#not interested in a debate here

[degradingnostalgia]

having some thoughts about the fact that obi-wan is just as violent, intense, dangerous and insane as say,,, anakin, or quinlan, or any other unhinged jedi - but he chooses to not act with aggression first, he tries option a, b, c and d before that, which is why he is the better jedi, and the more threatening jedi. there are so many examples of obi-wan being scary and menacing, the difference is he hides it better.

he chooses restraint in his life, but-----

he cut down maul at 25

he destroyed grievous without flinching and made a snide little remark after, smirking

he left anakin to burn, slowly and painfully in the lava

from wildspace: "Kenobi had made of himself a deliberate target... No fear. No doubt. Instead, a supreme confidence. Curving his lips, the merest hint of a smile... Dazed, Bail shook his head. 'He's enjoying this. He's enjoying this? He really is mad.' Kenobi's lips parted in a fierce grin and he focused his deflections on the weaker machine." smiling mid-battle?! normal behaviour, im sure.

from wildspace again: "No. He'd always needed to be doing something. Making things happen. Seizing the moment by the throat." THROAT!? OBI-WAN there are many other ways that could have been explained.

from wildspace again again: “... I tumbled into a firebeetle pit.” The faintest of wry smiles. He had himself well in hand again. "It must have been … terrible.” “Not at all,” Kenobi said politely. “It was hilarious.” No, you nearly got eaten alive. But he didn’t say it. He wished now he’d kept his mouth shut. No wonder Kenobi had come out of his trance screaming. “Fortunately there was no harm done,” Kenobi continued briskly.”

his ability to completely disconnect, there is some benefit in being able to compartmentalise, but there are many times when he just comes across as completely cold, eg, clone wars gambit: stealth, the constant frustration and dismissal of anakin's slave-history influencing his choices and feelings about situations, and his annoyance at qui-gon for choosing a child with a traumatic history for him to train. there comes a time where compartmentalisation becomes detachment, that is probably the line obi-wan.

the way he can step back to see the bigger picture is a terrifying ability, it takes a strong amount of emotional control and disconnect to be able to dismiss suffering in front of you to analyse a larger scenario.

he is known as the negotiator, because of his ability to manipulate and deceive to obtain the goals he wants, yes he can be diplomatic when he needs to be, or desires to be, but ultimately, he knows how to use his words and his deceptively harmless demeanor to get exactly what he wants.

what about the quote from the empire strikes back: "Yoda: Much anger in him, like his father. Obi-Wan Kenobi: Was I any different when you taught me?" hello?! we know obi-wan was a nightmare as a padawan, do we really think he just 'got better'? no, he got better at hiding it. he chooses restraint every time because the alternative is too terrifying to unleash. he knows what he’s capable of, he’s seen it. qui-gon saw it. qui-gon knew obi-wan was capable of taking on someone as dangerous and powerful as anakin, because he knew obi-wan could be just as powerful and dangerous, and he was right.

he is a flirt, he is a tease, he knows he is gorgeous, he knows he has an allure about him, and he USES IT, he exploits it, it manipulates people with it, he plays and toys with people, not because he is being malicious or salacious, but because he has these gifts, so why not use them when the time calls for it?

in the obi-wan tv, the fact that even after 10 years of disconnecting himself from the force, and no longer practicing with his lightsaber, his raw abilities and power were able to outmatch vader, who had been both practicing his skills and had tapped into the ferocity of the dark side - OP as hell. and that is the point, he IS OP AS HELL, but he exercises a significant amount of restraint and compassion.

he’s the Jedi who can smile while ordering a battalion to hold the line, he’ll bow respectfully to an enemy before slicing them in half. he’ll soothe you with gentle words, only to manipulate your choices in ways you won’t realize until it’s too late. obi-wan is a weapon wearing the mask of a peacekeeper.

he chooses peace first. he chooses compassion first. but he can go further than anyone else when he’s forced to. obi-wan can kill you and mourn you at the same time. thats what makes him so dangerous. because unlike anakin, he won’t break when he does the unthinkable. he’ll live with it. he’ll ache and grieve and still do it again tomorrow, because it’s what the republic needs. that is his duty. because it’s what the jedi ask. and that is why he represents the perfect jedi, because he will always prioritise these things first, he makes the conscious - and harder - choice to embody the jedi teachings, even when it would be easier to throw them out the window.

[bugisbonkerz]

is this the transgender aliens in prison trump was talking about idk bro

[cod-thoughts]

And he stood by and waited to be called

Word count: 3.7k Relationship: NikPrice, PriceNik, Nikolai/Price Tags: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, surprises, anniversary

Price and Nikolai are supposed to be celebrating their anniversary today, what if Nik has to cancel last minute? What if he makes it up to Price anyway? Keep reading under the cut or on AO3 I've been working furiously on ghostprice week but i wanted to get something up before then so here we are! I just wanted some fluff and something wholesome its been a rough couple of weeks 0_0

John Price ran his fingers through his beard, inspecting it in the mirror under the bright, unforgiving bathroom light. He’d gone to the barber the night before, the guy taking care to trim his hair just right, shaping the beard until it was exactly the way Nikolai liked it. Price had watched in the mirror as the barber worked, the hum of clippers and the snip of scissors oddly soothing. He’d wanted it to be perfect, the kind of effort he didn’t make often, but today was special. It was for Nikolai, after all. The man who had waited, who had been patient through the endless nights apart, through the missions that had stretched longer than expected, through the calls that never came when Price got tied up in things beyond his control.

This morning, he’d taken his time getting ready, savoring every small step. He’d used that fancy beard oil Nikolai had given him on their last anniversary—the one with the cedar and sandalwood scent that Nikolai had said made him “smell like a forest, but a handsome one.” The words had stuck with Price, replaying in his mind every time he used the oil. He could almost hear Nikolai’s voice, that warm, affectionate tone, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he teased. It made Price smile to himself, a soft, private smile that lingered even as he moved through the rest of his routine.

