#like man I am also traumatized as hell but I just don't want to see it. I will not let this church take anymore of my time that I don't giv

[pandaspwnz]

So I don't think this is actually the case but what if Eliza and Isaac's deaths werent over a petty amount of cash and a robbery gone wrong? What if, instead, Dutch had seen Arthur spending time with them, had perceived him slipping away as a threat: a threat to himself, his gang, his security, his family, afraid of losing his lead enforcer - whether he truly at that point did love him like a son, or not. And in his insecurity or fear or whatever other reason, he finds someone rotten, unrelated to the gang, and he pays them to murder Eliza and her little boy, so no one will ever tempt Arthur away from the flock, and he instead puts all his energy and time into the gang, the only family he has left.

[candyskiez]

usually I hate possession plots but god,I love the possessed hunter plot. because it's just so painfully resonant as an abuse victim. especially to anyone who's been abused by bigots.

like. this outside force you once loved, you spent so much of your time trying to please, so much of your time begging for the approval of, isolates you. they cause you to grow paranoid and angry, snapping at people and pushing you away from your support system. makes you seem crazy to your loved ones, making them doubt your mental health and making you question your sense of reality because you can't tell what's real or not anymore (gaslighting, baby!) you're cut off and overwhelmed. you get put in situations where you're forced to do things you don't want to, you're in so much pain, you're being treated like something with no wants or thoughts of their own. you're stripped of your autonomy. you're belittled for what you wanted and told THIS is how you're supposed to be, and you're so miserable. you're pitted against your loved ones. your abuser tries to make all your loved ones hate you so you come back to them, so they don't lose you. and belos being a horrifically realistic portrayal of an IRL abuser makes this so much worse. he craves Caleb's attention and tries to force hunter to fill that void. nevermind HES the one who robbed himself of caleb in his life by killing him. he tries to make hunter his shoulder to cry on, his therapist, his punching bag, his doctor. uses him to look at himself and go "see! look how good I'm doing! my family is back and he finally loves me again!" , he is obsessive and horrible and cruel and so horrifically realistic. he strips hunter of his autonomy, and in the shit that will start sounding familiar to people who grew up in bigoted families:

forced him out of what made him most comfortable. literally grew out his hair against his will, treated how he'd changed his body and wardrobe to make himself more comfortable as something that tainted him.

also just. holy shit the violating him like that. just the fucking undertones. it's fucking horrific.

and that's why him fighting back is so huge. because he has the strength to say, no. fuck you, no. this is my goddamn body. this is my goddamn life. he takes all these things he LOVED. he loved, that belos had taught him he was sinful and a horrible person for not despising (hm, allegories) and says, fuck you, I WANT this. I want this, I love this, you tried to teach me to hate it but I don't. I love it. I love it, and you didn't break me. I want to leave the coven, I want to leave you. you hurt me, and I said sorry. you used me, and I said sorry. I am done being sorry. I am done feeling bad. I want this life you're trying to take from me. I want to go to the boiling isles and I want to have a life there, in that world you hate so much. I want to go to the boiling isles and be sinful and disgusting and everything you hate and I will love it. I will be happy. I will be free and everything you hate. and I miss when I thought I could please you, because it was simple. but I am happier as a heretic and as a sinner, and you can't change me. I tried to change myself for you, I just ended up miserable. you can't make me something I'm not. I tried. and I am done trying. I am hunter. fuck you, my name is hunter. my name is hunter, and you hurt people. it doesn't matter if you were trying to help me. you hurt me. and I am done, and I am leaving, and most of all I will never let you hurt anyone else like you hurt me.

and he fucking got it, man. he fucking got it. he went through HELL and he still came back swinging. the death feels symbolic to me almost? losing a part of you in traumatic events and you have to live without that part. and you got out but you lost pieces of you in the process, and that stays with you.

but he keeps going. he kept fucking going man and THAT is fucking amazing to me. he kept going. ohhh my god. I wish I had this when I was 13. hunter isn't as massive of a hyperfixation for me anymore by a long shot, but goddamn. I love this dude. I LOVED the possession scene so fucking much and it will always resonate with me so, so hard.

[reveluving]

I AM BACK AGAIN WITH MY HEAD IN HANDS AND HORNY BRUCE WAYNE ON MY MIND I NEED THAT MAN ABSOLUTELY INSANELY DESPERATE FOR BATMOM. SOMETHINNG ABOUT THE URGE.... DELICIOUS

BRB MICROWAVE NOISES ARE HAPPENING IN MY HEEEEAD 🏃🏻‍♀️💨

writing milf!Batmom was bound to happen at some point lol I was waiting for the day to finally happen fr fr SO HERE ❤

warnings: smut (18+ content, minors DNI!)

Look, with that many kids in the household, did you really think no one's going to talk about how sexy of a mother Mrs Wayne is?

Don't get me wrong, Bruce being called a DILF is not uncommon! Just look at him; a rich and respectable hunk of a man, who is also a father of six children and counting? So much hotter than when he was known as a playboy all those years ago. It was only natural for the public to talk about the missus in question as well.

Who could've possibly been the one to finally tame the Bruce Wayne and better yet, encouraged him into the married life?

You, obviously, and boy, did the public understand why.

No matter how much the media tries to deny it, they can never ignore your beauty, your grace, and dare I say, your MILF-ness.

C'mon, everyone's eyes were always on you the second you'd step foot into the gala. Oh, Mrs Wayne is here, in her new silky, silt-cut dress, matchint heels and jewellery that complements your every feature?

Sign me the fuck up!

You may have acknowledged the reputation bestowed upon you, but what you didn't realized was just how strong that power was.

But, of course, your reputation comes with a bit of a price to pay. Not by you, but by your children.

If there was one thing Dick, Jason and Tim were especially too familiar of hearing, especially on social media, it's about you, and the Internet can be very open with their thoughts. People are getting too comfortable on the app, as one would say.

While there was no denying that you were in fact beautiful, they were still your sons, and to see such language about you was almost as traumatic as seeing you and Bruce fooling around in bed.

• 'Mrs Wayne is so hot??? HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN HER IN THOSE HEELS??? GYAT'

• 'I've seen her IRL when I was visiting her café and let me tell you; photos do NOT DO HER JUSTICE 🥵'

• 'If my future husband and I don't give Bruce and (Y/N) Wayne energy, I don't want it ☝🏼🤨'

• 'mrs wayne's thighs appreciation: a thread that will having you SCREAMING [includes 10+ photos]'

That last one in particular had an intimidating number of likes, mind you. As if their own set of fans weren't a lot to deal with already.

But hoho, if we're talking about Bruce Wayne's opinion on the matter?

Picture this.

It's like watching an edit of your favourites; going from a random video of you adorably scrunching up your nose to BAM—a slow-mo of you looking like a literal model. How or where anyone's ever gotten that footage from was uncertain, but if you asked Bruce if he's ever seen that video before?

Chances are, he'd say yes.

Repeatedly, even.

Hell, he might've saved it somewhere, amongst other 'tresures', for educational purposes.

He acknowledges the fact that you may be a teenage boy's fantasy, the dream trophy wife of many men, regardless if they were in their lonesome or in a tasteless marriage, but in the end of the day, you were his, just as he was yours.

And while he has the means to save your most intimate moments via his greatest machines, he actually prefers the good ol' polaroid. Saving at least a couple of boudoir photos in his pocket, wallet, the Batmobile, locked away in one of the Batcomputer's rack and much more. Whether they're photos of you lying on your stomach cross-legged in your lingerie, or even a picture of the two of you, glistening in sweat and naked in front of the mirror, he never ran short of his precious 'supplies', and he has more where that came from.

Knowing he was the only one able to not only see you, but make you writhe and scream and cum in his bed—in your bed, around his cock? He could die a happy man, truly. And he'll do just about anything you ask him to, no question?

Want his fingers inside you while he smothers his face in between your breasts? Certainly.

Want him to lie back so you can straddle his face and make you cum with that talented tongue of his? You don't have to tell him twice.

Want him to take your dress and lingerie off so slowly, even though his cock is aching to be touched by those sweet hands of yours? Say no more.

That man is always hungry for you, borderline desperate even, but what's new.

But, if it ever goes down to you, or when the public gets too comfortable voicing out, especially in front of you, and it clearly rubs you the wrong way, best believe he'll do something about.

He doesn't need the comments of others to know how sexy of a woman his wife really is, after all.

I wanted to write smut for this, considering it is a milf!batmom after all, but we all know how long it takes for me to do that HAHA I hope y'all still liked this one tho! Please don't forget to leave some sugar! ❤

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Request: Inigo Dragonov scenario where we (his darling) didn’t cave into remarrying him. (I guess this is like an alternative timeline from the original storyline). He was thinking about bankrupting our family, so aside from that, what if we also didn’t want to remarry him because we found a new lover (that even his private investigators didn’t know about). And to make it even more soap opera drama like, our new man is Inigo’s old university rival (who’s still also his company’s rival). I’m sorry…I just love these tropes/cliches. What makes it even ❤️provokingly❤️ worse is if his rival were just to see Inigo across the street one day on an outing with us and our twin babies…and just kiss the babes while pulling us into an embrace…all while keeping a long deadlock stare with Inigo. Like DUSKGSJOSLHWJJJWJ!!!!!!!!! Unleash Inigo’s full yandere potential after being forced to witness this!

Yandere! CEO! Arranged! Ex-husband x AFAB! Ex-wife! Reader

WHAT IF: You refused to marry him?

Ooh anon, you're the worst (lovingly). You really want Iñigo to suffer huh?

Once more, I'm delving into Iñigo's lore because fun fact, Rowan may be my first yandere OC, but Iñigo had a whole novel just exploring him and his actual partner, Ykaidi! (I unpublished it on Wattpad though, it's so cringe lol. Also, there's so much stuff I changed so technically, the original timeline IS an au in itself) So this will be a good creative exercise to explore his personality more.

He's one traumatized bitch.

No?

Did you really say no?

Iñigo scoffed before tilting his head to the side, a bit bewildered.

"This..."

Words died down in his throat as he saw your resolute face.

"A-are you sure you don't want to marry me? I told you that the children needs a father figure in their life."

He somehow got a bad feeling about this. And that proved right as you gave him a soft smirk.

"They do, actually. It's not you though."

Iñigo felt his blood run cold.

His ears started to ring from the shock he received.

"You..." You have another man? That was not... Him?

How could that possibly be?! He always made sure that his private investigators would know each and every single one of the people that you spoke to back in New Zealand.

He should rethink his choices right now.

"But, Elise and Elliot needs their biological father. I am their bio father!" Iñigo yelled, his jaw ticking. But you only rolled your eyes.

"Did you think I would take into account on going back to you?!" You screamed, marching up to him and pushing him back. Your heart squeezed in pain as it pumped to accomodate the anger rising inside of you. "You neglected me. Insulted me in ways I don't even hear from my parents!"

You stomped one step, as if crushing his heart in pieces.

"Why would I come back to you?" Your voice, crackled with the pent up anger, gave a raw, intense tone of rage that echoed your beating heart. "You must think I'm stupid if I'll run to you."

Iñigo's vision swam, breathing heavily as he felt small, pressured....

Intimidated.

He never took account of you moving on and hating him to the point of getting another man. But you did. You did what he thought was impossible.

"Sweetheart... Please..." His tone was getting desperate, clawing at the seams to make sure he won't burst from the emotions he's feeling.

Iñigo is an emotional man. Yes, he may seem cold hearted and reserved, but when it comes to you, it's different.

His hand trembled, wanting to grab your hand to rest upon his cheeks and place a shackle on it.

