#fic: Willing to Know

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

The Literal Phantom of the Opera (DpxDc prompt)

When Cassandra Cain first began taking ballet, her fellow dancers quickly warned her about the ghost haunting the theater.

"He likes to watch us. I see him looking down at the stage from the catwalk all the time."

"It looks like he stole one of the Phantom of the Opera masks last time a tour came through, but its been covered in stars!"

"I heard him when I was acting in Wicked. I was alone in the green room doing some last minute practice and I swear he was humming along while I was singing!"

"It was the phantom who stole my makeup from my dressing room I just know it!"

"Haley from front of house didn't believe he existed until they came backstage to grab supplies for seat repairs. I don't know what they saw, but now they refuse to go backstage."

"That ghost is evil. It pushed me down the stairs to the office and I tore my suit on the railing. Do you know how hard it is to find an all white suit on short notice? I'm lucky it didn't break my ankle!"

"We used to have balconies before the renovations. Sometimes it sounds like someone is moving inside the walls where they used to be."

"I'm not sure that the ghost is fully aware we're performers. A few years ago when Heathers was here, the actress for McNamara said that it felt like someone was hugging her after Lifeboat."

"I've seen him without the mask. His face looks like it was just... shredded. I only saw it once, but I'll never forget that face."

"I heard that he likes to mess with the equipment in the control booth."

Cass isn't sure that the ghost is real, but she is sure that the other dancers think he's real. They often gossip about the theater ghost in hushed whispers, knocking on wood at the very mention of him. Her teachers prefer not to talk about the ghost at all, but they don't deny its existence.

It's not until she is practicing alone on stage and feels eyes on her that she thinks there might be something to the ghost rumors.

[nat-ter]

superbat au wherein clark didn't know batman is human and thought batman has superpowers and telepathy is one of them bcus the bat could always tell what's on supes' mind and honestly he's intimidated by it. and it didn't help when clark started to develop an inconvenient and inappropriate crush on his partner in not-crime. cue, superman trying his best to not think anything inappropriate about gotham's big bat: images of his ma's brassiere which only freaks him out; desperate thoughts of the time lois got a spinach stuck in her teeth and clark was too afraid to tell her, puppies, cats he rescued, puppies and rainbows; batman's lips, wait no, batman's hands, even weirder, batman's thighs, nope not going there, that one time he saw batman punch a perp so hard there's indentation on the man's cheek that matches the studs covering batman's gauntlets. eventually he just ends up staying as far away as possible from batman.

[toomking]

deadpool would go insane over their movie counterparts being ryan reynolds and pedro pascal under the masks

[mishy-mashy]

Bruce is actually really attractive, and I have enough reasoning to make a list

He's:

Tall (. Tall enough to hit his head on the vault doorframe)

Long-legged

Has a straight nose bridge

Has high cheekbones (more noticeable in 2nd pic below)

Has a strong jawline

Sharp eyes, but they aren't small (plus eyebags if you're into that)

Overall, he has strong, attractive facial features

Has broad, refined shoulders. You can tell he works out (or he did, when he was alive)

Even has a thick, muscly neck

He has MUSCLE. Is SCULPTED. NOICE. VERY NOICE. (nice arms. Nice shoulders. Nice neck. Nice legs. Nice butt-)

(There are actually panels where you can see some of his muscles. Other than those already shown here, he's got bricky thighs-

-and in the panels where we first get his name dropped, he's got those shoulder blades too-)

The one time we see him smile, and he actually has a scary one

Has small, kinda sharp pupils, and his eyes remind me of a cat. We only ever saw him tense or defensive, so his resting/listening face is really cute

Other than the physical appearance stuff, he also:

Takes shit without batting an eye (patience, knowing it's just how Kudo is, etc)

Kudo being all "Cut the crap Bruce and give it to me straight", after Bruce tests his blood and is rightfully Concerned because they just faced AFO

Put up with Kudo's experimenting and testing over Yoichi's transferable Factor

Did ya'll see the look on Kudo's face when he realized he had Yoichi's Factor/will? Kudo was going to start in nonsense and Bruce just dealt with that.

Also something I noticed when looking back at the images here; Bruce has bandages on his arms in the void. But not when he faced AFO in the sewers.

Were he and Kudo cutting their arms open in their experimenting over Yoichi's theory? Is this why Kudo has two gauntlets instead of his one? Why we never see his bare arms in the void? That he always keeps his arms down so there's no slip?

Is smart enough to run blood tests, plus has enough common sense to pick Shinomori as his successor

He picked a guy who avoids society, has an Ability to detect danger so he can always stay away from AFO, is also a coward so he's never going to go throw himself into danger, even without knowing instinctively he stands no chance, etc.