He even went the extra mile, too, shaving away the rougher edges with a precision he hadn’t bothered with in a while, making sure every line was clean and crisp. The razor glided over his skin, the scent of shaving cream mingling with the cedar and sandalwood, and for once, Price allowed himself to enjoy it. This was, after all, their anniversary. Years of shared missions, flights, quick getaways, and late-night talks when the weight of command felt like too much, each adding up to something neither of them had ever quite expected. They’d found each other in the chaos, in the midst of everything else, and that was worth celebrating. It wasn’t just about the time they’d spent together—it was about the fact that they’d chosen each other, over and over again, despite everything.

After one last look, Price pulled his shirt collar into place, brushing his shoulders free of any stray hairs, adjusting the cuffs. It wasn’t fancy—not by a mile—but it felt good to put himself together just for the sake of it. For the sake of Nikolai. It made his chest swell with a quiet sort of pride, knowing that he could still find joy in the smallest of gestures, knowing that after all this time, Nikolai was still the one who made him feel like this.

As he strode out into the hallway, there was no hiding his uplifted mood. Gaz spotted him first, pausing with his coffee mug halfway to his lips, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Captain… you look sharp.” His tone was playful but warm, with an edge of real surprise. Price’s grooming routine was normally more utilitarian—efficient, maybe a bit rugged, if he was lucky.

Soap, however, was less subtle. “Christ, look at you, Cap,” he said with a dramatic whistle. “What’s the occasion?”

Price rolled his eyes, but he could feel his face heating, which only encouraged them further. Gaz gave him a knowing smile, and even Ghost, leaning against the far wall, raised an eyebrow, catching his eye with an amused nod.

They knew, of course. It was no secret that Nikolai and Price were together. It hadn’t always been easy—Price had grappled with it for years, all those ingrained habits and fears from a past where he’d never felt able to be himself, to be openly happy like this. It had been Nikolai’s patience, his kindness, that had chipped away at those walls, showing Price that he didn’t have to keep that part of himself hidden.

Instead of keeping quiet or dancing around the subject, the team encouraged him, embraced him in ways that went beyond words. They teased him, sure, but it was with warmth, with affection that made Price feel lighter than he’d ever imagined he could. After all those years of thinking he had to keep that part of himself locked away, he was here—respected and accepted not just as a captain, but as a man with a heart that belonged to someone else.

Soap, however, wasn’t about to let him go with just a blush, and brought him out of his reverie with an excited shout, “Hey, we should give him an escort!” He looked around at the others, his grin widening. “Make sure the captain here arrives in style. After all, a bloke doesn’t get gussied up like that every day.”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m just overdue for a proper clean-up,” he muttered, trying to sound casual. But the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him, and he knew it. There was no hiding his excitement—not from the team, not from himself.

---

The hours passed, each task feeling like both a distraction and a countdown. Price moved through his duties with a kind of restless energy, his thoughts drifting constantly to the evening ahead. Every so often, he’d reach into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small, carefully tied pouch nestled there. He’d spent weeks searching for something that would be meaningful—something that would last. In the end, he’d settled on an old-fashioned pocket watch, the kind Nikolai had once mentioned fondly in passing. It wasn’t flashy, but Price knew it would suit him, a small reminder of them that could go wherever Nikolai did. It felt right—something timeless, something that held weight, just like what they shared.

He imagined Nikolai’s reaction, the way his eyes would light up when he saw it, the warmth in his smile when he realised what it meant. Price’s heart swelled at the thought, a small smile tugging at his lips as he made his way through the base. Each step felt lighter, each mundane task a little less tedious, knowing that at the end of it all, Nikolai would be there.

As the evening approached, he found himself glancing at the clock more often, anticipation bubbling just below the surface. He was ready early, his heart thrumming with excitement as he made his way back to his quarters. They’d planned to meet there—just the two of them, an arrangement that had quickly become a ritual on the rare occasions they both had the luxury of downtime. He paced his room, unable to sit still, a smile tugging at his lips as he imagined how the night would go. They’d share a quiet meal, maybe a drink or two, and just be together—no missions, no distractions, just them.

Then his phone vibrated in his hand. Price opened the message with a grin, expecting to see Nikolai’s usual playful greeting—only to feel his heart drop as he read the words on the screen.

John, I am sorry, my love. I will not make it in time. Got pulled into something last minute. I will make it up to you, I promise. Be safe. Love you, Mishka.

The excitement that had carried him through the day deflated, replaced by a heavy emptiness that settled deep in his chest. He stared at the message, rereading it as if somehow the words might change, as if maybe he’d misunderstood. But they didn’t change, and the ache that followed was sharp and immediate. He knew he should be fine with it. This wasn’t the first time duty had forced one of them to cancel plans, and he’d had to do it to Nikolai more times than he cared to admit. He knew the job always came first—had always come first. But somehow, the disappointment cut deeper today. Maybe because he’d let himself look forward to it so openly, maybe because he’d let himself believe that, for once, they’d have the time to themselves.

Price sighed, running a hand over his face, the freshly smoothed skin reminding him of the effort he’d put into this day, the way he’d hoped it would go. He tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but the ache in his chest lingered. He’d wanted tonight to be special—not just for himself, but for Nikolai too. He’d wanted to give them both a moment to breathe, to remind each other why they kept fighting, kept coming back.

He let out a slow breath, pocketing his phone and trying to gather himself. There was no use dwelling on it—he’d see Nikolai soon enough, and they’d make up for the lost time as they always did. But the ache in his chest didn’t ease, not fully.

Price made his way to the rec room where the team were gathered around a table playing cards. The room was filled with the sound of their banter, the shuffle of cards, the occasional clatter of a mug being set down. Normally, it was a comforting noise, a reminder of the camaraderie they shared, but tonight it felt distant—like he was watching it all from the outside.

