#and his failure to do so is some of his greatest regrets

[celaenaeiln]

so my friend, at 12 am, called me just to say that dick grayson is the only one in his family that bruce truly views as an equal and then hung up. what. what do i do.

well, call them back and tell 'em they're right 😂😂😂

I started cackling so hard I began wheezinggg oh my god that's hilarious!!!

But maybe for a more reasonable time to talk about this concept after you wake/have woken up from your dick grayson cameo dreams, I'll drop some comic panels

Dick is privy to all of Bruce because of the way Bruce treats him like an equal

He lets Dick in on secrets that he doesn't tell any of the others

I've made a post before on how Clark views Dick as his equal just as Bruce views Dick as his equal.

I'm going to drop the Bruce segment here:

When Bruce was gone the only person he entrusted any information to was Dick. He left a personalized - voice activated - message for Dick and only him that lists his worries, faults, and regrets.

"The girl, Cassandra Cain... I told her to give this file to you should I fall tonight."

"She's my greatest sin, Dick. My deepest regret. Stay alive, and please. Try to forgive me--"

He lists his insecurities to Dick as friend, as an equal.

Of everyone Bruce left behind, the only person Bruce left a message for was Dick. He relies on him unconditionally to take over because Bruce doesn't seem him as a kid like he does with the other - don't get me wrong, he still values and knows just how brilliant the rest of his children are - but he sees Dick as an equal in terms of intelligence, abilities, and leadership. Actually -

Bruce puts Dick on a pedestal.

He views Dick as the golden standard of everything he's working toward.

The reason I think Bruce is so harsh on Dick in regards to training is he doesn't see him as a kid that needs protection, he seems him equal to himself.

Time and time again he sends Dick on solo missions because of the faith he has in Dick's abilities and intelligence

In another comic there's an Arkham breakout and Bruce just. He just sends sends Dick on a solo mission to contain the entirety of Arkham and the villains inside by himself.

And Dick does. Effortlessly.

The fight for Spyral

"I know the other heroes. I know them all. I'd have them do it, but they can't. They'd fight, but eventually they'd give up, they'd give in."

We all know that Bruce despises himself when he fails at something. He thinks he's the best in the world and struggles to cope with the idea that he failed. As such, Bruce views Dick as an extension of himself. Unlike with the kids where he acknowledges their differences and treats them like children, Dick and Bruce are so intertwined that Bruce considers Dick as the "good part" of himself while Bruce is the "bad part".

He gets the angriest at Dick during times where Dick disagrees with him because he believes that Dick should understood what he's going through and what he believes in. For his part, Dick is always on Bruce's side and acts like Bruce's leash. He'll let Bruce do anything he wants as long as it's within the limits of acceptable behavior. Once Batman crosses those limits, Dick fights with him to bring him back.

As such, Bruce doesn't differentiate himself with Dick. He is the best and as a result so is Dick. Except in his mind Dick is better than him in every way possible and he took the steps to ensure it through training.

One of the reasons people in the comics call Dick the Golden Child is because he's the living embodiment of everything Bruce strived to create. It's not because he follows his orders religiously or anything. No, Dick just gives Bruce a longer leash than most.

In the Spyral fight I think he hits Dick because he is in part frustrated with himself. Imagine seeing someone you have unconditional faith in because you know they're capable of the very same things as you and can even surpass you fall to a threat. Doesn't that mean you would've fallen too? Is their failure just as much yours if you see yourself as a god? But how can a god-like being fall?

Their relationship is complicated because while Bruce sees Dick as his own person, he also sees him as the reflection of his success.

That's why Bruce is harsher on Dick than the rest of the kids. That's why Bruce makes Dick his right hand man. That's why Bruce shares his sorrows, fears, and vulnerabilities to Dick.

The way they interact, they view each other as father and son but with all the roles and responsibilities as partners.

Dick's compartmentalization and the way he mothers Bruce and Bruce allows it? He doesn't let anyone do that. I feel like on some level he subconsciously expects Dick to take care of him. As someone he can turn to with his worst and darkest sides and still be loved and appreciated and told everything will be alright. It's not a burden he places on the rest of his kids. Which is why Dick's relationship with Bruce straddles the line between son and guardian with him playing both roles and Bruce reacting/ forcing him to react that way.

Also

"Robin fuctions as support."

"Robin wasn't your idea, Bruce! It was mine! I sat in your cave and I watched you and I learned-- and when you needed my help I was there!"

"I'm not your employee, I'm not your son. I'm your partner."

One thing that differentiates Dick's robin from the other robins is that while the other Robins were worried about meeting Bruce's expectation, Dick was more worried about Bruce not seeing him as an equal. He ran away from home because he was mad that Bruce was becoming more controlling and not at all like how they used to be - partners.

There's a reason Dick is the only one Bruce views as his equal. It's because the experiences they've shared have woven them so tightly together that Bruce considers Dick his better half and pillar of strength. If he falls back, he can rely on Dick to take over. Emotionally and physically.

Still laughing at your friend lol. Wild

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #thanks for the ask! #cl anon asks

[myfandomprompts]

Hi, would you be willing to do any more Headcanons with Ewan's characters?

I thought about something like this, how each of Ewan's characters would react and act if he (the character) really liked the reader (I mean on a level of suffering for love), but the reader didn't reciprocate those feelings.

Hi anon! Of course, here we go:

Unreciprocated Love reaction - Ewanverse Headcanons

Abraham:

He had set his eyes on you, it would be easy winning you over. But he hadn't expected the reader to refuse him, and he hadn't expected his infatuation to develop into extreme fixation. Suddenly when you're not around, he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, with who. He hates not knowing. You don’t like him? Then maybe he’ll make you see that he is the only one for you.

Aemond:

He does not often fall in love, and he doesn't accept failure, so he must be certain his feelings are reciprocated. When it's clear it's not, he bids his time, denies his enragement to the world and waits for you to have no choice but to fall in his arms. You will eventually, he is sure of it, he had never stepped down to a challenge, and you're the greatest of them all, he needs to have you.

Billy Taylor:

Is sullen for months. It had taken so much time for him to gather the courage to confess, to tell you how much he cares about you. And it was all for disappointment. He doesn’t think his young heart can take it, and he doesn’t think it will ever heal either. Starts to pick up things you leave behind to collect them, because it reminds him of you.

Billy Washington:

Absolutely crushed. But he isn't even surprised, he never had any luck in life, so having someone like you love him back would have been too good to be true. He tells himself he will be fine, get over it, but it doesn’t. It hurts when he learns you’ve gone out with one of his friends two days after he confessed and it hurts more that he has to see you everyday. He starts to be mean to his friend, real mean and soon he is afraid he’ll lose it in front of you. He can’t stand it.

Ettore:

He doesn’t really understand the feeling, this sensation in his stomach when he looks at you but he knows he wants more. He has to obey his body, because it feels so good, and refusal is not an option. He won’t get angry, he won’t be violent, but he will stalk, and he will watch. At first. Then it’s just you and your incessant habit to ignore him and he can’t take it anymore. He has to do something about it. He’s just not sure you’ll like it.

Genyen:

He knows his flirting technique isn’t perfect, but he at least expected something, some semblance of interest. Not indifference on your part and then complete avoidance. He admits that hooking up with one of their friends out of spite was not one his smartest moves, but at least he discovered from the jealous expression on your face that you might care after all. He’ll make you regret it at some level.

Michael Gavey:

He knows there is no chance you like him back, no chance you would even consider it. But he can't help but ask one day. He had to, it drove him crazy: how he thinks about you every single hour of the day as well as during his waking hours at night, how every time he sees you he has a cold sweat. It falters his focus far more than he allows himself to, and he has to do something about it. But the rejection hurt more than any others, and now he just has to try and not being a fucking creep about you until he finished uni. Easier said than done.

Osferth:

He doesn’t even know what to answer to Finan and Sithric when they ask him why he is sad all the time. How could he admit that it’s because he had suffered the greatest heartbreak of his life? How can he explain that he doesn’t feel like he couldn't live happily if he does not see you everyday, get to be close to you, talk to you. He wishes he could forget you ever existed. Maybe God will grant him this wish. But it's just a silly hope, and he is cursed to watch you from afar.

Tom Bennett:

Pretend he would get over it soon. Tells himself that you were "too good" for him anyway. But then time passes and he doesn't feel like this for anyone else but you, so he starts to unconsciously live his life around you. He thinks he will grow out of it eventually, but it doesn't. The disappointment makes him crave for what he would have had if he was with you, but despite the frustration he doesn't let it bring him down. Tom Bennett is never discouraged after all, and he will continue being his charming self with you whenever he can.

Will:

He tries. He really tries to let go and move on but knowing you don't feel the same is gnawing at him. Eventually he starts to feel angry, all the time and he blames you first, then himself. You were so nice to him, and now you act cold and distant. Soon there is only one thought in his head: he has to fix it.

#ewan mitchell #will salad days #headcanon #prompts #ewan nation #ewanverse #abraham grantchester #aemond targaryen #michael gavey #billy washington #billy taylor #tom bennett #genyen #genyen bbc #bbc doctors #don't mind the images i'm just having fun #headcanons

[bookwormlover10]

I need a fan fic ( or au) were Wayne family adventures Bruce decides to adopt old Dcau Bruce

You with me on this...ok so This is my pitch how it would go.

So it starts with wfa Bruce somehow ( maybe is the justice league or something else you decide) gets transported to the Dcau universe but in the beyond era. The man is obviously very confused it could be the taller and bigger Gotham or it could be the teenager with attitude calling himself batman.

Eneway he runs into the tomorrow knight and after some light confrontation Terry takes him to the bat cave were he meets the eder Bruce Wayne. After confirming things old Bruce dismissed Terry for the night

While things settle down wfa Bruce noticed that this old Bruce is lonely. This Bruce is all alone For the most part.( With expectations of course. The dog and this Terry fellow) The House looks hunted with romes are empty and dark. Alfred seems to be dead. It seems that he didn't have much sidekicks( sorry that the only way to explain the bat heros ) judging by the display case. He's pretty sure the doesn't have a Damian either. The kicker thought is when he shows a picture of his family to the older Bruce gave him a sad smile and said " that lovely but do me a favor don't mess up like I did."

