#his backstory is gut-wrenching

[wylanslcve]

The next time I see someone call Wylan "boring" because his trauma isn't "as bad" as the other Crows' (namely Kaz and Inej's) I'm going to throttle someone. Firstly, trauma isn't comparable: trauma is trauma, regardless of what traumatic experience a person goes through. The point of Six of Crows is that all the Crows are traumatised but find comfort and solace within one another and galvanise each other's healing process.

Secondly, Wylan is a victim of ableism and emotional, mental and physical abuse - which is traumatic - and his story makes me feel physically ill whenever I think about it. As a disabled child, Wylan needed accommodations that his father refused to give him: instead, J*n treated him as something that needed fixing, and treated his disability as pure stubbornness that could be forced out of him with punishment and abuse. He "tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism" - which are traumatic. J*n also manipulated Wylan into believing that it was his fault by constantly shifting the blame to him (a behaviour very typical amongst abusers). As a result, Wylan never acknowledged his father's behaviour as abusive, which is why he tells Jesper in Crooked Kingdom that "he isn't evil" despite J*n literally trying to kill him twice. In fact, Wylan tries to justify how his father treated him, claiming that he "had done his best to care for his son, and if he’d failed, then the defect lay with Wylan." He also takes it as a display of affection and the desire to protect him, claiming that "his father might sound cruel, but he wasn’t just protecting himself or the Van Eck empire, he was protecting Wylan as well."

Wylan blaming himself for his father's actions doesn't stop there: in the period after Inej is kidnapped by J*n, Wylan feels responsible for what happened despite knowing that "he couldn’t have prevented his father from double-crossing the crew and kidnapping her. He knew that, but he still felt responsible". The guilt is eating away at him because he's so accustomed to taking the blame for his father's wrongdoings. Even after finding out the truth about his mother, which was really the catalyst for him recognising that J*n is indeed evil, his initial response is him blaming himself for it: "it was me. I caused this. He wanted a new wife. He wanted an heir. A real heir, not a moron who can barely spell his own name." This is only made even more sickening when we learn that Wylan would hear how his parents "fought all the time, sometimes about me", which would only amplify his feelings of responsibility for his father sending Marya away, stripping her of her life, family and fortune.

This is all without him not being allowed to grieve his mother's "death". This is all without the imposter syndrome and self-loathing Wylan experiences as a result of all of this, the fear that the Crows would see him as worthless and defective the way his father did and abandon him.

tl;dr: stop overlooking Wylan's trauma because he too has deep mental and emotional scars.

[impel-clown]

The nature of Buggy's character means that there is an equal possibility that his insecurity regarding his nose stems from some truly awful, gut wrenching event in his backstory that haunts him to this very day

Or Shanks made an offhand joke about it one (1) time

Could be either

Could be both

[batbrainrot]

starting a praying circle for dc to give juni ba a red hood book next. we'll meet every thursday 11pm lmk if you're interested

[murphyzzz]

whenever I see happy family vinsmoke fanart/fanfic I just… sigh and move on because all the different possibilities that could have happened in his childhood…. and sanji got the worst case scenario

If you know what I mean? It makes my chest hurt idk man.

[hehehehehenrik]

I have billions of ideas about Caligura’s backstory, so there some sketches about his childhood

About scar, I thought that on his portrait shadow that connecting lips and cheekbone look like an old scar so yeah, sounds stupid but I feel like it suits him ya know

[kyros-tha-soldier]

🌻HAPPY KYROS DAY🌻

today is the 22nd of september, the first day of the fall and Kyros' bdayyy~

silly me still didn't finish my art piece because of work 😓😓

but i made a lil something for him (still gonna post my art tho!)

i'm so normal about him i swear

the OPTC ones got that PNG background, ugh i don't like it!

why does almost every one of these has a picture of him looking angry or screaming...

please smile more, Kyros 😞😔😕

ODA PLS SHOW UR MORE OF THIS BIG BUFF HOTTIE Also let men cry, the moment he started crying was so emotional and sad yet sweet

the pic of him with Luffy on his shoulders is still my favorite teehee~

i had more pics but i didn't want to show you any. I have accumulated almost 1000 or 900 or smtn worth of pictures of Kyros and his fanart i'll share if you ask nicely!