He started making a cup of tea, his hands moving on autopilot. The motions were familiar, almost comforting in their simplicity. As the kettle clicked, Gaz sidled up next to him, nudging him lightly. “Everything alright, Captain?”

Price forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Change of plans,” he said, shrugging. “Nikolai’s not gonna make it anymore. Duty calls.”

Gaz frowned, glancing back at Soap, who was already watching Price with a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you come out with us?” Soap suggested, his voice unusually soft. “Just for a bit. Make a night of it, yeah?”

Price shook his head, his smile faltering. “Appreciate it, lads. But I’ll just finish up some reports. Been putting them off anyway.” He tried to keep his tone light, but even he could hear the strain in it. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden, to bring down the mood. The disappointment was his to carry, and he’d manage it as he always did.

He watched as the others exchanged glances but didn’t press. There was a kind of understanding in their silence, an unspoken support that made Price’s chest tighten. They cared, in their own ways, and even if they couldn’t change anything, they were there, grounding him with their steady presence. It was enough—it had to be enough.

They let him go with a quiet nod, and Price slipped into his office, burying himself in paperwork to fill the time, to ease the ache he didn’t want to admit was there. He worked through reports, reviewed mission details, anything to keep his mind occupied, but the hours dragged, each tick of the clock a reminder of what he was missing. By the time he finally called it a night, the disappointment had settled into a dull, familiar ache. He knew he’d see Nikolai soon—knew they’d make up for the lost time as they always did. But tonight, there was no denying the ache of that missing presence, the empty space that seemed to echo louder than ever.

By the time he finally headed back to his quarters, he’d resigned himself to an evening alone, the carefully wrapped gift weighing heavier in his pocket. He paused outside his door, taking a slow breath before opening it. He knew it would be empty, knew he’d have to wait a little longer to see Nikolai, but still, a part of him hoped.

As he opened the door to his room, he froze. There, standing by the bed with a small, mischievous grin and a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, was Nikolai.

Price blinked, his heart leaping at the sight. For a second, he could only stare, his mind racing to catch up with reality. The exhaustion of the day, the disappointment he'd pushed down, all seemed to vanish in an instant. He blinked again, as if to make sure this wasn't some tired trick of his imagination. But no—there Nikolai stood, just as real as the ache in his chest had been moments before, now replaced by an overwhelming rush of warmth.

Nikolai’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he saw Price’s stunned expression. “Sorry I did not message you again, I was in a rush,” he said, stepping forward, his voice softening. “I had to see this…handsome Captain, I am sure you understand.” He winked, his grin widening as he took in Price’s carefully put-together appearance.

Price’s heart clenched with something fierce—relief, love, gratitude—all of it swelled up at once, nearly making his throat tighten. He let out a breathless laugh, his lips curving into a smile that he couldn’t contain. Slowly, he stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… how…?”

Nikolai closed the distance between them, the flowers still held loosely in one hand. “Did you really think I would miss this? Not when you put in this effort.” He reached out with his free hand, his fingers brushing against Price’s cheek, tracing the line of his freshly trimmed beard. “I’ve missed seeing you like this,” he added, his voice dropping to something more intimate, something just for Price.

For a long moment, Price could only stare, his heart swelling with relief and happiness as he took in the sight. Then, finally, he let out a quiet, breathless laugh, stepping forward and pulling Nikolai into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the crook of Nikolai’s neck, his voice muffled but thick with emotion. “You sneaky bastard.”

Nikolai laughed, his arms coming up around Price, holding him close. He pressed his face into Price’s shoulder, breathing him in, the familiar scent of cedar and sandalwood filling his senses. “Did you really think I would let you spend our anniversary alone?” he murmured against Price’s ear, his voice warm and gentle.

Price pulled back slightly, just enough to look Nikolai in the eyes. He could see the affection there, the sincerity in every line of Nikolai’s expression. It made his chest feel tight, and he swallowed hard, nodding. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “But I… I wasn’t expecting this.”

Nikolai smiled, lifting the bouquet between them. “I believe these are for you, Captain.”

Price chuckled, shaking his head as he took the flowers from Nikolai’s hand, brushing his fingers over the delicate petals. They were a little worse for wear, some petals bent, a few stems slightly bruised, but Price found it made them all the more perfect. They were real, just like this moment, like the man standing before him.

“Wildflowers, Nik?” Price asked, his voice laced with affection. “You know you didn’t have to…”

Nikolai’s smile softened, and he took a small step closer, his hand coming to rest on Price’s hip, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “No trouble, my love. Besides, I think they suit you. Strong, resilient… beautiful.”

Heat rose to Price’s face, and he looked away, huffing out a laugh. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

Nikolai came up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, pressing his face into the side of Price’s neck. He took a deep breath, his voice rumbling softly against Price’s skin. “Only for you.” He pulled away slightly, just enough to spin Price around to face him instead. He pressed a kiss to Price’s lips—soft, lingering, full of all the words they didn’t need to say.

When he pulled back, Nikolai’s eyes were gleaming with mischief, and he whispered, “I cannot wait to unwrap my gift,” his gaze running up and down Price’s form, appreciation evident in his eyes.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite,” he said, his tone teasing. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small box there. “…or at least not yet,” he added quietly, holding it out to Nikolai. “I… I got you something.”

Nikolai’s eyes softened as he took the gift, his gaze flicking up to meet Price’s before he carefully unwrapped it. The wrapping was simple—Price hadn’t been one for extravagant touches—but it had been done with care, and that was what made it special. Nikolai peeled back the paper, revealing the small box within. He opened it slowly, and the soft click of the pocket watch filled the quiet room.

A look of quiet awe crossed Nikolai's face as he took in the pocket watch, its metal glinting in the soft light. He ran his thumb across the engraved initials on the inside, his eyes taking in every detail. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to still around them, and then Nikolai looked up, meeting Price’s gaze with an expression so full of love it made Price’s breath catch.