Some how there is a way home with it with the beyond era justice league or the wfa Batfamily you decide. While going though the way home wfa Bruce decided 'you know what I'm taking this sad Old man with me' and surprises adoption to old Bruce. he just assumed that Terry well be fine. Yes Ace will run after his owner.

As expected old man Bruce doesn't take to kindly to the batnaping. His is pissed. His like " I'm supposed to be a warning! That wasn't a aboption call !" And like " Terry needs me! " He scolded wfa Bruce like an angry father.

I bet your wondering what the wfa Batfamily thing about this. Well one their Bruce explain his reasoning there like... Ok.... Then go along with it. They get a new grand-bat

The bat kid are ok with having a new grand-bat. But as time Bass they noticed that their new grand-bat is why more grouchy than their Bruce and some how More traumatized. I mean the old man said that dangling somebody off a roof was too soft. He looked at Alfred like hes a ghost ( maybe to him he is ) Every time Old man Bruce sees Dick and tim he always gives them a sad look with regrets and avoid them at all cost. Tim more so. Like Tim is his greatest failure.

Tim : why is he looking at me like that.

Jason: yea so

Tim: that the thing he's looking at me like...( Comes to the realization) .. like Bruce looks at you

Jason: huh !

Dick: ( is crying in a corner) at least he doesn't look at you like you hate him!

Old Bruce does try to escape and go home. Like there a Terry that needs him at home. Hes escape atemts fall though it comes to a pont stop thing " what would a Bruce do" to " what would a Terry do." And starts to make their life miserable. He starts to hack into the bat computer making their equipment act weird and pulls brakes on them. Thought he doesn't do it when he thinks that their a ligiment threat. They might have kidnapped him but he still has his morals after all these years.

Damien likes Old Bruce hes like the grandfather that Damien always wanted. He's tuff and experienced but not to mean ( still mean but not as much as he was when he first met Terry. thanks you Terry for softening the old bat up) . He gives him compliments when needed but well scold you when you do something stupid. He gives him head pats sometimes. He even has that mysterious old people candy that Jon was telling him. About. Not to mention he's has great taste in pets. ( Damien likes Ace very much.) Damien came to know this this Bruce never had a him. That fact made Damien a little sad. He always thought that there was a him with his father in every universe. He also thinks that his mother isn't with them in his universe cause every time he asks about his mother in his universe he always gives a sad smile and says " your mother was a very beautiful woman. With a good heart." The key word was was. Meaning that she was dead. He doesn't dare ask about his grandfather. The old bat does try to convince Damian to stop being Robin cause how kind get hurt. ( Cause you know trama ) Damien them mention this Terry fellow.Damian then decided that they need to keep the old man.

Old Bruce then release that these kids are traumatized and he became a little soft on the wfa Batfamily. He's everything started to open up to them. He starts telling them stories about his batman and justice league days. The bat kids are all surprise that welly West was a founding member of the justice league in his universe. He also gave wfa Bruce creeks and help him be a better batman. ( With all of the Batfamily to he honest) Tim and Jason eventually asked him to what happened to his Tim Drake. So old Bruce explained his Tim backstory and the joker jr situation. The bat boys than made the concussion that his Tim Drake is was more of a Jason Todd a Timmy todd if you will. When Tim and Jason explain both of their backstory to the old bat.

Wfa Bruce ( and Batfamily to an extent) does eventually feel gently about surprises adopting old man Bruce especially with how much he mentions Terry. Wfa Batfamily can tell that they have a father and son relationship. He said how he proud of him. He mentioned his grate battles or what Terry did for him . That wfa Batfamily can tell how much Terry means to the old bat. They know that he wasn't comply alone

Then eventually there's a knocking on the door of Wayne maner only to reveal a pisst of Dcau Tim going full Jason Todd on there ass. ( He has a gun and he's not afraid to use it ) an angry Terry mcginnis and Dcau Wally West is there cause I like him. You can also have Dcau dick Grayson there to.

See he has people who do care about him.

Then old man Bruce got to go home but the wfa Batfamily can still visit there grand bat in neo-Gotham

I also have a similar Idea but we're Damien kidnapped Timmy todd and Dcau dick is on the journey. Let me know if you want to here that to.

#terry mcginnis #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #batman beyond #timmy todd #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #ace the bathound #damian wayne #damian al ghul #batfam #au maybe #wayne family adventures #btas #tnba

[saphirered]

Caged Birds Don't Sing

As promised Part 2 of this Fenrys x reader request! We're getting more angst but what do you expect from enemies to lovers? Hope you like it! 😘

You stood at her side. You stood at Maeve’s damned side on that beach. Of course she would have you stand there. You would look down upon them. Fenrys expected indifference if not betrayal for their disobedience, or perhaps satisfaction that they’d be punished for their actions. He expected you to laugh at Gavriel’s pain, to speak to them, tear at open wounds but you were silent. You made no move. He deigned to look at you, if only to assure you wouldn’t pounce at the first opportunity. He would have been ready to rip your throat out. He might not have thought  twice about it had Maeve severed his bond too but she knew his greatest torment would be to keep it in place. It’s in that image he notices your throat, how it’s tense and how you swallow, how your breathing is higher than it should be. He notices something behind that eternal gaze into oblivion and he realises, you are not the fae he holds in his memory. You are in pain. You’re in turmoil and you’re fighting so desperately to keep in place whatever facade you’ve put on.

You’ve never looked away from the abuse Maeve put them through but this time, you turn your gaze and bite the inside of your cheek. You clasp your hands together to keep the trembles from them or perhaps to stop yourself from taking reckless action. When you force yourself to look, when Aelin accepts her fate, you keep your eyes on her. Behind that surface mask so cracked and broken, one can see the pain, the guilt and regret and sense of failure. You mouth the words ‘I am sorry’ for none but them to see, for those who pay attention. The porcelain mask no longer remains in its perfect state. Everyone knows what Maeve does to broken dolls. 

————

When the screams have gone quiet and no longer echo through the halls of Doranelle Fenrys lays at the base of that damned throne. The clicking of footsteps against those damned floors are both blessing and curse. Blessing as a reminder he isn’t dreaming. A curse for who’s presence they announce. They stop not too far away. He knows exactly where you are even if he can’t bear to lift his head. 

“You summoned me, my queen?” Ever eloquently you speak but there’s a rasp to your voice he’s not heard before. It peaks enough of his interest to try and get a better look and blinking an eye open is enough to reveal the bruised marks around your neck. It’d been weeks since your altercation and you bore no marks of that. Whoever dared lay a hand on you, Maeve must want to deal with. He expected some kind of doting from the queen but found none. 

“You have served me well, my little pet. For many years I have kept you at my side. My most loyal of servants.” Maeve rises and slowly crosses the difference. She steps around Fenrys as if he’s no more than an inconvenient obstacle. “You’ve protected them for many years but finally you’ve given in. Know that it is your sacrifice that keeps them alive. For now. You’ve earned my mercy.” Maeve dances a sharp nail under your chin and lifts your head. She tuts at the marred skin as you bite back the discomfort when she lets her fingers glide against the tender bruises. 

“My allegiance has never wavered. I thank you for your benevolence.” Such carefully chosen words. When she retreats her touch you bow your head like some loyal subject. Maeve circles you but you keep your eyes front, not daring to turn and face her out of habit. 

“Your allegiance comes with a reward no less. After all these decades you’ve deserved as much.” She stops behind you and you fear the repercussions for a brief second. You see the broken and bloodied fae at the footsteps of that dais. He’s staring right at you. You cannot look away from him. At least he’s alive. At least he has allies that can help him. At least he can stay with Aelin. He might not know your involvement in all of this and he might never know, but that is your punishment for all those years you turned a blind eye to them, to him. You don’t deserve forgiveness for your actions nor do you want it. You just hope it was worth it, will be worth it. It’s then you feel something cold slip around your neck and dangle against your chest. A pendant on a chain. Your blood freezes in your veins. You freeze.

The pendant, the chain, you can still see the remnants of dried blood staining it. Murder enters your heart and it shatters. You want to scream and shout and cry but you don’t. You school your features blank and manage to hold yourself together as you hold the pendant. Maeve circles back around, back up the stairs and leisurely sits on her throne. She grasps the armrests lightly. 

“Let this be the price of your broken silence.” She promised you. She promised they’d be safe. You’d given it all. All those decades you’ve suffered through and she destroyed all you cared about. You played a dangerous game and you lost. You truly lost. You’d saved the victims of your actions but condemned the ones who lived thanks to your silence. Maeve takes great joy in watching you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“You have no idea how much this gift means to me, my most gracious queen.” Fenrys doesn’t know if it’s your injured throat or those cracks he’s noticing once more. He almost feels sorry for you, for whatever is causing this and for what Maeve clearly holds over you. You were all too selective in your words and he has not the strength to figure it out, dancing along the line of consciousness but he makes a mental note of it anyway should his mind think it important enough to pick apart.

“Take him out of my sight and clean up his mess. I want him back in shape by next morrow.” You miss a beat but with one last bow you are at Fenrys’ side. He tries to lift himself but is unable to despite his first instinct to refuse your help and protest. At least he can take some modicum of satisfaction in the knowledge he will bleed all over your pristine attire. With difficulty you support him and drag him out of the throne room. It seems that the moment those doors close behind each step is more difficult than the last. He notes that you’re not even entirely sure where you’re going, not aware of your surroundings and when he looks at your face Fenrys sees something he has never seen before; silent tears streaming down your cheeks. You can’t seem to stop them. You make no sound but still you cry. Those are the tears of someone who has only been able to express those feelings in complete solitude. Despite his feelings and opinions towards you, he finds it within himself holding some kind of remorse, of pity. 

You take him to an unfamiliar room. You don’t speak a single word. Neither does he. You follow orders; get some rags, clean his skin and take care of the injuries he sustained to speed up the healing process. Your touch is deliberate and practiced. You have the supplies at the ready. You’re no healer, he’s fairly certain an it’s then he notes the faint smell from you matching that of one of the ointments you set aside. The more you care for him, the further within your shell you retreat, as if you’re not but an animated body but your mind and soul have left. The way you move, like this is regular routine, it makes him wonder if this is habit. It must be. You’ve done this perhaps a thousand times before but likely never for another… Perhaps you have faced your own suffering at Maeve’s hand. Your loyalty was never to Maeve. It was to whomever that pendant belonged to- the sacrifice you had made and for what? Why now? Fenrys has many questions he cannot answer. 

