#re: what is actually going to be in there and what's not

[mooningningg]

notes, a very fun request.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when the bottle lands on you.

You had one rule when you moved in with Ryomen Sukuna: don’t catch feelings.

Which was easy, actually. Super easy. Totally fine.

You only shared a bathroom, sometimes a bed, his hoodies, your fries, a few backhanded compliments, and like… a soul-level tension that felt like a lit cigarette between your teeth.

But feelings? Never.

That’s why you both ended up at Nobara’s party, obviously.

It started normal. Music blaring, drinks poured too strong, your feet already sore from standing too long in boots you had no business wearing. Sukuna was lounging on the arm of a couch, beer bottle in hand, all tattoos and tight jaw, pretending not to watch you dance like you weren’t the only thing he’d been looking at all night.

Then someone suggested spin the bottle.

Of course someone did.

You didn’t think much of it. Just dropped into the circle, laughing, feeling warm and light and stupid.

Sukuna didn’t join.

He leaned back against the wall with a red cup in hand, one brow cocked, looking every bit like a man above it all. Watching. Glowering. Bored.

Until some random guy spun.

The bottle clicked, clacked… and landed on you.

The crowd howled.

The guy smirked, already leaning forward.

That’s when Sukuna moved.

Fast.

Beer slammed onto the counter. Crowd split like the Red Sea. He strode through the circle, sneakers thudding, expression unreadable—but pissed.

“Back the fuck up,” Sukuna said coolly, staring the guy down.

Laughter died. Even the music seemed to quiet.

The guy blinked, confused. “Bro, it’s a party game—”

“She’s not kissing you.” Sukuna smiled without warmth. “Spin again. Or I spin your fuckin’ jaw.”

The guy looked at you, then at Sukuna, clearly re-evaluating all his life choices.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“You breathing near her,” Sukuna snapped. “That’s my fuckin’ problem.”

Someone from the back of the crowd muttered, “Damn…”

You stared up at him from the floor, eyes wide. “Sukuna—”

“What?” he barked, not looking at you. “You gonna kiss him? Go ahead. I’ll wait. Right here.”

The guy scrambled to his feet, muttering “not worth it” as he walked off.

Sukuna turned to you finally, jaw tight. “You good?”

You glared. “I was until you pulled a WWE entrance in the middle of a dumb party game.”

He didn’t budge. “If you wanted to kiss some mouth-breathing finance major named Brad or whatever, you could’ve stayed home and swiped right.”

You stood up, brushing yourself off. “It was just a game.”

He leaned in, just enough to make your heart thump. “Then spin the fuckin’ bottle and land on me next time.”

You blinked. “What?”

Sukuna stepped back. “Nothing. Game’s stupid anyway.”

Then he turned and walked off like he hadn’t just blown up the party and dropped a confession-bomb in the same breath.

From behind you, Nobara whispered, “...Your roommate is unhinged.”

You stared at his back.

Yeah. Unhinged. And probably yours.

Eventually.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears

[frownyalfred]

re: discussions today about Batman not giving a shit about the law or governmental authority, I like to think that he's the kind of person to throw a goon in jail for the weekend if he thinks it'll teach them a lesson, but he's also the kind of person who'll go bust that goon's ass out of GCPD general holding or the Gotham County Jail and beat the shit out of like ten different guards if it means getting intel to save someone in time.

maybe it's a prisoner swap with Penguin, or you're a goon who accidentally hooked up your thumbprint to a lock on the room where they're holding a kidnapped girl. either way, you're the most valuable person in the world to Batman right now, he is hanging outside of your tiny jail window, all of the people on your block are shitting their pants and two of the jail guards quit their shift on the spot as he walked you out. you will be back in jail by sunrise. however, you do get to ride in the Batmobile with Robin, you and Batman actually talk a little bit about the holding cells in the GCPD building (why Batman knows what the meal trays there taste like is never explained), and then by the end of it you realize maybe you should go back and get that GED after all.

[arcanetrivia]

The thing about Discord is that just finding a server that has the conversations you're interested in can be difficult. Privately hosted email lists had this kind of problem too, that you sometimes could only even find out they existed by word of mouth, never mind join them. Sometimes you have to know a guy who knows a guy to get a hold of an invite code that hasn't expired by the time you come across it. (I get why they made the change that you couldn't make permanent ones if you weren't a Community server, but it can be frustrating sometimes.) Official servers for $THING may be listed publicly on $THING's website, but that's not the same as a by-fans-for-fans space that will probably have a much different culture and tone. There's Disboard, but not everything is on it. The central directory of a place like Yahoo Groups (whatever their other faults), being able to find communities and people that list certain interests on LiveJournal, the generally public or at least semi-public nature of a forum that can be found by a search engine... all of these supported discoverability. (And in my current primary fandom, besides the figurative "private group chat" that a Discord server is, I know there's some significant activity in literal private group chat. So unless you can somehow get admitted to a pre-existing group of friends, welp.)

IRC as a synchronous chat platform/protocol was there for a long time alongside (and is still in some cases, even with the ascendancy of Discord), and a lot of that ephemeral stuff has been lost unless people kept logs. But we're in a situation now where pretty much all there is, is the ephemeral, be it Discord, Twitter/Bluesky/Mastodon, Facebook (seems to actively work against finding and keeping up on what you want), Instagram (somehow even worse; my beloathed). DeviantArt worked decently well for a while, but every time they messed up site changes and policies in a way that angered artists, there was an exodus (similar to the waves of exodus from LiveJournal until now it's a ghost town unless you're Russian). Pillowfort... exists... but I am skeptical it's ever going to gain critical mass, even if Tumblr does completely go under one of these days.

And Tumblr itself... is better than nothing, but of course we all know how hard it can be to find things on because a lot of the older stuff isn't even indexed; and its structure really doesn't support coherent threaded conversation; and it's a bit too-little-too-late on their introduction of LJ/DW-style communities, which people here now don't seem to want.

(Semi-aside, not to be a Fandom Old, but re: reblogging/reposting, I see how such a thing can be a boon for those who really don't want to participate even on the level of an occasional comment here and there, but fandom was doing fine without such a feature on email lists, forums, LiveJournal. People actually were pretty annoyed when LJ tried to introduce a reposting-style feature, which was pretty clunky. The site hadn't been conceived with that sort of ecosystem in mind and it was rather grafted on. Think how people keep rejecting Tumblr's attempts at a short-form video feature: "Stop trying to be X other site and just be what you are! We're here because we want what is unique about this place!")

....sorry, I think I went on a bit of a pointless ramble there 😅

imo a discord server should be like a breakout room for fandom. like the place to run your wips by your besties or discuss your otp in more detail with a few people who were insane about it on your post or organise events with a handful of trusted mutuals etc etc. if it’s where ALL the fandom activity is going to happen it will inevitably foster a cliquey environment where the fandom is divided into “those in the server” and “those who aren’t”, lurking is disincentivised if not made outright impossible, people who feel uncomfortable joining in conversations and would rather interact with fandom through reblogging etc are largely excluded because there’s no repost mechanism, and the fandom itself becomes an enclosed space so new fans are limited in how much content and meta they can access without having to make the plunge into Joining The In Group, there’s limited scope for interaction between different communities within the same fandom, god it’s just an altogether dogshit stupid idea. what if we moved all fandom activity to really massive private groupchats. STUPID

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Your need him pregnant poll comics have been giving me LIFE lately omfgggg 🤣🤣🤣 - pls accept these bits of dialogue that've been bouncing around in my head (use them if you want, but I just wrote this out purely for funsies and I am not asking for a request or anything, lol)

_

Bill: C'mon Fordsy, I'm the last of my species! Could you really live with yourself knowing you deprived me of my one chance to continue the legacy of my people?

Ford: *deadpan* Yes. Go find someone else to... procreate with.

B: Oh ho, but it's a done deal, Sixer! It has to be you. Like I said, our baby was conceived years ago. It already exists, there's no taking that back.

F: Don't care, stop talking now.

B: Oh come ON! Euclydians don't just mate with anyone you know! We're very selective.

F: Uh huh.

B: No, really! And besides that, you're... you're the only one I've ever actually...

F: Oh, what, I suppose you're gonna say I'm 'the only one you've ever loved' *rolls eyes*

B: 🥺

F: You're so full of it! I'm not gonna stand around listening to this utter nonsense any longer. Goodbye.

B: No, please! You're my one chance! My ONE CHANCE! And when you win, we can... y'know... re-create that ~magical~ night. For the 'transfer'.

F: Oh my GOD! Of course! This is all just your desperate pathetic little attempt to fuck me again, isn't it? That's all you care about! There was never a "baby," you're just an obsessive sex-crazed little creep!

B: ... Maybe so. *narrows eye* But in the end, none of this is even up to you or I. The votes are what's deciding this, Sixer, and it looks to me like you're still in the lead. A good ol' shoe-in if I've ever seen one.

F: *head in hands* *sniffs* I know...