“John…” His voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion as he ran his thumb over the watch’s surface again. He looked back at the initials, tracing them gently. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly.

Price felt his heart swell, the weight of the day’s disappointment finally lifting as he reached out, his fingers brushing against Nikolai’s. The warmth of Nikolai’s skin under his fingertips grounded him, the way it always did. He smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Only the best for you, Nik.”

Nikolai took a deep breath, his gaze flicking back down to the watch, his thumb still tracing the initials. He closed the watch with a soft click, slipping it carefully back into its box before he looked back up at Price. “I will keep it with me always,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion, his eyes meeting Price’s. “Wherever I go, a piece of you comes with me.”

Price swallowed, feeling his throat tighten as he nodded. He couldn’t find the words to respond, not properly, so instead, he took a step forward, pulling Nikolai into another embrace. This one was different from the last—slower, more deliberate. He wrapped his arms around Nikolai’s shoulders, burying his face in the crook of Nikolai’s neck, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The weight of command, the responsibilities, the expectations—all of it faded, leaving just the two of them, wrapped up in each other.

After a long moment, Price pulled back, just enough to press a gentle kiss to Nikolai’s temple. When he finally let go, Nikolai smiled, a playful glint returning to his eyes. He reached into the bag he’d set by the bed, producing a small, aged bottle of whiskey. Its amber hue gleamed in the soft light as Nikolai held it up between them. “I did not come empty-handed either,” he murmured, his voice laced with that familiar warmth. “Thought we could have a proper toast, my love.”

Price’s face softened as he looked at the bottle, recognising the label immediately. It was the same whiskey they’d shared once before—on another night, one that had felt just as full of quiet understanding and love. He met Nikolai’s gaze, touched by the small gesture. “You remembered,” he said, his voice quiet.

Nikolai’s smile softened. “Of course I remembered.” He stepped closer, nudging Price gently toward the small table by the bed. “Now, let us toast properly, hm?” He poured a couple of inches into each glass, handing one to Price before raising his own. His gaze settled on Price, warm and unwavering. “To all our years, past and future, but there could never be enough time with you.”

Price felt a grin break across his face as he raised his glass, his heart swelling with a rush of affection. He clinked his glass to Nikolai’s, the soft sound filling the quiet room, and took a sip. The warmth of the whiskey spread through him, soothing the edges of the day, and he felt the tension that had lingered melt away completely.

They moved to sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing as they savoured their drinks, the silence between them comfortable, filled with a quiet kind of joy. Price leaned into Nikolai slightly, their legs touching, the warmth of his partner grounding him in a way that nothing else could. He let out a content sigh, his gaze drifting down to where their hands rested side by side on the bed.

Nikolai seemed to notice the direction of his gaze, and with a soft smile, he set his glass down on the nightstand before reaching over, taking Price’s hand in his. He laced their fingers together, his thumb brushing lightly across Price’s knuckles in a slow, soothing motion.

Price turned to look at him, his chest tightening with emotion. There were so many things he wanted to say, but as he met Nikolai’s eyes, he realised he didn’t need to. Everything he felt, everything he wanted to say, was already there in the way Nikolai looked at him, in the way he held his hand, in the warmth of his touch.

Slowly, Nikolai leaned in, his forehead resting gently against Price’s. “I love you, John,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the words were just for the two of them and no one else.

Price closed his eyes, his heart swelling with a warmth that filled every part of him. He squeezed Nikolai’s hand gently, his voice equally soft as he replied, “I love you too, Nik. More than anything.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their foreheads resting together, their hands intertwined, the world outside forgotten. There was no rush, no need to move or speak. Everything they needed was right there, in the quiet space between them, in the love they shared.

When they finally pulled back, Nikolai grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief once more. He nudged Price gently, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Can I still unwrap you?”

Price let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he pulled Nikolai closer, their noses brushing. “Not arguing with that,” he replied, his voice low and affectionate.

Nikolai’s grin widened, and he leaned in, capturing Price’s lips in a kiss that was soft and slow, filled with the promise of everything still to come. Price melted into it, his arms wrapping around Nikolai’s waist, his heart full to the brim.

In that quiet, stolen moment, everything felt right. The world outside could wait a little longer; tonight, this was all they needed.

[necrotic-nephilim]

"--but why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?" w/JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

this one was such a fun pick, anon. i will warn you, this one has some... very dark dialogue. the JayTim is absolutely unrequited, but Tim is forced in a situation where he has no other choice bc of some Ra's tomfoolery. you *could* read into there being Ra'sTim as well, but that's not the focus, it's just 2.8k of unhinged JayTim. enjoy <3

Tim had lost count of the days.

He was pretty sure he was somewhere in the range of ten days and two weeks. He couldn’t use how often he was fed as a gauge when it seemed purposefully sporadic to throw him off. There were no windows in his cell.

Not that it looked like a cell, but Tim insisted on mentally calling it one, mostly for fear of Stockholm Syndrome getting the best of him. No matter how large the bed was, with an ornate carved cedar headboard and cotton sheets. No matter the plush carpets and en suite bathroom with a gloriously large shower with limitless hot water. No matter the shelf full of books to keep him entertained and patterned wallpaper.

This was still a prison. Tim was still forcibly attached to the bed by a long chain connecting to a thick metal cuff around his wrist he’d yet to figure out how to pick.

Tim had to let himself believe the lock could be picked. He had to hold onto hope there was some kind of escape.

The real contrast of the lavish room wasn’t the chain, though. It was Tim’s current state, naked and questionably close to bleeding out.

Not that it would matter if Tim died.

Ra’s al Ghul had already revived him with a Lazarus Pit at least four times, and he had made it clear he had no qualms doing it again. And again.