“What did you do?” Fenrys croaks when you tie the last bandage and collect the mess to be disposed of. You freeze in your movement. You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t look at him at all. You are just curled within yourself; your shoulders slumped, and limbs heavy, your brow furrowed and still the occasional tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Why do you care?” You shoot back out of instinct. Your defences still sharp. If anything you remind Fenrys of an injured animal, lashing out at any who dare come to close. It seems you remember you’re the one that brought him into your lair. 

“I don’t but I’d rather like to know if I’ll be cleaning up your mess next time.” You know what he insinuates. He’s gathered you’ve fallen out of favour with Maeve and she has been known to get rid of those no longer of use to her in a manifold of creative ways. It’s a shame you still hold some value to her and she won’t let you go until she’s absolutely sure you have nothing left to offer her. She knows that even still, you haven’t shared all you had to share. You’ve kept the most important information to yourself for a reason and right now your heart is filled with enough hatred and recklessness to play the long game no matter the costs. Not like you have anything left to lose. 

“I sacrificed what leverage I had to spare others from bloodshed, to buy them more time.” You speak solemnly. The first words you’d said since all but dragging him out of the throne room. You truly are in pain. Though besides your bruises you seem fine and some bruising has never bothered you much before as far as Fenrys knows, the pain you feel is the world-shattering kind and he’s noted the blood on that pendant isn’t his. The way you hold onto it, it’s important to you. Out of all the jewels you adorn it is the most precious. He begins to piece it together. Those golden bracelets are chains in their own way. 

“Clearly that did fuck all.” Fenrys appears to have found his attitude again. You’re just too exhausted to face off with him. You can’t. You’re done. You’ve lost it all and for what? It was a failure in the end. You want this pain to stop, this carnage from tearing you apart from the inside but here he is claws and all tearing into you. As he deserves for all the pain you’ve caused him. 

“She would have made you kill each other. She would have made the others watch before disposing of the disobedient ones.” He understands well enough the implications of your words. His blood might as well have frozen in his veins. 

“And you can’t even speak our names- their names. Why? Why risk it all for the people you’ve been looking down upon ever since you’ve met them? Why give up your precious little life to save us? Should we forever be in your debt?” Once more his anger is directed towards you. It felt so good in the past. He simply feels horrible about it now, especially when he sees you clutch that pendant so tightly he thinks you might crush the metal with your bare hands.

“Because you don’t deserve to be a casualty to my silence.”

“We have all been casualties of your silence! What’s changed, sunshine? You grew a conscious? Get lost. You wouldn’t know right from wrong if it stared you right in the face.” He expected you to lash out against him, to seek out the confrontation but with each word he speaks you just look smaller and smaller. There’s no satisfaction. There’s no pleasure in tearing into you. Fenrys once thought that seeing you show remorse, any kind of guilt and recompense for your actions, or lack thereof would make him feel justified, make him feel validated, make him feel good. It didn’t. He just feels horrible. He feels his blood truly grow colder than the depths of winter and so his features blank. No more is there the fury. There’s only a chill silence and lack of any sensation. It’s terrifying. He catches a glimpse of himself in your mirror and sees a reflection eerily similar to the expression he’s seen you wear more often than not. Just the absence of emotion, of the attachment to this world. 

“You’re right. Fenrys. You’re right and I’m sorry.” Once upon a time he would have cheered and laughed at you admitting your wrongs, your defeat. He doesn’t feel anything now. You’re just some broken bird that can no longer sing those lovely songs. You’re just as broken as he is. 

#fenrys x reader #throne of glass fenrys #throne of glass x reader #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fanfiction #tog x reader #kingdom of ash

[autistichalsin]

hello, I hope your day finds you well. I really like your halsin content and I like the insight and understanding you provide this character even through the less-than-stellar writing/pacing of the character in the game. I have a thought and was wondering if you could address if you feel this is a valid characterization headcanon or something fully off field: Even from the little Larian has given us about Halsin and his past with sexual trauma it does seem that Halsin has poor self-awareness when it comes to his role in it. In that, I mean, he knows he can have sex and enjoy it tremendously but what happens if he stops enjoying it? If his partner is having fun but he isn't, would he ask them to stop or use a safe word or would he try to 'get through it' for the pleasure of their partner? We have the example of the bear, but that's a little different. If it's someone he is in love/romantic with, would he speak up, do you think? How much does Halsin value his own consent and his own boundaries, do you think? I have my theories but I'd like to hear yours, if you have any. (I apologize for the novel of a question and also, feel free not to answer. you are a busy person :) )

Hello friend! I have a huge load off my shoulders now that two of my four final assignments are done, that's for sure :) Thank you so much for this ask and your nice comments!

So, this is an interesting question, and it's hard to answer because Halsin is just so complex, and sexual trauma itself is complex. He lets the player get away with so much awful stuff- even staying with them if they threaten to sell him back into sexual slavery. That's not just a forgiving nature or goodwill stopping him from asserting himself. But what is it? Does he think it was a joke, or that the stern comment was enough since his captors are dead? Was Halsin's lack of self-assertiveness with loved ones deliberate, the result of rushed writing, or an attempt to write him as "chill" while not realizing the implications of this combined with him lamenting how people think he can't be hurt? He lets the player toy with his heart if partnered, the player repeatedly saying they want to break up only to change their mind- Halsin gets increasingly upset each time, yet never leaves, never tells the player there won't be a next time... it's worrying and confusing.

That said, I think Halsin's sense of sexual boundaries is good enough that he wouldn't let it get to that point. He might or might not stop if he wasn't enjoying it, but if he was in distress, I think he'd speak up. It's not just the bear that makes me think of it; if you later suggest at the love dryad that his greatest regret was turning down the she-bear, he replies, "rejecting unwanted advances is no failure, even if it earned me some scars."

There's also his party banter to Ascended Astarion. "To give oneself wholly, and to have a lover totally in your thrall...? A harmless game, until it becomes real. I worry for the two of you, Astarion. For your sake, I hope some of it is just a fantasy, deep in your heart."

So this shows that Halsin does understand the risks of kink well, and is very firm that there is no problem in rejecting unwelcome advances- in asserting one's boundaries.

That said, he has a very big and gentle heart, and I do think there are circumstances in which he'd be very vulnerable to being manipulated. However, those would require certain deliberate actions on behalf of that person; I don't think it's his default state. (I suppose he might also be prone to this in situations where his trauma was triggered and such, but again, I don't think that's his default.) I think Halsin knows he has as much of a right to boundaries and to have his consent respected as everyone else- he is just bad at defending himself when it comes to hurtful words and actions.

That's just my take on it, though; everyone will have their own opinion, and don't let this tell you not to interpret it that way. If you were, IDK, wanting to write a fic or something, don't let this stop you! There are many ways to make it work, I think.

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin silverbough

[svgvru]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄...𝐈𝐌 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

it's dec 24th in japan; therefore, angsty and fluffy fic. major manga spoilers! sukuna v gojo mentioned, megumi mentioned. this isn't x reader, but i can make one if wanted! satosugu!!

“𝗝ujutsu sorcerers always die with regrets and always are close to death while having to tear apart the flesh of a curse." satoru had to admit, his teacher was right. he couldn't think of one sorcerer who died without regrets; it simply comes with the job. he himself has regrets; the more he thinks, the more they come. but his biggest, is his failure to protect his students.

he wonders, no, he knows...if suguru geto, his one and only, had been there─perhaps things would've turned out differently? maybe he would've had the motivation?

no.

satoru would've still lost. because even if he refuses to admit it, his humanity is his greatest weakness.

he deliberately refrained from doing an thing that would completely destroy megumi sukuna. perhaps if he had no humanity in him, he wouldn't have this regret? "the strongest," wouldn't have lost.

there would'nt be any pain in his stomach, nor blood spilling from his lips. he would'nt have caused shoko so much pain, yet there would be no megumi. he would'nt have died, but he would've left his student's soul from the depths of his possesed body.

satoru gojo's biggest regret? his ultimate failure in saving those who he desperately wanted to.

not even his one and only.

on the day of december 24th, suguru geto was executed, although his body was never presented to the higher-ups. that day, satoru was forced to sepreate himself from suguru. and as if some trick of fate, he happened to he united with suguru, just a year later.

satoru's eyes fluttered open; the scenery was much different than the crumbling buildings and megumi's face.

it was an airport.

and next to him was his one and only, smiling back at him. "took you long enough," suguru bumped his shoulder lightly. "yeah yeah," satoru beamed at the sights of those he missed. nanami, haibara, yaga, and suguru.

satoru's body slouched as he burried his head in suguru's neck. "i missed you..."

he felt a hand card through his silver hair delicately; he could feel suguru's smile against his forehead. "well, maybe i should give you a kiss, hm? think of it as a welcome─" suguru's words were interrupted by satoru's eager lips pressing against his own. suguru chuckled, kissing him back with all the love he could muster.

"would you two get a room?" they heard nanami irritated voice speak.

satoru chuckled, leaning back, "sorry."

"someone's happy to see me," suguru teases; his finger poking satoru's side. it was a teenage dream come true, literally. perhaps it was fate that they'd all meet at the moment they were last happy. "told ya...missed you."

it was quite funny to satoru as he closed it eyes and relished in the happiness he felt.

on the most romantic day of the year, he was reunited with his soulmate. even if it was in the afterlife. perhaps he'd stay in the south?

this was stupid. but idk if anyone wants to be tagged in this considering this isn't 'x reader.' but, satosugu!

#꒰ 📃 ꒱ — 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 #SATOSUGU #jjk fluff #character x character #gego #sugusato #stsg #stsg fic #stsg brainrot #stsg angst #stsg fluff #satoru gojo #suguru geto #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers #jjk angst #this is a drabble

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Okay theory time. Walk with me.