"SO, DOES THAT MEAN YOU'RE DOWN? ORRRR...."

Maybe if he asks really nicely :'D

[crustyfloor]

Mizi's narration throughout Karma is so packed, I'd like to focus specifically on the part where Mizi is addressing HyunA and revealing her secret about Sua for a moment...

The part of this sequence that gets to me the most is Sua secretly giving Mizi more of her own lines to sing, it's actually so calculated, I want to throw up. Even though they were aiming to get a tie, this re-establishes that Sua knew for certain that wouldn't happen, didn't tell Mizi a thing about it, and made it so that Mizi would definitely get more points for stage presence rather than Sua. Mizi directly admits that she knew what Sua was up to, that she was essentially orchestrating her own death, yet didn't say anything about it, and continued to act as oblivious as Sua thought she was

Mizi's narration in this section reiterates the facade, her guilt, and her distorted image of herself. In The True Face comic, Mizi's own guilt manifested and admonished her for these very actions, for this very willful ignorance that allowed Sua to write her own doom, Mizi convinced herself that she was a selfish person who led all of her friends to their deaths because she didn't care for them enough, and I think this line of thinking in her monologue reflects that. But once again, even though Mizi didn't act, it's not as if she truly didn't care about Sua enough

It's essential to acknowledge that the nature of every character is different and unique to them. Sua didn't value her own life, to her, Mizi was her world, the only reason she could be happy in this world, and she would do anything to keep that safe haven, Sua was willing to give everything, even her life so that she wouldn't have to suffer without Mizi by her side.

She addresses HyunA in this line- "I know my love was different from yours." It's her comparing HyunA's selfless, self-sacrificial love to Mizi's own perceived selfishness. HyunA is willing to put her life on the line for Luka. HyunA would even persevere for others, but Mizi couldn't do the same. But that doesn't make her love for Sua insincere, that's for certain. Sometimes human love can't be measured by their actions alone; noble love is often romanticized, but humans will be selfish. Mizi wasn't willing to sabotage Sua's plan to avoid her death because -("If you had seen the look on her face too, you wouldn't be able to judge me either") in that scene where Sua saved Mizi from dying, Mizi could understand that if she sacrificed herself in the future, if she did die in that moment, Sua would be devastated living in grief.

The thing is, Mizi wanted to die, but the moment she saw Sua's face break when she caught her before she could fall, her despair at the prospect that she could've lost Mizi just like that, she knew Sua wouldn't be able to bear it. So Mizi couldn't bring herself to do that to her. That much convinced Mizi to not go through with it. And because of this, she turned a blind eye to what Sua was doing behind her back, even if it meant Sua would die. Mizi being willing to do that doesn't mean she didn't love Sua enough, doesn't mean she didn't care. It's so twisted- I think they cared so much for each other in ways that kept themselves at peace that they were blinded by it, they deceive each other into a false sense of security to keep the other close and safe, not wanting to take the risk of upsetting/changing the other in fear of changing the connection between them and ultimately losing each other-- the only comfort and solace they could cling to in that world. It's akin to a selfish sense of self-preservation and care, for Mizi to keep quiet and follow Sua's lead despite what she knows, and how much she truly worries and wanted to do something, just so that Sua wouldn't have to live that visceral fear, maybe on the off-chance that they could both survive round 1 like they dreamed, they could avoid it. Yet that fear of loneliness and pain they shared, that they were trying to escape from in each other, was given back to Mizi after Sua's death, while doing the very thing she wanted to do to keep Sua from suffering

[iamespecter]

THIS.

I've actually seen people say they got "bad vibes" from Ragatha's niceness and are using her explosion on ep 5 as "proof" for her being malicious like. How fucking STUPID are you. What kind of shit are you smoking, because I need to stay the fuck away from that

Ragatha is clearly socially incapable of handling emotions correctly. Stemming from an abusive home with a mother who yelled and belittled her every step of the way, she tries to be everything that her mom isn't, which is why her toxic positivity feels so forced.

And wanna know something? That's HARD to do. Trying to be a genuinely good person when you grew up in such a toxic and hostile environment is HARD because it's clear that Ragatha didn't have anyone to guide her on the right path. She didn't even mention having a dad. So the closest thing she had to that was taking care of her horses. And even THAT was taken from her the moment she was trapped inside a circus. And when you're trapped inside a circus with an all-powerful AI that can literally do everything, of course Ragatha's going to be in people-pleasing and denial mode, trying to repress her emotions and frustrations.

You can dislike a character simply because you dislike her, I PROMISE YOU DON'T NEED A REASONING. People will understand you better if you just outright say that instead of creating shit out of your ass with no evidence.

People somehow always try to justify their hatred for a character when you can just say that you don't vibe with the way the creator wrote this character and it's fine. YOU DON'T NEED TO MISCHARACTERIZE HER ENTIRELY JUST SO YOU CAN FEEL LIKE YOU'RE ON THE CORRECT SIDE OF THINGS.

YOU CAN DISLIKE THINGS NATURALLY AND NOT HAVE A REASON FOR IT.

Btw, women can be just as misogynistic as men. It's all about patriarchal hierarchical views, nothing to do with your gender. You can be born a girl and still be misogynistic because you've adopted a misogynistic men's viewpoint subconsciously. So don't try to justify your Ragatha mischaracterization by saying you're "not being misogynistic because you're a girl". Instead, take a moment to reflect on what you're saying and re-evaluate.

[fluffyfluffytime]

Look Up In The Sky! Is It A Bird? Is It A Plane? No It's... (Part 2) | Bob Reynolds x fem!Reader

Chapter summary: How Bob is handling the aftermath of the rejection.

Author's Note: I'm quite surprised how well-received part 1 was. I’m sorry part 2 took so long, I did a complete 180 with the draft. Anyways, if you would like to be in the taglist, let me know, I'll add you

Part 1

The team weren’t always the type of people who needed breakfast. However, given that they were gone for a month, where meals were sporadic, it was nice to a relatively normal eating schedule. Ava silently chewed on her cereal, with sleep in her eyes– enjoying sleeping in for once. Next to her sat John, who sat slouched while devouring his traditional American breakfast of eggs and bacon. Across from him, Bucky who sat upright while quietly flipping through today’s newspaper, his coffee half empty as an article caught his eye. Across the room, Alexei loomed over the pot on the stove, wearing an apron that said ‘kiss the chef’ and humming some russian song. A calm morning given the rambunctious group.

The quiet broke with the soft hiss of the door opening. Yelena strode on, her hair a mess– given she too had decided to sleep in, and made a beeline for the fridge 

“Bob’s not in the mood for breakfast”, she announced, grabbing the orange juice and letting the fridge door swing shut.

A chorus of groans followed

“He seriously needs to get over it,” John muttered, stabbing his eggs with unnecessary force. 

“He said he’ll go on walk, said it will help clear his head” Yelena replied, twisting off the cap and pouring it into a glass “But that’s probably bullcrap. He’s gone 20 walks this week”

Alexei let out a deep chuckle from the stove, “Don’t worry. When he comes back I give him cure for broken heart” he said, adding a pinch of salt into the stove.

Yelena leaned over, peering into the contents of the pot, face scrunched. “Is that suppose to be Ukha?”

“Yes”

“And exactly where is the fish?”

“Ehhh… had no time for market” He responded, “So I double everything else for replacement”

John raised a brow “How is a fishless fish stew supposed to help him?”

“Because I put extra of this,” Alexei lifted a bottle high, the overhead light causing it to shine like a gemstone

Ava squinted at it, her face morphed to an unimpressed expression at the realization of what it was “Vodka? Seriously?”

“What… it will make his heart burst,” Alexei declared, striking a fist across his chest. “With flame re-started, he will find passion with other woman”

Yelena, now settled at the table, next to Bucky, with her breakfast and a glass of orange juice, rolled her eyes. “With that soup, you’d probably give him actual heartburn”

“Actually,” Bucky muttered, not looking up from his newspaper, “with the serum, alcohol wouldn’t even affect him”

“At least I am trying to lift Moody Boy’s spirit,” Alexei huffed, giving the soup a stir “You people complain complain complain”

John waved his fork. “He got his heart broken by a crush, not his wife. He’ll live”

“Are you speaking from experience” Ava raised an eyebrow, with a little smug look on her face.

John paused mid chew. “What? No– shut up”

“I say we hunt down that waitress”, Yelena offered, only half-joking.

“With you on her trail”, Ava replied dryly, “she better start counting her day”

John dropped his fork, dragging a hand down his face. “Not this again,” he groaned, letting out an exasperated sigh. “She did nothing wrong”

“She did hurt Bob,” Ava said between chews of her cereal

“His feelings. It's not like she skinned him”

“She could’ve been nicer,” Yelena chimed in, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair

John pointed a finger, jabbing it in their direction. “You two are both hypocrites”

“We are not”  “This is different”

“Yes.You.Are” John jabbed the table. “Apparently ‘no means no’ doesn’t apply to a nice, awkward guy”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “She gave him mixed signals. She was practically flirting with him”

“She’s a waitress, Lena! Of course, she’s gonna be nice. She works off tips,” John snapped, “Unbelievable. You two have never worked in the service industry, so you don’t get a say in this.”