Tim went with ‘at least’ as a mental marker, because he was certain the Lazarus Pit was starting to influence his mental state.

However many times it took, repeating the vicious cycle of coming in to torture Tim until his body gave out, then giving him a violent, unwanted rebirth. Each time, Tim was pretty sure he lost a piece of himself, somewhere deep in those glowing waters.

He was sure he’d been angrier and fighting harder to break free once. Now, that anger was drifting somewhere in the Pit, far out of Tim’s reach. Tim had heard that rapid repeated exposure to the waters of Lazarus could have degrading effects on one’s mental state.

But he never thought he would learn that firsthand.

Instead of fighting and clawing at the wrist cuff like Tim had been doing for days, he just laid on the bed, sprawled out and staining the chartreuse sheets a bright crimson, staring at the cuff. One time, Tim had clawed at the cuff until his nails ripped out of their beds and he was biting a pillow in pain, watching his skin shred trying to pull it apart.

Those injuries, much like his feral desperation, were washed away now. Every scar Tim had earned over the years was gone now. He was losing pieces of himself.

After his next death, Tim promised himself he’d redouble his escape efforts. Run his hands along the walls again, test the door frame, find something that he must’ve missed his first dozen tries. He wasn’t going to let himself rot here and be changed into someone else, just wearing the corpse of Tim Drake.

Ra’s could take a lot of things, but he couldn’t have Tim’s humanity.

For now, though, Tim was just going to lay in the bed, breathing as shallowly as he could. All his body’s survival instincts were in overdrive, making him light-headed and his heartbeat a rapid, fluttering thing, trying desperately to hold on. He had yet to figure out how to get his body to let go of those responses yet.

Because the worst part wasn’t dying. The worst part was the animalistic attempt to survive that came just before his body gave out. Tim’s mind had fought alongside his body the first time he died. The second time too.

By the third, Tim had just naively hoped Ra’s would let him stay dead.

Now, Tim was just tired and waiting for it to be over with.

Just when Tim was considering getting up and trying to speed up the process, he heard a commotion. He lifted his head and squinted.

The ninjas who brought his food were always so silent in how they moved that Tim couldn’t hear them even when they were in the room. So the running feet, the yelling-

The gunshots.

Definitely a fight. Tim snapped back to reality. He sat up as fast he could, trying not to let his body dip and sway the way his perception did. It had crossed Tim’s mind, that rescue would come at some point. But he refused to hold onto it as anything other than a futile last hope.

And even now, it didn’t feel real.

No one who would save Tim used guns. The ninjas definitely didn’t use guns either. Tim carefully wrapped the chain around his fist. Whatever energy was left in his body was better spent fighting like hell than just laying there and accepting death.

The door to Tim’s room slammed open and Tim sucked in a breath.

Of all the people it could’ve been.

“Look at that,” a smug, modulated voice crowed. “I’m the lucky guy who actually found your sorry ass.”

Jason Todd reached up and pulled his Red Hood helmet off, shaking his hair loose. Tim didn’t like the look of his smile.

Granted, he didn’t like the look of Jason Todd in general, but that was beside the point.

“What are you doing here?” Tim hissed through clenched teeth.

Jason just shrugged, walking into the room with slow, casual steps. “Bats wanted to find you bad. Bad enough he was willing to call me and offer a truce if I helped storm the stronghouse.” He shrugged like it meant nothing to him. “Looks like you’re lucky I said yes. You’re already half dead.”

“Others are here?” Tim’s breath caught on his hope.

“The whole fucking calvary.” Noises of a brawl sounded in the distance and Jason spread his hands, as if his point was proven. He took another step forward just as a ninja ran into the room, sword raised and charging Jason. Before Tim could warn him, Jason shot the person in the head over his shoulder, making them drop to the floor. A full-bodied flinch went through Tim at the sight of blood spraying the beautiful wallpaper. With an annoyed huff, Jason turned and kicked the door shut.

He didn’t signal for backup. Tim’s skin prickled at the sight of the shut door and Jason stalking toward him.

“This is the part where you say thank you,” Jason prompted lazily, getting within an arm’s reach of Tim. Tim couldn’t stop his body from recoiling, eyes flicking down to the dead body on the floor. “Oh come on. Now’s not the time to worry about morals. I gave them a quick death. You should be thanking me for that too.”

“I’ll thank you when you get me out of this,” Tim said, lifting his arm to show the cuff. He pressed his palm against the cut on his chest, the one responsible for most of his blood loss. Ra’s had blamed Tim for that one, saying it was his fault for squirming too much. Tim knew better, though. He knew every drag of Ra’s’ blade was always exact and purposeful.

Jason tilted his head to the side and leaned in close. He smiled with tiger teeth and snake eyes. “See, I would but-” his eyes dragged up and down Tim’s battered form- “why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?”

Tim was suddenly all too aware of how naked he was, skin prickling. He grabbed a handful of sheets and yanked them over his lap, trying to cover himself. Jason made no move to stop him, just watching the motion of Tim’s arm as it grasped for a crude attempt at modesty.

“You said Bruce is here,” Tim chose his words carefully, trying not to show fear. He was better than being afraid of Jason of all people. He blamed the worst of his feelings on the vulnerable state he was already in. His fingers clenched the sheets to hide the way they shook.

“He’s around somewhere,” Jason waved his gun in the air dismissively. “But he’s not here, is he?” Another wave of the gun to gesture to the room. Jason’s eyes flicked down to the gushing chest wound. “You really need to cauterize that.”

“Do I look like I have something to cauterize it with?” Tim shot back, sluggishly. He didn’t let Jason distract him from the real point. “If you try anything, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Jason rolled his eyes. He searched around his utility belt, pulling out a lighter and a knife. “Tattle to Bruce? Fight me?” He snorted. “I don’t know which is more amusingly unrealistic.” He flicked the lighter on and held it under the knife.