"I'm going." You whispered before walking out of him.

~~~Two weeks later~~~

It's been hell in Iñigo's company. He's working his employees like dogs to create the best fashion company out there.

Whatever that means.

But all he knows he needs to outrank the Smith's when it comes to the Fashion influence across the world.

He needs to outrank you.

He needs to be more popular.

More rich.

More influential.

He drank another coffee, letting the coffee dribble down his chin and onto the hardwood table.

"Indigo, I think you need to take a break." Oliver said, using the nickname he's been using since he was a child. Iñigo looked up and saw Oliver holding up a mirror, reflecting how bad Iñigo looked.

"Wow, way too drive the nail further. Fuckhead." Iñigo glared at Oliver before shaking his head and standing up. "Alright. I'll go for a walk, Livi."

Iñigo went to the bathroom, fixing his appearance, shaving a bit, and adding light makeup to his face, just to hide the circles on his eyes.

Damn, he even knew how to apply makeup just to impress you, the fashion icon you are.

His tongue stung, remembering when he called you frumpy.

He got down through the elevators and walked towards the park. His steps heavy and straightforward. He ignored the stares he got, some shocked, some flirty, but he didn't mind them.

Because once he looked up to cross the street, his eyes widened seeing you and...

"Steven..?"

Steven. He knows him so well.

He's an academic rival back then in highschool and college, and now a business rival too.

He also can't believe he's now a love rival also?

Iñigo always remained victorious between them, with Steven simmering in second place.

But Steven only laughs, rolls his eyes and moves on.

He hated that part of him.

But now, it seems that Steven is leading in one aspect.

And it's you.

Steven looked around, sightseeing before landing on Iñigo.

Both froze, unsure of what to do.

But this time, Steven smirked and pulled you close, kissing your temple lovingly then scooping Elise and Elliot into his arms, laughing as they giggled in Glee.

People awed at the sight, seeing this "father" play with his children and being openly affectionate with his "wife."

The perfect family.

Iñigo feels like he's looking into the spotlight, looking into a pedestal that looked too far from his reach.

He wanted to break the hands that affectionately caressed your hips, to tear the lips that kissed your temple, to break the ankles that dared walk up to you.

He felt something crack inside him.

Sure, he won't use violence.

On you.

But, the prospect of Steven dying in his arms, torturing him for hours sounds delightful.

He finally snapped.

He's not afraid of blood, nor guts nor any of that gorey stuff.

He got his yandere side from his biological father after all, not Allastor. It was never Allastor, after all, he's a really sweet man.

He could never spawn a devil in hiding.

And, as Iñigo walk away to buy the necessary items to torture Steven, he smirked.

"Business be damned. I'm taking what's mine."

[fuzziemutt]

On the views of Rio in relation to Miguel within fandom

There's something I'm commonly seeing that has been worrying me which is the depictions of Rio "latina mom-ing" Miguel.

This includes Rio:

- slapping him

- coming at him with "the chancla"

- "dressing him down" verbally or yelling

- humiliating him

- straight up just... Beating him up

And I'm bringing this up because guys... This shit be low-key racist. I know racism towards latines has already been a problem (Yes. I am gesturing to the everything that is how Miguel is treated within the fandom), but I personally wanted to bring up this issue as well as I'm unsure if others have talked about it- and we all know how suck ass searching anything on this site is.

Anyways, I won't lie. I don't know how many latines are making these jokes, but it being so prevalent being her "main" interactions makes me feel even if it started as a latine joke, it sure as hell didn't stay that way.

But the depiction of Latina women as fierce, aggressive and (yes it is) straight up physically abusive (in general words) is a major fucking Problem. Latinas are often depicted in media as these "feisty exotic women" who takes no shit. Perpetuating that with Rio does not feel as #girl power as you guys might think. It feels like a step back in treating latinas not as these power houses but as... Y'know... People who aren't depicted as aggressors 24/7....

But also I really hate this cutesy look at what is a serious issue within latine communities. It's always "ha ha funny" seeing a Latina mom beating someone's ass but guys. That is still physical abuse. That is a serious issue and discussion that is held within the latine community. And seeing it so casually assigned to Rio kind of makes me feel sick.

And this isn't even tacking on that you're having a Latina beating/acting aggressive towards a canonical child abuse survivor (yes. Miguel is a child abuse survivor.) Which adds a whole new layer of how shitty this actually is.

Because I hate how people are boiling Rio down to just being an aggressor towards Miguel to "put him in his place". That's discrediting her character so badly.

Yes, latinas can be strong. Yes, latinas can be angry. Yes, latinas can get aggressive.

These are things people are and do because people are complex.

But I really need the fandom to stop for a second and really think about how they saw Rio, witnessed her give her heart on the screen, - a mom who's trying so hard to break these cycles of yelling and humiliation with kindness and understanding (even being a foil to Jeff's strong headed approach on purpose) -

took her and said "she would perpetuate a real cycle of abuse towards a fellow latino because he's the 'bad one'" and laughed.

I know you guys are depicting her like this as a means to defend Miles, but maybe not like this. Her character doesn't deserve being so bastardized like this for your stolen joke.

(which this whole "need" to defend him in the first place points right back to the racism towards Miguel if we're honest. I have complex thoughts on Miguel's interactions with Miles especially involving the end train scene but boiling a traumatized Latino man down to just being an "aggressive threat" that needs to be "put in place" as I've mentioned above is racist as hell too.)

You guys can reblog this, but don't fucking guilt trip people into reblogging this okay? I'm not giving you brownie points for that shit.

[riddler-green]

Tea for three. Prologue

Summary: You have been a patient/prisoner of Arkham for several months since you were charged with a crime you did not commit. But what happens when you meet Batman's latest enemy? the man of the hour? In which you help Batman on his cases, you're Edward's new favorite person, and Jonathan is part of your past that you want so badly to return to.

Edward Nashton x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader, Jonathan Crane x reader.

A/n: Holaaa everyone! here I am posting another story that I thought of in a sleepless night, I think it's one of my most ambitious fics that I've been planning but that makes it cooler! I should clarify that this fanfic is mixed with the 2022 movie with the Nolan saga (but in such a minuscule way that it's barely imperceivable). I'm back from my vacation so I'll update my other work soon! ♡

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so an apologize for the spelling mistakes. ✧˖°. (My English is rusty :´p).

(Also this fanfic is published on AO3) ✿

Warning: Fluff and angst, Obsessive Behavior, Canon Compliant (the flood occurred, sorry) Movie spoiler (Batman 2022) if there is another warning I did not put, please let me know.

Words: 5,400

You stroll as two guards lead you to a room, you don't know where they are taking you but it's not like you could complain either. The guards behind you ignored you all the way chatting with each other as if they were not watching an Arkham patient, they let you into the individual visiting room. Still, you nicknamed it the interrogation room because you only come here when that person requests your presence.

You sit down without a problem in the stiff metal chair, the approving noise of the iron partition sounds throughout the place, and you hear one of the guards closing the door leaving you alone with him.

At first, it was tedious, even traumatic in a way to come to this room to talk to the person who captured you and brought you to Arkham without hesitation. You couldn't refuse to see him, not when the caped man is a colleague of an important commissioner. No matter how many times you told him, how many times you yelled at him that you were innocent, he either didn't believe you or just wouldn't listen. You got tired of telling everyone around you that it wasn't your fault, none of them listened to you.

The metal partition rises completely, and little by little you see the almost imperceptible figure of the knight of the night. He kept silent without sitting down, standing in front of you analyzing you as everyone does nowadays, but you no longer care what he thinks of you, you are practically a hopeless case for him.

"Hello?" your greeting sounded confusing, you were not expecting a visit from him, but you have an idea why he comes to you, on certain occasions he shows you cases of different indoles, also that he has found some clue of the…

"I'm looking for the Riddler" He doesn't greet you and moves closer to the glass that separates them, you can take a better look at him, he's still the same since the last time you saw him, his attire nor his face have changed at all, but you notice something different in his voice, is it tiredness you hear?

"The Riddler?" you look at him unclear as to what he means "Who is that?".

"A serial killer" he informs you, you often hear those terrible words from him, how often does Batman chase killers like that, it's like there's one every week, it's cruel but it's the truth, Gotham is the cradle of evil, hell on earth, some would say.

"And what have I got to do with him?" you ask hesitantly.

Batman leaves a gray folder in the crack that connects the two rooms as if it were a mailbox "I need to know your perspective".

For a moment you thought about rejecting whatever is in that folder, but your curiosity won you over, you slowly grabbed the folder somewhat heavy because of the many sheets stored, on the cover of the folder you can see a CLASSIFIED in capital letters, that fuels your interest even more and you open the folder.

It's a lot to take in at once, you open your eyes from the initial shock, you haven't seen so much blood since your clinical internship days, you close the folder for a few seconds to recover, and you look Batman in the eye with a frown, he didn't even warn you how grotesque the case could be. 

Batman looks back at you completely seriously, he looks immutable and silent. You open the folder again and are greeted by the same disturbing images "Wow, it's something " you comment uneasily.

You see the evidence, black and white photos of the murders stapled to the autopsy reports, it is amazing how this man can have such information. the more time you spend reading the events and the evidence the more disturbed you become. 

Mayor Don Mitchell Jr, mayor of Gotham for several years, you saw him once at a social event done by Gotham University, he was happy and smiling maybe because of the excess alcohol in his veins. but now you look at the crime scene, his face completely wrapped in duct tape.

"No more lies..." you whisper reading the message on the corpse of the mayor, then that was with an already established motive, to give a statement.

On the other hand, Commissioner Savage's body is barely recognizable, the cage on his head says it all.

This is no ordinary killer.

What have you gotten yourself into, batman?

"why are you showing me this?" you manage to ask him even with the murders fresh in your mind, you don't think you will sleep tonight.

The already-seated masked man repeats to you "I need to know your perspective".

"As a patient or as a psychologist?" technically you can no longer practice your career since they took away your degree, but he doesn't correct you, you peruse everything that was offered, the riddles, the pictures of all the letters he has left for Batman, descriptions of the crime scene, write-ups of the witnesses who found the bodies.

"Both" he declares.

The handcuffs on your wrists do not give you much freedom to move your arms but do not prevent you from handling the documents in the folder, if Batman thought this might interest you he was right, for better or worse you did not stop seeing file after file.

"How extravagant," you say your first impressions "Brusque with his victims, he really is angry" You turn the page to see the pictures of his riddles "But he is also ingenious, this is not prepared from one day to another, he has been planning this for a long time, I would say years".

"Angry at who?" the man in front of you asks but you don't answer him instantly, you take your time carefully reading all the research, it's a lot for only one killer and few victims, but it's nothing that can be used to find him.

"With the world" you turn the page to see Commissioner Savage's crime scene photo "The pattern is evident, the mayor...the commissioner...does not kill ordinary civilians." 

"Do you think it's political?".

You barely smile at the mere idea that this is just politics "No, this is too intimate for him, riddles are an essential part of his life that he knows how to use to his advantage...and I only come to one conclusion..." you shut up and rearrange the documents to close the folder. 

"What is it?" batman questions you with intrigue in his voice.

You see him again, he must be desperate somehow to find this Riddler who asks for the opinions of third parties, of "crazy" people like you, something he dislikes, he prefers to work alone, that's his emblem. Deep down it angers you to no end, he hasn't caught your living nightmare and he's already looking for another asshole.

"That" you passed him the folder through the crack in the partition between rooms, and he retrieves it in his hands "Is revenge, Batman, and a very wicked one."

"Give me a diagnosis" he speaks faster, and the anger starts to seep into his face and it satisfies you to sometimes see him like this, frustrated Batman...yeah that's a first.

you smile and relax in your stiff metal seat "You should ask Dr. Crane for that, he's more prepared than I am, don't you think?".

"He refused" You'd know he'd turn it down, he's not like Batman or you, he doesn't even like to play Clue.

"yeah, he doesn't have the hobby of playing detective" you shrug your shoulders "I can't give you a diagnosis because it's little, he has left only what he wants us to know, maybe he includes you in this because he admires you or because he wants to kill you, who knows" you blurt out everything you think without any shame, in your mind you are already putting together a criminal profile with only what he gave you, but you won't tell him that, he doesn't deserve your help.

The masked man's posture tenses and he begins to clench his fists, your smile grows. 

"all that, all those little clues he leaves you make me think this is all a big riddle on his part" You pointed to the folder held by one of his gloved hands.

"I don't think he's going to stop until he sees everyone on his list dead."

What you told him seemed to affect him, because he suddenly gets up and goes to the door without looking at you, and he found no news "I can't waste time" he whispers with disdain, he leaves the room and you stand watching the door where he left.

So it's a riddle against the clock, huh? you think.

The sky in Gotham looks like a landscape worthy to take a picture of, from here you can see the buildings of different heights, the traffic between highways, and the bridges, even if you force your sight you can see people walking.

"Do you like the view?".

You continue to look through the window reinforced with bars and tempered glass, the bars cover part of the landscape but you can still admire the beautiful gray sky full of clouds ready to rain.

"yes..." you say putting your hands between the bars without stopping to think how happy you would be just to be out of this abyss. you didn't appreciate the beauty of the freedom you had before you were here.

"What do you like most about the view?".

You take a few seconds to respond, the handcuffs on your wrists started to itch on your skin, that itch so normalized on your skin that you don't do much to get rid of that itch, you didn't look away from the window, this simple reinforced window brought you comfort for all these months.

"Everything."

"You hear the voice of your therapist repeat your answer and nod, will your cafeteria still be open? The Gotham Library will have finally added new books? the university will have already changed that horrible lamp in one of your favorite classrooms? 

Batman already caught the Riddler?

"What a good answer actually, but I need you to sit down for a further conversation, soon the session will be over" The doctor's professional tone makes you tense up, you feel like you are not talking to a human but to a fucking robot, that's how you have thought them since you were imposed to this therapist.