“She could have been nicer”, Yelena muttered

“How much nicer do you want her to be?” John shot back. “She was honest. She told him why she said no– which by the way, she didn’t even have to do”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Bucky, come on. Back us up”

Without looking up from the newspaper, Bucky grunted, “I’m too old for dating dilemmas”

John pushed his chair back and stood up. “You know what? I don’t think the problem is her– it’s you”

Yelena scoffed, clearly offended by the insinuation “Me?” 

“Yes, you” John pointed. “You treat Bob like he’s some helpless kid. Newsflash– he’s a grown man. He doesn’t need to be coddled”

“I do no such thing” Yelena fired back “Unlike you, I watch out for people I care about”

Bucky sighed, finally looking upfrom the paper “Okay, break it up, you two”

John ignored him “No. No, no, no, she needs to–”

He was cut of by a faint rumble, it hummed beneath the floor. Barely noticeable, just enough to make the surface of Bucky’s coffee ripple.

Everyone paused. Eyes darted. Not a single word uttered

Then came another wave– this one stronger. The floor gave a light shudder, and a few utensil clinked against their plates

Ava first to break the silence. “...You guys feel that too, right?”

Alexei, with the bottle of vodka gripped in his hands, tense. “Is it an earthquake?”

John braced himself against the table “Doesn’t feel like it”

Just then, everyone’s phone buzzed in unison. One by one, screens lit up with a red notification.

EMERGENCY ALERT 

An evacuation warning has been issued in your area. Remain vigilant of any threats and be ready to evacuate. Gather loved ones, pets and supplies. Continue to monitor local weather, news and the webpage

Yelena scoffed, “As if that answers our question ”

Bucky’s phone rang. Without a word, he stood, sauntered to the side and answered, his expression tense. “Mel?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Judging by the way Bucky furrowed his brows and tightened his jaw, whatever Mel was saying wasn’t good.

“Seriously?” He asked, his voice clipped and his shoulders square. “Put Valentina on the phone”

“You made us the new Avengers,” he said quietly, but clearly on edge, given how hard he gripped his phone. “So let us handle this”

He lets out a sigh when the call ends. Lowering his phone with deliberate slowness. His jaw was squared. He looked at the others “Everyone, suit up. Manhattan is under attack”

Yelena shot up, eyes wide “Bob! He went out for a walk”

The room froze.

—

 Bob wasn’t really sure where he was going. He’d been walking aimlessly for the past half hour, hands in his pockets, head down.

 The warmth of the morning sun did feel nice against his skin, but it did little to thaw the cold pit in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be too bent over a rejection, you had every right to turn him down. But it wasn’t just the prospect of a romantic relationship that got him down. Outside of the tower, you were the closet thing he had to a friend.

The two of you would talk about the latest book, show or movie consumed. He was always interested hearing your opinion on it, even if they were horrible. 

You’d also gotten to the point where he told you more about his personal struggles, albeit he did leave some stuff out. Surprisingly, it felt good telling you, even though all you did was listen, like a weight had been lifted off his chest

 He loved hearing more about you. The shenanigans you got up to as a kid from the country side reminded him of the main character in a book her read as a child. The story that got him laughing the hardest was the one where you tried sneaking in Betsy, your favourite cow, into the house

In his world of tragic backstory, spies, missions and experimental procedure. You were the normalcy he didn’t know he craved. It was refreshing

 Stopping in his track he realized, maybe he should just head back. Instead of lifting his spirit, his mind kept wondering back to you. He couldn’t stand the ache echoing in his ribs.

Then–

He felt it. A faint rumble beneath his feet 

Bob paused. It was subtle. Barely noticeable. Looking around, people seemed unbothered. Was it just him who felt this

But then it came again– stronger this time. The vibration made the storefront window hum and loose pebbles skitter across the pavement. People stopped walking and looked around. Alright so it wasn’t just him.

A military trucked tore past the intersection ahead, followed by another. A helicopter roared overhead, the sounds of it’s blade chopping through the air. Sirens began to scream in the distance.

Bob turned, confused– just then his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. Pulling it out, he was met with a notification

EMERGENCY ALERT 

He stood there, blinking at the screen. Around him, the street had erupted into chaos—people running, yelling, trying to reach their cars or get underground. The world was spinning too fast. He didn’t register the police officer yelling at him until the man grabbed his arm.

“Sir, you need to evacuate—now!”

Bob nodded automatically.

He started running with the crowd, feet pounding the pavement. His phone buzzed again—this time a call. Probably one of the team.

He fumbled for it, but a sharp bump from someone behind him knocked it from his hand. It clattered to the ground.

“Shit–!”

He dove to grab it, but another person crashed into him, then another. Then he realized— the crowd was changing direction

That’s when he saw it,

In the distance, looming above the buildings, it’s armored legs crunching down onto the cars– piercing though it like tin can. It was a massive scorpion

The stinger looked modified, turned into a canon given that it glowed blue. With a shriek it fired a beam of raw energy down the street. Taking down the line of tanks and soldier that just arrived. 

It shrieked once more, it’s stinger arched and aimed. This time shooting at the rooftop of the building he was standing next to. Bob threw his arms up, expecting to be crushed by falling rubble–

But it never came.

No pain. No impact 

Just wind

He opened his eyes. 

For a split second, he thought he was dead. Instead of being buried beneath rubble, he was surrounded by clouds. Feeling the cool wind on his face, he felt weightless

Then, a flicker of dread crawled up is spine. Wait, he’s felt like this before, at the vault. 

No. No, no, no–

Had the Sentry taken over?

He squirmed, heart pounding fast.

That’s when the grip around him tightened, he realized that he was cradled securely in someone’s arm.

Then he looked up. 

His breath hitched at the very sight of her. Her (y/c/h) hair whipped wildly against the wind. Her (y/c/e) eye were mesmering but they were rimmed red.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“I didn’t know angels could cry,” Bob uttered, his voice hoarse.

The woman blinked, startled for a moment. Then broke out into a smile, like relief had washed over her. “Are you okay?”

Bob could only nod back, throat too tight to speak. Still, mostly confuse with the situation– not really sure if he was ascending to the afterlife or not. 

“Good” she sighed in relief, eyes scanning ahead. 

Moments later, she touched down on the roof of a building, far away from the chaos. There were already people gathered, most covered in dirt and dusk– likely other civilians she’d rescued.

“You should be safe here.” She said as she let him down gently.

Before Bob could thank her, she was gone– a streak of blue and red vanishing into the sky, heading back to the chaos.

Bob stood frozen, breath shallow, the imprint of her hand still lingering around him.

Who was that?

---

Taglist: @yagurlannastasia @yyiikes @one17 @abbyrxx @hiraethmae @msfirth @cherrypieyourface

[glasskey]

What Season 6 did to Nick AND June

Yeah, I’m never going to get over this. Now in the past when I’ve not been entirely happy with series finales I’ve been somewhat soothed by time to ponder and follow up press from Show runners and cast that had something constructive and generous to offer. Here, we received the opposite and as a result I’ve been left to stew in the delicious juices of my hatred and resentment.

After all of the push back, it’s pretty evident that Blaine was unjustly dealt with in season 6, particularly in comparison to the rest of the Gilead Four. Not only that, but there’s a resounding consensus that Nick and June’s relationship was callously spat on and set on fire with an almost gleeful hatred. Last but not least, June now seems to look unsympathetic and opportunistic….and THAT is not her fucking fault. Please, let me elaborate.

The writers had several options to chose from to cast as the villain but they found Blaine the most convenient to go with for a multitude of reasons. They also wanted to make a political statement, so there you go. They weren’t really concerned with all the rest of the “sense of justice”, “out of character” element because they could always fall back on deniability and off screen character history. Unfortunately the audience WAS concerned with these things and have considered the show runners dismissal of their opinion as let’s say, quite rude. They’ve unfortunately chosen to paint Serena in a positive light and, cast the core message of the show about motherhood instead of female autonomy, which undermines basically all of it’s feminist values. Essentially it simply re enforced Fred Waterford’s philosophy about women’s greatest purpose being as a walking womb. Yet they somehow managed to undermine their OWN themes of mother hood by having June running around Gilead constantly bleating about Hannah, while treating Holly like an inconvenient after thought.