When I was rewatching ITSV, my brother made a good point. When Norman says "It's not up to me." He asked "why not?" And that's a valid question to ask. Why is Norman Osborn taking orders from Kingpin?

In terms of power, Norman wins. Intelligence? Norman has that too. So I started thinking about this. Why aren't you in control?

So. I figured Kingpin probably has something Norman wants. Something to make him follow orders. Maybe revenge? No, because he's clearly trying to keep Peter out, not kill him. So something more important than Spider-Man.

A cure then? It would certainly help to explain Norman's aggression and desperality.

But no. Again, Norman has the intelligence to pull this off himself. And the Norman I know would be caught dead before being seen working for someone else. Speaking of which,

he dies. He straight up dies for this. Maybe it could've been accidental, an unforseen product of his attack against Peter. But again, Norman's not just some wild animal. Despite how he goes from talking to roaring (and we'll get back to that), he is Norman Osborn. Why would he risk destroying the machine and ending his own life in a last ditch attempt to kill Peter? What's the point in getting a cure if you're just going to die without it?

So no. At least. I don't think so. I think it has to be something more important than a cure.

But wait. This is an adaptation of Earth 1610. The Ultimates Universe. Maybe he lost someone? Who did 1610 Norman lose that could be used as-

Oh. Oh yeah. His son. The thing that, especially if comic-accurate, he would feel guilt for the most.

And we know the collider was built to bring back loved ones. That's the whole reason Kingpin has it, to bring back his wife and son.

And we know they ran tests before the movie begins, because that's how Gwen got there. That's why Kingpin knows that "it's a hell of a freakin light show".

So maybe that's how he got Norman aboard. He showed him the potential of what it could do. What it could bring back. He leveraged his son above him to use his intelligence and use him as a sort of gatekeeper.

It would explain why Norman is so angry, so desperate to just keep Peter out. Why he takes orders from someone he could easily subdue. Why he's reduced to roaring and snarling as the fight enters the collider. Why he's willing to die for whatever was promised.

Because his greatest regret, his greatest failure, his greatest loss- could be undone.

#what do yall think #spider man #spiderman #does whatever a spider can #spiderverse #itsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #peter parker #norman osborn #green goblin #marvel #marvel comics #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #wilson fisk #kingpin #collider #itsv collider #harry osborn #gwen stacy #olivia octavius #peter benjamin parker

[forasecondtherewedwon]

seven degrees east - chapter two

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: Gale x Bucky; Nash x Helen; more tbd Rating: T (may change) Chapter: 2 / ? Word Count: 4285

read on tumblr: one

The next morning hit some of them like a hammer. It hit others like falling dominoes of hammer-laden hardware store aisles.

They’d stayed out late, naturally. Though a bartender had eyed them up as the troublemakers they were, they’d gotten the fighting out of their system with just the one, so, in a move they were only moderately regretting in the light of day, they’d been able to sit undisturbed and drink until Crosby—their canary in the coalmine—claimed he was on the verge of ralphing. That was the point at which they always knew to cease. Well, that they knew they would need to cease in another round or two. Three at most.

In the style of a detective in his office past the midnight hour—shoes on the desk, blinds cracked to permit stripes of light from the streetlamp outside—Crosby was a sad, self-loathing drunk. The night before, true to form, he’d laid out his regrets and likely future failures for his friends to pick at like vultures. No one had, largely because no one had been paying him any attention. He was a sadsack who could be counted upon to tap out early. As usual, he’d woken up feeling much more optimistic about life. And then he’d barfed himself hoarse. And then he’d felt pretty good again.

For a night at the bar, Bubbles had two possible character archetypes from which to choose: a weathered, Steinbeckian striving towards greatness; or a Faulkneresque delusion in the face of inevitable doom. Crosby’s own maudlin reflections could sometimes push his friend towards the latter option, but the previous evening’s adventures had kept Bubbles upbeat. He’d done his upchucking before bed, and had thus awoken feeling reasonably refreshed and capable of making his roommate (still Crosby) coffee in the pot that was in such constant use that it almost never got cleaned.

Tortured Nash, whose greatest misfortune was usually that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him, had for once had ample cause to get as drunk as he had the night before. By the time he’d extricated himself from the recounting of the scuffle outside, Helen had vanished. They’d pitied him, his friends. The fact that they’d still made him buy the next round did not negate the genuine sympathy they’d felt hearing that Nash hadn’t gotten Helen’s number. Their schools were a whole half-hour drive apart. It was hopeless. Theirs was a romance fated to go unconsummated, but for a single, shining evening. They were textbook star-crossed lovers. Face pressed to the passenger-side window of Rosie’s car on the drive back to campus, Nash had thought seriously about switching his primary field to Shakespeare.

People who didn’t know Curt well were always surprised to learn he knew when to stop—when to stop drinking, that was. He’d only had the two pours from the pitcher of beer, but he’d also slipped away a couple of times and come back giggling. His friends knew that at least one of these sorties had involved toking on a squashed joint from his wallet (the scent was undeniable), but the other had lasted longer, and the plum-coloured hickey visible on the underside of Curt’s jaw when he showed up to class was pretty damning. The mark left them guessing with whom Curt had chosen to adhere to two Beat culture tenets: drug use and sexual experimentation.

In contrast with Curt’s alcohol-specific restraint, John rarely knew when to stop. Or maybe he did and ignored it. As Gale had noted at the time, the practice of overindulging was very Hemingway of him, as was John’s perennial drunken threat to take up fishing. It was the best he could do, since the UK’s lack of large predators put Hemingway’s other quarry of choice—grizzly bear, lion, etcetera—out of reach. As usual, John’s friends had applied themselves to the redirection of his inebriated enthusiasm for “the hunt,” but failed to catch the long-legged bastard when, back on campus, he’d sprinted for the iconic tower the school used in all its brochures and attempted to scale its stony carapace. (Quietly, unassumingly, and invisibly to John and Gale both, the hunt had resumed after Gale’d wrestled him off the wall, when they’d walked back to the dorms together, falling into slow, perfect step.)

Gale was subdued, and not only because he was trying to keep things in their shared dorm to a volume respectful of John’s embattled, hungover state. It was Monday, and Mondays were when Marge called. Marge was Gale’s girlfriend. Sort of. Before he’d moved overseas to complete his education, they’d had a conversation about it. They’d discussed her coming with him, they’d discussed marriage, but ultimately it’d felt like too big a step too soon, and so they’d agreed to put the relationship on hold. There were calls to check in—coming more frequently from her and with a greater feeling of guilt from him—but Gale had the sense that these had begun to feel increasingly perfunctory to them both. He just didn’t want to be the one to acknowledge that the flourishing thing they’d once had was now rootbound, likely limiting any further growth for either of them. He’d thumbed through his broken-in copy of The Portrait of a Lady the night before, looking for answers on how to reconcile his old world with his new, but Henry James didn’t make anything simple.

Rosie woke feeling fine. He inspected his mustache with pride, then carefully shaved the surrounding stubble and headed to class humming the theme song from The Nanny.

In the seminar room, Professor Harding watched each of them enter, his gaze devoid of sympathy for those in rough shape. Crosby whimpered quietly at the slant of morning light through the tall windows; had Harding raised all the goddamn blinds on purpose? Wordlessly, Bubbles nudged the thermos of coffee back into his friend’s hand.

When Gale and John walked in last, Harding got in John’s way to stop him.

“Happy Monday, Doc,” John offered with a wide grin.

“You weren’t planning on wearing those sunglasses in my classroom, were you, Mr. Egan?”

“Aw, these?” He plucked them from his head, revealing bloodshot eyes. “Nah, I just didn’t want to forget to give them to you.”

Gale stood stiffly at his side, willing John to shut up and follow him to their usual seats at the long wooden table. He watched in silence as, instead of demonstrating self-preservation (why break tradition?), John very deliberately folded the legs of his aviators, then reached out and slipped them into Harding’s shirt pocket.

“Just temporary,” John said, “so don’t get attached.”

Gale watched his best friend and their professor stare each other down—Harding unreadable, John with a cold intensity in his eyes.

“Noted,” Harding said at last. “Take a seat.”

“Can do.”

The group released a collective breath, shoulders dropping, Rosie flicking his eyebrows up at Bubbles to indicate a narrow escape, Bubbles returning the signal with a subtle wiping of faux sweat from his brow. Phew. Another close call with Bucky, their maybe too fearless co-leader.

“Projector today, sir?” Crosby asked weakly, as Harding settled into the seat at the head of the table, skimming his notes.

Crosby dreaded accidentally glancing into the overhead projector’s uncaring beam. The hot, blinding light would probably instantaneously melt whatever remained of his brain into a chunky, horrible soup—the coffee was helping with his hangover, but he really needed to not think the word chunky.

“No, Crosby. No.” Harding sniffed in the way some people had of making a sniff sound dignified rather than a harbinger of hay fever. He looked up at them. “I think we should… talk.”

The words triggered in Gale a sinking feeling that he couldn’t, and then didn’t want to, explain.

Though Harding looked uncomfortable at his own proposed plan of action, he pushed through.

“What I have on my agenda for today’s class—and what all of you have on the syllabus I gave you at the start of this course, if any of you have managed not to lose it—is some lecture from me, summary and close-reading of the ‘House-Warming’ chapter by…” He consulted his notes again. “…Rosenthal. Prepared, Rosenthal?”

His eyes found Rosie, who nodded sharply and had fed-up expressions directed at him by some of his friends for having the nerve to be bright-eyed and prepared when others of them felt like their faces had been replaced with rubber Michael Myers Halloween masks.

“Good,” Harding said (about as effusive as he ever ventured with his praise). “Well, we’re scrapping that. And the lecture. Next class though, Rosenthal. You’re still on deck.”

“Sounds good,” Rosie said.

“Sounds good?” Nash echoed at a whisper. Rosie frowned at him.

Curt’s hand shot up.

“Biddick.” Harding nodded for him to speak.

“So, what’re we gonna talk about?”

“It’s time we tried something new. How are you liking Walden?”