isn't it weird that his birthday came right on the very first day of autumn? and considering that Dressrosa is a spring island, wouldn't that mean that he feels so out of place? (hence why he keeps avoiding people and regrets showing his emotional side?) or maybe i'm just thinking too much :3

anywaysssss...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KYROS

[pulquedeguayaba]

Yes I'm spam posting Guardians of the Galaxy no I won't stop

[cold-kitty]

Todays poll winner was... Yandere Naga! I love Nagas, really anything with a tail. I know that there's different Nagas, but this Naga is Centaur style: human from the hips up and a snake tail from hips down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little backstory: Nagas are a rare species in this world, which puts a high price on them. They're shoved into zoos or killed for their tails and scales, some celebrities even own a few. This Naga, however, is determined not to let that happen to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Contains: Mentions of murder, non-human yandere, kidnapping, yandere doesn't know his own strength and harms darling

Yan!Naga who hates people, genuinely hates them. he hates them so much to the point that if someone so much as steps into his forest he kills them on the spot, he won't put himself in danger.

Yan!Naga who isn't a hateful person, he's just scared if we're being honest. people are scared of what they can't control or predict, and fear turns into hate.

Yan!Naga who always feels guilty after killing someone, especially regretting it if that person was innocent. he's definitely taught himself to differentiate threat from innocent though, so he doesn't kill as many people now.

Yan!Naga who keeps a close eye on you when you wander around his forest, trying to determine if you're a threat or not.

Yan!Naga who finds out you're not a threat, and continues on his way. he silently slips through the trees, his incredibly long tail holding onto branches for balance.

Yan!Naga who really, really doesn't like it when you lay down on his special rock, it was his after all. it was big and flat, big enough for him to coil his whole tail on (which means it's absolutely massive because his tail is like 25 feet long). it collected heat from the sun and warmed up anything that touched it, so he could understand the appeal.

Yan!Naga who definitely prepared to remove you from it. he reaches out to grab you, but abruptly stops when he sees your sleeping face. his hands starts shaking slightly and it balls into a fist.

Yan!Naga who definitely knows that he likes you, human or not, and he wants you to be his.

Yan!Naga who cozies up next to you on the rock, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close. warm...

Yan!Naga who coils his tail around you, one of the greatest shows of affection for his people.

Yan!Naga who loves your warmth, even more than the warmth his rock provided.

Yan!Naga who gets scared when you start to stir awake. no no no no no no no! shit, he's gonna see me, he's gonna hate me!

Yan!Naga who watches your eyes widen and your mouth open in a scream. he immediately slams a hand over your mouth, his own eyes wide and his body shaking with yours.

Yan!Naga who feels you trying to squirm away, but he doesn't let you. he squeezes his tail tighter and tighter around your torso and legs to keep you in place, and he hears a gut-wrenching crunch.

Yan!Naga who immediately lets go of you as you let out a bloodcurdling scream into his hand, tears dotting in his eyes. oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck! i hurt him!

Yan!Naga who watches you roll onto your side, sobbing. he rolls you gently onto your back again, softly pressing his fingers into the side you're holding. he stops as you cry out, but he definitely felt something. a broken rib.

Yan!Naga who carefully picks you up, careful not to hurt you anymore. he starts carrying you to an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods, where he stays at night.

Yan!Naga who slowly sets you down in his 'nest', a large pile of blankets and other soft cloths with a him-sized debt in the middle, AKA a huge crater.

Yan!Naga who wraps your side with a soft cloth from the pile, tying it tight enough to hurt but would help heal the fracture.

Yan!Naga who curls up against you again, holding you so loosely that it feels like he's not even there.

Yan!Naga who will provide for you, now until forever, hurt or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope your easter was great!

~🐈‍⬛

[fouroddapples]

No one does their homework like noshir holy shit??? dude did not just write his entire backstory before session zero, he also prepared it as a whole first-person account, gut wrenching pauses and everything??? WILD.

[drabblesbyjubs]

Just Need Time

Astarion x gn! Tav Reader, Astarion is pent up but also wants to please the reader, he makes himself want to have sex with reader but reader stops him and helps him figure out what he really wants. Fluff, smut, a little bit of angst. Minors DNI

Tws// mentions of sexual trauma, Astarion’s backstory stuff, mild disassociation for a few minutes, trauma, mild spoilers for non ascended Astarion’s ending, sexual content and smut

.