Meanwhile, Kudo chose Bruce, who he played Hot Potato Yoichi with; but he did also trust Bruce, and put the only pure combative Ability in OFA through Bruce.

These two made their choices based on what they valued and saw the Factor needed.

Is logical, analytical, and calm.

He tried advising Midoriya on their Abilities in One For All, especially his own.

Midoriya then tried ignoring him about using Fa Jin for the first time, but found he was right, thinking: "Dammit!! I had [Lady Nagant] right where I wanted her, but... ugh! The Third was right. My parallel Quirk processes are all screwed up!" (ch. 314).

Plus, when Midoriya fixed his processing mistakes, Bruce was analyzing the way he reached his new conclusion. Pure facts, no bias, very calm, just saying it as it was.

We never see him panic. When he's caught by surprise in the sewers by AFO, Kudo, and Yoichi's little bubble event, he immediately reacts. He doesn't falter, he just knows he has to do something right now.

Was more willing to listen than Kudo to Yoichi's beckon, and probably was just following Kudo's rejection of Midoriya

While we don't see Kudo's face, we see Bruce's eyes when Yoichi calls on his heroes. Bruce was more open and receptive, or at least more impacted.

Bruce was also the one to start talking, while Kudo just kept quiet.

He actually communicates a lot

When Yoichi called them to support Midoriya, Bruce started talking to paint a picture of why they thought the way they did, so Yoichi understood where they were coming from.

(Though he seems to beat about the bush sometimes, since Kudo spoke up to be direct on how they couldn't just put their trust in some starry-eyed teenager. Plus, when Kudo tells him to just tell him what's wrong [double Factors])

When Midoriya first used Fa Jin against Nagant, Bruce came out just to tell him he knew what he was trying, but that Midoriya wasn't ready; and Midoriya found he was right. Midoriya just didn't want to listen to him then.

He asks Kudo for clarification after finding Kudo had two Factors in him after the sewer incident ("Just to be sure, All For One didn't touch you, right?") Kudo knew him well enough to go "stop beating around the bush and tell me", so Bruce was probably gonna start with questions, theories, and trying to understand everything in general, before saying "yeah you have two Factors. Don't know why".

Is strong-willed and loyal.

He followed Kudo, even to death, carrying on the cause he started until it ended with him.

Plus, when talking about how AFO needs a strong will to override OFA's own, we first see Bruce, Kudo, and Yoichi.

AFO couldn't steal OFA because the will was too strong for him, and that was back during Banjo's time. Since Shinomori never actually tried opposing AFO and just hid, we can assume the first Three (Yoichi, Kudo, Bruce) already had an accumulation of strong willpower that made OFA un-stealable. Those three are a strong enough foundation, and the main wills, that the other users just become bonuses.

Kudo, also saying that Midoriya needs allies with the same will and drive as him... hey Kudo, you're talking about yourself and your old allies, aren't you? That's why you look at Yoichi and Bruce when you say this.

Not only is Bruce attractive, but he's got good character. THE END.

[gojonanami]

me: I’m gonna write a glorified sex pollen / aphrodisiac fic for suguru

me:

me: but here’s 2K+ of lore and backstory and pining before we even see reader and suguru together

[sneckoil]

thank you to the one author who wrote everything i wanted in a fic, set exactly after the episode i just finished watching, about the rare pairing i just drafted multiple analyses on, with the exact same wavelength on said drafts, written with perfect nuance. I wasnt even looking for you the stars just aligned

[justafewsmallsteps]

Currently crying in a corner because I remembered that Inuyasha visited the well at least every three days.

And I don’t think he was waiting for Kagome to “come back”

As much as he was waiting/trying to see if the well would open for him

So he could go to her

Because he chose her. Because he thinks they were born for each other. Because since she has people who love her in her era, maybe that’s where she belongs

But he truly believes that he belongs with her, wherever and whenever.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Soulmate

day 18 @youngroyals-events

Wille, crossfaded and face down on the football field, realizes some things.

Or, Wille sees his and Simon's lives laid out, intertwining across every universe.

read below or on ao3. (T, 800) cw: substance abuse

Wille can’t move. Well, he could move, he just doesn’t really want to. Despite the cold wetness pressed against his cheek and the grittiness in his mouth, he’s quite comfortable. No bed at a fancy palace could ever compare to this. Not even the bright lights in his half-open eyes bother him. His body feels light and wavy. If he shuts his eyes fully, though, things start to spin. That isn’t as comfortable, so he keeps them partially open, slowly blinking against the cold mist. 

There is a familiar smell about the place he can’t put his finger on. Has he been here before? 

Where is here?