The boys glanced at each other. The entire course, the entire summer, was about Walden, but they hadn’t been asked before. Some professors did that—checked in to see how they felt about a text rather than just what they thought about some theme or detail. Not Harding. John squinted at his professor suspiciously for a minute, wondering if Harding himself might’ve hit the bar the night before. Whether he might have been wasted at that very moment, only astounding at hiding it. There was so much to learn at university with the right instructor.

Bubbles bravely went first.

“Well,” he said, “he’s thorough.”

“You’re suggesting the work is good simply because it was written by a man we consider an important writer?” Harding asked, attempting to extract more.

“Thorough, not Thoreau. Damn accent,” Bubbles muttered at the end.

“My apologies,” Harding offered awkwardly. “So, you appreciate his thoroughness. His commitment to the project, perhaps?”

“He did what he thought needed doing. From what he wrote down, seems like he worked hard at it.”

“Alright. Other responses?”

John didn’t lift his arm from the table, but he lifted his palm, and then a finger from that palm. Harding nodded at him.

“Whitman writes, ‘Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself,’” John recited with an indolent competence.

“‘I am large, I contain multitudes,’” Gale finished under his breath. John reached below the table and squeezed his knee.

“You think Thoreau contradicts himself?” Harding interpreted.

John took his time sliding his hand from Gale’s knee. It trailed a little higher before he lifted it to join his other hand above the table, so he could gesture with both at once: a shrug with his palms upturned.

“One minute he loves to be alone, the next he’s talking about all his buddies who keep showing up. I mean, come on,” John said flatly. “What kinda hermit in the woods did this guy really think he was?”

“A pretty damn good one,” Rosie cut in.

“That’s why he wrote the book braggin’ about it,” Gale tacked on.

“Thoreau’s tone can get self-congratulatory,” Harding allowed. “Is this unwarranted?”

“Yes,” John said emphatically, right as Crosby said, “No.”

“‘No’?” John repeated.

“It was hard! It was hard for him! It would be hard for us, if we were honest with ourselves!” The caffeine was hitting Crosby.

“No,” John said, his own ‘no’ this time.

“No it wouldn’t be hard for us or no you won’t be honest with yourself?”

“No.” John smiled slowly and Crosby shook his head with jittery impatience.

“I got a thought,” Curt volunteered.

“Go ahead,” Harding said.

Curt breathed deeply, sighed, and announced, “Thoreau needs to get laid.”

Rosie permuted his abrupt laughter into an unconvincing cough.

“Please tell me you plan on strengthening your point,” Harding requested in a suffering tone.

“Uh, yeah, I do, sir,” Curt promised quickly. He shuffled forward on his seat. “It’s all his tension, right? He’s, like, super anal about his spending and his fuckin’ bean field. And then he wants to be alone, but he wants his friends to come over and hang and play Air Combat on his fuckin’ PlayStation all the time.”

Rosie sighed loudly.

“Alright, now,” Harding said, stepping in. “That wasn’t the most orthodox argument, but before anyone rebuts Biddick’s point, let me just say that he has one.”

“Was Thoreau in love?” Nash wondered. Having not done the reading, he’d been trying to keep a low profile in case they swung back around to “House-Warming” after all, but this topic was completely irresistible to him.

“Well… it’s not an unpopular argument that the object of Thoreau’s affection does appear in Walden.”

“I don’t even remember him mentioning a woman except… Emerson’s wife?”

“No, Nash, it’s—”

“Thoreau’s mom?” Curt demanded. His face suggested he was both disgusted and delighted by this bombshell.

“The woodchopper,” Gale guessed.

“The woodchopper,” Harding confirmed. “Very astute, Cleven. Yes, that Thoreau had”—he cleared his throat—“sexual feelings for the woodchopper is a not unpopular theory among scholars.”

“The woodchopper’s a man,” Nash said.

“So, you have been doing some of the readings,” Harding observed wryly. That shut Nash up.

“The woodchopper?” Curt said. “The French guy? Well, I guess…”

He began retreading his own points from earlier—the tension, the struggle between a need to be alone and a need to be with others who were important to him. To this, Curt added a recounting of Thoreau’s (somewhat insulting) admiration for the woodchopper, for the way he lived, for the purity of him, aligned as he was with the natural world Thoreau himself had set out to better appreciate.

Throughout Curt’s monologue, John’s gaze shifted repeatedly to the side of Gale’s face. He saw Gale’s jaw clench. The tension. John wondered if anybody knew how the woodchopper had felt, whether anybody’d bothered to write that down. From one minute to the next, Thoreau became interesting to John for the first time. It would’ve been impossible with the woodchopper, but had Thoreau ever married a woman, or had it mostly been him and the trees, him and his fuckin’ bean field, as Curt had said? John wondered if you ever got used to that solitude, or you only pretended to seem strong and silent. Thoreau was reminding him of Hemingway, and how he separated his male protagonists from the women they loved to permit this manly, weary continuance. It seemed exhausting to John, who was hungover, whose furrowed brow was not evidence of his concentration on the matter of Thoreau and the woodchopper but of his fraught endeavour to recall what he and Gale had said to one another the night before on the walk to their dorm.

Gale, next to John, had been fairly confident in his theory of Thoreau and the woodchopper, or else he wouldn’t have spoken up. It had felt vulnerable, as it always did to offer an interpretation to Harding. He respected the man. He didn’t want to be wrong. And it wasn’t as though, for as long as men had been writing books, they hadn’t been imbuing them with homoeroticism, but bringing it up while seated beside John was different from picking up on subtext while reading, making a calm bullet point in his composition book. He’d only named the woodchopper because it’d seemed too clear not to, and because it might help the others to understand—to understand the book. Gale had named the woodchopper because that was an easy attraction to identify. He could stab his finger down on the page and say, Now, that, gentlemen, is what pining looks like. He found it so much simpler, sometimes, to study people in books. With an actual person, there was a chance of interpreting them incorrectly, and then what would happen? Gale didn’t like all the unknowns. He propped his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist.

“Short essays are due this Friday,” Harding reminded them at the end of class. “If you haven’t met with me about your topic because you’re so confident that you prefer to surprise me… God help you.”

With that, they dispersed.

—

There had been an airfield, Bubbles knew. It had been gone since before the university had bought the land and decided to raise upon it buildings that lied about their age in the opposite direction Bubbles’ mother was always trying to. The airfield was the reason for the large lawn devoid of trees. Younger trees had been planted elsewhere on the property, but this stretch of grass had been left. Except for the one solid oak Crosby was currently leaning his back against. He had found the only tree in sight.

“Croz,” Bubbles greeted, tossing his bag down, then himself, inhaling deeply. The afternoon was growing late, and the ground was warm, the scent of the grass he disturbed as he stretched out on the lawn a pleasant mingling of sweet and bitter.

Crosby looked up over the top of The Lady in the Lake and smiled.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Essay done?”

“A version of it.”

They both knew how Crosby operated: the minute an assignment was given, he went to work on it, burning the midnight oil and refusing to rest until it was complete. This left him plenty of time to second-guess himself and start over from scratch, sometimes multiple times. Crosby claimed he worked best under pressure, and was generally happiest with the last iteration he created. This could only be achieved under conditions of severe eye strain and over-caffeination. His mind was a fine instrument; his body was treated with all the consideration shown to Victorian chimneysweeps before the introduction of child labour laws.

Bubbles fished inside his bag for a pack of gum, folding a stick into his mouth. Eyes back on his page, Crosby stuck out a hand; Bubbles rolled his eyes and gave him a stick too. He jerked his chin at the book.

“What’s this one about?”

“Guns, booze, missing dame.”

“Chandler sure knows his wheelhouse, I’ll give him that,” Bubbles said.

“And the Second World War. He wrote it right after Pearl Harbor.”

Bubbles nodded to acknowledge he’d heard, and they let the quiet linger. Crosby flipped a page. Bubbles gazed across the lawn, wondering if he was only imagining that he could see where the runways had once been. It was all grass now. Warm, scented grass, mushed soft where he lay.

Snapping his gum, Bubbles extracted a few more supplies from his bag: notebook, pen, lucky writing snow globe. Unlike Crosby, he didn’t have a tried-and-true process, but he did have the calm he felt when he shook the little globe and watched the plastic flakes float down. At this hour, the glitter that was also suspended in the liquid sparkled like diamonds. Bubbles stared at the components that came together to imitate snow and let his mind drift with a similar abandon. He thought of real snow and Absalom, Absalom! and how to tell a story and whether, once told, that story was a kind of truth regardless of its factuality. He thought he might write his essay about Walden’s genre, and began jotting down ideas.

Because of the lack of students on campus during the summer—not to mention the lack of trees—John was able to see his friends from a distance: Crosby a shape against the bark and Bubbles sprawled out nearby. John came strolling across the lawn. Judging his friends to be distracted, he changed course at the last minute and approached them from behind the tree. He snuck close, then jumped out next to Crosby.

“The butler did it!” he shouted.

Crosby’s hands flew up, his mystery novel launched from their grasp. Laughing, John swept an arm low and snagged poor Chandler from midair.

“It’s not really that kinda mystery, Bucky,” Crosby said, eyes narrowed with distrust even as John sank down to join them.

“That’s a shame. You ever think of writing your own?”

Crosby looked alarmed.

“Write my own detective novel?”

“Yeah,” John said nonchalantly. He shrugged. “Why not? You’re a natural-born plotter.”

Crosby’s eyes shifted to Bubbles’ face and they exchanged a look; neither was able to tell whether this was a compliment, exactly.

“Thanks?” Crosby said.

John nodded, the motion loose and magnanimous.

“You’re welcome, Croz. So, what’re you two suckers up to? Procrastinating that essay?”

“Working on it,” Bubbles said.

“Working on procrastinating?”

“Working working.”

“Oh,” John said, sounding disappointed. He looked again to Crosby. “What about you?”

“Taking my mind off it before I write another version.” Crosby shut his novel around his index finger and flapped the cover against his knee.

“Eesh. You are a glutton for punishment.”

“Seems like.”

“In the meantime, procrastination is a fine art,” John declared. He retrieved from his own pocket the sunglasses he’d earlier slipped into Professor Harding’s. He laid on his back and put them on with a deep sigh. “And I’m fucking Picasso.”