I want everyone to know that I got stuck working an 8 hour shift as a cashier on my last day of work so I wrote this between customers, enjoy and here’s to my new job

Time with Astarion is sacred.

After nearly losing him multiple times throughout your journey to rid yourselves of the mind flayer parasite, you’d come to appreciate every second you spent with him. Every moment during the day, snuggling and spending time with one another, and spending the nights running through Faerûn and enjoying the adrenaline of exploration, it was all beyond precious to you both.

But especially to Astarion. For the first time in two centuries, he belonged to himself; he could go where he wanted, do what he wanted, be what he wanted. He was free.

That didn’t mean he was alright, though.

Being with you had helped. You’d shown him freedom, devotion, and everything he’d ever wished he could have had in a partner. But part of his mind was still stuck in that dark, dank crypt, the smell of mildew festering in his lungs, the fear at the sound of every footstep lurking in his heart. The nights he was let out, but not to be free, only to use his body to gain some innocent soul’s trust and bring them back for him to take out his most wretched fantasies on.

Astarion was usually the victim of these fantasies, but if Cazador truly did what he wished with Astarion, well, there would be no more Astarion to take out those fantasies on.

Those memories plagued his mind nearly every night. He often woke from the nightmares feeling utterly emotionless, numb to the world. Fear aches low in his heart, and he would roll over and scoot up to you. You took him in to your arms with no question; you already knew.

Sometimes he would jolt out of bed, too enveloped by the memories to realize it was you next to him. He would become defensive, either scared of you or insisting you leave before he came back. When he snapped back to reality, he was utterly humiliated, but you never shamed him, always made him feel like everything would be okay, and he would forget about the terrors of the night before by the time you two set out for adventure after sunset.

He wanted more than anything to be like a normal person; completely comfortable in his relationship, never a fear that things would go awry, blindly trusting and accepting of everything you did. You understood why he couldn’t be like that, and did your best to make him feel as close to normal as he ever could. And gods, did he love you for that. You were utterly hypnotizing, he would tear out his heart with a stake if you asked him; hell, he would carve the stake himself. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

And even if you assured him he owed you nothing at all, not even a passing glance, he wanted to give you something to make you happy.

He often gave you wildflowers, knowing you always liked the bright colors and soft petals, or smooth, shiny rocks he found down by the creek, or little rings and necklaces he bought with his dwindling gold supply when the two of you went in to town. But he still often felt like the only thing he could do right enough to truly make others happy was sex.

It was practiced, it was routine. Use his body to make someone feel good, make a few pretty faces, and it was done. There was something safe in the familiarity of it, though the sheer gut wrenching disgust that followed after never sit right with him.

You hadn’t hesitated to agree when Astarion had asked if you two could stop having sex for a while. Your sexual activity had dwindled anyways; you’d often told him you were just tired, or wanted to make sure you had plenty of energy for the coming day. Part of him knew you could tell he didn’t really want it, but he chose to believe you just wanted a break, and it was relieving to not have to perform. It was a weight off of his shoulders.

But more recently, he’d been pent up. He found himself craving release; of course he thought of coming to you for help, but the thought of having to perform, to make you feel good and owe you that pleasure after he takes his own, it sent a writhing sensation under his skin. As much as he liked the thought of seeing your eyes filled with arousal, he didn’t want that feeling of perform. Continue. No choice. Earn your life, bring him someone.

But he wanted to make you happy. He had done this so many times before; why not once more, just to see you satisfied? You must be pent up as well after so long of dealing with his unwillingness to give you something so simple. It was the least he could do. He would achieve the release he’d began to crave, you would be happy, and he would know you would stay with him and know he cared for you.

..

Astarion rolled above you, that mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you. You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Someone’s in a playful mood tonight,” you teased, to which Astarion hummed.

“Whoever could that be?” He muttered, leaning down and capturing you in a kiss. You felt his tongue swipe across your lower lip, but before you could grant him entrance, he pulled away, before moving to mouth softly at your neck. You hummed, your chest fluttering as you inhaled. You could feel his lips move against you, his tongue swiping over the scars of old bites, his canines brush dangerously over the delicate skin of your neck.

You put your hands on his chest and muttered, “Mmh, Astarion, what’s going on?”

“Hmm?” He hummed in a questioning tone.

“You don’t normally act like this,” you breathed. “Is everything okay?”

“So sweet for asking,” he murmured. “Just pent up. I want you, if you’ll have me.”