They missed their chance to utilise that love triangle as a demonstration of a woman having the power to choose in her personal relationships, by determining Nicks actions be the deciding factor. Honestly, I’ve seen more autonomy demonstrated in the infamous Joey / Pacey / Dawson love triangle in Dawson’s Creek. I mean FFS….DAWSON’S CREEK! Because American writers are so stifled by traditionalist theological values, the idea of a woman actually leaving her husband because she dared to fall in love with someone else, remained absolutely inconceivable. The writers themselves commented “I don’t think the audience would like it if she just abandoned her husband”, yes that’s right ”abandoned”, like leaving him was tantamount to orphaning a helpless child. Like men are utterly incapable of looking after themselves, and women should feel guilty over wanting to end their marriage. It’s made no less offensive by the fact that Luke walked out on his wife and it was written off as “people change”. Once again, OK for a man, but not for a woman. Got it. I felt SO failed as a woman, by the moralistic, traditionalist messaging that occurred, I find it difficult to articulate. In order for the writers to disassemble the idea of Nick and June as the manifestation of an autonomous choice of collective rebellion, and jam these traditionalist ideals back into place, they had to flip both Nick and Luke’s character. They had to violate a text, destroy narrative symbolism and change the very core nature of characters. I’m wholly unimpressed that these writers idea of true love is that some man “waited for her”, like she OWES him something. It’s utterly archaic. Seems almost stalkerish considering the fact that the protagonist actually asked him not to, and yet here we are being told that it’s some sort of demonstration of undying love. Must be the same person who thinks that June and Serena’s relationship is a “love story”.

I personally RESENT being told by both these writers, and by default the fans that latched onto this ridiculous bullshit, that I have “romanticized” a “Nazi”, when the writers themselves built the character to play the dark romantic hero for 5 seasons, and then suddenly changed their minds. It’s insulting and worse still, it makes fans a target. No matter how many times these writers try to whack Blaine with this inflammatory label, historical fact dictates that it still doesn’t make it fucking so. They previously ran promos for him being a part of Mayday, made continual distinctions between Blaine and the rest of Gilead’s foul regime and then suddenly decided to run around screeching that he was an unholy, irredeemable war criminal. They can fuck right off with that 180 self righteous, holier than thou, bullshit.

Everyone was all on board for 4 09 and 4 10. By the way, don’t think that I don’t remember those very same little Nick haters that posted comments relenting past hatreds during season 4, who are now proudly crowing about how “they always knew he was a war criminal and a fascist”, because I see you. Those writers aren’t fooling anyone; if it looks like a take back, and it smells like a take back….then it fucking is. There’s a REASON that the majority of the audience FEELS betrayed and no whining or mealy mouthed justifications by the writers, to their little press besties is going to fix it and magically make it go away. I also refuse to sit back and have their finger wagged at me for wanting the candy they dangled in front of me for 5 seasons, or at the very least adherence to the original source material. They can fuck right off with that shit too. These writers are the ones that violated a text and if they’re getting a mouthful about it, they should just fucking own it instead of acting like self righteous little brats.

Daisy’s / Holly’s story line has essentially been removed from The Testaments TV series and the timeline shortened. It honestly feels like the audience is constantly having to point out to the writers, that they are not fucking idiots, that they don’t have amnesia, that they read the books and that they KNOW when writers are violating a text. This whole branch of the family feels like it’s been treated as if it was simply so inconvenient to these writers that it needed to be erased. As season 6 concluded, Holly was hand balled to her names sake, while June skipped off to rescue the family favourite.

The way that both Blaine and his relationship with Osborn were disposed of in The Handmaids Tale felt nothing short of personal. The writers weren’t satisfied with splitting the pair apart permanently, they wanted to do it brutally, they wanted to devalue their previous connection, they wanted to strip Blaine of his parentage and last but not least, have the love of his life kill him. Even his final words made it sound as though he’d had a gazillion chances to be with her and his daughter, and had greedily chosen power instead. It was like watching the writers beat Blaine to death and then gleefully kick his corpse.

It wasn’t just Blaine that Season 6’s schizophrenic manoeuvrings touched, it was many others including June. I’ve been hearing a lot of rumblings about June lately, and coincidently they started this season. They’ve not been flattering, frankly some of them have been a bit disturbing. I’d argue that if Blaine’s character wasn’t consistent this season, then neither was hers, particularly when it comes to the context of their relationship. June knows what it’s like to survive in Gilead, previous seasons have depicted her doing awful shit to either stay alive or for her cause. I don’t believe this character would suddenly develop some sense of self righteousness that would make her deaf to any of Blaine’s reasoning; including the fact that he told his demented father in law the girls at Jezebels had nothing to do with it, and that he had no idea he would kill them. Let’s just consider what happened with Eden and what went down at the Jezebels in season 4. June KNOWS what the deal is in Gilead. Audience’s should have no doubt that the writers changed the tone of their interactions, the nature of their relationship and as such they changed the character of both Nick AND June within it’s context. While it was not their aim to make her look unsympathetic, because of their rampant tampering in their relationship, it was an inevitable result. I’m actually surprised at audience members who DID readily gobble this up as sounding legit for their characters. Some of these people were actual critics who should have recognized a snack bucket of deep fried garbage when they saw it, but instead they chowed down on it, and then swore up and down they’d just eaten a gourmet 3 courser.

They’d attempted to paint Blaine as a villain but because of the sum of his past actions, most didn’t buy it and it simply made him look abandoned and June opportunistic. The fact is you can’t say that Blaine is not a liar and still say that June is heartless. If you want to say the story line is false for one, then by default it’s false for both. Changing Nicks character changes the genuine nature of Nick and June’s interactions and therefore changes her personality entirely in the context of their relationship. Essentially, if Nicks character construct is false, then in the context of their relationship, so is hers.….you don’t get to have just half of the pie. These writers wanted half and it was waaaaay too late, he was intrinsically tied to her as they’d painted them as soul mates from the very beginning. They’d spent seasons and seasons building their bond, demonstrating the constant tether that held them together despite the regime. Then they just simply wanted to get away with cutting it off brutally. These writers created an aura of timelessness between them, so despite their best attempts to sever them later, they remained tied together and the inevitable consequence was that when they attempted to drag him down, she went with him.

This eternal connection is something the season 6 writers never understood, and it’s why they thought they could simply decimate Blaine’s character, dispose of him and walk away with their protagonist intact. I want to be crystal clear to those who think that June is now some horrible ungrateful wench….these writers did these two dirty. Not just Blaine, but June too. These writers back peddled on their relationship and did just about everything to devalue it; they didn’t anticipate that it would make her look opportunistic and heartless, but it was bound to happen once they tried to make their connection look superficial. The end result was that these writers made BOTH these characters look morally bankrupt, they made their relationship look valueless, they destroyed their mutual bond as parents and they ruined an epic love story. On top of it all, they not only mocked their audience for caring for these characters and their bond, but appeared to despise them for it. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it. These writers lured viewers into a cruel trap, wounded them and then got pissed off when the audience actually told them they’d been a bunch of arseholes for doing it. I don’t know about anyone else but I don’t really have any qualms about telling them that I fucking hate them for it. It was cruel, surprisingly vindictive and I for one won’t forget it.

Minghella commented that you definitely couldn’t accuse the writers of pandering. I’ve no doubt this statement is actually a politely pointed jab at the writers brutality. It’s atypical coming from a Brit, a razor sharp insult disguised as a cleverly worded complement, that you only get wise to about 3 days after the fact.

The rating difference on this season, between critics and audiences is suspiciously large. They’ve submitted to the Emmy’s, but you just KNOW that Severance and Adolescence are going to take virtually everything so good luck with that. Awards aside, it won’t make one iota of a difference in terms of viewership. The truth is no one really gives a fuck. This is GOT all over again. Current audiences will tell ALL their friends that they loved the show but the last season was shit and it totally ruined everything before it. Then people won’t watch any of it because well, who wants to waste their time watching a show that effectively self destructs in the last season? Yep, fucking no one. Who wants to watch a spin off of that? See previous answer.

[godricgryffinsnore]

Hi again Della :D

I was just so in love with the last one-shot you wrote on my prompt, that I couldn't resist asking for another. Your writing is just so perfectly sugary sweet that I can't help but be addicted.

It's James Potter again, but I was wondering if this time you could write about him falling for a Seeker from another team and simultaneously wanting to beat her team but also absolutely in love with the way she catches the Snitch.

Thanks love! <3 <3

Catch Me If You Can ♡ | J.Potter ★

“I was mid-match, mid-air, mid-smirk—and then she caught the Snitch and my bloody heart in the same breath.”

pairing : James Potter x fem!Ravenclaw!seeker!reader

summary : A Gryffindor Chaser. A Ravenclaw Seeker. Rivalry blurs, sparks fly, and neither of them is ready for what falls harder—Quidditch… or love.

warnings : mild swearing, flirty banter, rivals-to-lovers tension, closet make-out, chaotic Quidditch energy, James Potter being hopelessly in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Oh my god!!! I am so glad you liked the previous one-shot made out of your wonderful request!!! I hope you enjoy this one too <333

word count : 1.8k

navigation <3

banners : @/cafekitsune and @/fic-dumpster

James Potter knew three things for certain:

1. He loved Quidditch.

2. He was the best Chaser in Hogwarts history (his words, not McGonagall’s).

3. He was absolutely, stupidly, insufferably in love with the Seeker from Ravenclaw. You.

The Problem?