“I wish the both of you every happiness,” Bubbles mumbled, half distracted as he drew lines across his paper to connect his ideas.

“Perv,” John accused lightly, to cover the flush that rushed across his cheeks.

It wasn’t the joke that made him blush. He wasn’t actually sure what it was, not exactly, just that he wasn’t fucking anyone at the moment. Not regularly. Normally, he was satisfied with this state of affairs to the point of boastfulness; unlike Crosby and Gale, who both had some calibre of long-distance thing going on with chicks back in the States, John was typically free to hook up whenever the chance presented itself. He hadn’t wanted to lately, but he could—they knew he could. It was just…

He wished he could remember his conversation with Gale.

John hadn’t brought anything to work on when he’d come wandering back from the dorms. No books to read, no paper to write on. What he had done was slide his Discman into the fathomless pocket of his jeans and hook the headphones around the back of his neck. He dragged them up over his ears now and pressed play, launching back into (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? partway through “Some Might Say.” He closed his eyes to better focus on the heat of the sun on his face.

He didn’t realize he was almost asleep—lulled by the rolling sonic waves of “Champagne Supernova”—until Gale gave the sole of his shoe a gentle kick, rousing him. Blearily, John sat up, tugging his headphones off.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Gale said back.

John removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, making the world go fuzzy. He noticed that Crosby was gone, and Bubbles was packing up. They probably wouldn’t have left him there. Probably. Then again, he was sometimes grouchy if someone woke him up. Not Gale though. He was never grouchy with Gale.

He lifted a hand in farewell as Bubbles departed, then turned his attention on his best friend.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much.” Gale wandered over to the tree, reaching out and trailing his fingertips across the bark. “Me and Marge broke up.”

John knew it would be childish to point out they hadn’t really been together, so he said nothing for several long seconds. What the hell did he know about relationships? He’d never been part of anything as serious as what Gale and Marge had. Had had. He’d actually expected Gale to propose after defending his dissertation. John had expected a big wedding. He’d expected to be asked to be best man. Gale and Marge weren’t together now, but John had always assumed things would go back to how they had been when Gale (and John—perennially single, perennially unserious, tagging along) had left England. That was how things went: sometimes, you got to be someone else, somewhere else, for a while, but then things mostly went the way they were supposed to go.

When John had been sixteen, with the Rolling Stones on the verge of breaking up, he’d thought he might’ve been the second coming of Mick Jagger. Then somebody’d finally told him he couldn’t sing for shit, and he’d gone back to reading books. It had probably saved him from a lot of harsh criticism (which he could’ve handled the way he’d handled the Brits at the bar) and a cocaine addiction (which, yeah, wouldn’t have been great). John knew it might have been fatalistic, but he did think things tended to work themselves out, for better or worse.

Only… Gale and Marge were no longer together.

“You ok?” John asked.

“Yeah.”

But Gale didn’t look ok, not completely, though it was hard to be certain when he kept looking at his hand on the tree and not at John.

“We weren’t really together anymore anyway,” Gale said, which made John feel bad that he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Don’t say that,” he said softly.

Gale waved him off. John wasn’t sure how to help. Was he supposed to encourage Gale to try to get Marge back? Was he supposed to root for that? Or did he call Marge a bitch and assure Gale that he was better off a free agent, like John himself? Nothing but highs. Another day in the life.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Gale ordered without turning his head.

“Like what?” John asked instead of lying and saying he wasn’t.

But Gale didn’t have an answer.

Eventually, John forced himself up off the lawn and walked Gale to the dining hall to grab dinner. They stepped into their own long shadows over and over again as the sun warmed their backs, like it existed just for that, like it orbited the earth and not the other way around.

#seven degrees east #my writing #Masters of the Air #MotA #Harry Crosby #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #Herbert Nash #Curtis Biddick #John 'Bucky' Egan #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal #Bucky x Buck #Neil 'Chick' Harding

[paramounticebound]

~ Character Info Sheet

name: Sibahl Khan Noonien Singh

name meaning: 'Khan', often a surname, is derived from the historic title khan, referring to a military chief or royalty. Ruler, leader, king. / 'Noonien' is of Chinese origin and means "gifted one". The story goes that Gene Roddenberry, in the midst of the Cold War, was attempting to find a friend with this name and hoped seeing it on the big screen would enable them to connect again. / 'Singh' is a Punjabi/Sikh surname, derived from the Sanskrit word सिंह (IAST: siṃha) meaning "lion", and is used in the sense of "hero" or "eminent person". ['Sibahl' is rooted from two different sanskrit words: 'singh' which means lion and 'bal' which means strength.]

tl;dr his name is an amalgamation of different cultural roots, while the general meanings remain consistent.

alias/es: The Augmented Prince, The Augmented Tyrant, John Harrison, Captain, Popsicle, KHAAAAN

ethnicity: indian british now ig thanks section 31 ┐('～`；)┌

one picture you like best of your chara:

and his alternate fc b/c i have no chill:

three h/cs you've never told anyone:

His name, I suppose. Learning that 'Khan Noonien Singh' was not the original name for the character sort of set me off, along with the moment in the comic where he took on a new moniker. Sibahl is the name that Sarina gave him, and sometimes he still tastes it in the back of his throat; yet when he'd realized what he must become to lead his people, he shed it in favor of KHAN.

While he fears failure and loss, Khan does not fear death. Truthfully, he finds the concept comforting in a way that words can barely describe. To return to the earth, to stardust, is so unfathomably beautiful-- to continue the cycle of life until it dissipates in entirety. His body will feed the soil, bacteria and carrion consuming all that he has to offer, and so he will live on and on in a way that the soul cannot. He's absolutely written poetry about it, and you'll never get to read it.

When he was a child, he was gifted a khanda by a close friend of Sarina's-- a historian and antique dealer. While it was originally ornamental in design, Khan sharpened and modified it to become a functional weapon.

While I generally consider him unable to scar, a wound from a previous rp partner yet transcends many of his verses. It's a scar just under his rib cage on the left side, vaguely in the shape of a sunburst.

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Calligraphy-- he misses paper and ink, how his hands long to create instead of destroy.

Playing chess-- a way to destress while keeping the mind sharp.

Whittling-- he has occasionally been known to gift woodwork he's created. Not as often in his current timeline.

eight people your character likes / loves:

Marla McGivers (@sweetbitterbitten): A mad widower does not a worth leader make. Without her, insanity is the best comfort that can be had. With her-- oh, with her, Persephone to his Hades, he is fit to rule in hell. He is fit to drag it wherever he needs it to be.

Fox Alkaev (@vuulpecula): After writing him for so long, Fox has become interwoven into his story, in some way or another. In every verse, he is somehow connected to her.

Sarina Kaur: Mother is God in the eyes of a child.

Joachim: What is a king without an advisor? This is his right hand man and greatest confidant.

Kati: Much like Joachim, he relies on her wisdom, either as a dampener to his righteous fury, or a kindling when blood must be shed.

Liesel Ivanov (@noblehcart ): Who else can dance only to melody of humming stars and thrumming hearts?

His unnamed child from Wrath of Khan/Ender (@middaysandmidnights): His child, his legacy, his lifeblood. The one whom he hopes will endure despite him.

The rest of his crew: without them, he is nothing, a dead end king, a freedom fighter without a cause.

Multiple muses that have melted his icy heart over the years. I'd make a giant post if you'd let me.

two things your character regrets:

Terran exile, and how long it has taken to regain a rightful throne. He wishes that he hadn't relied on the unknown to save them.

Letting any of his people die. Those that have still haunt him, ghosts ever present, continually chanting, "Our captain has left us behind."

two phobias your character has:

Claustrommetaphobia - fear of suffocation in an enclosed space.

Atychiphobia - an extreme fear of failure.

Tagged by : @ssolessurvivor <333

Tagging: @gcldenratio @asteritm @jundlcndwastes (juni!) @hcxcd @noblehcart (liesel!) @lastsurvivor @sweetbitterbitten (whomever you're feeling the most; or marla!) @vulku / @greatprotector @admiralchristopherpike @godresembled (rey!) @whydotheykeeptakingmine @learnedlucidity @hiislegacy @weavefcrged @primitiveside @dethqveen and YOU!

#x: MY NAME IS KHAN (about.) #headcanon. #it's difficult to remember thing i haven't already talked about a million times before #x: YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME SLEEP (queue.) #*things

[simlit]

Every odd numbers for Yehl and Taryn! Or you can reduce it to only questions you want to answer. 😁❤️‍🔥

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

Taryn // Taryn doesn't have a father. His mother was a god of creation, she gave birth to the twins of her own body, but their conception was of her own will. Yehl // Yehl has hated Aseris most his life, but worse, he always lived in fear of him. His father was incredibly toxic and abusive towards both Yehl and his mother, and Yehl has those memories burned into him like a violent dream. But despite how cruel his father was, he was the only parent Yehl had growing up. Losing his mother and having few good relationships in his life, especially familial relationships, when he was younger, drove him to pine for his father's attention and love. Being constantly demonized and told he was a failure, adult Yehl attempted to play into that role, but that, too, was simply a cry for attention. He never was able to earn his father's love, up until Aseris' death, and afterwards, that lack of closure and trauma still haunts him.