You listen to what you say and sit in the other chair where you are supposed to be for the whole session, however, Mr. M has let you have the sessions while you watch from the only window, you are grateful for that, even if you didn't like him at all.

"I have been informed about your good behavior this week, if you continue like this you can be given more access through the hospital" Mr.M speaks calmly looking through several documents held by a wooden board.

Fuck you, you thought but didn't tell him, you don't have the luxury of being rude to him. you'll never get the same freedom you got when you were still an average citizen of Gotham and it saddens you, it makes your blood boil to remember every moment of your existence that you're here unjustly.

"Thank you" You speak as little as possible because you know you would break down in tears just remembering that you are another day of your life wasted locked up among so many criminals.

"But" Mr.M stops looking at his documents to turn to look at you "I was also told that you refuse to take your medication, why is that?".

"Why don't I need them" you speak cuttingly again, the itch in your wrists grows and you scratch with your fingernails without realizing it.

"you have to take his medicine...it will make your recovery process more enjoyable" he grabs his tablet with documents and writes again, Mr.M does not scold you but you perceive it like this, you want to go back to your cell, you feel so ashamed that your skin gets hot, how did you come to this? How did you fall so low that you are the one they have to medicate? 

"Fine" you lie to him, you dislike the taste of the medicine they force you to take, you know perfectly well what they prescribe you, you studied for it after all.

But everyone seems to forget that.

Only Batman can recognize your abilities, but he does not help you at all in your case.

And well, you paranoidly believe that Jonathan is only talking to you out of unconscious guilt.

"Okey" Mr. M gives a soft smile "Just one last question before our time is up" he checks the time on his wrist watch "Have you made a new friend? Have you managed to get along with anyone?".

You avoid the gaze of your therapist "No" you denied, another issue you don't want to address, your notorious loneliness in this hospital. If it weren't for your unique best friend who works here, you would be all alone.

"Why?."

You don't answer him, you also question the same thing, you haven't had an interest to socialize with the other patients since you arrived, and there are still things that are not clear to you.

Mr. M sighs dropping his papers in a file cabinet near him "Well, I'll leave it as homework for you to start seeing new people, making a friend sounds excellent."

"I'll try" You don't lie to him.

"Perfect."

It's been a day since Batman visited you and you had your weekly session with Mr.M, you haven't been able to sleep due to the tremendous curiosity of the new assassin the bat is looking for.

Just when you thought nothing could surprise you in this city since your accident, along comes a man with a question mark and puts the whole city in check, that's the city to him, a colossal chessboard, the DPGC, the Gotham elite, the citizens, they are all pieces in the game, and Batman and he are the only players.

Batman said he didn't have time, Does that mean that he has to catch him these days? how curious, with the Joker, it took months to find him, you were only intercepted in a couple of hours, and the Scarecrow...

no, you don't want to think about him.

You get distracted thinking about the Riddler again, you do your daily service arranging books in the small library of Arkham, your safe place where few or no people stop around these parts, here it is not necessary to use your wrist and neck cuffs, but your uniform is still on, and the plastic bracelet with your information identify you as a patient.

You yawn as you place a couple of worn-out books on the shelf, you felt like a bookstore worker, sometimes you usually fantasize that you are one to take away your boredom, but others usually burst your dreamy bubble.

Today, one of the guards decided to turn on the old-fashioned TV set in one of the upper corners of the library, you stand near a bookcase to see what channel they put on this time, usually they only put on the sports channel to watch the game of the moment.

But on this occasion, the guard put on the news channel, and you immediately put down the books you have to accommodate to concentrate on what is shown on TV.

The guard is still standing and so are you, both watching a live breaking news broadcast. The news anchor reports a new Riddler attack.

He bombed a prosecutor at the mayor's funeral.

The guard's face looked more and more frightened, you watched the news with morbid curiosity. Batman's new opponent seems more sadistic than you thought, that detailed report confirmed it.

But seeing their repeated acts on TV was shocking, you even heard the guard who put on the news say in a low voice " We are doomed. "

You silently agree with him, for the first time you are relieved to be locked away from all the chaos going on right now.

You saw how the explosion managed to reach Batman, surprising you as the guard, the man takes off his distinctive security guard hat when he sees the video, on the other hand, you are still stunned, not believing it, somehow you forgot that this man dressed in black and wearing a cape is still a human of flesh and blood, he simply can't die like that, not when he has things to save, people to capture.

He hasn't found your living nightmare yet.

Before you pull your hair out in frustration the news anchor states that Batman is still alive, the guard satisfied by the information puts his cap back on and returns to his guard position which is the entrance to the library.

You are still looking at the report, and suddenly the image of the man who calls himself the Riddler appears. You hadn't seen him in such detail until this moment, the photos in the Batman report were extremely blurry images, but this time he is in HD, he is completely wrapped in green clothes, and the only thing you can see of him, is his eyes. 

His voice is altered but you can notice that venomous tone of his he asked prosecutor Gil Colson some riddles, but in the end, he couldn't answer what Riddler wanted.

You sigh while grab another couple of books and start arranging them one by one. If Batman is still alive it means this isn't over.

"I knew I would find you here".

"It's not like I can go many places" You smile slightly turning to look at the man who spoke to you. 

Jonathan Crane, the living legend of the hospital, with tailored suits, no wrinkles in his coat, and a well-made tie that matches the sweater he wears under his coat. There isn't a single time you haven't seen Jonathan without his perfect appearance but maybe it's just you idealizing as usual. 

Jonathan gives you a polite smile "Right" Just by hearing that you know he won't stay to chat for long, he tends to contradict you most of the time just to annoy you and agree with you when he's busy.

"Are you coming to get a book?" you ask him the first thing that comes to mind.

"No, I wanted to talk to you before I left," he says adjusting his glasses "I'm going away for a couple of weeks to blüdhaven University to give lectures, it will be a simple thing" Your smile doesn't falter, you are touched that he lets you know when he won't be able to see you, and how he manages to keep the conversation so casual. 

As if they were still colleagues.

"Is that so? What will you talk about?".

"Childhood traumas" he reveals looking at you without any shyness, he has a barely perceptible smile but you notice it. 

"why am I not surprised?" you resume your work in arranging books "Although you know how to pick interesting topics, I wish I could attend" You recognize that Jonathan has been too devoted to his work and student life, he is that kind of strict professor who gives his students nightmares from the assignments and exams he gives. His lectures are fascinating, to say the least, you attended many.

"I'll tell you about it when I get back, in the meantime" From inside his suit he pulls out a  flyer in half "It's something extremely summarized but it'll do" You take the piece of paper and stuff it in one of your pockets. It's not the first time Jonathan smuggles things to you, god, you can even be sure he gives you something every time you see each other. 

"Thank you" you thanked looking at his face, he also remains silent looking at you, the eye contact between you is not something out of another world either, on your part, it's a habit that started when you were still studying, you can't help but want to observe everyone around you, analyze them somehow, see their behavior.

Jonathan does the same, but more rigorous and practical, he is direct and not afraid to say it, you see his hair combed to his liking, his glasses clean without any smudge, his eyes examining you. 

You leave your admiring mode when you diverted your gaze a little to the old TV that is still on, the news keeps showing the latest events of the hours, repeating the most recent crime of Riddler.

Your smile dims as you recall the video of the explosion, the prosecutor begging for mercy and the bomb stuck in his chest.

"Did you see what happened at the mayor's funeral?" you whisper to him in a low voice trying not to let anyone hear them, you look with your eyes for the guard on duty but you can't find him, Jonathan must have asked him for some privacy time, at times you forget the influence that the man in front of you has generated with years and effort.

He turns his head for a few seconds watching the news on TV and turns to look at you again with a sensible and neutral face. 

"yes, I saw it, I was there when it happened".

"What?" you utter with surprise "You were there?" there was no sign of a lie on his face to make you think he wasn't telling you the truth.

"Some teachers from the university we went to give condolences when the show happened" Jonathan clarifies simply, you approach him to talk closer, he doesn't seem upset "So it's true? Riddler attacked that prosecutor?".

"He killed him."

You shut up for a moment because of his statement, it's true, Riddler killed him, and almost Batman too.

"And Batman? Did you see him in action?" at this point you sound like first-rate gossip, but still Jonathan answers your questions, but is no longer as pleased doing so, the moment you mention Batman. 

"He arrived when most of the people had already been evacuated."

"Wow" you blurt out surprised, if you didn't know him better you would have been uneasy with his calmness when talking about the experience, he says it without any fear because that's exactly what's so special about Jonathan in your eyes, he's not afraid of anything.   

"Batman looked you up, didn't he?" Jonathan changes the subject quickly and you nod your head, you move away from his side to reach for a cart full of books to be arranged "He wanted my opinion on the riddler, can you believe it?" you laugh "I told him to look you up better, but you turned him down."

"That's right" he assures leaning on one of the bookcases for comfort, he looks at you picking up a book and you place it among several other books on another bookcase "I don't lend myself to that sort of thing".

"I know, killjoy Crane" you scoff boldly.

"Whatever you say" he sighs "I have to go, there will be a meeting at the university" Before you could say goodbye properly, he approaches you to give you an extremely momentary hug, it was so fast that you couldn't return the hug because he had already separated from you. You swore you could smell some of his cologne.

"uh yeah, see ya" You are barely able to utter the words without getting over the small contact they made, he has said goodbye to you like this, but you are still not used to it.

Jonathan smiles at you picking up his briefcase that you didn't see in the first place, walks to one of the tables where the TV control is, picks it up, and turns off the TV "I don't like you watching that" he tells you already heading for the exit where the guard re-enters the library.

You wrinkle your forehead due to irritation. Sometimes you don't understand Jonathan.

You genuinely thought your head was going to explode from the pain. 

Being in Arkham meant being cut off from the outside, you had no idea of the chaos that erupted overnight, the perverse game of Batman and Riddler was so forceful, that Arkham unexpectedly came into the spotlight when the green-masked man was captured. An alert in your head went off when you heard from a very nervous guard. You thought it was almost impossible for Batman to catch Riddler, and that he's here being processed to this hospital gives a lot to suspect.

The report Batman showed you are not wrong, the madman of riddles is too elusive to be caught in such a short time.

Why? You ask yourself, why did he let himself be defeated?

The hospital was in chaos with the arrival of the new patient in the middle of the night, nurses running around, and security guards moving patients to different cells temporarily, you were taken out of your small cell to another one just as small and almost the same.

Even with suspicion in your being, you don't understand what all the fuss was about, not even when they paraded the Joker through the main hall in a straitjacket as if he were a villain from some movie did they get as upset as they are now with Riddler.  

You sat on your new bed just as hard as the one in your previous cell, not wanting to catch the social panic you try to meditate, Mr. M advised you to do so and since then you put it into practice.

Maintaining a state of relaxation is difficult but you have practiced it for months, you started the breathing exercises, and as you slowly inhale and exhale your thoughts begin to melt one after the other, calming you down, and making your anxiety about all the fuss disappear.

You exhale again and inhale hard again, you could be doing this all day, you have nothing to worry about, you're in your world, locked away from society, and must be recovering from whatever Riddler did as his closing snap.

You open your eyes and stop doing your breathing exercises, you hear a laugh. But not just any laughter, but a loud and annoying laughter, you instantly get up from your bed and run towards the door with a small glass window. The laughter was not your imagination, and you can recognize it now that you are closer to the door.

You don't see any guards guarding this section of cells, how strange. The laughter continues unabated. It must be some neighbor of your cell because of the proximity of the noise and you have an idea of who it might be but you ignore it for only a few minutes, you can't take it anymore and yell "Can you shut up for once?".

Your cell neighbor stops laughing and you can finally feel at peace, but instead starts a conversation.

"Scarecrow?" you close your eyes just hearing that horrible nickname he gave you at some point during his hospital stay. relatively the two have been in Arkham for a similar amount of time, both trapped by Batman and calling them the dark knight's worst enemies. 

But you could never compare yourself to someone like him Joker. 

You had a chance to get to know each other when you let him participate in common activities, you don't want to remember the first time you spoke to each other, it ended badly, period.

"Don't call me that, asshole" you insult him and he sounds pleased with your response.

"Ah! Are we sensitive today? It's a holiday! Let's celebrate!" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"our guest of honor has arrived, only his final trick is missing!" he continues to speak in that animated voice that irritates you.

When you talk to the Joker you get that feeling that he is speaking in another language, but he is not, you understand what you are saying but at the same time, you don't. You also realized that he knows too much to be just an Arkham patient. 

But everyone at the hospital can assure you that your neighbor is not an ordinary patient at all.

This time you managed to understand his words, Riddler still has an ace up his sleeve, how could the Joker find out about that?

"Did Batman interrogate you too?".

"Of course he did...I'm his favorite!" he replies in the same arrogant manner as always "but I don't forgive him for being so crude on our anniversary."

"So you saw it, huh? I don't think this is a coincidence" You suppose the Joker must have seen it too, of course, he may be reciprocally insupportable but he's not stupid.

The clown laughs, but you don't, you didn't say anything funny in your opinion.

"Poor little Riddler, he thinks he can be just like him."

You ponder what he says, returning to your bed as you sit up again, the sky begins to clear and you can see it through the tiny barred window.

What if this assassin wanted to imitate Batman in some way? 

"What a bizarre introjection you've made, Riddler" you whisper.

First, there was an explosion.

You felt the whole cell rumble, you woke up instantly and got up from your bed to run to the door even with your eyes swollen from sleep, naively you thought it was some kind of earthquake. You stuck your face to the glass of the door in search of a guard or nurse, whatever it is that will help you get out of this cell, you don't want to die here.