You scanned over his face; nothing seemed off. He seemed genuine. You weren’t sure why he was offering though; this wasn’t like him. Maybe he was actually just pent up?

“You promise you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?”

“Of course, love,” he breathed against your neck, softly nipping at the skin there, threatening to break skin.

You nod, hands running up his sides. “Okay. As long as you promise.”

Astarion gave a pleased sound, his hands snaking under your shirt. Calloused fingertips brushed against your skin, before pulling your shirt up above your head and leaning down to kiss at your shoulders, mouth at your collarbones, and nip at your chest.

You gave a shaky sigh, your hand running over his back, savoring the way he arched against the touch. He was good at this, no doubt, but it always hurt you to think of *why.*

Astarion leaned back, staring down at you almost hungrily. He pulled his own shirt over his head, and you leaned up to run your hands over his chest and his stomach, before leaning in to kiss at the little dimple between his collarbones. He was always finicky about kissing his neck, especially on the side Cazador bit him on, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so you stuck to his shoulders and chest for now.

His hands found your waist, and as you pulled away from him, you saw the slightest flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he pushed you down to the bedroll and pulled your hips up against his, softly grinding against the curve of your ass.

You weren’t worried about that, though; you saw the way his eyes had slowly grown foggy and distant, the loss of expression, and the way his touches became almost rhythmic, nearly robotic; practiced and routine.

“Stop,” you said.

Astarion snapped out of it in an instant, present here and now once more. “Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?”

“Hun,” you leaned up, scooting your hips apart from his and gently cupping his cheek. “You don’t want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I do!” Astarion insisted, “Gods, I want this, please, I’m sorry, just let me-“ he hurriedly began grabbing at your hips, trying to pull you closer,

“Darling, stop.” You said, more assertively this time. His shoulders slumped and the look in his eyes broke your heart; he looked desperate, but not for sex. He looked so disappointed in himself.

“Come here,” you whispered, pulling him in for a hug. “Do you remember when I told you you don’t owe me anything?” He didn’t hug you back, but his forehead rested against your shoulder, and he gave a brisk little nod.

“But I do want it,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to have to give back, or be touched, or just… I don’t know, but I want something, and I-“

You hushed him, sensing his growing stress, running your fingers through his hair. You turned to kiss his temple, and he gave a happy little sound.

“I think I get it. You want to keep your control of your body, but don’t want to have to feel like you owe me pleasure either?” You questioned. He gave a brisk little nod.

“That’s alright. Astarion, we don’t have to do anything like this, I never want your to feel pressured, and-“

“But I do want… something like this.” He rebutted. “I just… want a little. I don’t know. I really am pent up. I’ve tried handling it myself, time and time again… I’ll sneak off into the woods and… and try and rid myself of these desires. But it… just… never works. I cant… I just cant. Not alone.”

You furrowed your brow, feeling just how embarrassed he was with the way he shuffled and squirmed against you, clutching at your sides.

“You mean… you can’t touch yourself, or..?”

“I can’t finish,” he corrected, his words rushed and jumbled.

“Oh,” you said. You kept running your fingers through his hair, taking a moment to think. You could tell how much this embarrassed him, just by how he was acting. “That’s alright, Astarion. What do you want me to do to help?”

“I… don’t know,” he breathed. “I just… I’m frustrated, i need something..”

“Would it be too much for me to touch you like that right now?” You asked him.

He nodded his head, and you pulled back, looking at him as you gently cupped his cheek in your hand. “Use your words, baby boy.”

Red eyes looked up to meet your own, and you couldn’t help but smile at him, if only to comfort him. “Yes, i think that would be too much right now. Maybe… maybe I could… i could touch myself and you can just… be here?”

You flushed a little with his words, but you nodded and kissed the tip of his nose, savoring the way he smiled.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said. “Here,” you began shifting him and yourself.

You moved so he was laying on his side, you laying behind him. Your chest was pressed to his, and you felt the full body shudder that went through him. “This okay?” You asked, and he nodded. You cuddled up to his back, and hummed to him, “Then go ahead, my love. Do what you want.”