Tim watched the blade heat up, eyes widening. “You’re not going to-”

“You’ve got a better idea?” Jason arched an eyebrow. “It’ll really piss B off if you fucking die.”

“Won’t be the first time,” Tim muttered under his breath. He cringed as soon as the words came out. That was too much information to be giving to Jason.

Another cruel snort came from Jason. “You got your own taste of the Pit, didn’t you?”

“No,” Tim tried to lie, shifting a bit.

“You did,” Jason hummed. He leaned in even closer, until his face took up Tim’s entire field of vision. “Trust me, I recognize the look in your eyes. Hold still.”

That was the only warning Tim got before a red hot blade was pressed against his skin. Tim opened his mouth to scream against the burning pain, but gloved fingers were shoved into his mouth to muffle the noise.

Tim tried to bite down on Jason’s fingers hard enough to break them, but the gloves were too thick and his body was too weak. All he could do was glare and grasp at the sheets.

The look in Jason’s gaze was terrifying. His lips held a slight smile and he looked hungry, eating up all of Tim’s tormented noises. Tim’s pain was a feast for Jason’s sadism. Tim was struggling just to stay alive and Jason looked like he was having the time of his life, licking his lips and swallowing hard.

Tim was starting to think maybe he preferred Ra’s over this.

Finally, Jason pulled the knife off of Tim’s searing skin and Tim sagged in relief. He almost fell over before Jason caught him around the waist, pressing Tim against his suit. Blood smeared over Jason’s jacket.

His fingers were still in Tim’s mouth.

Tim tried to speak around them but Jason just forced his fingers in deeper, making Tim gag.

“I could probably sneak out with you, you know,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. “Tell Bruce I got bored and left. They’d just think it was a bust.”

TIm had never understood Jason’s complex over him. He knew it was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. With Ra’s, Tim could at least find the root of the obsession.

With Jason, not so much.

He was always breathing down Tim’s neck and trying to get a rise out of Tim. Wanting Tim to work with him, pay attention to him, anything he could get. It reminded Tim of trying to tame a needy dog.

This was a step too far, though.

This made it all make sense in ways Tim regretted knowing as soon as it hit him. He twisted his head around until he managed to spit out Jason’s fingers, coughing.

“You don’t have Ra’s’ manpower,” Tim bit out the words. He tugged hard and uselessly against his cuff. “You couldn’t hold me for long.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Jason hummed. “Tell me, Drake, you pissed off enough to actually try to kill me, yet? Or do you need another dunk?”

“Give me that knife and find out,” Tim curled his hand into a fist. He was bluffing. Just the thought of killing someone nauseated Tim, his eyes briefly flickering over to the dead body on the floor.

No amount of the Lazarus Pit could turn Tim into that. A cold-blooded killer who didn’t even look before he shot. Tim was better than that.

He was better than Jason.

He just had to distract Jason long enough to find where he kept his lock-picking tool, stab him in the eye with it, and then break free and find anyone else.

Maybe Tim was against murder, but there was just enough cold rage in him to crave bloody violence. He squirreled away his logical thoughts on the matter, for now. The situation warranted just a bit of brutality.

Someone had to teach Jason that he didn’t always get to have what he wanted.

Jason dared to groan softly. “Tempting. So fucking tempting. How would you kill me, Drake? Would you gut me? Slit my throat?” He sounded far too into the idea of it. The knife in his hand started trailing up Tim’s bare back. Not deep enough to cut, but still leaving goosebumps of fear in its threatening wake. “We borrow enough Lazarus water and we can take turns killing each other.”

“Borrow,” Tim echoed the word with an incredulous laugh. “Like Ra’s would let you.”

Jason’s laughter was sickening. “Didn’t plan on asking permission.” He paused, just as the knife dragged up to the base of Tim’s skull. “I’m serious, you know.” His voice got quieter. “I’d do it if you wanted to.”

“Kill each other?” TIm’s heart was pounding. He was doing the exact opposite of getting himself out of this situation. He was sinking deeper and deeper into Jason’s clawed grip and didn’t know where the escape route was anymore. He couldn’t pull away from the hold, with the knife pressed where it was. He definitely couldn’t fight Jason like this.

Tim was trapped in what he was pretty sure was a prison of his own making.

“Kill, kiss, fuck.” Jason shrugged. “I’ll take any of the above.”

Tim swallowed down blood and bile. “You couldn’t handle me.” He couldn’t show fear. More than couldn’t, he refused to. Giving Jason his fear would just spur Jason on more. Or maybe piss him off to the point of just killing Tim and leaving him there.

Now, with the teetering edge of Tim’s sanity under Jason’s scrutiny, Tim was positive he’d shatter if he got dipped in those green waters again. And he refused to let Jason keep the pieces left of Tim to himself.

He was not going out like this.

“Wanna bet?” Jason asked. “Winner takes all.”

He sounded insane. He probably was.

And he wasn’t letting Tim dance around a lack of an answer any longer. The tip the knife started to press harder until blood was trickling down his spine.

Placating Jason seemed to be the obvious and smartest survival method. If Tim faked it long enough, he’d have to have an opening sooner or later.

“If you can keep me alive long enough to get the hell out of here, then we’ll talk,” Tim chose his words as carefully as he could. He kept his tone light, in a way that was practically teasing. He hoped it was enough.

Jason practically preened, his whole body shivering against Tim’s. He lifted the knife from Tim’s neck to reach for his belt. Tim was able to suppress his sigh of relief, hearing the lock on his cuff click.

“Can you stand?” Jason asked, pulling away to stand up, but still keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Possessively, almost.

Tim gave him a withering look. “Do I look like I can stand?”

“Good point.” Jason shrugged. He lifted Tim almost too easily, an arm around Tim’s waist to haul him off the bed, forcing the sheet to fall away. “God.” Jason paused for just a moment, looking over Tim’s naked form. It made Tim felt studied under a microscope in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

He’d just signed a deal with the devil, and he was already regretting it.