However, the section was still empty, there was no one in the guards' small surveillance cubicle, and you could only perceive the monitors on, showing the news. 

You heard a completely strident noise, there was no earthquake. You turned slowly to the window, the color was changing from gray to orange.

It can't be.

you rush to see what's going on, you grab a piece of your bed to climb on it and reach the high window of the cell, you level yourself by holding your hands on the rusty metal bars, and you catch a glimpse of what caused such a noise. 

You saw the light of an explosion, the combination of yellow and red colors coloring the sky, the smoke, the fire. The explosion happened far away from Arkham, but you can still see it in detail, then the noise became present, and you grimace at the impact on the walls, but it was not over yet.

Explosion after explosion went off all over the city, from bridges to seawalls, a scene so hard to believe if you weren't watching it right now.

The sight takes your breath away, you are so stunned that you almost fall to the floor witnessing such an act, this is what the Joker is referring to? the Riddler's final trick?

not even the scarecrow did so much damage to this city, you underestimated the man with the riddles.

You could not take your eyes off the explosions, there were too many and well-armed to generate so much destruction. The second thing was the water, the waves and drains getting out of control and flooding several streets.

You grip the metal bars tighter, not believing this is real, but it is. Not just bombs but a flood, was that what he had under his mask? Is Gotham drowning with innocent people? 

It makes sense now, his cooperation when caught, the guards' restless attitude, and Batman's uneasiness.

All.

Suddenly you focus on the bustle of what seems to be your cell neighbors, you didn't notice when they put the other patient in the cell next to yours. The noises came together to form a horrifying atmosphere. The laughter of the Joker, the excited laughter of your other neighbor, and the explosions that went on and on. Even with your breathing exercises, you could not relax in the face of this horrifying event.

Slowly you let go of the bars and stop looking in the window, slowly you understand one thing.

Someone beat Batman.

Thank you very much for reading! And sorry for the mistakes!*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧.

[lovemyromance]

Let's talk about the dreaded pliant bones argument in ACOTAR

First of all, I don't ever want to see this stupid argument anywhere, especially after HOFAS. Second of all, none of the Archeron sisters are Illyrian so they do not have Illyrian anatomy suitable for childbirth. And yet, we see Feysand and Nessian as mates. So it's not like SJM even cared about that herself.

Then ACOSF happens, and oh no, c-sections don't apparently seem to exist and it becomes a BIG DEAL™ that Nesta changed only her own body and Feyre's body to have Illyrian anatomy.

People have been latching onto this argument like Rose on the goddamn Titanic, anything to cling to their sinking ship.

Let's not forget that Elain & Nesta had their bodies changed already once before, against their will. Why the hell would Nesta change Elain's body without obtaining consent after that traumatic experience? That would be a gross violation of bodily autonomy.

And Nesta was shown how to change the bodies. Which could hint that she still knows how, should a similar situation arise again.

But none of that even matters! What matter is that it's 2024 and we are still saying a woman can't be with the man she loves because she can't give him biological children. That is the crux of the argument Gw*nriels always try to skip around and say without saying. Like "oh no!! She can't have his babies!! Ship sank. It's over. The End."

As if a woman should be reduced down to her ability to procreate. This is not the middle ages people! Wake up!

Also, not to mention, even if we use that disgusting logic - The only other female in this series that is mentioned to have Illyrian anatomy is Emerie. Are we shipping Azriel with Emerie now? Because she can FOR SURE have his babies, if that's all that matters. Who cares about her own desires and personality and sexual preferences if she can have illyrian kids??

Now let's consider what people have been latching onto:

Gwyn...is flexible and adapts to training moves quickly. That's why Nesta commented she had "pliant bones", that's IT. She is part nymph and "has different anatomy than high fae", sure, but is that anatomy in any way, Illyrian? Water nymphs don't have Illyrian leathery wings either so I don't understand why insisting Gwyn has "pliant bones" is in any way endgame ship material. Why would her half-water nymph heritage give her the anatomy to birth a full grown illyrian-winged baby??

And then there's the cowards that use this argument by hiding behind SJM herself by saying "Well, I hate it too, but SJM is *kinda* known for writing like this and her characters are all male-dominated, fae-territorial blah blah, she is *kinda* hinting at endgame because the womb thing–" NO. No.

Don't hide. Tell the room exactly what you are saying. Which is the exact same misogynistic spiel as above, where you try to use gross medieval logic to justify your mf fictional ship, but you hide your faces when you say it. Because you know it's wrong, but you're still not above using that as "evidence" in your ship's favor.

I've even said before, I don't care what SJM says. If I don't like a misogynistic take, I am not using that as evidence in any capacity for any reason.

I'm not even being biased by my preferred ship. I genuinely just want people to stop using this argument because it's hurtful to women as a whole. Ship wars are fine, but ffs, when did we get to the point where we are pitting two women against each other based on whose uterus is more suitable??

And before you even say "I just have a problem because I ship Elriel" No. No.

It's about these kinds of cheap arguments in general. I have also never been one to go off saying how Gwyn can't be a valid love interest because her past SA trauma - That argument is also archaic and hurtful. I've never once used it. I don't like seeing it.

Can we just - Not do it? The only reason such arguments have gained traction is because they're constantly echoed by the toxic sides of the fandom online. It's gross and I don't want to be a part of a group that condones that.

Ship who you want, but let's just be respectful about it. We should not have to resort to cheap arguments like the above.

[fangirltothefullest]

Saw your post about the fandom, and wanted to stop by and say hi! It actually was nice to see that pop up on my dash, cause a lot of people are getting really negative about the waits, and I've seen it get kinda nasty. So seeing you be so genuine about enjoying it is really nice to see. I'm always open to talk about Sanders Sides, though, it's still one of my favorite things even after all this time.

ME TOO! I love it so much and I think... well as a Content Creator myself, I know how hard these past few years have been for me and I am not surprised at all that it's been hard for him and his team so I can be impatient and want more content but also... I can't be mad. A little peak into my brain coming and I apologize if that wasn't what you were looking for but-

I had to close commissions and my own patreon because I had to get a job that could actually support me, and had a TON of personal stuff happened to me and my family IRL that affected a lot of my online presence.

As a consequence I don't post art NEARLY as much as I used to and I found myself feeling EXTREMELY upset about it. I used to even livestream art, can you believe it? 8U

And I sat there worrying I'd never post art again because of the burnout and stress..... and I thought everyone who liked my stuff may leave. Because that's happened before- I was a product, a machine to pump out free stuff for people to enjoy, and when the product stopped coming, people just left. That's SO hard to face as a creator, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to GENUINELY provide your art and works pretty much for free and you're already going through traumatic stuff IRL behind the screen.

To see people getting SO angry with the content that HAS been provided hurts me more than the wait and it's not because I put the man on a pedestal it's because I humanized him. I had a shit few years and so did he. Would it have been nice for him to be like 'hey I need to go on a break for a while I'm sorry', hell yeah but I didn't either. I posted every so often about Going Through It and kicking myself privately because I could barely sketch on paper, much less muster the courage to do a digital piece, but I didn't tell people wehat I was going through until later and even then a lot of my life is private and I haven't disclosed stuff because... it's personal, it's private. Online space isn't supposed to be privy to all my secrets and stuff you know?

So when I see people nitpicking the plushie episode because it's also doubled as an ad for the toys, I want to growl and bite and hiss because it's STILL an episode with an actual PLOT; it's not like the crofters ads. FWSA, the cartoon one, is a 24 minute ASIDES video and was LITERALLY given to us during Covid when EVERYTHING ELSE was shut down. Have I Grown is an hilarious video that also somewhat recaps but less episode recap and more personal sides recaps- seeing how their current mental state is. The Wes Anderson one is literally a Season Recap episode. We got a fucking Janus Cover of an OtGW song and they're all in their casual clothes and that song is about pretending everything is ok just for a littler while and it's STILL technically plot related. WTIT is a fucking ASIDES video that's 28 minutes long AND HAS PLOT! AND THE CANON CONFIRMATION OF THE SUSPECTED ORANGE SIDE!!! Incorrect Quotes was a way for us to see them being silly and lighthearted and so is The Sides Need A Nice Day!

I just- that's a lot more content than I think people realize. Yes he has a full team but that doesn't stop the stress or the burnout, especially when half your fanbase is saying how terrible you're being not being faster.

Not to mention the bloopers and the Gavin Sides and the entire episodes of Roleslaying AND a cartoon therapy have all come out AND he was part of a few song collabs too.

I just.... I can't imagine going through the stresses I went through and how much it would hurt me to provide that much stuff and still have people angry. Do you know how much I've done since Covid? Not nearly as much in terms of BIG PROJECTS.

Sorry if this came off as a rant, I'm just so passionate about this show that I love to much! >//<

[dozyrogue]

So yeah as I was saying chayanne and tallulah desperately need people outside of Phil to make connections with.

And ramon is a good example of this, he leo chay and lulah are some of the loneliest eggs I think??

ramon is the best example of what I mean, he was alone most of the time he didnt really hang with people outside of his dad, pac, and tubbo. But he comes back from his monthly sleep lol. And he made 2 little sisters and admitted he sees tubbo as an older brother figure. and we saw that he can trust tubbo with important info, Like of his dads lovelife lol.

Of course he loves his other siblings and his dad but having someone that he chooses to vulnerable around is so important even if its a little bit. In his letter admitted he sees tubbo as an older brother, or just showing how much he loves his siblings. HIS diamond girl and panda he can take care of them, because he wants to, and still have fun. He gets to create and do projects with tubbo but also he can just run around with his sisters and be a kid. Yes he's still a protector, because its what he wants, when push comes to shove.

I will always remember him boxing sunny and empanada away to have a serious talk with Phil and tubbo. And just standing infront of them when the three were in phils basement?? THE PHIL MUSEUM. While phil is asking what's wrong and lil mans was just looking at him because the adults can be traitors now 2.

Chayanne wants to protect Tallulah so bad but hes so tired and just needs someone who can look at him and see him for what he is a scared, traumatized, tired child. (No hate to phil, cuz hew trying) And we see it first hand that chayanne wants to reach out to tubbo, he really does. The comfort and kind heart his godfather provided was probably so new. At the time tubbo was a little hard on himself for being a bad fighter but even then he fought of mobs for them. He comforted them when chay and lulah were panicked and in pain the day before they ran away. I don't blame chayanne for wating to run back to him

And Tallulah needs someone who will love her uncontrollably. That will look at her broken parts and help her put them back. In her head no matter what phil will always choose chay first and she hates the idea that she keep him from phil. At some point maybe she also wanted to turn to tubbo or even forever hell even slimescicle because they opened up their arms to her and she loves them deeply obviously. But she feels so alone

Do I sound crazy??? Am I making sense??

[scoobydoodean]

do you think Dean has survivor's guilt? I'm thinking mostly of 01×12, but I'm also wondering if there's a running theme there that I don't remember

Yes, I do. In fact, I think Dean blaming himself for the outcome of traumatic experiences he couldn't have changed or that aren't his fault is something that happens very frequently, because Dean has a very overactive sense of responsibility—primarily resulting from his parentification (and the people in his life don't always help—sometimes they do, but they also sometimes feed into it).

1.12 "Faith" sets the stage for the entire theme. Dean struggles to deal with Layla not being healed when he is, and how horrible it is that a man died in exchange for his life. At the end of the episode, Dean stops running from the reaper, planning to let it kill him so Layla can be healed, but it doesn't happen because Sam disrupts the ritual before Sue Ann can complete it. (Kya has a great gifset here). What tends to co-occur with Dean struggling with survivor's guilt is the idea that Dean has a job—a responsibility, even—to the rest of the world. This is both why he must survive, and also something that weighs him down with even more guilt in a vicious cycle.

DEAN Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me? ROY Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest. DEAN What did you see in my heart? ROY A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.

I've written about Dean's survivor's guilt in the context of season 2—how 1.12 and John's sacrifice in 2.01 are primary motivations for Dean making the demon deal in 2.22. We get dialogue from Dean in 2.04 actually apologizing to Sam for John's death, because he blames himself even though it wasn't his fault and none of this was his choice.

He also blames himself for Sam's death in 2.22, even though that also isn't his fault. The parentification aspect of all of this is screaming loud in the following dialogue from Dean in 2.22:

You know, when we were little— and you couldn't been more than 5— you just started asking questions. How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go when he'd take off for days at a time? I remember I begged you, "Quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't want to know." I just wanted you to be a kid... Just for a little while longer. I always tried to protect you... Keep you safe... Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job... I had one job... And I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that, I'm sorry. I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that?

Dean even as a child felt responsible for Sam, and even for John. We see John blame Dean for his own failures as a father in episodes like 1.18 "Something Wicked" and 1.21 "Salvation", and we see the impact of that tendency reflected in how Sam sometimes treats Dean as well. Hell—we have indication that even before Mary died, Dean was "cleaning up [John's] messes" according to Sam (5.16). We see John apologize for Dean having to take care of him in 2.01 instead of the other way around—an acknowledgement that he knows this has been a source of harm to Dean for a long time... but it's too little too late—and ultimately is ruined by John's next actions, leaving Dean seething with resentment toward John for seasons to come even as he grieves and blames himself for John's death.

Dean's guilt for things that aren't his fault is further explored in episodes like 1.18 "Something Wicked", 5.11 "Sam, Interrupted" and 7.04 "Defending Your Life", where Dean is confronted by his guilt over Jo's death, and feeling responsible for Sam being a hunter, which is absolute horse shit despite the fandom also trying to insist this is the case frequently (see my tags #sam the hunter for a start). He blames himself for Kevin even getting involved with hunting to begin with. Dean blames himself for the havoc Michael is wreaking (14.03, 14.06, 14.14). Dean also blames himself and feels horrible guilt for torturing souls in hell, despite the fact that this happened under extreme duress and literal decades of torture and psychological conditioning—i.e., Dean had no actual choice—he's just presented with the horror of being made to feel that it was his choice when it was deeply and torturously coerced. The very worst part of Hell for him was that he tortured other souls, and I don't think he ever recovers from the guilt of that. He clams up about it after being called weak and pathetic for being guilty about it and then he never speaks about it ever again.