Astarion shuddered and you could feel him moving to slip a hand under the hem of his pants. You gently rested a hand on his hip, not sensing anything saying he disliked the touch. His breathing slowly started to pick up, and you could feel him palming himself softly before slipping his cock from his trousers. You hummed your approval, whispering to him, “That’s a good boy.” He whined low in his throat, and you felt his arm start to move as he began stroking himself. You couldn’t see at this angle, but you felt the way his body would slowly start tensing, his chest rising, could see the way he tried to bury his face in the pillow, knowing you were right behind him as he touched himself.

You muttered soft coos of approval to him as he chased his pleasure, each of your words making his breath hitch just a little more.

You hummed, “So good for me, my love, making yourself feel good. Love watching you like this.”

You could so easily ignore your own arousal if it meant you got to witness his. He was beautiful.

Astarion gasped, “D-darling, gods… the way you talk to me, hah, makes me… fuck, I need it…” he trembled and began stroking himself faster, throwing his head back against your shoulder. You smiled against his neck and kissed the pale skin softly, feeling the way it made his entire body shudder. His breathing slowly turned in to whines, desperate and strained.

Your hand ran up to his chest, brushing over the soft skin, savoring the little twitch he gave when your hand ran over his nipples, moving to feel over his rib cage as you whispered how beautiful he was, making himself feel good like this.

You kissed his temple, the saltiness of his sweat clinging to your lips. You caught a glimpse of that beautiful face when he tilted it back to arch himself; brow furrowed, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. “Gods,” you breathed, his red eyes fluttering open. You leaned up to kiss him, not even attempting to look down and see him desperately chasing his release, knowing that catching a glimpse may be too much for him.

You buried your face back in his neck, and he gave a high pitched whine, gasping, “C-can’t… fuck, love, ah, please, I can’t do it, please, help me,” the last words came out as a mere whisper, and you could feel how frantically he was moving in attempting to chase his release. Worried he would hurt himself, you whispered to him, your hand slowly trailing down his hips to rest on his upper thigh.

“May I touch you?” You asked.

“Please,” he nearly sobbed, letting himself go and grabbing your wrist to guide you to his cock. You wrapped your hand around him, heavy and hot in your palm. He was so hard, gods it must have hurt.

You stroked him softly, your thumb swiping over his tip and smearing his precum over himself. He whimpered, still holding your wrist, and you could feel the way his entire body trembled. “Please,” he whispered.

You kissed the back of his neck, mouthing at the flesh there softly as you set your pace, stroking him and smearing his pre over the head, making your hand much slicker to give him a feeling that, if his whimpers and trembles said anything, must be quite lovely.

He jolted and whined, his cock twitching in your hand. You could tell he was close, losing himself to the pleasure, one hand having a death grip on your wrist and the other tangled in the furs of the bedroll. You’d never seen him so lost to himself.

He gasped, “I’m gonna-!” Not even able to get out his warning before your felt his release coating your hand. You stroked him through his orgasm, savoring his gasps, catching the slightest glimpse of a furrowed brow and open mouth, eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill from the corners.

“That’s it, hun,” you breathed to him. “That’s a good boy. Let go for me.”

You kept stroking him until he gave a particularly harsh jolt, with which you withdrew your hand and wiped it on some miscellaneous clothing tossed near your bedroll. You kissed the back of his neck, savoring the silence for a moment.

Astarion was the first to speak. “Thank you,” he said.

“I hope it was to your liking. It wasn’t too much?”

“No, it was wonderful. I… needed that. Do… you want me to take care of you?” He rolled over to face you, glancing down to your trousers. You could see the unease stirring in his eyes at the thought alone

You shook your head. “Tonight was about you. I’m just happy I got to see that pretty face when you came,” you teased, fighting a laugh at Astarion’s shocked and embarrassed expression.

“Gods, you’re truly insufferable sometimes.”

“Same to you, my love,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose and pulling him in close. You pulled a blanket up over his waist to give him some cover, to which he hummed his appreciation and nuzzled in to your chest, sleep catching the both of you and luring you into its embrace.

[proxycrit]

Elesa climbs to celestial tower to ring the bell. Emmet, stuck in between the distortion world, finds his way home.

Part 1/ Part 2

The conductor falls, down, down, down.

“What’s my name?” He calls to the abyss in terror (what is terror?)

He’s a singular being, right? (That’s not right. He’s one of a pair.)

The abyss gazes back. It has no answers to give, in its multitude.

Not to someone that’s so, so alone.

———

Somewhere else, one Elesa of Nimbasa rings the Celestial Tower’s Bell, over and over. Her companion, Chandelure, keeps watch.

