowing he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it because it comes from a good place.

He’d ask Tav for infernal iron where they can find it, hoping they give him a little extra so he can forge a weapon for them. A token of his appreciation, he’d say, to stay coy about the real reason he so affectionately worked on this piece. A growing crush and fascination that comes to a head at the celebration when he presents you with a new sword or dagger forged from the fires of the hells themselves. A gift to ‘slay the unjust’, he says to Tav, as they ponder the future obstacles of their journey. He doesn’t wish to part from them so soon, but he’s glad to remember that they carry something from him the whole way.

Raphael:

Treats Tav’s nature as a game, like with anything. He’d want to see just how deep that peaceful nature runs before it inevitably snaps in two. And he’d relish over the thought of Tav losing themselves to him, to show just how much he could have an impact. More than he’d ever care to admit, Raphael comes up with ways to push Tav’s buttons, strategies for sowing cynicism into their pure, little mind. All the reason for them to draw over to him, become more than a reluctant ally.

The fire that latently crackles within them is like an infinite-act play. He watches them and their companions from afar, waiting to see the next person to suffer the unexpected ire of the golden folk hero, ready to help the next unfortunate sap they come across. Laughing to himself when he sees them let their rage consume them. He wonders where that inner turmoil came from, what tragic event occurred to have them so on guard all the time. If only he knew…the ways he could use that information.

Still, the inimitable kindness is rather…twee. There is something endearing about Tav’s ability to constantly see the good in things. In a sickeningly sweet sort of way. Most mortals break after a day or so with the arrogant musings of their fellow human (or elf or otherwise). Ultimately, Raphael believes mortals are all selfish at heart, even if they spend their limited lives trying to deny that. Tav has a certain resilience he hasn’t seen before, he should give them that.

Haarlep:

Wants more than anything to unlock that less-than-moral side of Tav. Haarlep wishes to lock into the baser desires possessed by all mortals, even the most decent ones. That constant need to settle scores with peaceful dialogue and compromise can only go so far before the desire to ‘let go’ becomes too strong to resist. How irresistible it would be to convince them to lose themselves in him, so he could leave a wicked little piece of himself within them as they go on their moral crusade. Knowing that even in the lightest, most benevolent of deeds, his pointed, forked tongue would still whisper in their ear.

Choosing battles requires strength, the mental fortitude to not fly off the handle when things get too stressful. And Haarlep takes the most enjoyment out of making the strong fall weak to his influence. And he’d shower them in adoration for giving in to that constant ecstasy he could give them if they just say the word.

This isn’t to say he’d want to strip Tav of all their moral righteousness. No, that’s part of the fun, if he can convince them to let him please them. A dangerous, erogenous selfishness left only for him to experience. The idea of being the one creature in the realms Tav doesn’t have to assist with anything, he’s perfectly capable of doing all of that on his own. As long as he can still pepper those little parts of him within their soul, embedded there forevermore.

[moodymisty]

Not the same anon but you remember that Death with cold and cynical s/o after the Well of Souls thing? I'm kinda intrigued about how that works, so can I request a oneshot for that?

Btw, after reading that entire thing, it sounds a bit like "Just Look My Way" from Helluva Boss.

Author's Note: Hello! I had a bit of trouble with this one, but I hope you still enjoy it :3 I'm trying to get the last few of the SFW requests done since the NSFW ones are becoming so long XD I'm proud of them, but they tend to take longer and get drawn out.

Relationships: Death/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1374

Death wouldn't consider himself unfamiliar with the feeling of death, as joking as it might sound to himself.

However the Well of Souls however had felt, different. It feels like no time has passed at all, like a blink of an eye; Though he can tell by the leaves on the trees and the structures around the Tri-Forge than more than a fair bit of time has passed.

A part of him had considered not even making this stop. His 'death' at the Well of Souls could serve as a perfect severing point between him and the Makers realm. He could just add it to the list of places he's traveled through and throw it behind him.

But he just couldn't do it. Against his better judgement, he just needs to make sure.

He'd never said goodbye to you, never told you where he was going; He'd just left you at the Tri-Forge, and had trusted in the Makers to keep you safe. He's sure they've done a fine job of that, in his absence. As much as he might've complained, he can't think of many at all that he trusts as much.

Death dismisses Despair and walks into the Tri-Forge, and within moments he can feel as if something is off.

He's quite familiar with feeling unwelcome in any place unfortunate enough to have him present, but even this is a bit... intense.

The Makers on first glance can't contain their surprise at seeing the Reaper again, before it quickly sours. Death wonders how long he's really been gone; He imagines not much longer than a season, if the weather is anything to go by. It had been quite warm the last time he'd been here, and now the Makers realm is quite a bit colder.

He continues forward, and it's not longer after he passes the outer forges that he crosses the old warrior he remembers from the beginning of that long journey that led him to the Well of Souls.

Valus gives him one cold look; For once the reaper might've preferred seeing Alya.

"You have quite the pair to come back around here again after what you did."

Death lets out a quiet scoff. He knows what the Maker is referring to, but decides to beat around it. Why he can't hazard a guess, it slips from his lips behind the mask before he has a chance to really stop it.

"After what? Attempting to save War? I believe you all helped me in that endeavor, last I remember."