You hated his guts.

Well—not hate hate. You respected his game. You tolerated his hair (barely). But you swore on your broomstick, if James bloody Potter winked at you before a match one more time, you were going to ram your Cleansweep right up his—

“Looking fierce today, love,” he called from across the pitch, twirling his broom like he hadn’t just spent five minutes smirking in your direction. “Trying to distract me with that braid again?”

You narrowed your eyes, adjusting your gloves. “Try focusing on the Quaffle, Potter. I’ll be long gone with the Snitch before your ego even takes off.”

“Ooooh, stinger!” Sirius howled behind him. “She’s got bite!”

James just grinned—boyishly, infuriatingly—and mounted his broom like he was mounting a stage. “Oh, I always focus on you.”

The whistle blew.

You’d caught the Snitch. Again.

Your team still lost (blame your Beaters), but the moment your fingers closed around that golden fluttering devil, you felt his eyes on you. Again.

James Potter was clapping—actually clapping—even though you’d technically ruined his winning streak.

“Brilliant form,” he said later as you passed in the hall, all casual-like, like you hadn’t just wiped the smug look off his face midair.

You scoffed, not slowing. “Shame your Keeper couldn’t catch a Quaffle to save his life.”

“Careful,” James said, following you like a duckling in a lion’s den. “I might think you care.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do care. About annihilating Gryffindor next match.”

“Merlin,” he said under his breath, watching you walk away. “I’m so in love with her it’s ridiculous.”

It became a pattern. You’d glare. He’d wink. You’d soar. He’d chase. You’d catch the Snitch—sometimes—and every time you did, he looked at you like you’d just hung the stars yourself.

It was rivalry.

Except…

Only you thought so.

“You’re obsessed with her,” Sirius said one evening, eating toast on James’s bed as he stared out the window at the pitch. Again.

“No, I’m not,” James mumbled, dreamy-eyed.

“You literally just wrote ‘(Y/N) Potter’ in your Transfiguration notes.”

“I did not—” He looked. He had. In swirly cursive.

“I’m doomed,” he muttered.

Remus, from his bed, didn’t even look up. “Just tell her you like her.”

“She thinks we’re rivals,” James said dramatically. “She hates my face.”

“She hates your flirting,” Remus corrected. “Not your face.”

“Well—same thing!”

The final match of the season was pure chaos. Rain. Mud. Bludgers on a rampage. The Snitch dipped and darted like it had a personal vendetta. And somewhere between nearly crashing into you midair and swearing under his breath when you pulled out of a dive last second—James knew.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

You were storming through the corridor after the game, heart hammering from adrenaline, when he caught up with you.

“Oi—wait!” James called, hair soaked, uniform a mess, voice winded.

You turned, scowling. “If you’re here to gloat about that last-minute goal—”

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your arm. Shoved open the nearest broom closet. Pulled you inside. Slammed the door.

“What the hell—”

“I like you,” he blurted, soaking wet and panting like a madman. “I’ve liked you since third year. I think you’re the most brilliant flier I’ve ever seen, and I’ve watched you catch the Snitch seventeen times and I still forget how to breathe every single bloody time.”

You blinked. Blink. Blink.

He was close. His hair was dripping. His voice was shaking.

“I don’t—” you started, and he panicked.

“I know you hate me,” he said quickly, “I know I’m annoying and arrogant and possibly the human embodiment of a Bludger but—”

“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice flat.

He froze. “…You don’t?”

You crossed your arms. “I thought you hated me. You’re always smirking and teasing and acting like I’m your personal competition.”

James gawked. “You are my competition! But only because you’re so good I can’t stop watching you.”

Oh.

The silence fell. Humid. Close.

Then—slowly—you grinned.

“So…” you said, leaning against the door, eyes narrow. “You pulled me into a broom closet to confess you’re in love with me?”

James’s mouth flapped. “I—no—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t going to say love—”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“Okay, fine!” he burst. “Yes! I’m bloody mad about you. I love the way you fly. I love your sarcasm. I love that you hate my flirting. I love that you always catch the Snitch even when I’m trying to flirt mid-match like a moron—I love—” He stopped. Lowered his voice. “…you.”

Your heart was racing.

You leaned in. Just a little. Close enough that your noses brushed.

“You’re a dramatic little show-off, you know that?”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head. “But I guess I could love that too.”

His eyes widened.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. It was all broom-closet heat and pent-up tension and muddy uniforms and a desperate, gleeful kind of hunger. He gripped your waist. You yanked his shirt collar. His glasses fogged. The world spun.

When you finally pulled away—his lips kiss-bruised, his heart probably doing Quidditch flips—he breathed:

“So…you do like me.”

You smirked. “Catch me if you can, Potter.”

And then you opened the door and strutted out—leaving James Potter, Captain of the Gryffindor team and biggest dork in the castle, laughing breathlessly in a broom closet, madly in love with the girl who thought they were rivals.

Epilogue – Post-Practice Banter

James: “Hey babe, remember when you thought we were enemies?”

You: “I still kind of want to knock you off your broom sometimes.”

James: grinning “Merlin, marry me.”

You: “Buy me a Firebolt first.”

James: “Done. Want the diamond to match it?”

There were many things James Potter could do well.

Win Quidditch games. Charm professors. Make Lily Evans roll her eyes in record time.

But one thing he could not do—despite his very public insistence otherwise—was keep his hands (or eyes) off you during a match.

Not anymore.

Because now… He could kiss you. He could touch you. He could say “you’re mine,” and then prove it behind the stands when no one was looking.

Only—well.

People were looking.

“Mate,” Sirius said one stormy afternoon after practice. “You’re playing like a lovesick Bludger.”

“I am not,” James said, lying.

“You flew into your own Keeper.”

“He swerved—”

“He was standing still.” Sirius blinked. “Right outside the goalpost. Doing literally nothing.”

Remus looked up from his book. “You also dropped the Quaffle. Twice.”

“Was distracted,” James muttered, and oh no, because even thinking about you sent that dopey little grin creeping across his face.

Sirius pointed. “That’s the face. That’s the face of a man about to ruin his own game for love.”

“I am not ruining anything—”

“You’re doomed,” Remus said, flipping a page.

“Completely whipped,” Sirius added. “Absolutely done for. Can’t wait till the team finds out.”

James scoffed. “They’re not going to find out.”

He was very proud of this plan, actually.

You two had agreed—no one could know you were dating. Too much drama. Too many Quidditch politics. Ravenclaws would say it was favoritism, Gryffindors would never shut up, Sirius would make it everyone’s problem.

So you had a foolproof system.

Flirt behind the greenhouses. Make out in the library stacks (Section B—far corner). Kiss behind the Quidditch stands. Avoid each other on the pitch like well-behaved, non-infatuated rivals.

Simple.

It was foolproof. Perfect.

Except for one problem.

James was a fool. And he was in love.

Saturday’s Match: Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

The pitch was golden with morning light, cheers echoing, house colors waving like fire in the wind.

You were hovering mid-air, wind in your hair, eyes sharp on the glimmer of gold near the west end.

And James?

James was not watching the Quaffle.

He was watching you.

Your hair, twisted up in a ribbon.

The way your fingers clenched the broom handle.

The way your knees locked as you dove, fast and low, the Snitch just—

“JAMES!” Sirius screamed. “FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, THE QUAFFLE!”

Too late. It was in the goal. Again.

You caught the Snitch five minutes later, graceful and smirking.

And James Potter sat slumped mid-air like a kicked puppy, utterly useless and sickeningly proud.

After the Match – Gryffindor Locker Room

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying, accusatory silence.

James stood, towel over his shoulder, mud on his boots, surrounded by his team.

No one spoke.

Then—

“Alright,” said Charlotte, the Beater. “Who’s the girl?”

James blinked. “What?”

“The girl,” said Oliver, their Keeper. “The one you’re clearly thinking about instead of playing like a functional Chaser.”

“There’s no girl—”

“Mate,” Charlotte said, “you just watched their Seeker fly like she was the last chocolate frog on Earth. You didn’t blink for ten minutes.”

“I—”

“You cheered when she caught the Snitch.”

“I was being polite—”

“You clapped.”

“Alright, fine!” James snapped, cheeks pink. “I might be…seeing someone.”

The team gasped as one.

“WHO?!”

James looked skyward, as if praying to Merlin for mercy.

“Promise not to kill me?”

“No,” said Charlotte.

He sighed. “It’s…Ravenclaw’s Seeker.”

Silence.

Then—chaos.

“YOU TRAITOR!” “Bloody hell, it’s her?!” “Wait, she’s hot, though—” “NO, YOU DON’T GET TO THINK THAT, SHE’S HIS HOT.”

Sirius, smirking in the doorway: “Told you.”

Remus, not even surprised: “You owe me five Galleons.”