Nothing happens.

Elesa’s stomach sinks. The reverberations of Celestial Tower’s brass bell mocks her in its echo. The vibrations of it’s distortion only makes the tears she tries to hold at bay worse.

In the blur of her failure, she sees chandelure’s flames suddenly die. Part of her panics.

The rest of her is apathetic and numb.

What’s the point? It didn’t work. Elesa closes her eyes. Tries to swallow, and fails. She’s so tired. She’s so, so tired. The deal with Azelf, the media storm she’s weathered, the constraints of her job, the almost loss of chandelure-

Emmet has been gone for three months. Ingo has been gone even longer.

They have gone where she can’t follow.

Elesa, the ghost whispers in her head. Elesa shakes her head in denial. She doesn’t want to plan right now. She wants to curl into herself, and disappear, just for a bit.

Elesa!

“I can’t do this,” she croaks. The sob in the back of her throat bubbles outwards. She wants Zebrstika. She wants Skyla. She wants her friends.

The paliphet Azelf forced her forward. It permeates her thoughts, drowning out logical thought.

(Too much willpower, and it will become an obsession, Azelf had warned her once in Ingo’s voice. And then, in Emmet’s voice: And when you fail, it willll break you. And finally, in her own voice: you will not have a choice but to move forward, with this curse.

I accept, elesa and told it back in the lake.)

I’m so tired, Elesa thinks now, two months later.

But she keeps moving forward. The bell rings again as Elesa strikes it, with all the hurt and rage and longing forced by her own hand into her soul-

-And that’s when chandelure screams, and there is a terrible rolling crack, and Elesa feels the sudden lurch in her gut as she looks up, her apathy torn into shreds as-

The sky tears open in a fractal wave.

Elesa gapes.

She can not comprehend the sudden black webbing across the sky. In the distance, sirens suddenly start wailing as people stop to perceive the impossible.

But Elesa does not care, because in that moment, the wrench in her gut is so great she almost staggers off the platform. Chandelure is by her side in an instant, her glass body a warm comfort to the sudden chill, because-

Something white is falling.

Elesa’s doesn’t know what she yells. But the tug in her chest feels like the beat of a drum, and she is helpless to the melody that calls for action.

Azelf’s blessed takes a leaping step forward, off the building. Chandelure lets out a panicked chime and the warmth of psychic cradles Elesa as she reaches out, arms outstretched, falling and flying and-

And Emmet, sparking with white electricity, reaches back.

NOTES:

AU’s Salvaging the Ship of Theseus! Everybody has a Bad Time. (Emmet and Eelektross go to Hisui and learn about the joys of the distortion world. Elesa hunts legends and makes bad deals. Ingo babysits some sneaslets.)

Backstory and explanation:

Prior this scene, Emmet was travelling Hisui with Eelektross before he falls through a mirror and becomes lost in the distortion world for a month. Elesa and Chandelure, meanwhile, refuse to give up on their remaining friend. (Ingo’s fine! He’s in Hisui right now trying to get fired so he can go searching for his memories. Eelektross is… less fine. We will Worry about That Later.)

Disclaimers: Everything’s a work in progress and subject to change!

Part 2!

[kael-writ]

All you Brennan Lee Mulligan fans should check out this strange and haunting short film he did in 2018, it's very good and impactful, definitely very emotionally riveting, disturbing, thought provoking. It's different from his other work because he is appearing as an actor with a different team (writer, director). The writing and directing is fantastic, holy shit, and the performances range from good to what the fuck (complimentary). It's a dark comedy, so there's lots of comedic moments and there's a glimmer of potential hope that can be read in it but it is also a gut wrenching exploration of trauma, survivor's guilt, and guilt by association... It's a lot, I could write a whole essay on it, it's fascinating.

(some content warnings may apply, it's a bit of a spoiler but there is a backstory involving violence against women committed by an offscreen character that isnt seen in any way but is a major visceral theme. It's something I like about it, but it definitely could be triggering and feel free to ask for clarification).

[brucewaynehater101]

do you have any gut wrenching ideas about dick and tim, especially with their shared backstory of meeting at the circus?

dick and tim both have their problems but their relationship in the comics is often very close and they mean so much to me. they are the brothers ever and you can pry that out of my cold dead hands.

ahem...anyways, clearly I personally have a lot of feelings about them but id love to hear your thought.