Valus crosses his arms across the expanse of his chest, and nods in the direction deeper into the forge.

"You have a lot to work on, Reaper. You might be able to talk like that to me, but you ain't gonna do that with them."

So you're still here. That fills him with more relief than he'd ever dare utter out loud. He doesn't know why he even thought you would be gone- the Human realm is still off limits, as well as a crumbling wreckage.

Valus, as much as it seems to physically hurt the Maker, directs him in your direction before not giving the reaper much more than a scornful parting glare. Death takes it in stride- it isn't the first time- and keeps moving until he finds you.

But he can't contain the raising of his posture when he sees you, your back turned to him. You don't seem to know he's here as of yet, occupied with something else.

He notices in your lap is Dust; He'd put the bird in charge of keeping an eye on you shortly before he had 'died'. He'll give the bird a piece of carrion for sticking though with it. Though he isn't very much surprised, as the bird had taken a liking to you quite quickly. It helps that you were more than eager to snuggle and give the bird scritches, unlike himself.

You tenderly scratch the bird on the back of the neck and earn an appreciative warble, before the crow notices him and abruptly begins to squawk, jumping on your thigh and flapping his wings. You look down at him and pinch his beak for a moment, trying to distract the bird.

"Quiet Dust, geez." The bird fluffs up and continues to caterwaul, until his old master finally speaks up.

"I don't appreciate you yelling at me, bird."

He notices your body tense up and raise suddenly, and you look over your left and see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. The crow lowers his tone and still warbles deep in his throat, but stops the flapping and alarm bells.

And then your face drops back to neutral, and you turn away.

Dust hops gently on your thigh and looks up at you, taking a chunk of your clothing in his beak and attempting to pull at it. He gets gently brushed to stop doing it, and settles back into a fluffy black loaf.

Death takes the hit to his pride a bit harder than perhaps he should have, considering his attempts to feign nonchalance for anything other than your fragile mortality. He had expecting you to have that brightness to your eyes and jump up and run to him, like you'd had the myriad of times he'd left you for even the shortest while. He'd thought it was annoying, but now he finds himself almost craving it as your back faces him. He misses the happiness, the energy. It's like it's all evaporated from you now.

This is what Valus was referring to, it seems.

"Quite the greeting," He says, gesturing with his hand for his crow to finally return to his master. His duty is done after all, he did what Death asked of him.

Dust distinctly hesitates for a moment, before eventually giving in and flying back to rest on the top of Harvester. Meanwhile you turn around and give him a venomous look, crossing your arms.

"You gave so little of a shit about me you couldn't even say goodbye, Death." You just shrug your shoulders and turn away, like you can even tolerate the look of his mask. "Now that you picked up your bird, you can leave. I'm sure you have somewhere much more important to be. I'll be fine with the Makers." "Though I doubt that was ever a concern for you."

He supposes that you aren't wrong to think that. He never did tell you more than what he absolutely had to. In that moment, and the many times he'd neglected to tell you things beforehand, he thought he was doing the best thing. And keeping his feelings at arms length.

Keeping yours at arms length too; He could tell you were getting more and more attached to him, and that he needed to keep it from happening before you ended up too entrenched in something that would only end up getting you killed.

But he hates the way that your admittance to thinking he doesn't care about you hurts.

He does care; Far too much, if Death had any say in it.

He gives far too much of a care for someone as old and dejected as him. One of the first things that came to his mind when he left the Well of Souls was you.

He supposes this was bound to happen. Everyone eventually comes to hate him, in the end. It's his lot in life.

Though this one hurts far worse, and he finds himself wishing to fix it far more than any of the others. To make matters worse, his crow hefts himself off of his scythe and returns to you, as you get up and move to walk away.

As you pass he raises his hand ever so slightly to grab your arm and stop you- he doesn't even know what he'd say to you if he did- but drops it. You don't notice, and keep walking away right past him.

Death supposes he deserves this.

But while he finds himself unsure on what to do, he knows he has to do something. He isn't going to let you go like all of the others that have wandered through his life. He just doesn't know where to start.

[f0rlorn]

better in the dark → coral

coral!tbosas x reader

a/n → i have the feeling that my writing has been getting progressively worse (it’s getting short and sloppy + my grammar is slipping) because i’ve been trying to write so much all at once lol so i maybe just maybe will take a short break before posting anything else

notes → in which you savor some of the last moments you will have with coral before the games, even though you can hardly see her. feminine intended reader

warnings → possibly the WORST thing i’ve written (but i still want you to read it lol), sorry guys, inspo is low at the moment. very very ooc coral in my opinion. not edited & uploaded via iphone

     coral’s hands brushed yours as she reached them through the bars. you allowed her to grab onto them, shivering at her icy touch. even though it was the middle of a rather hot summer, nights still grew chilly.