Meanwhile – You, to your team:

“He’s an idiot. I love him. I’m also going to kill him.”

“Respectfully,” said your Captain, “we’d prefer if you made out after you win.”

Later That Night – Behind the Stands

He was leaning against the pillar, arms crossed, grinning.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured.

You shoved his shoulder. “You clapped, you absolute muppet.”

He laughed. “You looked so good catching the Snitch, I forgot I was supposed to win.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

“Oi! I’m your number one fan.”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes. “The team knows now, don’t they?”

“…Define knows.”

You smacked his chest.

He caught your wrists.

And kissed you.

It was sweet and slow, your hands tangling in his hair, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled.

“Even though I ruin your record?”

“Especially because of that.”

Bonus Scene – Gryffindor Practice the Next Day

James: entirely distracted watching you walk past the pitch with a book in hand

Sirius: “There he goes again. Should we wave a Quaffle in front of his face? Or maybe just toss him at her and save time?”

Remus: “I’ve already got the broom closet cleared out. They’ll end up in there by dinner.”

James, dazed: “She’s wearing my jumper.”

Entire team, in unison: “WE KNOW!”

[chronic-conjuring]

I think the term/acronym for OCD has become way too overused (like a frighteningly large amount of clinical, psychological terms tbh) and too many people have a fundamental misunderstanding of what the fuck OCD actually is and looks like.

Too often do we see distasteful, harmful jokes and representations of OCD as just a “clean freak germaphobe” or someone being overly obsessive about the placement of every single thing in their house and then you get the overused (and frankly fucking stupid) “haha I need things to be in a specific order or else it drives me CRAZY!! 🤪🤪 iM sO OcD!! 🤪🤪🤪” kinda lines and it’s absolute bullshit. Sure, those first two are very common symptoms we see in people with OCD but that’s literally not what’s going on??? They aren’t just bothered by the placement of things because it annoys them on some level, they have irrational fears.

So now when we see people genuinely discussing the reality of dealing with OCD, having compulsions to do certain things due to fear of certain consequences if they happen to do/not do it properly and excessive, irrational anxieties, we get shit like this where people are wholeheartedly ignorant of what that even means. Like, people w OCD aren’t necessarily clean freaks because messes and germs give them The Ick™️ (like what many people without this disorder experience) they’re genuinely, extremely irrationally afraid of what could happen should they not keep things in a certain order or wash their hands three times in a row etc.

For example, someone could have an irrational fear that their clothes not being organized in a specific way will in some way cause a loved one to die unexpectedly, if they don’t excessively sanitize the counter after making a sandwich themselves or someone else will get severely, life-threateningly sick, or if they interact with a certain number in any way something bad will happen (“if I eat 5 cookies instead of 4 [something bad] will happen”). These all sound a little ridiculous, right? THATS THE POINT. THEYRE IRRATIONAL FEARS. THATS WHY THIS IS A DISORDER. ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE TO PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE PERSON WHO HAS OCD’S BRAIN!!!!

You CAN see how someone might come to some conclusions, the thought process of “germs make people sick, if I leave things dirty people might get sick” is a fairly rational one, the irrational part comes with the thought continuing with something like ��I have just made a sandwich on a clean plate and not gotten anything on the countertop, but if I leave this countertop without wiping it down with disinfectant I could’ve possibly left some kind of contamination and now whoever uses this countertop next will get salmonella/ food poisoning/ an allergic reaction. I MUST wipe it down several times until it is Clean Enough” that sounds just a little ridiculous right? But you can see how someone might come to that conclusion. Which is probably why the most commonly thought of aspects of OCD get boiled down to germophobia and excessive cleanliness, it’s closer to something other people can relate to or understand on some level.

And then there’s other fears that make no sense with little to no logic for others to follow such as “if I don’t lock this door PERFECTLY CORRECTLY someone will break into my house and kill me. I must unlock and re-lock this door until It Is Perfect” logically, a locked door is a locked door. Whether or not you turned it slowly, quickly or whatever, the door is properly locked by the time you’re done with it. That doesn’t matter to someone with OCD. Somehow, someway, locking it too slowly or too quickly will lead to some catastrophic failure and suddenly in their head they are then vulnerable, so they will stand there and lock the door as many times it’s takes for their brain to say “that’s perfect, I’m safe now”.

By reducing OCD into just some quirky thing some people experience, we are doing a major disservice to everyone suffering from this disorder and we allow stuff like this, where people are equating being afraid of something happening to mean they must actually secretly want that thing to happen or to do that thing, to happen and actively harm people with OCD. Too many people misunderstand that it is irrational thinking and fears that drive OCD behaviors, not some hidden internal want for it to happen. Do better

[cologona]

What’s funny about the assertion that Jason is a Punisher figure whose fans are just too fanfic-brained to accept him for what he is, is that he’s never actually Red Hood in the comics which characterize him like that.

Not a crimson cranium in sight…

I think it’s because the classic Red Hood look is such a complete and instant reminder of the pragmatism (and cynicism…) that defines Jason’s post-res character, that you can’t have him wear it and simultaneously portray him as a typical lethal vigilante without it becoming immediately clear that you’re phoning it in.

Just look at the contrast between these two. Batman is all about the image while even the most “costume” part of Jason’s fit (the helmet) has practical use. No cape, no spandex, no symbol. A self-styled villain and transparent criminal.

It isn’t until all the way toward the end of the post-crisis continuity during Morrison’s run that Jason faces Dick as Red Hood (it’s always the stories where Jason is playing antagonist for Dick lol) but even then, the Red Hood mantle and costume must be completely inverted in concept. Huge high neck cape! Spandex bodysuit with thigh-high boots to match! A big fuck-off skull symbol!

We’ll give him a dildo head and a sidekick too, sure why not.

Like I’m left wondering how this guy is at all connected to the character we were initially presented with. The Jason who, feeling betrayed by Bruce and identifying Batman’s unyielding idealism as the problem, went into the exact opposite direction.

I understand writing Jason as a hypocrite who’s ultimately just traumatized and lashing out about it. The UTRH movie executed that idea very well! But even in the movie Jason’s approach is a very grounded one.

I understand making the point that for all his critiques of Batman, Jason himself is still bad and in the wrong. Please believe me that this is not a complaint about my blorbo not being Correct. But even in the infamous Robin #177, though it’s terrible and wrong for other reasons, the concept of Jason using kids as bullet-fodder is at least still recognizable as an idea drawn from his ruthless utilitarian bent.

Psychologically, how do we go from character that rejects heroism so thoroughly, to embodying a warped version of the silver age?? How does Jason go from “eliminating crime is a bullshit goal for insane babies” to “Let’s Kill All Da Baddies! That’ll solve everything! :D”

…The answer is he never did. Jason in these stories is just a cog to move the plot forward. He is Jason Todd in name only and literally has plot-psychosis in most of these panels. These comics are not relevant to conversations about Jason’s character, and especially not relevant to conversations about Red Hood. Let’s face it, they’re fanfiction on the level of Lobdell.

[asneakyfox]

not sure where exactly i'm going with this but something i always think is interesting about ofmd s2, and very unlike a lot of fic & speculation from before the season dropped, is that they chose to make the previous ed-izzy relationship completely implode BEFORE stede is back in the picture. by the time stede, ed and izzy are all conscious and present on the revenge at once izzy has already permanently given up on the idea of re-creating the sort of relationship he used to imagine he had with blackbeard.

from a doylist pov this is partly just because the writers pretty clearly never had any interest in playing stede-ed-izzy as love triangle in the way that a lot of fandom saw it. but it does something interesting to how the redemption arc goes.

because it really changes izzy's arc for the season to have ed reject him while stede is firmly out of the picture, while both ed and izzy have no reason to think they will ever see stede bonnet again. because if stede had been there when izzy said "i have...love for you" and ed scoffed, izzy would have thought ed was rejecting him in favor of stede. he'd think, if only stede weren't around this wouldn't have happened. i think in that circumstance izzy would have never given up hope that if stede were removed from the picture somehow then he could resume his pre-stede-bonnet relationship with ed.

but what happened instead is ed made it absolutely clear that EVEN IF STEDE IS NOT AN OPTION he still does not want or need the kind of relationship with izzy that izzy wants the two of them to have. he would in fact literally rather die.

and then i thought about it a little more and, well, almost the next thing izzy does is blame ed's behavior on "your feelings for stede bonnet," right? and taken literally what he's blaming on ed's feelings for stede is the atmosphere on the ship, the way ed's treating the crew, etc. but actually i don't think that's what he means.

i think he's still - understandably - stewing in rejection at that moment, and he wants to find a narrative that lets him understand why it happened and save some face, if only to himself. so he really wants to think, edward rejected me because of his feelings for stede bonnet, if it weren't for that homewrecker he would have accepted my love confession. so he wants to believe that, and he starts to say it out loud. he pretends he's talking about the atmosphere on the ship, but he doesn't mean the atmosphere, what he means is you rejected my love because of your feelings for stede bonnet.

and ed shoots him before he can finish that sentence.

i don't think either izzy or ed really consciously understands what izzy was trying to say there. i'm not sure ed even subconsciously understands it either tbh. so i don't think ed like intended to send a message about izzy's love confession there, he just wanted to make sure izzy didn't get stede's name out right here in front of everybody. but narratively, symbolically, that gunshot is shattering the lie izzy wants to tell himself along with izzy's kneecap.

and this makes a bit more sense out of why izzy tells stede first that ed shot him for mentioning stede's name, and then later that ed shot him for saying he loved him. because he knows the first one is literally what happened. but there's a reason he feels like it was the second, and he's not exactly wrong to think of it that way.