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

Taryn // There was a time when Taryn and Elsera got along. When they were young, and before the war, they had no reason to resent each other. But they have always been opposites. Taryn's calm and Elsera's brash were fated to butt heads. Despite the respect Taryn had for her in somewhat successfully ruling on her own for hundreds of years was inevitably dashed by her juvenile actions following the end of Act I. The two of them never reconcile after the events of AoA. Yehl // Oof this is gonna be a lot but he has seven siblings so... Judine was Yehl's favorite sibling ever since he was a child, and he really did idolize him. He only comes to see Judine as, and understand him more on a human level, after the events of the novel, but regardless, they remain very close and supportive. Linaea was a shining light in Yehl's later life. He didn't know much of her until he was already of age, and by then a lot of damage had already been done at Thera's hands, which Yehl held against Lin for a long time. His love for her was often marred with some form of resentment. A fact he doesn't come to realize until after she's gone; that he never was able to love her fully the way she did him. It's one of his greatest regrets. Most of Yehl's siblings he has little to no relationship with. Lonis and Alloria were already adults when he was born, and made no effort to get to know him. He's probably spoken to them less in the course of his life than one might a casual neighbor. While Alloria has no opinion of Yehl, Lonis was dismissive at best. Lore, though closest in age to Yehl, was equally as checked out. This has a lot to do with the Metunor being one of the most widely disparaged clans. Lore's mother advised him not to interact with Yehl lest it reflect poorly on the Metunor's already waning public standing. The sibling Yehl has, perhaps, the most important relationship with, is Porphery, who doubled as Yehl's "godfather". They had an incredibly rocky relationship when Yehl was young, with Porphery being more or less an overbearing babysitter. Their opposing personalities didn't help. But after Yehl becomes Celaedian, Porphery is the most consistent relationship Yehl has. He starts to confide in Porphery a great deal, using him as a sounding board and neutral support system. Yehl takes Porphery's death hardest of all, and is inconsolable for years following, to such a point that even Zehel recalls that period in his childhood with crystal clarity.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

Taryn // No. Yehl // Yes. Tbh, Yehl is sheltered most his life, and learning to become strong enough to stand up for himself, if not on his own, is one of his main journeys.

7. What was the economic status of their family?

Taryn // Dragons don't really deal in material wealth (I know, shocking, no hoards of treasure here). But ofc, power pays 😋 You can get a lot done when you're king of all dragons. Yehl // He grew up a prince, despite his father having expensive vices and a poor hold on the kingdom's finances. Regardless, Yehl has only ever really known opulence. He definitely got a status (and economic) boost after graduating from disgraced prince to the King's consort.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

Taryn // Honestly? Nothing. Taryn would have been fine living his life solitary. He was not seeking a relationship, never would have thought about it or desired one until he met Yehl. Yehl just defined that role to him. I don't believe Taryn could have the capacity to love anyone else. It's why he's King Simp, he is quite literally Yehlsexual. Everything Yehl is, is what Taryn loves, and he has no expectations of him, nor would he ever wish him to change in any way. And while he struggled A LOT with the emotional side of their relationship, he used the physical as a way of demonstrating his feelings. Sex is incredibly important to Taryn, because it's his natural way of being expressive. He has long since learned to speak more, to give Yehl actual words, because he knows that's what Yehl needs as a non-dragon, but for Taryn, the physical parts of their relationship are absolutely crucial. Yehl // Once again, being exact opposites. Yehl always found sex to be the least meaningful form of expression. He never actually connected it to the ideas of love or romance until after being with Taryn. For him, it was mostly a meaningless act done for fun, and that perspective only started to shift once he'd already developed feelings for Taryn. Yehl does expect more of Taryn. He's had such little love shown to him in life, and still struggles to differentiate honest and true love from falsity that he really needs it spelled out for him. But he adjusts to Taryn's habits and mannerisms. He still expects shows of affection, even if it's as small as Taryn coming to wake him in the morning, or Taryn's overprotective/possessive nature. He adapts, but also expects that Taryn will be forthcoming about his feelings and intentions.

31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role?

Taryn // He takes his role as a father incredibly seriously. More seriously than he takes his role as king, honestly. Though he's not the affectionate sort of parent, he was still incredibly involved in Zehel's life as a guiding hand. He wanted to prepare Zehel for a life of complexity, but to ensure that he also kept an open mind. It was important to him that Zehel grew up restrained, humble, and well-educated. He put a great deal of emphasis on Zehel's studies, especially of history. Yehl // On the flipside, ofc, Yehl directly seeks to undo a lot of Taryn's teaching by instilling a proper sense of arrogance and entitlement into his son as he damn well should. Not that any of this really stuck, but he did his best. Similarly to Taryn, Yehl sees his role as a mother as the most important thing in his life. A lot of Yehl's past and life choices called back to his own relationship to his mother, so being that force for good in Zehel's life is crucial to him. He is an incredibly affectionate parent, being the opposite side of Taryn's coin in all ways. He's very open with his love for Zehel, becoming the clingy, sappy SMother we all know he is.

#jade babbles #ask game #ec: taryn #ec: yehl #sorry I was gonna answer them all but it got WAY too long lmao

[kantraels]

Oc asks - Failure

OC Asks

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

Rite - When he was younger, being a psyker. He thinks differently now, but when he first manifested his powers, he-- and his family-- could see all his chances slipping away with them. Sure, he was young enough that the Scholastia would take him and mold him, but what about the family's reputation? It was a big, dark spot of shame. Over time, he grew to prove that even if he was a psyker, he wasn't disloyal or going to turn against the Imperium. With some pulled strings and plenty of genuine hard work and skill, he got his position in the Enforcers. Mentors and reflection have helped him get over feeling like his powers are a curse. And now, of course, he quietly holds that psykers are closest to the Emperor, and best fit for leading the Imperium.

Kal - While he doesn't frequently go down in missions, he does frequently come crawling out of piles of bodies covered in blood and organs and what have you. He's not getting out of any scrap unscathed. He's so, so deadly, but he's also... a mess. He feels like a failure in general. He hates himself. He's looking for death, but it hasn't found him yet, and he intends to keep trying until it does. His greatest failure is not being good enough to rest by the Emperor's side.

Zed - People who don't know it might assume it has no regrets and feels nothing. In reality, it feels like it's failed its previous squads, and whenever a mission goes poorly it blames itself. It should not do this, but it does. It deals with failure decently enough-- find what went wrong, fix it-- but also views each potential failure as life-ending. In their defense, it frequently is...

Kenna - THIS IS HEARTBREAKING????? The daemonhost voicelines make me feel so bad every single time (aside from the ones that imply it's a Nurgle cultist. I appreciate the variety). They're fighting so hard, they're alone, they're tortured, in all the voicelines there's only one that's even close to like... denouncing the Emperor. One. Big props to the voice actor for making me want to crawl my way into the game to hold the poor daemonhost. Anyway, Kenna's biggest (perceived) failure is being captured by the CoA and turned into a daemonhost. Their entire sense of self was repeatedly broken into a million bits. They don't remember who they used to be beforehand. On a lighter note, they feel terrible whenever they go down in missions and there's a lot of "please don't yell at me!!" "nonononono!!!" in the "downed" dialogue.

#asks #text post #rite #kal #zed #kenna #darktide

[mxldito]

character info sheet.

name.

Coyote Menendez

name meaning.

A name chosen on a whim, there is a lot of symbolism that turned out to be attached to it. Coyotes are seen as cowardly pests by some, an honorable animal to be revered by others. They're intelligent tricksters and symbols of sexuality within their cultural background. That's something that deeply resonates with them.

alias( ses ).

They've had a few, though they're usually throwaways that they promptly forget.

two pictures you like of your character.

three headcanons you never told anyone.

i : During their life as a human, Coyote had a crush on a coworker of theirs named Morris. They were often frustrated with his spinelessness, despite this they constantly defended him. Nothing ever came of their feelings anyways. ii : Coyote never acknowledged their queerness until they became a vampire. They'd feel things, both in terms of sexuality and gender, and push it down so as to not have to grapple with it. This probably only contributed to their misery. iii : Coyote was a bowlcut baby. Lmao.

three things your character likes to do in their free time.

i : People watching ii : Journaling about feeding iii : Stealing street signs with Morgan.

three people your character loves.

Morgan O'Broin - He's their muscle, rock, partner in crime, and confidant. There's a mutual understanding between them that I don't think Coyote's had with anybody else. Their friendship is so sincere, funny, and loving in an unorthodox way. They love grossing him out with dirty jokes, he loves physically pestering them. Coyote considered his friendship one of the greatest instances of luck they've experiences.

Agape Dacosta - She was one of Hugh's Childer and his wife. Being older, she often looked over Coyote and was the one of the only ones to calm them down during their rages and panics. She was more Sire to Coyote than Hugh was, teaching them ways of hunting and Auspex where he'd refuse. They haven't seen each other since Coyote was kicked out. She's since run away from Hugh, but Coyote's affection for her remains. They keep her in their prayers.

Themselves - Something of a cop out, I know, but they really mean it when they say it. Coyote's human life was a long series of self loathing, denying themselves identity and joy for fear it wouldn't last. Eternity lies before them, but now they know who they are and what they're meant to do. This new existence, this new skin, this new perspective, they're so fucking in love with it. They can face themselves and smile about it. They'll never let anybody rob them of this love.

two things your character regrets.

i. Coyote occasionally finds themselves regretting getting involved with Hugh. Admittedly, the first time they met him, they knew something was off about him but they ignored the feeling. They've grown almost comfortable with vampirism, but the way that it happened to them and how they were treated afterwards is a different story. If they could've chosen to be Embraced by somebody else, they would.

ii: There was a girl who died. Coyote and their Coterie didn't kill her but they led her to her death. Being so caught up in trying to complete tasks for somebody else, they didn't say anything when they had the chance to. They didn't want to disappoint. But the manner of that girl's death haunts them. It wasn't a clean or short one. She died twice.

three phobia's your character has.

i. Fire. Small flames are nothing, but full-sized blazes are another story. ii. Losing control. They don't want to face catatonia ever again. iii. Failure. Losing everything they're worked for would set them over the edge.

Tagged by: @godpyre (Thank ya!! :3)

Tagging: @yunalai @ratwhsprs @fangmother @sortilegum @charmantevamp @r3dblccd @twyred and you!

#I put it under a read more! This got chonky. #⮚ WTF Is A Canon??? I'll Fucking Get You. #⮚ Hand Me That Rock. I'm Gonna Hit You With It. (Tag Memes)

[breoasis]

After the rapture, the geography of the continent was altered heavily. From the once prosperous and thriving ocean kingdom now lays a dormant and arid Mesa where a certain sheriff now lives to the now cursed crystal cliffs, a lot has changed.

But one thing is for sure. Those who died unfairly or had unfinished business still roam the earth. As such, unspoken rules were made for the safety of those who still want to live.