     “we’ll meet again tomorrow morning to have a final goodbye.“ you informed her in a whine, she hummed in response. for some reason, saying it out loud hurt. but the ache in your heart seemed to waver as coral reached a hand up to cup your face, causing you to look her in the eyes for the first time tonight. you were afraid that if you made eye contact with her you wouldn’t be able to let her go, but it was too late now. mentally, you cursed yourself for how fast you got attached to people. in the two weeks that coral had been in the capitol, you were sure you had fallen in love with her. and maybe you had been looking at her through rose colored glasses, but even then, rose colored glasses had no effect in the dark night. deep down you knew you had fallen for her. 

     no matter how much time you spent preparing her, there was no guarantee that she would win the games. out of the other girls, sure, she was one of the strongest. but the guys were what you worried about. reaper and tanner posed a huge threat to the girl, but coral assured you that she could handle it. not to mention jessup, who was easily the biggest and strongest tribute of them all. your mind was working overtime as you brainstormed all of the different ways she could win, and the possibilities of her being killed. you were so focused that you hadn’t realized you were biting your lip, almost to the point of drawing blood. it wasn’t until coral began gliding her thumb over your knuckles that you were taken out of your trance.

     “what’s wrong?” she asked you, mildly concerned. 

     “just… thinking about what could happen out there.” you admitted, eyes softening.

     “i told you already, baby, don’t you worry about me. i’ve got it covered.” she smiled reassuringly at you, though you could hardly tell because of how dimly lit it had become now. it was almost like the moon was hiding from you. you felt as if she was far too calm for someone in her situation, it irked you. while you had been beyond anxious all day on behalf of coral, here she was, all mellow in the face of death. maybe it was just a facade on coral’s part, but you felt helpless at the fact that you didn’t know how to properly help her.

     “but coral, i’m your mentor!” you reminded her, as well as yourself. bringing up your status reminded you that falling in love with a district tribute would be more than looked down upon in your society. “it’s my job to worry about you-“ you stated, but were cut off as she pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips to yours. you melted into her touch, unable to stop yourself from leaning in closer. but sadly, the kiss seemed to end as soon as it started.

     “that shut you up,” she teased, smirking. 

     “you can’t just… you can’t just do that!” you complained in a huff, pouting.

     “you won’t allow a dead woman one last kiss? you monster!” coral joked, chuckling silently.

     “don’t say that either, coral. you’re not going to die.” it seemed more like a bitter attempt to convince yourself rather than coral. besides, you were supposed to be the cynical one here, not her. but then again, she had every right to feel that way. when twenty-four go in and only one comes out, it was easy to feel hopeless. who were you to dictate how she felt? you felt like a terrible, entitled person, and maybe you were. but coral seemed to look past that. you avoided her eyes once more, looking down at your shoes instead in guilt.

     “i’m just joking, pretty girl.” she remarked, but her tone seemed more solemn now. your eyes wandered back to hers. silence hung in the air as a few moments passed.

     “is it bad that i might love you?” the question slipped from your mouth in a single breath. 

     “yes,” was her grim reply. it broke your heart to hear, even if she was probably right. but that didn’t stop her from pulling you close once more, pressing her lips against yours passionately. thank goodness for the dark. if she had seen you in this moment with your nose runny, puffy, red eyes from crying so much, and cheeks flushed, you were sure you would die of embarrassment. but all your emotions seemed to flutter away when she was this close to you now. when her lips were on yours, nothing in the past, present, or future mattered, it was just coral and you.

[scarlet--wiccan]

good afternoon in a avengers issue quicksilver was like Wanda is the only one who love me am I the only one who was bothered by that I mean what about Luna maximoff she adores him like my dude I love his character but he can be a bit of a you know what let’s keep this kid friendly he is a bit of a fart nugget I don’t like how marvel keep skipping over her anyway that is my opinion what do you think on it

Good afternoon! This is my inbox, not a private chat. If you have a question or are seeking any kind of information/critical analysis from me, I would really appreciate you making an effort to write legibly. I'm not saying this to be judgmental-- it's not a matter of language, it's just a matter of respect. Most people can do better than firing off a run-on stream of thought with no punctuation.

And if you want to ask me about a specific issue or incident, please cite the series title and issue number. There's no guarantee that I can know what comic you're talking about otherwise.The Avengers has been around for over 60 years-- "a avengers issue" tells me nothing.

I assume that you are asking about The Avengers (2023) #14, which is part of the Blood Hunt event. In it, Pietro has joined an ad hoc group of Avengers to take down the vampires attacking New York City, but his main goal is to rescue Wanda, who has been taken captive by the vampire leaders. Each of the heroes in this issue are introduced with a brief inner monologue, and Pietro's describes how he's driven away most of the people in his life except for his sister, who, in Pietro's words, is the one person left who loves him.

The purpose of this scene is to introduce Pietro as a new character to the book, as it's his first appearance in this volume, and establish his primary motive-- rescuing Wanda-- along with relevant information about his background and personality. All of these elements come into play, and are given greater nuance, as the story progresses, but this is just the introduction. These are extremely common writing conventions.

Pietro's impatience, prickly attitude, and personal priorities create tension with his teammates, but those tensions are resolved when Pietro demonstrates that he can be patient and cooperative when he needs to be. He is not being a "fart nugget," as you so evocatively described him-- he's actually showing a lot of growth, while still maintaining core personalities traits that have been part of his character for 60 years.