Dean certainly isn't the only one with these issues. Sam, Dean, and Bobby's survivors guilt is all explored simultaneously in 4.02 "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" when people they couldn't save like Meg Masters and Victor are brought back by a curse.

DEAN It's my fault you're dead. I left you [Victor] behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, "I should have known." I should have protected you.

This whole episode implicates hunters as a whole with serious survivor's guilt for the people they can't/don't manage to save. Multiple hunters die in the beginning of the episode, killed by the people they're haunted by not saving. This is a natural and understandable result of the work itself. You just barely don't get to someone in time, or you make a choice with an outcome you didn't forsee at the time, or you weren't fast enough or strong enough, or you dodged left when you should have dodged right, or you should have stayed, or you "let" the monster get away and it killed again. You are in a line of work where you are probably always left thinking, "If only I had done [insert hindsight judgement here]". Bobby blames himself for the deaths of two kids in 4.02. He blames himself for his wife Karen's death (3.10). Sam blames himself for Ava (2.11) and they all accept blame for the Devil's Gate even though that wasn't their fault either (and other hunters throw the blame on all of them too) (3.01).

The thing about being a parentified child is that you are, by definition, held responsible for things you are not equipped or qualified to handle—things that are too much for you, that are not actually your responsibility, and that are/were entirely out of your control. Combine growing up being blamed for things you did not actually have the power or authority to make happen or prevent from happening, with the overall tendency within the line of work hunters are in to feel survivor's guilt, and you get Dean. Add in that Dean cares deeply for other people—even strangers—and therefore feels an extra empathy when people are harmed for these things he thinks he could have prevented. You get someone whose moments of suicidal ideation are usually deeply connected to survivor's guilt or guilt more generally.

[1000punks]

bonding. //sparring

bonding. //masterlist

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. praise/degradation. breathplay. rough, possessive sex. d/s. there's also plot points, i promise.

word count: 7,734

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. lots of gooey romantic smut while these two slowly figure out their future together.

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡ header credit: MANTIS. // @astarionposting

Festé rolled to their back, blinking their eyes open and stretching their arms overhead, sprawling out. They startled when they saw Astarion's face hovering inches from their own. "Gods in the Hells!" they yelped, covering their face.

"I…" Astarion whispered, trailing off. Festé opened their eyes to see his forehead creased with worry.

"What is it, my love? You scared me." The tiefling rubbed the sleep from their eyes, reaching up to palm at his forehead. "What's wrong?"

"This morning, you're… Are you angry with me? How much did you hear?" The elf squeezed his eyes shut, seeming to be bracing himself.

"What? Not at all, my love," Festé moved their hand to rest against his cheek, and he flinched away. They rolled to their side, dropping their hand to rest on his on top of the blankets. "I heard you and Gale discussing… something. What I could discern," they stroked over the back of his hand slowly, "Is that he suggested we find another vampire to bite me, and then kill them. Like we did…" Festé paused, watching Astarion's face crumple. He slowly lowered his head to rest on his arms on the mattress, shaking it as he moved. "Like we did once before," they finished. A deafening silence descended over the bedroom. Festé let it go on for several moments before speaking again. "I'm not angry about your reaction, love. I just want to know why you were so upset." They leaned up on their elbow, resting their free hand on his arm.

"There are… many reasons, darling." His tone was even, but icy, and he lifted his head so that he could look into his imp's eyes. "Not the least of which is that allowing you to be bitten by another vampire would put your very life at risk," he spat. Festé raised an eyebrow, grimacing as Astarion continued. "I personally cannot fathom you in harm's way like that; not to mention, it could mean years of abuse for you, like I had to endure, until you could break free. Gale, the idiot, seems to think that with the right plan, we could avoid all of that, but he… he…" he let out a snarl of frustration. "He doesn't understand."

"I'm sure that Gale thinks those are calculated risks to take, my love. He's not a stupid man-" Festé started.

"Don't you dare take his side, Festé!" Astarion growled, and he moved instantaneously, gripping their wrist as he straddled their hips, pinning them halfway under his body. He was above them, his eyes dark with fury.

"Listen to me, my love." Festé was taken aback with the absence of his favourite pet name for them, and they shot him a rare scowl. "Listen, please. I trust Gale to think that we're capable of carrying out such a task, but did either of you consider what I want?" They studied the elf's face. His voice was unsure as he repeated their question.

"What you want?" He murmured, squinting at them.

"Yes, what I want. Did you ask?" They huffed, struggling to sit up, one hand moving to Astarion's chest to push him back slightly.

"You don't want this, you-"

"That's right, I don't." Festé spat, their fingers coming to rest firmly on his lips. "But you wouldn't have known that, because neither of you bothered to ask me. You assumed, both of you. I wasn't angry then, but I am now," they sighed harshly, pinching the bridge of their nose.

"You d… What?" The elf was incredulous. He sat back, disarmed. "You don't… want that? Isn't that what every mortal wants?" he hissed.

"You didn't, Star. You said you had no choice in the matter." They looked up at him, their expression grim. "I do, and while I would give my life to spend forever with you, I don't think the risk is worth the potential reward."

"You… You don't?" The elf whispered, casting his eyes downwards.

"You're right, what if someone got hurt in the process? What if one of our friends got hurt? What if, gods forbid, you got hurt, or killed? It's selfish, but the rest of my short life with you, like this," they reached to stroke over his cheek, "Where I can give you… all of me? I'd rather that than potentially spending eternity with regrets, or deaths weighing on my conscience." They smiled sadly, and Astarion frowned in return. "If I get a choice, then all I want is you, safe and sound."

"You want the same thing as I do." It wasn't a question. Astarion closed his eyes, and Festé was close enough to count his eyelashes. "You want to protect me; and I want to protect you," he sighed, and he sounded relieved.

"Yes, but if you would like to fight about it some more, we can go outside and settle it with a duel." Festé whispered back.

"Don't be funny, darling," he said, pressing his forehead to theirs.

"I'm serious," they stated, but they chuckled softly, reaching up to pet through his hair slowly. Astarion leaned to their touch, looking into their eyes. His were a deep scarlet.

"I'm much too thirsty not to seriously hurt you, darling," his voice had a ragged edge to it. The elf reached up, closing his fingers around their forearm, pulling it down to brush his nose over their wrist, humming. "And… I owe you an apology, first," he whispered. "I shouldn't have assumed your feelings; and I should have asked your thoughts on the matter." He tilted his head up, his expression pained. "I'm sorry, darling."

"I forgive you, my love. Thank you for your apology. I'm sorry for raising my voice at you." The elf looked surprised for a moment, though his expression softened as their fingers brushed over their cheek. Astarion pressed his lips to their skin, this time a question. Festé's pulse thrummed in response, and they nodded. He sank his fangs into their wrist, and they watched in awe; it was the very first time he had done so, and they clearly saw pure bliss unfold over his features. The tiefling's lips parted as they studied their elf, stunned by how tender his face became as he drank. His long fingers curled loosely around their wrist, fingernails pressing half-moons into their rosy skin, and his eyes fell closed. Festé's breathing slowed, relaxing with him, and they murmured, "Do I really taste that good, my love?"

Astarion opened his eyes at the sound of their voice, sighing through his nose and blinking slowly in response. Regardless of the pleasure that was apparent on his face, he pulled back, cleaning the imp's wound with soft flicks of his tongue. He pushed them to their back quickly but smoothly, pressing his lips to theirs in a messy kiss. A thrill twisted in the tiefling's belly when he licked into their mouth, as he had done hundreds of times before. The coppery taste of their own blood washed over their tongue. This time, however, they studied the flavour, attempting to think like a vampire. He kissed them breathless, and left his imp panting softly on the bed as he sat up.

"Your blood," he whispered, "Tastes smoky, with the faintest note of sweetness. And musky, rich; it reminds me of feasting on the finest cuts of game, in my old life. It's also got… a certain spiciness, I think." He looked sheepish as he trailed off, meeting Festé's gaze. They had sat up and were resting back on their elbows, smiling up at him.

"You've just implied that I taste gamey, my love," Festé contained their laughter, attempting to keep their features composed.

"Well…" Astarion said softly, "I suppose it fits, with your career choices and all, doesn't it?" He smirked, swiping a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips before sucking it off of his thumb. "The point is… I like it. I think it's perfect."

"Would it be upsetting to you if I were to become a vampire, then? If I smelled and tasted differently than I do now?" The tiefling pushed the duvet down, shifting to get out of bed, and the elf followed suit.

"It would be a drawback, if I'm being honest." Astarion hesitated, reaching down to collect his shirt from the floor. "I don't want to seem shallow, but I love you just as you are. Warm…" he pressed close to them when he had straightened up, and he hummed appreciatively. "Warm, and soft," he ghosted his hand under their shirt and over their stomach. "And alive. Not cold, hard, and dead like yours truly," he chuckled airily. Festé smiled once more as he wrapped his arm around their waist. "But, darling… I'm so grateful that you've never made me feel guilty for what I am," he tilted his head. "It makes accepting myself so much easier."

Festé leaned up to kiss Astarion's cheek. "You're you, my love," they said matter-of-factly, "And I wouldn't change a thing."

He nuzzled their cheek before pulling away slightly, squinting. "Mhn, nothing besides your clothes, my dear. We have company." He pecked their forehead before breaking away, tugging his shirt on as he made for the front door. Festé heard a knock in the next moment, pulling their breeches on and following their elf into the living room as they straightened their own shirt. Astarion had opened the door to Gale and Shadowheart once again. "Well hello," he drawled, "Do come in, we were just getting up."

"I suppose you're lucky we were running a little late, Astarion, otherwise you would be little more than a pile of ash right now." Shadowheart said dryly, stepping inside with Gale in tow. "We can't stay very long, but we wanted to share some news before heading home."

"Do tell, darling," Astarion murmured, gesturing vaguely toward the couch before catching Festé in his arms when they came close. Gale waved one hand at the pale elf.

"Unfortunately, we do have to make this rather quick. So-"

"So I had better talk," Shadowheart quipped, continuing, "We have an interesting bit of intelligence from Jaheira. She went to that meeting last night with Nine-Fingers, and called on us this afternoon to share what she had heard." The cleric looked between the couple pointedly. "Would you like to guess what kind of ring it was that Minsc tried to steal?" she asked; and when the two exchanged a look with one another and shrugged, she hissed, "It was the ring of the Sunwalker."

"What does that mean?" Festé murmured, "Does that mean what I think it-"

"You're joking," Astarion scoffed. "That's a little too convenient, isn't it?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably behind his imp, and they turned halfway to glimpse his expression, which was, like the night before, purposefully blank.

"Apparently not," Gale interjected, wagging a finger at the pale elf and smirking widely. "Apparently Minsc's dumb luck knows no bounds. Regardless," he held up both hands, "We know that it exists now, and that Nine-Fingers was planning to sell it to a client; somewhere in Amn. More than likely, to a high-ranking vampire, or someone to that effect."

"For how much?" Festé asked, their mouth falling open as they finally pieced it together.

"An immeasurable price, surely." Astarion sounded defeated.

"Wait - All that Nine-Fingers revealed to Jaheira was that the client wanted to go into hiding. I have a theory, but no time to tell what it is." Gale cast a glance at Shadowheart, who was nodding and rotating her hand in a slow circle, encouraging the wizard to get to the point. "Right, the thing is, we can all band together to potentially intercept that very special cargo, by heist or by feist. If my research is correct, then it would allow Astarion to enjoy the sun for short periods of time without being hurt." He finished, smiling widely. "Jaheira will be sending correspondence of the where and when, as it were."

"So, if I'm to understand correctly, I'm to risk my life intercepting a package to another vampire lord, if I ever want to walk in the sun again? It sounds invigorating, please do sign me up," Astarion said sardonically.

"It's information, and the final choice is up to the two of you once you've had the chance to discuss and read over these." Shadowheart plucked a small leather-bound book from Gale's travelling-satchel and held it out. "They're research notes, and the theory he alluded to." Festé took the journal, beaming.

"We'll discuss it," they promised. "And we'll write you when we have a decision." Astarion sighed from behind the imp, and they could only assume he was rolling his eyes as well.

"In that case, we had better get going!" Gale offered a firm nod, and his hand for each of them to shake. Festé and Shadowheart hugged one another tightly, and moments later the wizard and the cleric were hurrying back up the street.

"I think we could pull this off, my love," Festé remarked, closing the door and locking it, before facing their elf once more.

"Don't start, darling-" Astarion started, but Festé rushed him and pressed a kiss to his lips. He hummed, and pulled them close against himself, winding his arms tightly around their waist. The tiefling felt him relax gradually as he dropped his forehead to their shoulder. "I'll consider it after we go through Gale's notes, my dearest. However, the idea of toppling another vampire, for fun?" He looked up, a devious smirk on his face. "Tempting, darling."

"Isn't it?" Festé returned the smirk. "I'm thinking, if the client has already paid the Guild, we could plant a decoy, and take the real ring for you. But, I would wager that Gale has something up his sleeve in that regard." They paused for several moments. "You know what that means though, Star?"

"Hmm?" The elf raised his eyebrows.

"That means we do need to train. I've gone a little soft in the past few months, and I can tell… you're stronger somehow. We should explore that strength. I need practice evading a vampire." They chuckled.

"Fine, darling. But I won't go easy on you. The tadpole suppressed a lot." He winked and began to pull them upstairs, leading them to the other spare room, where the two had been storing their armour for several months. The couple exchanged excited glances with one another as they got dressed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · "Up." Astarion commanded, "Again, darling." He raised the rapier that he had chosen to practice with, getting into ready position, and watched the tiefling struggle to their feet from the pile of snow. They laughed, standing and shaking out their shoulders, bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet. Astarion seemed to dematerialize as he slipped into the shadows once more, taking advantage of the dim lamplight in the garden. Festé concentrated, tracking his movements easily this time, and swung their shortsword backhanded when the elf reappeared on their left side. He parried easily, and when he was distracted, they sank a blow with their own rapier, arcing their body in a half-backbend. It glanced off of Astarion's shoulder when he threw it back.