[astraljedi]

Sexo Virtual (Miss American - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI, 18+ only, mention of period symptoms (vomiting, nausea, cramps), fluff, yearning and long distance relationship. Word Count: 2.9K Song: Sexo Virtual by Rauw Alejandro A/N: Finally updated Miss Americana! This has been sitting in my drafts for a week now. Reblog, let me know what you think and ENJOY! Masterlist | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | _

Chief of Shade Podcast DM from Anon says: Any updates on the first daughter? They just announced she's going to be a speaker in one of the biggest tech conventions early next year. Is this her starting her father's re-election campaign? Congrats to Miss Americana for nailing a gig like that! Though, I don't believe this is part of a re-election campaign. But I do have an update on what's going on with her dating life. My sources allegedly say she was seen having a private dinner date at "Emerald" a few months ago. Is the president's daughter dating or was this a casual friend dinner? -

FACETIME CALL May 3rd Duration: 3:42:16 Connected – 6:08 PM EST

“Why are you cubing your chicken so small?” Joaquin scrunches his nose, his face closer on my phone screen as he watches me cube my chicken through his.

“Because I need every piece to be equally small and slightly overcooked so I don’t gag at the thought of eating chicken,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the cutting board and not on my shirtless more-than-a-friend guy as he rocks his ribbed body for me through the small screen. His sweatpants hang low, his curly hair a little damp from the shower he took before we jumped on the call.

It’s unfair to have him like this, miles away from me.

“What?” he asks, still confused. I watch him toss the whole chicken breast into his pan, and the sound of searing fills the room. He readjusts his phone, setting me behind his kitchen sink. I forget about my knife and rest it on the edge of the board, my eyes following the flex of his biceps as he rinses his dishes.

“If I’m cooking chicken, I need to have it in little pieces because the thought of it being even slightly undercooked I will not eat it,” I try to explain, tossing the tiny pieces into the hot pan. I can barely hear him laughing through my AirPods—the searing from his pan almost mutes him. “Hey, don’t laugh at me. And turn down the heat, you’re going to burn your butter.”

“Yes, chef,” he chuckles, actually turning off the stove. “If our cooking date over FaceTime has you this bossy, I don’t want to imagine our actual cooking date when we see each other.”

“As long as you cube my chicken into small pieces, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, baby. I’ll cube your chicken however you want if it means I get to see you like this every time,” he says, a low growl. I blush, my hand flying up unconsciously to fix the skinny strap of my crop top.

Did I throw on the tiniest top and shorts on purpose? Yeah. Am I still blushing like a schoolgirl when he notices? Of course.

I let the chicken sizzle on medium heat and turn off the burner under the pot of pasta. “As long as you bring those low-rise sweatpants, we have a deal.” I wink at him, purposely not adjusting the phone’s angle. I walk out of view with the pan of cooked pasta toward the sink behind me.

I look over my shoulder as I drain the pasta water, catching Joaquin’s eyes practically falling out as he gets a full view of my ass. My tiny shorts barely cover my cheeks.

“Fuck,” I hear him mutter under his breath, and I laugh.

God, I love our FaceTime dinner dates—but I’d rather have him here.

FACETIME CALL May 27th Duration: 00:08:34 Connected – 1:45 PM EST

The familiar FaceTime tone rings through my AirPods, letting me know our call has connected.

“Babe, are you still working on that proposal?” Joaquin asks, resting me somewhere on his desk while sitting down in his office chair.

He was coming back from his lunch break—something I didn’t fully take on my part.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “We start pitching this new, amazing tech to our investors in a few days, and I just want it to be perfect.”

“Did you finish your lunch?” Joaquin eyes me, raising a brow. I glance at my half-eaten Caesar wrap salad in its to-go container, long forgotten on the other side of my desk. I don’t even have to answer—he already knows I completely skipped my lunch break.

“You have to eat something. You can't rely just on your coffee to get through the workload.”

“I also have my water,” I try to be cute, showing him the light pink water jug on camera. He tries to be serious for a second, but he breaks easily, his bright smile tugging at my heart.

“But I’m definitely planning on ordering a huge dinner once I get back home.”

“Good girl,” he smirks, typing away on his keyboard. “What are you ordering?”

“Remember the tacos you brought me last month? I’ve been craving them this whole week. Oh! And the ice cream with fresh churros and the Nutella dip.”

My stomach growls just at the thought of dinner.

Joaquin’s moan fills my ear, and I bring my knees together, forcing them shut as I try to act like that didn’t affect me.

“Those were so good. Now I’m hungry again.”

“Me too,” I laugh, trying to hide how turned on I am.

“I have to call you back—Sam’s calling me.” He leans over his desk, grabbing the phone from where he had it.

“Don’t worry, duty calls.” I smile, blowing him a kiss before the call disconnects.

FACETIME CALL June 9th Duration: 01:10:23 Connected – 10:32 PM EST

I grab the beautiful bouquet of white and pink lilies from my bedside table and place them on my lap carefully. I hold my phone high, trying to get the flowers and my body into frame. 

Joaquin had sent me the bouquet congratulating me on a successful pitch, and I just wanted to send him something back—even if he’s overseas on a mission. The time difference has been hell. We haven’t had a real FaceTime call in days, just some short texts here and there. 

I open my messages and the app opens on Joaquin’s text thread already. I attach the photo I just took and check it before hitting send, making sure it actually looks good. 

You can barely see the white, tiny lace bralette and matching bottoms—the bouquet covering most of my body—but it’s enough to tease him before he starts the day.

iMessage 10:56AM Joaquin:  Finally have service 10:58AM Joaquin: I can try and call you before you go to bed. I miss you 11:01AM Me: I miss you too 11:03AM Me: I’ll text you when I get out of the shower Be safe  10:31PM Me: *Attached Picture* Thank you for the flowers

I place the bouquet back on the nightstand and jump into bed, waiting to see if he replies. Not even a minute later, my phone starts ringing. I smile, my head sinking into my pillow as I answer. 

His face pops up immediately—bare chest in frame, a light glow coming from his bedside table. His hair is messy and his dog tags stick to his skin. Ever since I saw them for the first time, the idea of pulling him down to kiss me by the metal chain haunts me day and night when we talk or when he sends photos.

“Hi baby,”  

“You’re going to drive me insane,” He groans, setting his phone on the nightstand. I stare at his naked torso, the rest of his lower body hidden under his bedding. I don’t even try to hide that I’m staring, I let my eyes trail along his body.

“I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.” I say innocently, resting my back against the headboard. I position my phone at the perfect angle, chest in frame just a little to tease. “You didn’t like the photo?”

“Fuck, no. It’s my new favorite photo.” He reassures me, voice low. “Jesus, the things I would do to you if I was there.” He runs a hand down his face, groaning. 

“Tell me,” I breathe, my body already reacting. “If you were here, how would you touch me?” 

I test the waters, something we’ve been doing back and forth, but in person, we haven’t gone further than makeouts, touching and grinding. But, this is something new. This is untouched territory in our relationship.

“Shit, baby” Joaquin shifts, the hand on his chest disappearing out of frame. “Since you love being a tease, I’d start slow.” 

I place my phone on the nightstand, resting it against the flower vase. 

“I’d pin you down to that bed, kissing every inch of your neck while my hands cup your breast.” Joaquin’s eyes follow my movements. I copy his instructions, guiding my fingers from my neck to my breast. “And with my teeth, I’d slide that thin lace off your nipples and then swirl my tongue over them.”

I free my breast and cup it with my palm, imagining his mouth in place of my fingers. “Joaquin.” I breathe, pinching my nipple just enough to send my hips jolting up from the contact.

I watch him spit into his palm, his phone at a perfect angle to show me everything. He slides his sweats down, freeing his straining cock, leaving me gawking at his size. 

I’ve felt it pressed against me before, but seeing it now? I press my thighs together instinctively.

“No, open those legs for me.” He demands, letting his cock slap against his stomach.

“Still with me?” He asks and I nod, forcing my legs apart. 

“I’d slip my fingers down, pull the lace aside, and circle your clit” he continues.

The softest exhale escapes me as I follow his instructions, middle finger grazing and circling, my fingers soaked with my arousal. 

“Hey—slow,” he warns. “You follow my orders, or I’ll stop.”