As for Luna-- she's not being overlooked here, as she and Crystal are mentioned at the top of Pietro's monologue, where he indicates that he has driven them away. Again, this is a simplification, but it's not untrue-- Pietro and Crystal have been estranged for a long time, and while Luna does love her father, but I wouldn't say she adores him. You might have missed it, but there was a whole decade or so where their relationship was really rocky after Pietro stole Terrigen crystals and coerced Luna into undergoing unregulated Terrigenesis. He initially lied and blamed these actions on a Skrull shapeshifter, but because of her powers, Luna knew the truth. Pietro eventually came clean, and Luna did forgive him, but she has a much more cynical view of him now. Pietro doesn't have custody of Luna, and her appearance in Scarlet Witch was the first indication in years that that even see each other any more-- in 2018's Quicksilver: No Surrender, Pietro saves Luna from an energy monster while lamenting that they're basically strangers.

Luna was an important presence in the late-90s Quicksilver series, had big plotlines with Pietro in the wake of HoM, was a very present and active character in All-New X-Factor, and has had cameos in every Quicksilver or Scarlet Witch-titled series in the last six years. As far as children of divorce go in superhero comics, that's actually pretty good. If it feels like she's not getting enough page time, maybe it's because Pietro himself doesn't get as much page time as he should, on top of the fact that the Inhumans have been basically shelved since 2018.

[im-a-wonderling]

Eyes, Part 4 ~ Darth Vader

Again, not edited, but that’s whatcha get I guess 😂

Warnings: none?

Word count: 3k

Eyes masterlist

Vader had never been in the cafeteria. 

He didn’t enjoy public spaces much anymore, not when they were full of people. 

With eyes. 

That stared. 

Even though all the various workers dutifully avoided looking at him when he could see them, he knew that as soon as his back was turned, they were ogling him. The hum of chatter in the air was just a cover, a front to make it seem like they were all behaving normally. Being here, where they could all see him and talk about him, it made him beyond uncomfortable. 

But it was worth it if Y/N would just eat. 

“Something wrong…with the food?”

“Do you really think I’m going to eat anything you give me?” Y/N’s arms remained firmly crossed. 

Vader’s eyes flicked to the cafeteria tray in front of her. “I didn’t give you that…the cafeteria worker did.”

A scoff fell from her lips. “The cafeteria worker works for you.” She gestured at the people around them. “Everyone here works for you.”

Vader withheld his sigh. Cynicism saved lives every day, and after all she’d been through in the past few months, Y/N more than earned her share of it. But he was unused to her being this way with him, this…cold. 

“Just take a bite,” Vader tried to coax. For all her stubbornness, she’d never been able to resist his pleas for long. “You need to eat.” Her only response was to raise an eyebrow at him. 

This time, his sigh couldn’t be contained. “Please eat.” The word felt strange coming out of his mouth. Even before being encased in this suit, he hadn’t often used that word. 

Please. 

By saying it, the sayer placed themselves in only the good graces of others. And Vader never much liked relying on others. 

If Y/N was surprised to hear him say it, it didn’t show on her face. She lifted her fork with a bite of food on it, extending it towards him. “You first.” 

He almost leaned forward, instinctively opening his mouth to accept the challenge. And then the reminder of his circumstances landed like a blow to his gut. 

He couldn’t. 

Not anymore. 

Frustration crawling over his skin, he turned to the stormtrooper eating closest to them and read the number on the helmet placed beside his meal. 

“DA-4509!” he barked. 

The cafeteria went instantly silent, all eyes turning towards their table. 

The stormtrooper leapt to his feet. “Yes, Darth Vader, sir!”

“Eat a bite of this food.”

Y/N instantly recoiled the fork. “Don’t,” she said sharply, and Vader wasn’t sure if she spoke to him or to DA-4509. 

The stormtrooper hovered, uncertainty written all over his face. “Well?” Vader asked, and DA-4509 stumbled forward, like he’d been pushed. 

Y/N shielded her food. “Stop it,” she hissed, clearly talking to Vader this time. “I’ll eat it, just stop.”

Vader surveyed her for a moment, trying to discern if she was telling the truth. He finally waved his hand at the stormtrooper. “Dismissed.” 

DA-4509 looked relieved as he went back to his own meal. 

The chatter in the cafeteria didn’t resume, but Vader pushed the discomfort away. “Well?” he said again, quieter. 

For a good while, Y/N didn’t move. She just sat there, watching him, her eyes traveling the mask like she’d never seen it before. Then, she slowly raised the fork to her mouth and ate the first bite. 

Sharp relief shot through Vader, so sweet it almost ached. The feeling surprised him. It shouldn’t have. Y/N was the most important person in his life. To see her being taken care of was to draw in a breath after nearly drowning.

Y/N’s eyes remained on Vader the whole meal, which she ate surprisingly slow, given how hungry she must’ve been. Vader didn’t want to think about what could be tainting her appetite, but he was pretty sure he already knew. 

Seeing him like this, it had to be quite the shock for her. 

He swallowed hard, trying to push against the disgust. The emperor saved him. Vader owed him everything for this cold, synthetic body. 

But seeing through Y/N’s eyes made him feel decrepit. And heavy. So, so heavy.

Y/N finally pushed her empty plate away. “What happens now?” she asked.

“Now,” Vader said, “we resume our conversation.”

Y/N glanced around them, and Vader couldn’t tell if she was nervous about the amount of people around them or if she was avoiding looking at him. 

“If you–”

“My lord?”