The pointer finger on his right hand twitches. He remembers. He is on grass. No, not grass. Turf. He rolls onto his side and drags a hand through the damp plastic. The lingering rain is probably soaking through his clothes, too. His mamma would be so mad, if she saw him like this. The thought makes him giggle. 

Imagine the headlines, Mamma. 

I’m sorry I can’t be him. 

He doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He is tired. To make sure he still can, he brings both hands to his face and presses his palms into his eyes, inhaling deeply, then letting out the breath in a loud hum. He is so tired. 

A light flickers. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, letting his hands fall back to the ground again. 

He starts to drift. It’s a calm feeling. Distorted colors begin to dance across the backs of his eyelids. Warm purples and reds, then browns and greens. Shapes begin to form, too. The outline of a person, a building, a piano. 

Simon is there, suddenly, in his mind. He looks different, though. Older. He smiles at Wille then grabs his hand, pulling him through a book shop. Wille feels warm and happy. They’ve been here before, this is a favorite place of theirs. Simon wants to see if they have a new book in stock. They’ve just come from breakfast together. They are happy.

The image flickers. 

Simon is still there, but different again. He looks down at Wille from a stage, though he doesn’t know Wille, yet. Wille doesn’t know him either, just likes his music, but wants to know more. They find each other after the concert. Simon is flirty and forward and they quickly fall into each other. 

That Simon disappears, too, then changes into another. 

This Simon is younger, much younger, as is Wille. They’re both five and playing in a park. Wille tumbles off the slide and Simon offers a hand to help him up. They spend the rest of the day playing together, chasing each other around the playground and laughing until Wille’s mother pulls him away. 

Now, Simon looks across a table at Wille with teary eyes, boxes scattered around them. He whispers, I’m sorry, and sounds so broken and Wille wants to jump across the table at him, to beg him to stay, but he can’t. They had their time together and it was good and worth it, but it just couldn’t work anymore. 

Another Simon. Another Wille. This time, they meet in a foreign city. Simon is singing karaoke with friends at a random dive bar. Though he doesn’t normally do this – at least, this Wille doesn’t – he offers to buy Simon a drink, taken by his beautiful voice. They stumble back to Wille’s hotel together, laughing and yelling into the dark and empty streets. 

Wille blinks and he sees a football field at midnight. No, no, that’s not right. He shuts his eyes again. 

They are standing on a beach together, now. Simon has a small band on his ring finger and so does Wille. They are happy. The sand is warm and so is Simon’s hand in his. With a smile as bright as the sun, his husband turns to him and whispers, I love you. Wille presses a kiss into Simon’s forehead. And I love you.

A dozen more images shift across Wille’s mind, too fast to soak them in fully, but long enough to see Simon and to know how right it feels. Every place, every time, they find their way to each other. No matter what, no matter how they find each other, even if only for a short time. They are bound together; he feels the searing mark of it in his heart, hears the word soulmate whispered in his ear. But, too quickly, he feels Simon slipping away, all the little versions of him falling through Wille’s fingers even as he scrambles to keep hold. Grief and pain and confusion are already seeping back into his chest, and he wants to scream in frustration. 

Then Wille remembers, distantly, Simon doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know they’re meant to be together. He doesn’t know how right it is, how real it is. The realest thing Wille’s ever had.

Blindly, movements still slurred and choppy, joints tight from the cold, he reaches for his phone. The number is there, easily, his fingers typing it already before he can even think about it. 

“Hello?”

“Simon.”

[raaorqtpbpdy]

In reference to that one post b/c reblogs got turned off, I’ll be real with you guys, I actually do less research for my DP/DC fics compared to my non-crossover fics for either fandom. Not no research because I can’t help myself, but I realized a long time ago that 99% of this crossover fandom simply will not recognize or appreciate the work.

I’ve been in the DP fandom for a few years now, and I’ve been into DC stuff for even longer. So I know a lot of the characters fairly well (admittedly not all of them b/c there are a shit ton of dc characters), but when I write a DC fic I’ll read whole new comic runs to make sure the characterization is right, when I write a DC/DP crossover I just use whatever version of the character is funniest or fits the vibes best, even if it’s not fully accurate.

A DC fan will complain about mischaracterization while another lauds you on how well you characterized their fave (same character).

A DP fan will complain about made-up non-canon lore not being used.

A DP/DC fan will leave comments like “I love this fic, but I wish X character would have done this completely OOC thing because it would be funny lol”

I’ll defend myself to DP and DC fans but with crossover fans it’s usually not worth it. And they’re usually right. It would be funny.

[dreadeves]

anyways. siffrin feels more comfortable talking emotions with odile than with mira and isa (in that order) because odile is more awkward and less emotional with it.