Jason managed to snap out of it and carried Tim toward the door. Tim just held onto Jason’s neck for support and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just made the stupidest decision of his life. He could still distantly hear other Bats fighting off ninjas. Salvation so close to Tim, yet still out of reach. Jason easily stepped over all of the dead bodies as they slunk through the hallways, away from the noise and into the darkness.

Tim couldn't escape the awful chill crawling down his spine; pressed against someone who was possibly more psychotic than the madman he was being promised escape from, grandeur illusions traded for the ugly truth of Jason's desire. His flicker of hope felt like it was being snuffed out by every heavy step of Jason’s boots. The best he could pray for was for Jason to give him a cell as nice as the one they were leaving behind. 

Out of one den of vipers and into another.

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

has there been any plots or anything that you’ve gotten and just,, ignored or not do? if that makes sense at all, sorry lol (love everything about this btw ^^)

I mean yeah theres a few- it’s happened three times where I’ve gotten like a shit ton of cats on one moon (patrols plus new moon and stuff) there was one time I got 7 new cats one one moon skip. No thanks! I retcon those most of the time.

There’s also Mothchirp CONSISTENTLY, and I mean once a moon, I’m not joking- where she asks out Epilogue and gets rejected. Idk how many times I’ve gone in and removed her romantic like for him, but it’s a lot. Epilogue has no interest whatsoever.

I’ve just locked Epilogues romantic interactions to mates only now, I was that sick of it.

There’s also a new one, I might keep it as a background thing? Hawk at 13 moons came home with kits, biological kits. Which means she would have gotten pregnant at 11m, so a little teen pregnancy going on there.

Removed the kits and put them in another clan. Really didn’t fit what was going on in her life at that point even if I could make it work. Just not a fan of that, don’t think that’s something for her. Idk I might let her have a secret pregnancy and then having given up the kits? But probably not.

[wearethekingdom]

A little thing I really like about Gaeilge is that hello is 'Dia duit' which directly translates to 'God be with you' and the response to 'Dia duit' is 'Dia is Muire duit' meaning 'God and Mary be with you'

I like this so much because while I spent summers in the Gaelteacht there was also competitions in the bars and the schools to see how many saints we could name going back and forth. It was weirdly a great way to connect with people and a nice way to share the language even if it was only a few words.

If you didn't know many saints though you were pretty unlucky. However, I knew little to none my first year there and once my stay was over I knew so many and I've only learnt more since.

[mash4077confessions]

[sir-walton-goggins]

Taking a break from playing Haunting Ground to draw the one and only miss Daniella and her trusty glass shard

Alternative versions under the cut:

[paigepithetics]

one thing about me is i love to block people

[kacievvbbbb]

The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself

They both have a very; let's have another go, yeah? maybe we'll be better at this, this go-round, vibe that they bring to the workplace that I really appreciate.

[strigimorphaes]

A quick ficlet for the 6th stage of Paris-Nice - mads/mattias & josh. @mundanememory mads and mattias kissing lets talk about it

Josh has started shaking, and maybe the cold's doing something to his head and better judgement since he's not headed back to his own team bus. He's drifting towards the blue-yellow-red blotch at the other end of the street, barely able to make it out through the rain on his glasses. He takes them off along with his helmet to greet the Lidl-Trek guys hanging out in front of it. Maybe their better judgement's off too, if they're choosing to stand outside under this little canopy-thing instead of being inside with the heating on.

"Hey," one of them says. "Congratulations on second."

"Thanks," Josh answers, teeth clattering a little. How annoying, when he's trying to look cool. "Is Mads around?"

"Why?"

"I wanted to ask him something about the sprint, like, and say congratulations, too."

He wants to know how close he came to beating Mads, and to use this chance, this sudden importance at the finish, to maybe get to know some of his competitors and, hopefully, feel like a real part of this part of the peloton, the big boys who are in contention for monuments. A little bit of fake it 'till you make it, a little but of curiosity about what kind of conversation he might have with a guy like Mads after a stage like this. Maybe Mads will tell him what he did bad or good in a way that's different than his own DS. He wants something more than a handshake in any case, something that makes the day feel finished.

The Lidl-Trek guy - hard to tell them apart when they're all so bundled up and weathered - says, "He's in the bus, but now's not a good time. Him and Skjelmose are getting changed."

"Did he kick you all out for that?" Josh asks. He can't imagine willingly standing around in this cold.

"Nah," says another one - Kirsch? Either way he crosses his arms and adds, "Asked nicely, more like. And when you win the stage, you earn ten minutes of peace. It's okay, he buys the round when we celebrate after."

Josh looks past them to the curtains at the entrance to the bus. The windows are dark so he can't see anything inside. It's his luck that a Eurosport guy with a microphone suddenly approaches, eager to hear about the team's thoughts on the day. With the same feeling in his body as when he jumps the gap between two groups on the road, Josh steps behind their backs, using the distraction to duck inside.

He pauses on the stairs as the curtain falls behind him.

He can't hear talking or laughter. Not the click-clack of shoes or any zippers.

It's just whispering and then - a little soft, wet sound.

Josh takes two more steps up the little set of stairs to poke his head out, but of course he's too big to hide. He gets a fine view of the aisle with the seats on either side all the way down to the back where there's a little changing area, padded benches and storage for the clothes, and Mads and Mattias have been changing, sure, but they've not changed into anything new yet. Mads is sitting with his back to the wall, jersey off and bib straps hanging at his waist, and Mattias is on his lap, naked from the waist up, too, his back curved as he bends forwards to kiss Mads' cheek before nestling his face into the crook of Mads' neck. Mads' hands are on Mattias' back, petting him, holding him, warming him up. Josh can see every knob of Mattias' spine, every rib.