Vader wanted to rip out the vocal cords that had just interrupted him. “What?” he growled without looking away from Y/N. Y/N worked hard to conceal her flinch, but Vader knew her too well to be fooled. 

“My lord, pardon the interruption, but the emperor wants to speak with you. Immediately.” 

Vader closed his eyes, letting out an aggravated breath. 

He couldn’t keep the emperor waiting. 

Vader rose to his feet to face the man in a dark suit. “You will escort the lady to her chambers and ensure that the door is guarded by two stormtroopers.” 

The man nodded, and Vader took off towards his chambers. 

When he reached the doorway to the cafeteria, he almost looked back. 

But instead, he stood straighter and continued walking.

-

“Anakin,” you laughed, “what are you doing?”

The Jedi Knight glanced over his shoulder at you, balancing precariously on the fallen tree that crossed the river. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re training to join the Coruscant circus.”

Anakin’s warm laughter joined yours as he carefully turned to face you. “You think I’d do something like that without you doing it with me?”

“I don’t think Master Windu would appreciate losing either of us to something so frivolous.” 

“If anything, he should be grateful. He needs a laugh.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep from smiling. “Anakin–”

He held out his hand towards you. “Come on, we’re just crossing the river.”

You didn’t even think about it before putting your hand in his. It was automatic. 

Grinning, he helped you onto the log, bringing you to stand so close beside him, your arms brushed. Your heart sped up for reasons other than how far away the surface of frigid water looked. He guided you forward, in front of him. Together, you walked across the log, nearing the other side of the river. 

A sudden rush of heat hit you, and with wide eyes, you glanced down to see the water of the river had turned to lava and the tree had morphed into a metal bridge. “Ani?” you asked, your voice trembling. 

But when you looked back, it wasn’t Anakin standing behind you. 

It was the suit. 

You pulled your hand away, holding it tight to your chest. 

“Join me,” Vader said, his voice echoing. 

You drew away from him. “No.”

“Together, we’ll rule the galaxy!”

“No!”

The bridge underneath your feet started to shudder, throwing you off your feet. Behind you, the end of the bridge crumbled, and you started to slide towards the lava.

Vader’s hand was still within reach. “Join me!”

You glanced behind you. The lava was creeping ever closer, the violent heat growing exponentially by the second. 

“Join me!” The bridge rattled with the power of Vader’s words, and you cried out in fear. 

-

You leapt to your feet, sweat adorning your brow. 

The bitter air around you was freezing, a striking contrast to where you’d been a second ago. You blinked at your surroundings, trying to orient yourself. 

This wasn’t the Jedi temple, and it wasn’t the cave on Geonosis. 

It took a moment for reality to set in. 

Remembering the truth of Vader’s identity was as soul-crushing as it was the first time. Moments ago, you’d just seen that same trouble-making smile and felt the skin of his hand against yours. 

Distantly, you registered your arm stinging. 

You lifted it up to see scratch marks on the surface of the bacta patch. 

You needed to get out of this room. You stepped to the doors, and they slid open. The two stormtroopers standing guard stood at attention, but they didn’t make any move to block you. Cautiously, you stepped out, waiting for any movement. 

None.

You dared another step. 

Still no response. 

Vader must’ve given them some sort of order not to block you. 

Walking cautiously, you walked down the hallway. The longer you went without hearing their footsteps, the more your hopes started to rise. Could it really be this easy? Would they just let you wander and look for an escape route? 

Then as you almost turned the corner, you heard their footsteps start behind you. 

Darn it. 

You continued strolling, as if your intentions were innocent and casual. All the while, your brain turned every possibility over and over. 

If you hadn’t escaped by the time the star destroyer reached Coruscant, you knew Vader’s actions wouldn’t mean much. The emperor wouldn’t hesitate before killing you. Your existence might’ve been a miserable one for months, but you weren’t ready for death. 

With that knowledge nipping at your heels, you wandered a little faster. 

At first, there was nothing of note. You passed the cafeteria you’d eaten in earlier. Yesterday? You didn’t know. There was no night and day in space, and you had no clue how long you’d slept. 

As you wandered, you passed many officials and stormtroopers, all of whom curiously watched you. 

Their stares would’ve been intimidating…if you hadn’t been on the hunt for a way out. 

You’d just walked past a door when something in you twisted like the needle of a compass. You stopped, feeling the tug towards that door. 

The force.

Trying to seem relaxed, you walked up to the door. Surprisingly, the doors slid open, revealing…

The escape pod bay. 

You’d found what you were looking for.

Tempering your excitement, you stood in front of the window, peering out into space. If only you could identify the planet the star destroyer was passing, you could determine where you were and how long it would take to get to Coruscant. 

Where the emperor would surely execute you. 

You closed your eyes, allowing the force to sweep through you, granting you its strength and patience. 

You’d found the way off the ship. Now you just needed to think of a way to shake your stormtrooper detail long enough to get inside and blast off. 

Was there any way you could duck in there now? 

No, there would be no point. The stormtroopers would raise the alarm immediately, and you’d likely be brought right back to the ship. Or even killed. 

The sound of footsteps reached your ears, and you didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to. 

Vader seemed to have a knack for finding you.

“What is she…doing in here?”

You startled, realizing Vader was addressing the stormtroopers. Would Vader boss them around like he had DA-4509? Would he punish them for not keeping you in your room?