The Mad King of Mezalia. They say he thrives in the ruins of the Mezalean Castle, in the older portion of Azalea City. Torn not only of the beautiful castles and gardens he built, but also of his beloved wife he roams the hallways of his once grand palace lamenting the loss of the decorations and paintings. One should never tread upon his castle with the intention to pilfer. He finds that the greatest offence anyone can do. As an artist he has been craving some new material to work with and a foolish thief seems like the material he has been looking for. But if you have to take anything in the castle, do not take the Pearl adorned ring in the throne room. The kiln is all fired up now. And it’s ready for the next creation it’s master creates.

Within the murky depths of the swamp now lays the ruins of a small fishing town that was ruled by a king adorned with cod. They say he detests anyone harming what’s left of his kingdom, and god forbid someone eats some still in the swamp. A rancid flavour that crawls up the back of your throat, slime and mucus trailing your throat, you might complain to the chef. But the common ingredient in those dishes is without failure, cod. Afterwards, like a shark trailing it’s prey, his curse will follow you. Regrets and guilt piling up. Blame and fingers pointing at you, for the Swamp Monster is a guilty conscience taken form. Soon the cod will take it revenge, and like how you tore it apart and devoured it, the Swamp Monster will tear up and devour you. What exactly did you eat?

Speaking of fish, within the new Mesa, lay strange formations of rock and rubble. It’s not rock. It’s dead coral. Dried out and arid the ocean kingdom is now dead and infertile. Despite the several spots of water springs, locals advise you to only drink from the wells. Disregard their warnings and drink from the springs is nothing short of a death sentence. Merfolk and Fish once swam happily here but now, dried out and forsaken by their Queen, they cling to anybody of water they can find. The water at first is sweet and refreshing and you will find yourself drinking the entire spring. The dry ones will not forgive that. You will soon find yourself parched, and no matter how much water you drink it’s never enough. A taste of the agony they faced. When those cursed by their own hubris die, a new spring will inexplicably shoot up and the cycle continues.

oh annonymous asker you don't know how much i enjoyed reading this!!! the worldbuilding and storytelling *head in hands*

empires season 1 finishing in such a tragedy adds so much life to the world in season 2

[inconsistentcharacterizationcomp]

Also for the Wheatley propaganda, the developers literally admitted in The Final Hours of Portal 2 that they hadn’t thought up an ending for the game yet and they were nearing the deadline so they had to delay it. They admit that the writing quality wasn’t there and that they were having pacing issues so Wheatley’s character motivations leading up to The Part Where He Kills You is abrupt and doesn’t make much sense.

They actually managed to swap GLaDOS and Wheatley’s personalities entirely if you look at the unused lines in the cutting room floor, with GLaDOS saying “We need to ESCAPE now. RIGHT now. RIGHT NOW right now. Fine. SOON. Take your time. No pressure. Oh! Alright. LOTS of pressure now. Actually, I think we're about to die. Any last words? [thinking] Why don't I go first? Hmmm. Regrets.... regrets.... this is hard... Hundreds of test chambers. Thousands of test subjects. At least half of that number filled to brimming with neurotoxin. It's been a good run. Regrets, regrets... Oh! One time, I... No. No, I did kill all of them. Nevermind.” She’s literally using the same speech patterns as Wheatley.

And Wheatley, for some reason is deciding to resort to murder just because Chell isn’t satisfying his robotic drug addiction anymore and he found better test subjects? “You’ve probably figured it out by now but I don’t need you anymore. I found two l it’ll robots back here built specifically for testing.”

Wheatley is far too emotionally invested in Chell to want to resort to murder for such an apathetic reason and his boss battle clearly shows that. Wheatley is HEAVILY emotionally invested in Chell if you actually listen to his boss battle dialogue. He’s upset and hurt and betrayed because he thinks that Chell doesn’t care about him and that she was just using him and planned to throw him away when he outlived his usefulness to her:

"We've had some times, haven't we? Like that time I jumped off my management rail, not sure if I'd die or not when I did, and all you had to do was catch me? Aaaand you didn't. Did you? Oh, you remember that? I remember that. I remember that all the time. And we would have talked our way out of it. Except you forgot to tell me you'd MURDERED her. And that she needed you to live, so the only available vent for her rage would be good old crushable Wheatley. Yeah... Little details that I remember. Easy little tidbits you could have used to save me from getting crushed if you'd cared, which you didn't, obviously. And still do not."

"Enough! I told you not to put these cores on me. But you don't listen, do you? Quiet. All the time... Quietly not listening to a word I say. Judging me. Silently. The worst kind!"

"Oh! remember the time I took over the facility? Greatest. Moment. Of my life. But you? Just wanted to leave! Didn't want to share my success. Well, so you know, I would be HAPPY for you if you succeeded... Apart from right now, obviously."

"Am I being too vague? I despise you. I loathe you. You arrogant, smugly quiet, awful jumpsuited MONSTER of a woman! You and your little potato friend. This place would have been a TRIUMPH if it wasn't for you!"

"And another thing! You never caught me... I told you I could DIE falling off that rail and you didn't catch me... Didn't even TRY. Oh! It's all becoming clear to me now. Find some dupe to break you out of cryosleep, give him some sob story about 'escaping to the surface', squeeze him for information on where to find a portal gun, then, when he's- when he's no more use to you, he has a little ACCIDENT, doesn't he? 'Falls' off his management rail, doesn't he?"

He would not try to kill Chell for not being useful to him. He would try to kill her if he felt personally threatened by her, which is clearly the case if you listen to his dialogue during the conveyor belt where he tries to encourage Chell to kill herself because he’s afraid of having to fight her:

"I'll be honest, the... death traps have been a bit of a failure so far. For both of us. I think you'll agree. And... you are getting very close to my lair...”

"So. Boom. Better offer, here is... just kill yourself! Y'know? It- Lot of effort, isn't it? Walking all the way to my deadly lair, when there's a perfectly serviceable death option right there. Again: Not a death trap, not a death trap. Your death would be entirely voluntary. And very much appreciated."

"Plus, I have put a lot of effort in getting this lair ready for you. So it would certainly teach me a lesson if you simply died, painlessly, twenty feet from the door. I'd be furious. I'd be like RRRRR. I got my just desserts. No more than I deserve. But, uh, teach- Why not teach me a lesson by- by just jumpin' in the ol' masher?"

He even says at the start of the boss battle that he watched the tapes of Chell killing GLaDOS and that he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes. Cold and uncaring apathy is not a driving motivator for Wheatley- especially not with Chell. FEAR AND COWARDICE are his main motivators! The inconsistency here is that Valve couldn’t think up the ending on schedule so they rushed through the pacing, incidentally gave Wheatley a motive that makes far more sense for GLaDOS and neglected the fact that he’s motivated more so by cowardice rather than cold and apathetic utilitarianism like GLaDOS.

.

#ask #propaganda #wheatley #wheatley propaganda

[fiendpact]

2, 11, 17, 18, 25

30 Questions for your Dark Urge

2. Did your Dark Urge have any romantic and/or sexual relationships prior to their illithid adventure? If yes, who was it with and what was it like? If no, how did they feel about being single?

well you know the answer to this. it wasn’t romantic by any means because they’re both far too fucked in the head but yeah she and gortash were involved. turns out i was not immune to durgetash. the wiki really sold me on it with “It is possible that the Dark Urge and Enver Gortash found in each other the closest thing either of them ever had to a friend.” bc even though i don’t think makaria ever consciously considers him anything but a bug under her heel it’s still like, he DOES know her more than anyone else, and she knows him. they’re always at each other’s throat (literally) ((well, mostly it’s makaria at his throat)) but it’s also like. you’re the only bitch in this city that gets me. tldr i think he’s obsessed with her and she’s begrudgingly involved with him. it’s complicated

11. What motivates your Dark Urge to either embrace or resist the Urge?

alfira….. not just alfira though because makaria also has a Huge fear of being made to do things she doesn’t want to do (and generally just doesn’t like being told what to do), so that first blackout ending in alfira horrifically murdered and her having no memory of doing it immediately made her detest the urge. makaria may be casual with violence and murder but mostly only when someone does something she doesn’t like - alfira didn’t do anything, she was just a fun bard who wanted to join the party :(

17. What is your Dark Urge’s greatest regret?

probably uhh all the murder cult stuff LMAO like … she may not remember most of it, but from what she does remember and how it feels to be standing down in the temple, she very much regrets playing a part in that even though she was literally created and raised to do so. at some point you get the option to ask withers about the people you killed or something and i’ve been trying to figure out if that’s something she would do or not. on one hand i think it’d be a nice progression to have her need to face that part of her past but on the other maybe she doesn’t Want to look back… also i think a part of her regrets letting orin get one over on her by being too egotistical to see the betrayal coming - she dealt with a lot of inner turmoil coming out the other side and i imagine that that kind of deep-seated purpose of life ending in “failure” doesn’t ever completely go away - but overall she’s … maybe not GLAD it happened but she knows she’s better off this way. so not her greatest regret but a sort of regret regardless

18. How does your Dark Urge feel about love?

completely foreign to her. bhaal’s love - when it was even displayed - was twisted, there was no true love between her and gortash, and orin was little more than a brat who disrespected bhaal with her dramatics. everyone else she interacted with was beneath her. sceleritas didn’t love her so much as he revered her. and honestly i hadn’t thought about how this would affect her after the nautiloid until now so i’m actually not sure how she feels about love 🤔 i think someone’s gonna have to have a chat with her about it before she realizes that’s what she’s feeling but as for how she reacts to that, i’ll have to give it more thought

25. How does your Dark Urge feel about Sceleritas Fel?

sceleritas fel has ALWAYS been a damn menace. him and makaria are like if toadsworth and princess peach were really fucked up. ik durge canonically had a foster family but in MY canon sceleritas was mostly responsible for raising makaria, so they’ve been At Odds for as long as she can remember ‘cause he’s so CLINGY and persistent and she felt she knew what she was doing and so didn’t need his input. when she gets older and is sort of ‘claimed’ by bhaal for real, she gets more used to kicking sceleritas around (literally and metaphorically). bhaal being a direct influence in her life really inflates her ego for the worst. this doesn’t change after she’s lost her memories; she still very much immediately feels like strangling him with her bare hands whenever he pops up and tries coaxing her into following the urge

#yaaayyy thank you courtney :) #asks #makaria #courtney #bg3 #annulment