Hmm.... If you want gut-wrenching HCs about Tim and Dick being the brothers ever (with a special flare about their shared past)...

[Imma fuck around with canon]

Tim is stated to have a photographic/eidetic memory (not sure if it's specifically stated as such in canon). I think Dick lost most of his possessions between when his parents died and when Bruce picked him up. For both canon and our own sake, let's pretend there are no taped copies of the Graysons (Tim supposedly was only able to find out since he was there).

Therefore, Tim, with his memory and the photograph, is able to recall more about Dick's parents' faces than Dick is by the time they meet again eight or so years later.

Dick has memories of flying through the air with them, of warm hugs, and of soft melodies in their native tongue, but time has blurred their features.

This is why Tim goes out of his way to provide Dick with photos. Tim dislikes photos of himself being taken, but he never wants Dick to experience that feeling of loss and grief again. Tim takes photos of himself, the Titans, Dick, Alfred, Bruce, Barbara, and anyone else Dick considers important. Tim ensures he captures memories for Dick so that his older brother never has to forget.

Dick, in return, tries to make as many happy memories with Tim im return. He knows Tim is more likely to remember than not. He wants more of those moments to be filled with care, affection, and laughter instead of the downs vigilante life constantly brings. Even if Dick isn't really feeling it, he still tries for Tim

[romanticizeb]

dude i love ubers sm. they are like a family.. im happy with how well they get along 🥹

i like how this team made barou change his perception about working together and how it wasnt as bad as he thought

snuffy must be so proud of everyone 😻

2 gut-wrenching backstories were introduced. there was peak bromance, comedy, character development, plot twist and people still think that the ubers match against bm was the most boring ...

anyways i >>need<< to reread this match again

[riririnnnn]

I kinda feel a bit stupid to not have realised faster that Aiku's backstory is actually pretty sad.

He was held back by reasons which were completely beyond his control—he wanted to play in a way which none of the adults around him could provide him with. It was like there was no place where he could belong. To be told over and over to do something which is exactly the opposite to what you want is kinda draining, y'know.

He's like Yukimiya, but unlike the model boy, Aiku's dream actually did end—he wanted to be the world's best striker, but he just couldn't become one:

Anybody who has lost a dream knows how gut wrenching the feeling is when you finally realise that maybe you can't just do it anymore, especially when the reasons are something you can't control at all. And it's even more hurtful when all the people around you are showering praises at you for what you are doing when in reality it's the very same thing that is eating up your dream!

And I find it rather ironically bittersweet that he always wished to be a striker and ended up being a defender with a new wish to destroy (the mass produced) strikers—wanting to tear down something that you always yearned to be; sad.

To be honest, what made my heart ache the most was when he said this:

The classic, "What if?" And we all know how much painful this, "What if?" is.

I understand that his statement wasn't said out of jealousy or resentment, it was just a thought, and many of us know how thoughts like these feel like—it tugs on some strings that we have long let go of and the heavy feeling attached to it actually feels weightless and the sadness you were supposed to feel isn't there anymore; kinda empty.

But well, I really like that he is ready to be a guardian if a striker (like he himself used to be) comes forward some day. It's like he is trying to be that someone he never had who he himself needed the most and that he wants to be someone...

The only red flag with green hues🐍💜💚

[sleepyhead-poll]

ROUND 2B, MATCH 7 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Pharaoh Atem / Yami Yugi:

He was sealed away after sacrificing himself at sixteen to save the world, and was "asleep" for 3,000-5,000 years. He woke up so insane that he murdered a bunch of people, but he learned to get past this through the power of friendship. After he woke up, he was still only half a person and shared a body with a teenager for years before finally going home to rest, arguably against his will. Therefore, he spent 20 years tops awake and alive out of the 3-5,000 he's been on earth, and he deserves to win because he never catches a break.

Shadow the Hedgehog:

he's an eepy boy, he's edgy, he's got a sad backstory. now c'mon now.

He has one of the most gut wrenching cry inducing heart aching stories of all time (+ he's cool and edgy). ALSO G.U.N. HAD HIM IN A CAPSULE FOR 50 DAMN YEARS???? I MEAN???? HELLO??????. I hope someone else submits him because this is one of the worst propaganda i've submited in my life. It's just that i love him so much i don't even know what to say about him sorry