You couldn’t have that.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, opening your eyes and turning towards Vader. Seeing that suit still sent a wave of emotion through you, and you worked to keep your expression neutral. 

“I know,” Vader replied. “You two are dismissed.” The stormtroopers inclined their heads and marched off, leaving a distinct feeling of disbelief in their wake. Clearly, they were as confused as you were. 

You wrinkled your nose. “How do you know I couldn’t sleep? Were you watching me?”

Out of all the conceivable things that could’ve happened, you’d sooner have guessed that the star destroyer would’ve imploded before Vader chuckled. 

But he did, the sound ringing strangely hollow through his mask. “No, I felt your…distress.” 

Not wanting to talk about your nightmares, you shifted back to look out the window. The planet looked only barely smaller than it had before. How slowly was the star destroyer moving, and why hadn’t it jumped into light speed already? Maybe they were low on fuel. 

The heavy, unhurried footsteps sounded again, coming to a stop right next to you. Wistfully, you remembered your dream and how your heart had raced when your arm brushed his. If the rate of your heart now qualified as racing, it was for an entirely different reason. 

“Did you see my dream?” you asked quietly, surprising even yourself by the invitation into conversation. 

Vader was quiet. “No,” he said finally, but his hesitation spoke for itself. 

“But you have before, haven’t you?” The lack of a response was all the response you needed. “What did you see?” The longer he stayed quiet, the more your imagination spun out of control. “Tell me,” you ordered. 

“I saw the night…we first kissed.”

The dream played itself out in front of your eyes. It was one of the dreams that had repeated itself often.

At first, the dream imitated the past perfectly. 

There’d only been one sleeping pallet, and Anakin had insisted you take it. In turn, you’d told him that the two of you would take turns on the pallet while the other kept watch. Anakin agreed, on the condition that you slept first. 

When you’d woken, unsure of how much time had passed, Anakin was sitting with his eyes closed. You’d assumed he was sleeping, until his eyes had fluttered open, meeting yours. 

The spark that’d traveled in the air was undeniable. 

You should’ve turned over. You should’ve gone back to sleep. At the very least, you should’ve stayed on the pallet. 

But no.

You’d gotten up, your lips tingling with the need to kiss him. 

That was where the dream deviated from reality. In real life, you had kissed him, and he’d kissed you back. In the dream, Anakin pulled out his lightsaber. Defenseless without your own saber, you screamed, frozen in place while Anakin…

“You sliced my head off, didn’t you?”

 A strange, muffled noise came from Vader. If you had to guess, you’d say he was clearing his throat. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the edge of the window. You wondered if somehow your words had knocked him off balance, but you quickly dismissed the thought, grappling at anything else to think about. “On Mustafar, you said you were having nightmares about me dying.” You focused on a distant star. “Do you still have them?”

No response. Just when you thought Vader had decided he wasn’t going to answer you, his warbled voice filled the air. “I don’t.”

Before you could fully digest that, your mouth was moving again. “Do you have any nightmares at all?”

“No.”

That threw you off guard. “After everything that happened…after the war and Order 66 and…” You gestured at the suit, unsure of how to refer to the transformation he’d undergone. “You don’t have any nightmares?”

Vader’s fingers tightened on the edge of the window. “I don’t sleep.”

That caught your attention. “What, ever?”

“The pain…doesn’t allow it.”

The words weaseled their way through your skin, your muscles, and your ribs on their way to pierce your heart. “If you can’t sleep…how are you alive?”

Vader let out a long breath, the sound reminiscent of a death rattle. “My body is mostly machinery…therefore it does not need to rest.”

“And your mind?” 

“I meditate.”

You cocked your head at him. “You used to hate meditating.”

“I still do.”

You faced the stars again, fighting a smile.

Then horror rocketed through you. What were you doing? Where was your head? This wasn’t Anakin. This was Darth Vader, loyal servant to the emperor. The man who’d taken part in Order 66.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you did the only thing you knew with absolute certainty would bring you back to real life. 

You pictured the youngling, spreadeagled on the ground with three blaster burns on his tiny chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

The anger and disgust were ugly, and yet you clung to them. 

A sensation brushed your injured forearm. Your eyes snapped open to see Vader’s fingers tracing the scratch marks. “Where…did this burn...come from?”

You stepped away from him, wrenching your arm out of his grasp and wrapping it around your torso. “If you want someone to blame for that, look in the mirror.”

Vader didn’t reply for a while. 

You glared so hard at the stars that your vision started to blur. 

“The worst part of that day…” Vader finally said, “was losing you.”

Your heart squeezed as a flare of anger burned, and you allowed the anger to sweep through you, taking over everything. “You almost killed me.” 

“Y/N–”

“You tried to kill me!” you said louder, taking a step forward. “You talk of losing me, when you were the one responsible for all of this?” You took another step forward, jabbing your finger into his chest. “You were the one who changed. You were the one who took part in Order 66, and you were the one that told me to go to Mustafar. Nothing had to change! If you hadn’t done any of that, you wouldn’t be in that suit!”

“And you’d…be dead.” 

You could keenly feel his conviction, and it only made you angrier. “Oh, wake up! Dreams aren’t always true! If my dreams were true, I’d be dead at your hands a hundred times over!”