"Good, love. Don't get caught unawares. You're a natural hunter. Keep going." He growled his encouragement softly, dodging and parrying each of their attacks with ease before drawing his rapier in a circle with the flick of his wrist, thrusting it where their chest had been seconds before. Festé took advantage of the opening in his defence, throwing their shoulder into his chest and knocking him down into the snow with a grunt. They swung low with the shortsword, touching it to Astarion's neck with a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect, darling," he praised. "But you wouldn't dare hesitate like this with another spawn. You'd cut their head off." He let out a chuckle, reaching up to grip their wrist and yanking them down into the snow with him before straddling their hips. The elf pointed the rapier at the tiefling's neck, angling it down and keeping the hilt roughly level with his chin. "Otherwise, they'll have you on your back in no time at all, won't they?" His voice was velvety and dangerous. Festé chuckled softly, tossing the shortsword aside carelessly.

"Ardē!" They hissed, pressing their fingertips to their elf's stomach, causing him to snarl and jump up, and they scrambled to their feet after him. "Don't worry, my love, I never fight cleanly against unfamiliar spawn."

"You damned imp," Astarion laughed loudly, grabbing a fistful of snow and spreading it across the chainmail he wore. "That was good, keep using your instincts like that. Now," he raised the rapier again, and Festé mirrored him. He stepped forward, feinting to the right, but the tiefling caught the second surprise thrust to their left thigh with a sharp clang of metal on metal, pushing the elf's weapon to the side and knocking him off-balance. They gripped his wrist with their free hand and twisted it, wrenching the sword from his hand with some effort. He caught himself in the next instant, locking his arms around his imp from behind. Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips to their neck. "Don't forget, darling, vampires will always have one more weapon than you do," he growled in their ear as they struggled in his arms. "One bite is all it takes…" he hissed, running his tongue over their exposed skin.

"You damned elf," Festé joked, shivering involuntarily. They lowered the swords slowly, letting Astarion press his fangs to their neck. "I'll submit this time, fiend."

"'Fiend'? Oh, I do like that, pet. It makes me sound like a mysterious stranger that came upon you in the night," Astarion teased, whirling them around and brushing his lips over theirs.

"I'm sure you would love that, hmm? To come upon me in the night?" Festé chuckled darkly, the elf joining in soon after.

"Shall we call it, then? And go warm each other up?" He released them, bending to pick their shortsword out of the snow. "We'll keep this up, though, mm? I find it exhilarating to spar with you, one-on-one."

The two stumbled into the house together, laughing; and the tiefling paused at the stove to light it and put the kettle on before following Astarion upstairs to undress. They caught sight of him peeling his armour off and prodding gently at the five small burns on his stomach. "Darling, you've seared your damned fingerprints into my skin." He looked up, scowling at them. "It's as if I don't have quite enough scars already, hm?"

Festé frowned, crossing the room and placing their palm against Astarion's stomach. "Oh, no. I'm sorry, my love. Hold still…" They covered the offending flesh fully with their hand, whispering, "Te curo." The elf looked on as his imp held their breath, and both watched the angry marks fade rapidly. Festé let out a sigh of relief, looking up into their elf's eyes and repeating, "I'm sorry, my love." He glanced at the creases of worry on their forehead, and down between them at his stomach, his scowl melting easily.

"Oh… I can't be angry with you, not when you pout like that," he sighed, giving them a crooked smile and ruffling their hair, pausing to trace his fingers over their neck. "Especially not when I've marked you so thoroughly; just look at all of these…" he tutted in mock disapproval, and Festé offered a sheepish smirk in return.

"There's nothing I enjoy more, my love," they stepped back, moving to take off the heavy half-plate with a soft grunt before refastening it around one of Astarion's many spare mannequins.

"Do you really mean that, darling?" his tone was sincere this time, and Festé turned to face him once more. "You don't mind all of the…" he gestured vaguely to their neck and shoulders, which bore numerous fading impressions of the elf's fangs, "The evidence?" he finished, somewhat dramatically. His question hung in the air for a moment as he finished re-lacing his shirt and adjusting it.

"Of course, I mean it. I love bearing evidence that you love me best. I do rather like marks of passion," they mused. "Why, don't they look nice on me?" The tiefling smirked widely as they passed them, making their way back down to the kitchen to silence the hissing kettle. Astarion stalked them closely, examining the back of their neck as well. The shirt they wore was cut low across the shoulders and cropped above the waist, exposing much of their rosy skin. The pale elf hummed as he watched them bend to pour the water into two mugs, noting the way the fabric slid further down their shoulder when they moved.

"They do, darling. I suppose that means I'll have to keep leaving them on you, won't I?" His tongue darted out to wet his lips, studying the way Festé's hair slipped over their shoulder in a dark curtain. They turned halfway to look at him, and he sighed contentedly.

"If you're going to keep looking at me like that, should I bother with the tea?" They laughed loudly when Astarion looked conflicted and shook his head, and set the kettle back down on the stove. He strode fluidly into the kitchen, gathering Festé up in his arms and wrapping their legs easily around his waist, not missing the opportunity to grope their ass. The stunt earned him a bite on his shoulder, and he chuckled lightly.

"You're so ferocious, darling," his voice was soft against their ear as he carried his imp back to the bedroom. "I find my very knees trembling in your presence." The elf sat firmly on the edge of the bed, and pulled his imp closely against him. They made another attempt to bite his shoulder, and he allowed it. Festé pressed their hips to his in a slow roll when he smoothed his hands up their back, dipping them under the hem of the tiefling's loose shirt. Their lips sought his neck, kissing messily over his skin before finding the hollow behind his ear, sucking at it firmly. They pulled back with a slow exhale, examining his skin and whispering, "No bruising."

Astarion snorted. "No blood, darling," he murmured, pressing his nails firmly into their back as they bit him once more, tilting his head back.

"Mn… won't stop me from trying," their voice was muffled, their hands pulling at his shirt as they nibbled along his collarbone. Astarion's hands wandered down to their hips, shifting Festé in his lap and pressing his thigh between their legs.

"Pathetic," he teased, smirking when they paused to scowl up at him. In less than a heartbeat, he had closed one hand around their jaw, jerking their chin up and pressing his own firm bite to his imp's neck. They moaned out softly in pain, and he hissed against their ear, "Leave the biting to the professional, darling." The tiefling began to struggle, pressing their hands to the elf's shoulders in an attempt to pull away, but Astarion locked his arm around their waist firmly, moving his hand from their jaw into their hair and wrenching their head back. Festé shivered as they felt the soft press of his tongue on their skin, contrasting with the threatening press of his fangs in the next moment. Astarion was content to tease them, until…

"Please…" they whispered, shifting their weight on his thigh.

"Mm… please what, darling?" he spoke nonchalantly, removing his hand from their waist to rest on their shoulder, tugging the fabric of Festé's shirt aside slowly. He smirked as he watched them squirm and glance down. Astarion dipped his fingers into their shirt, tracing them slowly down their arm, his smirk growing wider as he felt their pulse quicken under his fingertips.

"Touch me," they breathed, shrugging to try to press more firmly against the elf's hand, lifting their hips from his thigh at the same time.

"But I am, darling," he whispered innocently, tilting his head at them with a pout. His grip tightened marginally in their hair.

Festé seemed to remember their hands when he spoke, wrenching his from their shoulder and guiding it up under their shirt with a soft huff. "Touch me here," they hissed, pressing his hand over their chest. Astarion merely teased over their sternum with his fingernails, chuckling softly at their frustrated sigh. "Please, Star…"

"Use your words, darling," he murmured, tapping their chest with two fingers. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do, and where you want me to touch you." Festé's face flushed, but they threw themself forward against the elf's chest with such sudden vigour, it very nearly caught Astarion off-guard. He chuckled loudly at their relatively feeble attempt to pin him on his back, and used the tiefling's momentum to roll them over on the mattress. His hand came down to pin them by their throat, and he tutted as he kneeled over them, his legs framing their hips.

"Star…!" they gasped, struggling once again under their elf's grip.

"I said, use your words. If it's a fight you want, then you'll get one," he spoke in that velvety, dangerous tone that was altogether irresistible whenever it graced Festé's ears. They huffed out a breath, raising one hand to graze the elf's groin; and he pressed against their palm, shifting his weight to squeeze their throat more firmly before letting up again. The imp kept their palm against him, feeling the hard line of his length beneath the fabric of his trousers. Astarion allowed it for a moment, before closing his fingers around Festé's wrist and trapping it against the mattress above their head.

"I want…" they gritted out, arching their back below him, "You. I don't want to be able to walk tomorrow, because I want you to f…"

"Go on, darling. You're doing so well." Astarion gave their throat a much more gentle squeeze of encouragement, and he smiled, albeit with his fangs on display. He entertained himself for a moment as he raked his gaze over their body, watching the fabric of their shirt ride up and expose their chest to him.

"I want you to fuck me," they whispered, voice faltering as they traced the elf's hungry gaze. The imp averted their eyes in embarrassment as they noted his gaze fixated on their chest. Their words were barely audible when they continued. "Rough… I need to feel you claim me."

"Finally, darling." Astarion removed his hand from their throat, resting it beside their head as he leaned down. "I love hearing such filthy words from your lips, it's music to my pointy ears," he breathed hotly against their ear, close enough to feel it twitch softly from the attention. "Gods, it's so easy to fluster you, it's almost criminal," he chuckled softly, reaching down and pushing their shirt up fully, dipping his head to kiss slowly over their chest and noting the significant effect it had on their heart rate.

"You know what they say about… mmf, karma, Star…" the tiefling spoke between soft gasps as their elf's lips brushed over their nipple, his hand moving to cup their breast as he licked over it messily.

"We're only just getting started, and you're already a mess, pet. I would worry less about karma, and more about what I'm going to do to you." Astarion's tongue circled their nipple slowly before he continued. "I have to be sure that the next time we have friends over, you picture this every time my hand rests on your thigh under the table."

"That's what you were picturing when you-" Festé whispered, interrupting themself with a low groan as the pale elf shoved his thigh between theirs once again, sucking their nipple firmly into his mouth. He let off with a pop of his lips and looked up at them, his tongue moving slowly over one of his fangs.

"All of this and more, darling. You have no idea."

"Show me, then," Festé pleaded, reaching up and tangling their fingers in their elf's curls, whimpering as they ground their hips slowly.

"Ah-ah. Show me how desperate you are by ruining these, little love," he countered, trailing his hand down to the waistband of Festé's underwear and tugging at them with one finger, letting them snap against their hip. Festé pulled his hair roughly, and Astarion leaned up and brushed his lips over theirs chastely. The tiefling closed the distance, kissing him forcefully as they obeyed his command, rutting their hips against his thigh. He tightened his grip on their wrist instinctively, and the tiefling moaned into his mouth as his free hand wandered back to their chest to cup their breast once more. The elf pinched their nipple firmly, rolling it between his finger and thumb. Festé gasped when the pleasure of the act bordered on pain.

"I'm…" they panted when they broke the kiss, burying their face into their elf's neck as they kept their hips moving, shuddering as the tight heat in their belly began to spread, coursing down their legs and through their chest. "I…"

"I know, you poor little thing. It really doesn't take much to push you over the edge, now, does it?" Astarion purred into his imp's ear, and they whimpered as he pulled off their nipple roughly. He dragged his fingernails down the length of Festé's stomach, teasing them through the fabric of their panties. "Now, why don't you come for me, you pathetic little imp…" his voice was gravelly as he bit slowly down their neck, threatening to break skin as he pressed his fangs directly against their pulse point. "Mn… so I can show you how easily dominated you are by me…" he pressed the heel of his palm to their stomach, massaging just below Festé's navel, and they broke under his touch, writhing as their inner muscles clenched around nothing. Astarion felt them twitching against his thigh, a chuckle coming from deep within his chest. He rested his forehead against the tiefling's, slipping his hand between their thighs and groping them through the now-soaked fabric with a pleasured hum. Festé squirmed when he pinched the waistband of their panties in two fingers and pulled the fabric taut against them.

Astarion sat up suddenly, pushing the tiefling's thighs apart with an air of urgency, and he murmured, "Show me, darling." He did not smile, instead slapping the inside of their left thigh impatiently when Festé struggled to move. They shakily hooked their thumbs in their waistband, shimmying out of their underwear and depositing them in the elf's outstretched hand. They shivered as Astarion finally shot them an approving smirk. "Show me," he repeated, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow. The imp swallowed and spread their legs hesitantly, a blush rising up their neck as they glanced down at his hand, balled into a tight fist around their underwear. One of their hands travelled down, and they met his eyes, teasing their fingers through their own mess before spreading themself open. Astarion nodded, smoothing his free hand along the inside of their thigh and gripping it firmly. "Good pet. It's as if you read my mind." He reached up, dragging his thumb over their bottom lip. "Wouldn't you agree that you would look so very precious with a gag in your mouth while I take my pleasure in your body?" Festé swallowed deeply, frozen for an instant before nodding. "Open for me," the elf whispered, tapping their chin with his thumb.

Festé lifted their head with great effort, parting their lips and allowing Astarion to push the ruined fabric as deep into their mouth as they could handle. They shivered again as he ghosted his hand down their throat, and lowered their head to the mattress once more. They tried to reach for the elf's trousers, but his hands gripped their wrists instantaneously, pinning them over the tiefling's head as he pressed his weight against them, grinding slowly against their soaked cunt.

"Not yet," he hissed softly, pressing his thigh deftly under one of their own and moving it up the mattress, forcing them to spread their legs even more. "I want to take all of the pleasures of your body, pet. Be good for me." Astarion chuckled darkly against their neck, and the imp squirmed once underneath him, giving him all the invitation he needed. He moved painstakingly, pressing his fangs into their neck in the most agonizingly pleasurable way. Festé began to shake involuntarily under his body, and the elf rested his full weight on top of them, his slow grinds eventually falling in rhythm with the slow sucks. Festé let every stray whimper rip from their throat, muffled only slightly from the gag. Astarion brought them to the very edge, their vision starting to shimmer and blur along the edges.