[crimeronan]

i was about 3/4ths asleep and then my brain supplied me with the Exact vicious trajectory of the worst thing eda says to raine in their argument & i got hit by such a shot of adrenaline that now i'm wide awake writing on my laptop. i hope i continue to derive this level of joy from terrible fictional conflict forever.

[jackwolfes]

52 “can I kiss you” (like dream world ship is Matthias/Kaz but if you don’t ship that) Kaz/Wylan or Kaz/Jes

“can I kiss you” Prompts: [1] [2]

Hatred and respect are brothers in arms. Their tired boots tread the same path with unerring conviction, neither worth their salt if they were to bend from the rigidity that has fuelled them thus far. 

Too many times, Matthias has found, it has led to nothing but crossed wires. Still, he persists, and that might just be how he finds himself here. 

For all this demjin is smaller than he is, the presence of something dangerously dark sloughing off his frame keeps Matthias pinned against the barren wall of his ridiculous bedroom. Ineffably, it angers him, which is another barb-edged cousin to hate. He exhales, letting it go. Now is not the moment for anger, nor for fear. 

“Let me,” Matthias says, speaking through clenched teeth. With irritating slowness and a smugly entertained look in his dark eyes, Kaz raises a single eyebrow. 

“Let you what?” His voice slips out of his lying lips with saccharine slowness like a taunt. 

The iron forge of his own will is all Matthias has, so he exhales through his nose and puts all his focus into not shoving the man into a wall. Kaz probably has some trick up his sleeve to slip through, should Matthias try anything. 

“You said you would do this for me.”

“I say a lot of things, Helvar.” His raspy voice caresses the shell of his ear, stroking taunting fingers down the hard line of his jaw. “What do you want me to let you do?” 

Matthias shuts his eyes. Humiliation, a fourth companion. He’d deny finding it pleasurable in any regard, but that would make him a liar. Every surging feeling he’s identified in his chest tonight brings satisfaction to him, somehow. 

He measures out the words in his head, divorcing himself from the meaning of them — the heavy, smouldering want — and speaks.

“Let me kiss you.”

Kaz laughs. It is sharp and hateful with neither anger nor respect but plenty of mockery, and Matthias aches with it. Then his arm is being twisted round his back and his knee is being kicked, sending him to the floor with a heavy thud. 

Pain explodes outward from where his knee made impact with the worn old floor. A gloved hand shoves through his hair, longer with the years and easy to pull. Matthias bites his tongue before he can cry out; denied, mortified, and hard in his trousers. 

“Be polite, Helvar.” 

I hate him, he thinks, but it is the flowering haze of respect starting to take root in his stomach, and he knows it. 

“I will not beg,” he replies. 

He’s certain that Kaz knows as well as he does that that’s a lie.

[loveoaths]

i will never stop thinking about how palpatine forces count dooku to kill his apprentice asajj ventress because she is getting too powerful, and palpatine refuses to tolerate a threat, even if it is useful and temporarily loyal. and how the nature of sith master and apprentice is built at the intersection of dependence and expendability. masters train apprentices to need them, and never teach them everything they know (implying that the sith have been steadily losing their own cultural knowledge and techniques over thousands of years because of their own selfishness) out of fear of their apprentice rising up and killing them, which is also the one thing they have trained their apprentice to do. meanwhile apprentices, resentful of their dependence, go out and create apprentices of their own to usurp their master and continue the entire useless cycle. by nature, both master and apprentice are inherently crucial and expendable all at once, which they then use as a threat to keep one another in line.

but in the cases of ventress and maul, they’re both uniquely expendable because their existence is only tolerated (first by plagueis, then by sidious) under the condition that they are a tool that will be disposed of once it’s usefulness has ended. that’s crazy. years and years of training someone only to off them; the time sink alone is ridiculous. and neither of them expects this, either, because they believe in the old lineage of the sith: that their masters will honor their agreement and make them Sith Lords so long as they obey without question, only to find out in the worst way that they were never intended to become true Sith Lords. they were a means to an end, and both of them feel so deeply betrayed and hurt by this that they cannot let it go. like… i dunno man, but as much as that is a leopards-ate-my-face situation, it’s also deeply sad because these two in particular are essentially raised in the sith tradition. ventress has some years as a jedi, but not many. the foundation of their beings, the one solid thing they believed in, turned out to be hollow. sad.

[cchocolatekat]

ty to @swimmingferret‘s fic Iron and Ice for showing me the absolute potential that is douma being a single father of two

[daincrediblegg]

I know we've all been going insane about hari murder comeback of the century in envy of the entire wwe league but like. CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT HARI "THE FUTURE IS WRITTEN EVERY SECOND! WRITE A BETTER ONE" ?!?!??!? CAN WE???? PLEASE????