“You don’t understand.” Was it your imagination or was Vader’s breathing growing shallower and more hasty? “You were going…to die. If I didn’t do anything–”

“The galaxy would’ve been better off for it,” you said, cursing yourself as tears welled up in your eyes. “I would’ve been better off for it, and you’d be better off for it, and we would still be together!”

“We can be together now.”

“No we can’t, Anakin!”

His name seemed to echo through the chamber. 

Vader didn’t move.

Even the ragged, warped sounds of his breathing seemed to cut out. 

You’d decided before you didn’t want to see those yellow eyes, but in that moment, as the silence extended in between the two of you like miles of uninhabited space, you would’ve given anything to see his face. To know what he was thinking. To read him the way you used to be able to do easily. 

The distorted breathing resumed. 

“My name…is Darth Vader.” 

And with that, Vader stormed towards the doors, which slid open. He left you behind, all alone save for the stormtroopers at the entrance and the stars outside the bay windows.

-

Part 5

Overall tag list: 

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Eyes tag list:

@idiotreblogger @inpraizeof @katsukiswrld @queenofnigthdarkness @stxrrielle @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @lollaa-puff @xferalblog @violetstyless

[m1d-45]

To My Beloved Scholar, Alhaitham.

How have you been, my dear scribe? Taking care of yourself, I hope! It would make me sad if you weren't taking care of your body. I know you are very busy, but make sure you're getting proper food, water, and rest! I'd hate for you to wear yourself out!

I'm sorry I haven't been wishing very often. I very much want to bring you home, but I don't want to take you away from your duties as a scribe. I know how much your work means to you, my dear. You work so hard and put so much effort into everything you do, I'm so proud of you!

When you finally find yourself free from your work, even for just a bit, look to the night sky for me. Don't worry, I'll know when the time is right. I'll send a star to you, and if you feel like you're ready, just reach out. I'll be happy to bring you home, my beloved scholar.

See you soon, dear!

-Icarus

(Attached to the star is a book of myths and legends from another world. There is a lace bookmark, marking a page labeled "The Legend of Icarus". There's a small note that reads, "I chose to borrow this name because I like the story! :)" )

(This is sibling anon btw)

alhaitham looked up from his desk at the bright light at his window, atypical for this time of night. he has to lean back a bit in his chair to see what’s beyond, to see the unnaturally bright stars dropping from the sky. he’s transfixed, for a moment longer than he’d normally be, watching the glittering stars fall. starshowers are typically mostly blue, which is what separates them from regular meteor showers or shooting stars, and this much gold is statistically impossible…

similarly impossible is a star floating down to his window.

yet that’s what happens. a spiky sphere-like star, as wide as a piece of paper is long, bumping against the glass of his window as if upset he hasn’t let it in yet.

alhaitham stands, unlatching the window, and the star slips in the moment the gap is large enough. it floats, and crumbles when he touches it. he hastily shuts his window, clutching at the remnants of the star before the contents can fall too far. a piece of paper slides onto his windowsill, but he caught the book in his hands fine.

…a book?

it’s plain, a simple hardback with the words ‘legends and mythos’ scrawled across the front in embossed cursive. there’s a bookmark in it, surprisingly, and when he opens it he’s taken to the beginning of a chapter.

the note makes him pause, but he ultimately decides to set it aside. it’s only when he picks up the paper from his windowsill that it makes sense anyway.

his first response is to frown. who would call him their ‘beloved’? ‘dear’? who knew him by name and asked him to take care of himself, who sent messages through-… stars…

…ah.

he’s thankful there’s nobody to see him behave so foolishly- he chalks it up to the late night, to the lack of rest (proven to decrease cognitive function in a variety of animals, including humans) and the peculiarity of the situation. so he starts again, reading your letter with less the mind of a cynic and more one of a follower.

and when you call him your beloved for the second time, he manages to smile, eyes locking on the borrowed name.

when the time comes, he wonders, will he know the one that’s yours?

[trustfallwithgod]

Via Steward & Son

Day (Lost Count) - He didn’t catch me

I’ve had some atheists direct message or repost some of my content with rebuttals and cynicism. I had tried to respond to them but they weren’t accepting responses. So I guess, this post would make them glad. God did not catch me.

God might as well be a million miles away, I felt the devil and man’s evil more tangibly than I have felt Him. I guess this is just a longer way of saying Job’s famous “darkness is my friend” line 🤭. But I’m ok with all of that. He’s God and I am not.

What I’m not ok with is how my Father watched me get beaten and broken and then left me there and now someone’s thumb is in my wound pressing yet somehow I can minister, and even though I shouldn’t be able to pour from an empty cup, somehow, I still have something to give those who are needy and hurting. I am receiving grace somewhere that I can give to others. So there’s only one conclusion: God’s presence and Holy Spirit is undeniably with me.

I think this time, God has really killed me

So where does that leave me? I’m still doing essential work for the Lord but it appears His graces are for everyone else and not me.

This is where the Book of Job shines. You see, right now, I am focused on my performance when what God wants is relationship. In a long tradition of biblical figures like the older brother (in the story of the Prodigal Son) and Martha, the sister of Lazarus, I’ve been so focused on “doing the work of God” that I have not taken the time to be honest with Him like Job was and this has allowed the enemy to plant seeds of resentment.