Festé groaned loudly through the gag, which was growing steadily more soaked by the second; and the elf pulled away, leaving their neck a bloody mess as he sat up with a harsh sigh. Astarion's eyebrows furrowed with effort as he unlaced his trousers and pushed them off, not bothering with his shirt. The tiefling looked up at him as he kneeled between their legs, needing only to pat his thigh once before they struggled to sit up. He circled them in his arms and pulled them the rest of the way, guiding their hips up before pushing them firmly to his lap. "Now that you're weakened and pliant for me, darling…" he purred, voice rough with need, "I think it's only fair that you're further reminded who you belong to." He brushed their hair back tenderly with one hand, shooting them a bloodstained smile. "Hasn't it been so long? By now, you've probably forgotten how I feel inside you, hmm?"

They nodded weakly, playing along and rolling their hips slowly, their clit kissing his length lightly as they moved. The imp kneeled up as Astarion pulled them closer, and he slid into them in one fluid movement, pushing past the tight ring of muscles as he forced them back down into his lap. Festé couldn't hold back a howl as the pain momentarily overwhelmed them, chest heaving as they panted through their nose. Without letting them adjust, Astarion gripped their hips tightly and moaned appreciatively against their ear as he made them move. The tiefling locked their arms around his neck, and he chuckled softly, nipping at their earlobe as they found leverage, pushing up on their knees.

"Go on, darling. I've got you. Let me…" he reached up, plucking the gag from their mouth and tossing their underwear aside for the moment. "Let me hear you." His hands found their ass, and his touch was momentarily tender before giving them a firm smack. Festé twitched in his lap, and he sighed as he felt the repurcussive squeeze around his length, groping them firmly and steadying their now-jerky movements as they rode him. "Let me hear you," he repeated, growling the command against their neck. His imp trembled in his arms, letting out a shaky moan when he held them down firmly in his lap, and he smirked when they tried their best to stifle it. They choked off into silent surprise as he ground his hips up slowly, his grip somehow tightening further as he wrapped one arm over their back, molding their body to his. Astarion set a punishing rhythm with his hips in the next instant, leaving Festé gasping for breath and pressing their fingertips into his back.

"H…hurts, Star…" they managed, spreading their thighs and sinking down on him further, and he slowed only slightly as he pulled back to look at them, moving one hand to catch their jaw as he studied the tiefling's face. Their mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded, and a sheen of sweat was present on their forehead. They let out a snarling moan as he pressed into them deeply, his tip rubbing against their inner wall.

"Do you want to stop, my pet?" Astarion's expression was serious but composed. "Or would you have me continue to ruin you?" He finished in a husky whisper. The tiefling shook their head to the first question, and nodded to the second, tilting their head so that the pale elf was cupping their cheek as they met his eyes. "You like how much it hurts?" Another nod, followed by an incomprehensible moan. He stroked his thumb along their cheek reassuringly. "Good, darling. I'm not nearly finished with you."

He gripped their cheeks, moving his free hand to the small of their back to keep them pressed against him, his thrusts into them becoming languid and drawn out, but still firm. The head of his cock struck their inner wall every second or third thrust. Festé let slip a tortured moan, tears building in their eyes when they gripped Astarion's shoulders firmly. The tiefling blinked them away, sending them trickling down their cheeks; and they gave in to the heat building again in their abdomen, feeling it twist once again behind their navel as the elf's calculated movements brought them to their edge once more. He smirked, thumbing away the tears on their cheeks before tapping it once against their lips.

"Star, can I…" They tilted their body forward, resting more of their weight against his chest. He removed his hand from their back, resting it on the bed behind him as he leaned back. Astarion's answer was clear in his action, as he moved his other hand from their cheek to grip the hair at the nape of their neck, pulling them forward slowly. Festé sighed in relief, grinding down slowly into his lap, their legs starting to twitch as they framed his own. Astarion pulled their hair, and they were close enough to brush his lips over theirs; but he did not kiss them, instead favouring the tension and heat that was building as Festé moved. His chest rose as he inhaled their scent, leaning closer. Their end came as a chorus of sobs and muffled moans as they pressed their face into his neck in return. Astarion was gracious, allowing them to ride it out, clawing down their back before smoothing his hand down to the base of their tail.

"Very good, darling," his praise was a muted purr, "I want you to capture this very moment in your mind, and I would like you to hold it dearly whenever someone else dares to rake their eyes or hands over you in public…" he chuckled fiendishly, pushing Festé easily to their back, whose chest was heaving soft sobs as he blanketed them with his body. He drew their thighs around his waist, continuing in a growl against their ear, "I want you to think of me, laying the most carnal claim on your body and soul; and how you sob and beg for it." Festé hiccuped softly and nodded, turning their head to the side and panting against their elf's cheek, their fingers kneading gently down his back. Astarion's arms came to cradle them as he brushed his nose over theirs, his eyes boring deeply into theirs as he whispered, "And I want you to think about how eagerly and completely your body accepts my own. Every. Single. Time. We are together." He pressed his hips forward, rocking into them and punctuating each of his last words with a heavy breath. The imp stared, transfixed, into his eyes, their sobs quieting for the moment as Astarion leaned his head to the side, his pace growing gradually faster. Festé reached up, reading something more complex in his eyes, some question he was chewing over privately, and they knotted their fingertips in his curls, pulling him into a passionate, messy kiss. The pair moaned softly in unison, and Astarion's hips grew heavier, rutting firmly against the imp's before he let out an exasperated sigh through his nose, licking into their mouth as he began slamming into them roughly. He broke the kiss first.

"My dear, sweet pet…" he whispered harshly, sitting up halfway and resting his palm against their groin, thumb teasing circles over their clit as he kept up the bruising pace. "I want you to remember this part the most." He tapped his temple with two fingers on his free hand before fisting the fabric of their shirt once more, pushing it up to expose their chest. Festé blushed deeply, starting to shake again as Astarion forced their body to heat up under his icy hands once again. He smirked widely and snapped his hips forward, pushing them over the edge again easily. Leisurely, he pulled back, slipping out of their wet heat with a groan, gripping himself and rolling his hips to his hand, his length rubbing against the tiefling's overstimulated clit.

"A…Ah! Astarion…!" Festé writhed below him, the stifled sobs returning as they soaked the insides of their thighs, a tendril of shame creeping up the back of their neck as they clenched around nothing and ruined the sheets in one fell swoop. Their breath hitched, and Astarion gazed down at their exposed breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes hooded when he met theirs again. The wet sounds of his length sliding through his curled fingers only added to the ambience as he spoke.

"I want you to remember this, darling. How it feels when you're empty," he gritted out, struggling to keep his voice even. "And how it feels when you're full…" The elf pressed back into them, as before, in one fluid movement. His own breath stuttered noticeably as their muscles clenched around his length. He ground into them with obvious difficulty, moving one hand to trap theirs against the mattress, and pushing his fingers between theirs as he bent over them. He sighed out a moan of relief as his cock twitched inside them. Festé nearly choked, body taut on the bed as they felt the convulsions within, echoing them by squeezing their elf's hand and panting when Astarion rolled his hips through the aftershocks. Their body relaxed gradually as they relished in the warm slick, now leaking from the place where the pair's bodies were joined.

There were a few moments of silence, punctuated only by heavy breathing, before Astarion bent his head, pecking over his imp's chest tenderly. He paused and inhaled softly against their sternum before peppering their breasts with soft kisses, releasing their hand in favour of massaging over their hips and to knead up their sides with his knuckles. The pale elf came to lay over them once more, reaching up to wipe away the stray tears on their cheeks with his fingertips, before tilting their head up and planting a kiss in the middle of Festé's forehead. The imp let out a relieved whimper when Astarion gathered them up in his arms, helping them sit up in his lap as he straightened up. He pressed his lips again to their forehead, rocking them gently and nuzzling into their hair. Festé wrapped their arms around him, surrendering once again as he stroked over their back, the cool touch calming against their heated skin.

"You did so well, darling," Astarion murmured into their hair, giving them a tight squeeze before drawing them back by the shoulders to look them over. "It's customary, I think, to say that I'm very proud of you, isn't it?" he chuckled softly when his imp cracked a small smile. "I thought so," he whispered, drawing them close again. "You're such a sight to behold, my dearest. How do you feel?"

Festé swallowed, whispering hoarsely, "Good, my love. I feel… worn out, but excellent. I just…" they trailed off, leaning into the elf's chest and relaxing easily under his touch.

"Hmm? What is it?" Astarion asked, his palm resting for a moment on the small of their back.

"I'm starving, my love," they peeked up at him from his shoulder. "But I don't think I can get up." He shot them an amused look, slowly lifting them from his lap and pushing the tiefling to their back with a theatrical sigh. He leaned down to peck at their lips, patting their stomach.

"Such a needy mortal you are, darling. Making me fuck you into oblivion, and fetch you supper," he teased, smiling warmly all the same. "I expect you to keep the bed warm for me," his voice was soft, glancing back at them as he got to his feet swiftly, deciding to bother only with one of the linen robes next on top of the dresser as he padded out of the bedroom. Festé lay back, blinking slowly as they listened to Astarion making up a plate for them. The sounds grew distant within minutes as they dozed, rolling slowly to their side.

Some time later, they woke with a start as the elf lay his palm on their shoulder. He had set a mug of tea on the nightstand, along with a plate of bread, cheese, and cured sausage. Astarion was perched on the edge of the bed, starting to stroke through their hair and scowling playfully down at them. "Oh come now, I didn't wear you out that much, did I?" He removed his shirt and sidled into bed with them, pulling the duvet and sheets tightly around them both. The tiefling looked blearily at him as he lay on his side, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the plate absently with the leather-bound notebook he had picked up. Festé smiled while he flicked it open and began to read. They took the mug first, sipping the harsh herbal tea slowly before resting the plate between Astarion's thigh and their own. They nibbled quietly, leaning up on their elbow and starting to read Gale's notes upside down.

"You're really considering this plan?" Their eyebrows furrowed slightly when they glanced up to his face. He nodded, turning the page and smirking to himself.

"Of course. I still think we should be prepared for the worst. But, once upon a time, I made a silent promise that I would try my hand at living." He looked up at them through his eyelashes. "I do intend to keep my promise."

a/n: as always! to the folks who continue to support this fic, i honestly.. i'm in love with you at this point. but only platonically! hahaha

i told myself i wouldn't make this chapter as long but fuck my baka life, y'all can have some more filthy smut as a treat. ♡

also please, if you haven't already, go check out all of mantis' blogs (link at top). their photography is fucking iconic, and you need to follow them.

[lansplaining]

Protagonist-centric readers will do anything but admit that their MCs did lie and impact other characters' decisions. It's not the side-characters fault that they did not know the whole truth because *drum roll* they weren't told anything and/or was deliberately lied to.

LQQ being hated bc he impaled XL in a coffin for a long time but like... XL admitted to killing the King of Yong'an and committing the bloody massacre so what was LQQ supposed to do? Sit down and ask his Guoshi for the truth when we know damn well XL will just continue to admit to it? XL didn't want to tell LQQ the truth to protect LQQ and the two groups of people, and that's completely admirable, but what LQQ saw was his Guoshi stabbing a sword through his father's chest and admitting to everything so him reacting the way he did was completely valid. The single act of killing the king was treason 100x already, and as the son of the king, LQQ's reaction was not out of the ordinary. we don't want XL to suffer and be even more traumatized, but XL already knew that the consequences wouldn't be pretty and lied anyway. idk why fans can't grasp that.

Or for JC's case, HE IS LITERALLY THE ONE PERSON ALIVE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD WHO ACTUALLY DESERVES SOME KIND OF EXPLANATION FROM WWX HIMSELF, THE MAN WHO ACCIDENTALLY CAUSED WN TO KILL JXZ AND INDIRECTLY KILLED JYL DESPITE CLAIMING THAT HE HAD EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL. These two aren't strangers to JC at all; they're his sister and his brother-in-law, or more importantly, his sister's beloved husband and father of his nephew. He deserves to be angry and bitter at the one person who did all that, and there is no time limit for how long he should remain bitter and angry about it. The GCT was a whole mess and they both made HUGE sacrifices out of love but the only one whose sacrifice is made invalid is JC because one, it was short-lived and two, they already didn't like JC so no matter what he does for WWX, it will be seen as something negative.

I don't even want to get into the hell-hole regarding LXC but... damn...

the revelations after a character found out the truth should be "oh man, so that's what really happened" not "this character was a dick because they didn't know about the major sacrifice the MC made for them that would only be revealed many years later, and it's not even voluntary because someone else told the truth, not the MC themself"

I'm not the first nor am I the last person to say this but a protagonist is just a character we see, mainly, from their POV or the character that we follow the story through. That's all there is to it. I feel like a lot of danmei readers have yet to read a variety of stories about an MC that's completely shit but serves to tell a story just as important and interesting.

okay, first of all-- people hate LQQ?? The sweetest, most violent himbo of all????????????? even Xie Lian doesn't hate him for what he did??????

i have nothing to say to such people

i'll be honest, it is really only relatively recently that i've fully come to realise how completely Jiang Cheng deserves an explanation or even just acknowledgement of any kind from Wei Wuxian, and how cowardly and selfish it is that Wei Wuxian refuses to give it. and I say this with a heart full of love for WWX-- he is dealing with Some Trauma (tm) but that doesn't mean his refusal to even speak to JC isn't hurtful and unfair, even if it's what he needs... but man everyone in fandom and fanworks is focused on WWX taking what he needs in this situation and not even remotely considering that just maybe he also justifiably owes something to someone he harmed and who he supposedly (formerly?) cared about (i think he still cares)

the lan xichen thing is literally inexplicable to me and i will never understand it

[lewis-winters]

would love to hear more about the skinny/speirs confrontation 👀 (I'm sure other would too so feel free to answer publicly)

Ok I did not actually anticipate ppl being interested HAHAHAH but since ya'll asked nicely (@ep6bastogne and @hellofanidea mWAH to you too), here it is under the cut.

Ok so like. Understandably, people are more focused on Web and Lieb when it comes to the mountain top scene and that's perfectly fine. They're the ones I first thought about too. But then the more I watched that scene, the more I nyoomed in on two details: 1) It is implied that Speirs personally gave the order for Liebgott to go up there and deal with the officer, and 2) Skinny is the one who ends up pulling the trigger.

Which brings me to like. This fic I started planning in my head but couldn't quite write down because I am. Lazy. Anyway, it follows several plot points:

1) This is piggyback riding off my meta that Ron had ulterior motives to sending Liebgott up the mountain, which I have outlined in this post. TL;DR Ron used Lieb's anger (and to some extent, Web's too-- in my head, he heard about the incident with the baker in ep9, and he wanted to exploit that, not anticipating that Web's own self-preservation (of both his own person and morals) would get in the way) to do his dirty work, knowing that he wouldn't be questioned because of his position and because of said anger blindsiding all logic Lieb might have.

2) Skinny somehow knows this. He's more intuitive that people give him credit for. If Ron handpicked Lieb and Web because he knew, at least to some extent, that their anger would push them to do what he wants, then what the hell was Skinny doing there?

3) That question will haunt Skinny for awhile. Because why did Ron know, somehow, that Skinny would pull the trigger when either Lieb or Web could not? What anger and violence did Ron see in Skinny that made him think: "ah, yes, him; that's my killer of killers"? And most importantly, why did Skinny prove him right?

This is very much informed by how irl Skinny's PTSD was very much centered on the people he killed as a soldier (as opposed to people he lost). He's constantly cited in his writings and his letters that he felt unforgivable. So it isn't a massive leap for me to go yeah!! that boy killed an unarmed man (albeit a nazi, but I don't think even that could help him justify this) and then was later present when Web says "war's over, anyone would run" which no doubt would add to his already guilty conscience.

Add all of that together, and you have a recipe for a very traumatized lost boy wondering if maybe he's carrying a monster inside of him, and if maybe Ron could see it.

4) the answer, in the end, is that Ron couldn't see it. This was the dialogue I wrote first, and it has had me by the balls ever since:

"So why me? What did you see in me that was so twisted and cruel that you decided I should be up there, huh? Tell me!"

"... Nothing. I just needed a third man."

5) anyway. Ronald does, finally, admit to having used Lieb and Web to get what he wants. But Skinny doesn't care, because all he hears is that he's collateral damage. And that's not quite as comforting as Ron thinks it is.

soooooo. yeah.

**another plot point I have listed but couldn't really put anywhere in this weird ass list: there's also some cognitive dissonance sprinkled in there-- Skinny could justify Lieb and Web's reactions. He'd say Lieb has the right to do it. He'd also say Web's attempt at perserving himself as wise. it's important to note that Skinny went into this with the mindset that he was already unforgivable from the beginning. this just exacerbated it, but also gave him somebody who could probably answer his questions (i.e. am I really unforgivable? am I rreally a monster? am I a murderer? etc etc).

[delta-orionis]

i wanna hear about the simon aroace beam pls

(Tumblr is apparently trying to silence me because this is the second time I'm writing out this answer. Anyway.)

I already made a post about my aroace Simon headcanons several years ago, but I'm more than happy to talk about it again. (Also I'm not sure if you specifically ever beat SOMA, so you're probably unfamiliar with some of the points I made in the aforementioned post. I'll do my best to explain.)

(Continued under the cut)

Simon is an interesting character because he's an everyman. I often joke about how he's Just Some Guy who's having the worst day ever. He's had a pretty average life (aside from the recent loss of his friend and traumatic brain injury), and it doesn't come up often in the text of the game. He brings it up sometimes, but it isn't the focus of his dialogue. He was thrust from an unremarkable life in 2015 into Undersea Robot Hell and is forced to make some serious decisions about the fate of the human race, so he has other priorities.

His characterization as an everyman combined with the fact that we don't actually know a lot about his life before the events of SOMA make Simon a very easy character to project your own experiences onto. This makes him a good fit for a video game protagonist because it makes it easy for the player to relate to him. It also means that it's easy to fill in the blanks of his characterization with your own ideas. I've personally seen lots of different interpretations of his gender and sexuality; I've seen people headcanon him as straight, gay, bisexual, etc etc. His gender is also an entire can of worms; I've seen people make compelling arguments that he's a trans man, a trans woman, and even nonbinary and agender.

Anyway... this was all preface for my thesis that Simon is aroace. The easy explanation is that I, an aroace person, find it easy to project my own experiences on to him in a way that makes sense to me. I've talked to a few other aroace SOMA fans about this, and they've agreed. (This is what I mean by the aroace beam. I simply enjoy headcanoning characters I like as aroace, because I, too, am aroace. I'm hitting them with my beam attack. Metaphorically. I've now rendered the joke unfunny by explaining it.)

(Side note- there's a running joke in the SOMA server I run that many SOMA fans are asexual. There certainly are a number of them in that specific server, however this also might be confirmation bias, because I haven't done a fandom-wide survey or anything like that. It also might be because I promote the server heavily on my blog, and as an openly aroace person, I probably have a statistically significant amount of aspec followers who are then compelled to join the server I help run. More research is required, I guess.)

The longer explanation for this headcanon is that, within the text of the game, Simon doesnt' appear to be very concerned with sex or romance.

In the dream sequence at the beginning of the game, Simon tells Ashley he wants to tell her something, and she responds with "please don't make this weird". A lot of people tend to interpret this as Simon working up the courage to tell Ashley he has a crush on her. The scene ends abruptly before this can be confirmed. However, there are a few unused voice lines in the game files that extend the scene a bit. Simon was originally supposed to say "I'm sorry" to Ashley before the dream ended. This implies that he wanted to apologize to her for involving her in the car accident that ended her life, not confess a crush.

There is another dream sequence later in the game, the context being that Simon is under the influence of the WAU and is being shown an idealized version of his life. He sees Ashley, alive and standing in his apartment, where she declares that the two of them are in love. Simon seems confused about this and wakes up shortly after.

I will admit that this scene implies he has romantic feelings for her. However, in the post I made a few years ago, I talked about how a common experience for a lot of aroace people is not being able to distinguish between different types of attraction and how this can lead to aces convincing themselves that they have a crush on someone when what they really desire is a platonic relationship:

I think what sells it the most for me is that, during the dream sequence with Ashley, when Ashley tells him that they’re a couple, he sounds confused. You could interpret this as general confusion (he doesn’t know how Ashley is suddenly alive again or why they’re suddenly in a relationship), but I like to think that he’s conflicted about his feelings for her. He knows he wants to be close to her, but he’s not sure if being a romantic couple is exactly what he wants. If the dream sequence is supposed to be an idealized scenario, then why is he conflicted about the thing he supposedly wants?

Simon strikes me as the type of guy who isn’t super informed about LGBT stuff. He probably knows a little bit about general LGBT stuff, but maybe hasn’t learned about asexuality, or he doubts that it could apply to him. He might think that, because he wants to be close with Ashley, that the next logical step would be a romantic relationship, even if his feelings are actually just platonic. (I know from personal experience growing up asexual that I would sometimes invent crushes on people, when in reality my feelings were just platonic and I actually just wanted to be their friend. From what I’ve heard, this is a common experience for a lot of aro and ace people from before they learned about asexuality/aromanticism.)

I recognize that this interpretation might be bending canon a bit. Occam's razor would imply that he simply has a romantic crush on Ashley, but that's no fun.

SOMA is a game that is, overall, pretty uninterested in exploring romantic or sexual relationships. It also features two main characters of different genders (Simon and Catherine) who develop a strong platonic relationship over the course of the game. I, personally, find it a breath of fresh air, especially when a lot of science fiction and cyberpunk stories have a heavy emphasis on sex. (I'm definitely not bitter about all the weird sexism present in cyberpunk novels like Neuromancer, for example...)

I suppose it makes sense, then, that the game would have a sizeable amount of aroace fans. I personally think there is something inherently queer about the game- although not explicit in the text, transhumanist stories like SOMA can be read as metaphors for queer experiences. Questioning one's identity and humanity is something that a lot of LGBT people do on a regular basis, so it makes perfect sense that they would relate to a character from a game exploring those topics, albeit through a science fiction lens.

Anyway. Very, very long story short, I hit Simon with my aroace beam attack because I think it's fun. He means a lot to me and I like thinking about him.

(Don't get me started on what I think about his gender. He's got so much going on in that department and absolutely no time to come to terms with it all. That's a post for another day.)

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I hope you enjoyed reading, etc etc. I'm going to go back to rotating Simon in my brain now.

[askatrigenderlgbt]

Team Captain v.s. Team Ironman

I've been wanting to write this for a little while, but I wanted to do some rewatching and research on the topic again.

This is my view on the topic of who was right, and who was wrong.

My answer? They were both right.

Let me explain:

Tony, after all the damage done that leads to this conflict, wants and does sign the accords. He wants the Avengers to be held accountable for the damages they cause and to have some restrictions so supers can't do anything they want willy nilly. He has the point here. People need rules and structure to avoid anarchy and chaos, to avoid things just ending up a mess.

Steve didn't want to sign the accords because his point was that the avengers couldn't be held down waiting for the green light, not when lives were at stake. His argument is made further when you take in the question of: 'who could actually hold this power?' Hydra invaded SHEILD, the government isn't safe either, and lord knows how corrupt politics are anyway. Hell, after Thanos snapped the government had to go make a consensus. Nobody could hold the avengers when lives were on the line.

Steve and Tony are both right. But they end up also being wrong too.

Tony is blinded by his overwhelming guilt at this point. After all he lost, the new trauma, and dealing with everything, Tony is hyper focused on redemption here. He wants to make up for the things he did, for the people lost in the cross fire. But he ends up not seeing the issues presented to him about signing the accords.

Signing the accords is a problem because, like I talked about with Steve's point, no one can simply have a leash on the heros. If they have to wait then people die, if they are leashed then Hydra would have been pulling the strings. Hydra invaded SHEILD and the government, if they pulled the strings then it's over. Not to mention that the person pushing the accords is General Ross, the man who hunted down Bruce to use him- to make the super soldier serum. General Ross is not an ally, he is a threat.

Steve was also wrong too. Avengers can't have full freedom to do whatever they please. Having powers being used recklessly and causing unnecessary damages to surroundings isn't a good thing. It's a risk to the people he wants to protect.

So Both are right and wrong. Mainly cause this conflict is complex, when you see the risks and factors of why things couldn't work one way or the other. But also remember, this is a conflict created by design too. Zemo had a part to play in this issue. Playing the game just right that would cause the leaders of the avengers to reach a boiling point on the argument that they split.

What I personally feel is that because of the trauma, pain, and exhaustion the two of them were dealing with when the accords were just presented that they were even in a good healthy mindset to even begin dealing with any of it. Both were stressed, dealing with issues on all sides, and couldn't see past the black and white view of absolutes. Steve and Tony were stuck on a chest board as pawns and both were fighting to win. Only we know how this ends up going.

I am Team Captain America AND Team Iron Man.

Cause in the end they are still a team, and I don't pick sides of my team- I choose all of them.

Bonus~

As an added part to this post I wanted to share my thoughts on Steve lying to Tony about his parents. It was wrong and unjustified, yes but I'm not talking about that. That is a simple fact. I want to explain my view on Steve's reasoning for this decision: He wanted to protect both friends of his. He wanted to protect Bucky cause he was brainwashed and innocent, he didn't want him hurt or kill for it. He wanted to protect Tony cause already he was traumatized, beaten, and utterly exhausted from so much happening. He didn't want Tony to have another thing on his mind that could potentially cause him to snap a part.

In the end it didn't matter, Tony finds out and everything falls from there. Steve here, from my pov, is the people who have the purest intentions and want the best for us, but end up making decisions that only harm us in the end unintentionally. When we make choice that we think help, but don't.

In conclusion: Do I think one or the other is wrong? No, both are right and wrong for their own reasons- making the answer a more complicated discussion.

Do I think Steve or Tony deserves the bashing they get from either side of the conflict? No. They are fundamentally human characters who wanted to do the right thing but were blinded by their own issues and too twisted and turned to properly communicate things.

Should either one be hated for these choices they made? No. They made the choice they did but in the end worked to fix what had been ripped apart, doing their best to mend that scar. They were adults about it and made up while finally having a more healthier mental state to deal with everything.

Are both still my favorite characters and ship? Fuck yes.

[upallnightallday]

Reflection on GO2 and my own reactions to it

Okay so. I am better after sleeping on it. Because there are things that are settling in after first shock. Because to be honest, this writing is very much brilliant. My first emotions were mostly based on the fact that I have seen my fictional confort couples suffer and never getting together. We know this isn't the case here, we just need to take some time - like they said to Muriel. The fact that they are making Crowley, the demon, person who is right and who sees heaven and hell like they are, is brilliant. Crowley sees outside the black and white, but doesn't have words to help Zira to understand. He is traumatized, he wants to preserve his happiness and protect Zira. He just don't know any other way to do it. Zira on the other hand is pretty naive. He has always been and it is part of his charm. I think Crowley sees a lot of that innocence what he left behind in him. But that also means Zira thinks he can change the world the "right way". And he doesn't understand why Crowley would not want to come back to Heaven with him - because he doesn't see the fact that even if he changes heaven, it will change very core of Crowley. He honestly thinks he can change the already broken system from the inside without loosing his or Crowleys sense of self. He is in a cult and has an huge religious drama.

They need this break up. They need to find themselves first to be able to understand they are stronger together. If this was straight couple I don't think I would question it for a second - because it is very basic writing. And what comes to Beelzebub and Gabriel. I need to step back and realize I have some internalized transphobia as a femme preceived nonbinary person who is also marrying a man. I was so stuck on a fact that they made Beelzebub more feminine and how people outside our own community sees them that I played straight into that narrative. That is not okay. Their story was lovely and I think it is meant to mirror what it could be if Crowley and Zira just went their merry way. Difference is, Zira still thinks naively he can make a change. Also I think my soul healed a little when Crowley said "I'm not. Neither, actually". It is such a small line but it meant WORLD to me as a nonbinary person. And me down playing Beelzebub is counteracting that.