"One more minute," Mads says, his eyes closed as he captures Mattias' lips again. "Or are the boys getting impatient?"

Josh makes a noise that's a result of not knowing whether to say sorry or I'm not one of your boys or what or hey or fuck.

Then Mads looks at him past Mattias' shoulder, realizing it wasn't a Lidl-guy coming in, and Mattias twists to look, too. Mattias looks afraid for a second, and then Mads strokes his back again and he calms down. Mads looks like he might tell his boys to make sure Josh never sees daylight again if he talks. Josh is kind of impressed with how good at communicating Mads is, saying all that with just a glance.

"Sorry, I'll see myself out," Josh says. He steps backwards, almost stumbling. "I, uh - "

"Stop," Mads tells him. "You can't leave looking like that, man."

"Like what?"

"Like I threw a shoe at you or insulted your mother the moment you came in the door. Stay here until you've calmed down and look normal, like we've just had a chat. I don't want the whole fucking world to think I did something to fuck you up."

Josh nods. he tries to breathe calmly while Mattias slides off Mads' lap, sitting down on the bench next to him and pulling on a fresh shirt and a hoodie.

"We just have our own way of celebrating," Mattias says.

Mads gets up, grabbing a fresh shirt as well. He pats Mattias on the shoulder - not like he does it to others, Josh notices, not friendly and hard, but slowly to let Mattias feel the heat of his palm and the gentleness in it. Then Mads comes down the aisle, and even though he's that much shorter and narrower than Josh he doesn't feel that way. He gestures for Josh to sit, bringing them at eye level or with Josh a little lower.

"You stay quiet, right?" Mads says.

Josh nods. Then he can't help himself but ask, keeping his voice low enough that Mattias won't hear, - "Is it like, you're together? Or is it more like - I don't know, but I heard on my team, sometimes, there's kind of a - not really hazing, but mean things, you know, between the big guys and the ones that are... lower in the hierarchy."

He just wants to make sense of what he saw.

Mads smiles. "Nah, it's love, Josh."

Which - Josh wouldn't have considered that an hour ago when they were pushing like mad, and he was watching Mads and Mattias take their turns, surrounded by other madmen in rain jackets with trembling hands. He hadn't thought that people could be close in that way, too, in the peloton. He thought you got a model girlfriend or a long-suffering wife or dedicated yourself entirely to the sport. That those were the options. He must be staring into space while he's realizing that there's this , too, because Mads makes an expression like Josh looks funny.

"Now get out of the bus," Mads tells him. "We can talk some other time."

"Yeah," Josh says. He's glad the seats have handles so he can hold onto something and pulls himself up. It's going to be a whole thing to sit back at his own bus holding this knowledge inside him, and he pauses for a moment to find his footing -

"Atta boy," Mads says, and puts a hand on Josh's shoulder, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek that's definetely a mocking joke played on Josh, something to fluster him and make him leave very very quickly and confused and blushing.

Outside, the Lidl-Trek riders see Josh's red face and laugh loud enough that Mads has to hear it inside the bus.

Josh hurries to his own mates, far warmer than before.

[loveforaninstant]

hands the castlevania fandom a nocturne httyd au where richter is hiccup, annette is astrid, and alucard is an (older and wiser but no less sassy) toothless. is this anything.

[girlshambogames]

i fear my biggest weakness is having big ideas but also having adhd that nerfs me

[lunavagans]

So like, this only really hinges on the fact that we don‘t know just what exactly Ganon told Shadow ABOUT the Hero, but I do think that beyond being infatuated with Vio and wanting to offer him a listening ear and the chance to maybe take revenge against the other three for ignoring his advice/opinions, there was also a bit more selfishness involved on Shadow‘s part that didn‘t have much to do with Vio specifically.

Like, my line of thought is that maybe Shadow was told something along the lines of „people are born a certain way and nothing will ever change that. You were born as the Hero‘s enemy and my servant, and you can‘t be anything else. The Hero was born as the Hero and the Goddesses‘ servant, and he will be nothing else. This is why you and the Hero are destined to be on opposing sides.“ And maybe at some point, he started doubting that. Like surely people are more flexible than that?

(Honestly you could make a whole argument here that Ganon genuinely thought like that because of Reincarnation Stuff, but that‘s for another post.)

So when he tried to befriend Vio, he also started getting his hopes up that maybe Ganon was wrong. Actually, the Hero (one part of him, anyway) and he can be friends! They‘ve overcome that! Neither of them are limited to what they were born for!

And then Vio tries to kill Shadow. Which proves that Vio was never Shadow‘s friend (at least in Shadow‘s mind, this isn‘t the place to argue if the friendship became genuine on Vio‘s side), which „proves“ that Ganon was right and Shadow was not only wasting his time, but endangering himself with Vio.

Like I think in this scenario, the rage and frustration with the betrayal does come from simply being betrayed by his one friend, yeah. But the suddenness of the violence Shadow enacts against Vio after that? (It always puzzled me a little bit just how quickly that comes, as if he doesn’t think about what he’s doing. But then surely he wouldn’t have something else detain Vio? Maybe it‘s just that he thought about what he’d do in this situation before. Just in case.) That‘s fueled by his resorting to „I‘m a shadow, and I‘m destined to fight the Hero. This is how it was meant to be.“

[there-are-4-lights]

from here

[wernerherzogs]

Not sure if you watched the podcast or not but he did say that the reason bear didn’t get off oak was because he (Oliver) distracted him and that’s when the fight started because bear didnt move off oak fast enough

And bear bit him because he was in the middle of them fighting and backed off as soon as he realised

I’m not saying it’s a good situation, but as someone with rescue dogs I do understand some of the decisions he’s made, like how do you choose which of your dogs to rehome and if you have the space and time to properly reintroduce them then I’d probably choose that too

ummm why do you think this information makes the situation or any of his actions better in any way 😭