Life is lived forward but only understood backwards

I absolutely love my Father but I cannot fathom His treatment of me and yet duty has compelled me to promote a brand of “feel good Christianity” (because I thought that I had to protect the feelings of those I minister to, completely forgetting that my role is only to evangelize and the “nurturing of the faith” work belongs to the Holy Spirit), completely ignoring the fact that in real relationships, fights happen. Parents and children argue and have disagreements. The enemy is the one attempting to nurture a garden of unhealthy “sugar daddy” expectations.

Look at Jonah, a lot can be said about Jonah but here’s a crucial verse that everyone misses in the Bible: Jonah was asleep in the storm (Jonah 1:1-6) just like Jesus was asleep in the storm (Mark 4:35-41). Jonah had faith in God’s goodness that he knew that if Nineveh repented, they would be spared but Jonah didn’t want that, he was disobedient to God’s plan for him however, Jonah offers himself to be a sacrifice to the sea knowing that it will calm the storm. The circumstances and context between Jesus and Jonah’s storm experiences may be very different but the outcome is similar, the storm calms. You can have faith and still struggle and chafe at the will of God or you can have faith and utter obedience.

This is where spiritual warfare begins to get terrifying: the closer you are to God, the more your own unworthiness is felt, making the battle a complex discernment process to separate your own thoughts from what the enemy is planting. Should you give up on God because you don’t recognize that He is walking with you along your own Emmaus Road? Or do you invite Him for dinner and then during the breaking of the bread, you realise that God was walking alongside you the whole time?

The disciples walking the Emmaus Road shared one very important thing with Job, they were brutally honest with God about their disappointments. Which brings me to another point: like any war, peace is hard fought. The difference is, this is a battle that Jesus fights, you only need to bring your sorrow, heart ache, disappointment and honesty to Him and in doing so, honour Him like you would your earthly fathers.

Really tell God how you feel and then like the Psalmist says in Psalm 143:8 “let dawn bring news of your faithful love”

Dedicated to Sharon Woo

[allgirlsareprincesses]

I'm so curious as to what your thoughts are on acomaf/Rhys. Personally, the reason the second book infuriated me was bc SJM completely shifted Tamlin's good traits onto Rhys, while erasing the fucked up things the latter did (like breaking Feyre's arm 😅), and thus clumsily erasing chances for interesting complex grey-morality characterizations for both characters. Also Feyre forgot about Tamlin so fast it almost made the first book seem useless lol. idk, I just liked Tamlin and feel he was done dirty with the weird lib-feminist makeover acomaf got. I did continue reading the series though. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable speaking about this, so feel free to ignore this ask. Have a lovely day 💖

Phew! So my issues with the series are NUMEROUS and some day I will go into all the reasons I quit ACOMAF 3/4 of the way through, but for now, let me sum up my problem by comparing it to another modern phenomenon: Frozen.

Like ACOTAR, I have many specific dislikes about the Frozen series, but my main problem with it is the way it cynically uses fairy tale motifs against the audience, but then still wants to claim it is a fairy tale. Frozen's setup gives the audience absolutely zero reason to doubt or distrust Hans (other than the arrival of Kristoff). In fact, Hans and Anna have one of the best insta-love songs from the Disney collection, and it galls me TO NO END that it's a trick, a lie. And then the rest of the movie repeatedly mocks the audience for believing in fairy tale love ("You can't marry a man you just met!"), as if to say everyone who has enjoyed Disney fairy tales up to this point is a sucker. Yet then it expects us to invest in the Anna-Kristoff romance after punishing us for the Anna-Hans one. And meanwhile, Kristoff is about as interesting as stale bread (sorry not sorry, it's true. I love you Jonathan Groff, it's not your fault sweetie.).

So anyway, back to ACOTAR. Book 1 is a straightforward Search For The Lost Husband. Taken on its own, it honestly rules as an example of this Cupid & Psyche tale type. It has the hunter-huntress motif, the jealous sisters, passage into the otherworld, hidden/cursed prince, supernatural helpers, three trials in the underworld, and even resurrection from death. It's literally perfect, other than Rhys marking her and just generally being creepy.

And then the next book PUNISHES the reader for enjoying that. HAHA you fool, you sucker, you got taken in by an abuser! Actually that whole book was a f*cking waste of time and a lie, and what Feyre really needs is this dude who's secretly perfect and who has all the aesthetics of a tormented prince but none of the actual psychological damage (like, say, Tamlin had). And who pursued Feyre not because of any natural affinity but because he knew she was his predetermined MATE (ew ew ew and I repeat EW). And who dictates every f*cking plot point and then magnanimously gives Feyre the OPTION of participating and we're all supposed to cheer because he says "It's your choice" before repeatedly using her and endangering her.

And to the extent that this is another Search For The Lost Husband, why would I want the same story told again, especially when the narrative wasted my time and mocked me for investing in the last romance? I just... really resent the author using those motifs without signaling sooner that she's going to deliberately undermine them (which can be done, in fairness, but it takes more skill than SJM has displayed).

So yeah, that's my issue. It really seems to come from this faux feminism that has a lot of antipathy toward traditional fairy tales, but doesn't know how to critique them without mocking the protagonist and audience alike.