I whine, but nod. “Please,” I beg.

“The way I’d already be lost between your legs,” Joaquin went on. “Kissing your thighs, fingers coated in how wet you are. So wet, I could slide two fingers in and let you suck me deep.”

My eyes flutter shut as I slide two fingers in, the sound of his commanding voice nearly enough to send me over the edge. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet, baby.”

Joaquin groans, his jaw tightening. “Don’t rush it. Let yourself feel it—curl those fingers, baby. Tell me what you feel.”

“Fuck,” I whimper. “It feels so good—I need more.”

“What do you need?” He says through gritted teeth.

“You. I need your hands holding me open, your cock filling me up. I’d let you take me any way you want.”

“I need your eyes on me,” he adds, breathless. “I need you to see what you do to me, even miles away.”

I force my eyes open and moan at the sight of him. His hand around his cock, biceps and shoulders flexing, dog tags stuck to his skin and glimmering under the light—nearly makes me cum on the spot. 

“Fuck, I bet you’d ride my fingers so good.” Joaquin pants. “I can’t wait to taste you. Make you cum with my tongue, fingers and cock until I have your legs shaking.”

I bite my lip, and force myself to choke down my cry as I rock my fingers faster. My other hand reaches for my clit, circling the little nub. 

“You sound so pretty like this,” he groans. “Desperate to cum. Aching for my cock to stretch you out.”

I spread wider, pressing deeper, harder—nearly knuckles deep— as my back arches into the pillows.

“Joaquin, I’m close.” My thighs tremble, heat spreads through my body. I squirm, desperate as my hips try to meet with my own thrust.

“I need you,” I gasp. “I need your hands, your mouth—fuck, I need your cock, Joaquin.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he pants.

“Joaquin. Joaquin—” My voice breaks as I tremble, trying to keep my legs spread. Tears burning the corner of my eyes.  

“I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.” 

And I do. 

The white-hot wave crashes through me, and I cry out, letting it take over me. “Fuck, fuck.” I keep my eyes on him as his fist tightens around his cock. I whimper, feeling my walls flutter around my fingers. 

“You did so good for me, baby,” he groans, breath catching. “So fucking good.”

I watch the twitch of his muscles, his mouth falling open as he spills over, gasping my name, eyes on me.

We stay quiet for a moment, just breathing but never looking away. Not even for a second. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, still a little breathless. 

I nod. What are words? Cause I don’t know any at the moment.

Shit, that was hot. 

“I need to hear you baby, I can’t go on with my day without hearing you say it.” 

“Fuck,” I rasp, smiling sleepily. “I’m more than okay.” I rest my hand on my chest, my breath calming down.

He laughs softly, leaning forward to grab his phone. “I miss you. I’m counting down the days until I’m done here.”

“I miss you too,” I sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How much longer are we going to be this far apart?”

“Not much, I promise.” Joaquin gets up from his small bed, dog tags clicking as he moves around the small room. I watch him slide a pair of boxers, then his cargo pants. 

I walk to the bathroom, resting my phone on the vanity. “Did you get some sleep at least?”

“Not much. It’s hot and the bed is uncomfortable. My shoulders ache from training and from the bed.” Joaquin rubs his shoulder, trying to get rid of the tension bothering him.

“I’m so–”

“Torres.” A loud bang cuts me off from Joaquin’s side of the line. “We need you out here. Now.” 

“I’m coming!” He yells back, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll call you later, get some rest, baby.” He rushes, slipping his boots. 

“It’s okay, stay safe.” I managed to say, right before the call disconnected. 

FACETIME CALL June 22 Duration: 05:33:45 Connected – 06:04 AM EST

The bathroom tiles feel cold against my hot sweaty skin as I sit in front of the toilet. I’ve been awake since four in the morning—puking, dizzy and struggling with awful period cramps. 

I lean my back on the wall, closing my eyes while I try to steady my breathing and push down the nausea. My phone vibrates next to me, Joaquin’s contact picture lighting up the screen. My fingers hover over the phone. Do I really want him to see me like this?

But we haven’t talked in days, he’s been having a hard time with the wifi at the base he’s currently at. 

Just as I slide my finger to answer, the awful wave of nausea creeps up from my stomach. I hurl into the toilet, gripping the bowl, leaving my phone unattended. 

“Why am I looking at your ceilin—baby, are you sick? What’s going on?” I hear his worried voice through the speaker, but I can’t respond. Not when my gut is twisting inside me as I try to breathe through it. 

I wipe my mouth with a towel, then grab the phone off the floor and settle back into my spot. 

“Hi,” I whisper. 

“Do I need to call someone? What’s wrong?” Joaquin’s face is pinched with concern. He looks like he’s ready to jump through the screen. He looks too cute when his worried forehead lines show up.

“I already told Carmen I’m not going into work today,” I say, my voice rough. “Just a bad period episode, that’s all.” I push the sweaty strands of hair from my face, trying to summon the strength to crawl back to bed. 

“Does this usually happen?” 

“No,” I admit. “But I think it’s the IUD I got earlier this week.”

I’d had the appointment, something I’d been meaning to do since our last FaceTime—but I hadn’t mentioned that it was for an IUD.

“You didn’t tell me you were getting it. I mean, you don’t have to, it’s totally your choice—but are the side effects supposed to be this bad?”

I chuckle as I listen to him ramble over the phone.

“I didn’t tell you because I did it just in case,” I shared. “Especially after our last few FaceTime calls.”

Joaquin blushes, cheeks and even the tips of his ears turn a cute shade of red. He scratches the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look away. 

“I’m going to bed,” I sigh. “I already called off work.”

I stand up slowly, my hand braced against the wall for support. The nausea has passed, but my head still feels heavy, and the dizziness lingers.

“I hate not being able to be there,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “I’d rub your back, grab the heating pad, feed you comfort food, run you a hot bath—whatever would help.”

“Hearing your voice helps.”

I lie down in bed, grabbing the heating pad and pulling the bed sheets over my body. I rest the phone on the nightstand, finally looking at him better. 

Joaquin is in bed, shirtless, wearing only his cargo pants. He looks handsome, even with his messy hair, his tired eyes and the small constellation of moles on his face. 

“You should go to sleep, handsome.” I yawn, rubbing my eyes. 

“I don’t have to hang up. We can sleep together, baby—fall asleep together.” He yawns too, his free hand resting on his chest.

“I miss you so much.” I mumble, sleep already pulling me under.

“Descansa, mi amor. Te extraño mucho más.” 

It’s the last thing I hear, his soft voice echoing through the phone, before darkness takes over. 

[shikitsuka]

It's absolutely greenwashing and sadly looks like it's working

Yees give us your old clothes for a coupon and we'll recycle them! Go buy more clothes we made!

The end is there's still more clothes, often plastic ones that keep shedding microplastics and will Be There for a long time

But then of course it's working, all that advertisements are supposed to do it create needs you didn't have before seeing the advertisement. Advertisements seek to make you buy More

The only way that companies geared towards profit would honestly encourage the whole Re cycle is if there was some monetary reward put in place for how long x thing they sold is in use

That or just straight up scarcity making it impossible to actually buy more. Like clothes before fast fashion, in hard times, where they'd come from your seamstress mother that'd sew them for you. Cloth is expensive. Each piece takes time to sew. So of course then you're gonna have few clothes but they'll be good quality and last for long. And you're gonna take good care of them because that's just what you do to Important Things. Which will make them last even longer.

No longer fit to wear out even with repairs? Home clothes. Too ragged for home clothes? Cleaning rags until they disintegrate.

What I'm saying I guess is that we have a hard habit that we need to make, being bombarded by advertisements trying to spark us buying more, and with no scarcity naturally motivating us to preserve. Being wasteful is easier, now. Repairing takes time. Quality clothes will cost more. Actually ethically made clothes? Even more. It's so much easier to keep buying cheap bad quality clothes that will then demand More Frequent repairs and will totally disintegrate faster too. Why bother, throw it out. Buy some new ones. And of course since they're so cheap you might as well buy 5 more shirts as a treat.

I think without developing some sense of duty about not wasting, some internal belief that will reward you in place of the repair process being discouraging, it's impossible to truly stick to the whole reusing cycle for long. It's not meant to be rewarding or easier, companies are hard at work so that it isn't. The reward has to come from inside you

Remember "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" ? I feel like there's been a distancing from the "reduce" and "reuse" part and a favoritism towards "recycle" by corporate American.

Capitalism can still thrive with recycling in the mix. You buy Plastic Thing 1, throw it away after one use, and they take that and recycle it into Plastic Thing 2 and sell it back to you. All while continuing to harm the environment.

Reusing puts a damper on things. They can't sell you Plastic Thing 2 when you're still using Plastic Thing 1. Plastic forks, for example- there is literally no reason why you can't reuse plastic forks more than once (aside from maybe microplastics, but it's too late for that)

Reducing is the one everyone wants to ignore. Just don't buy Plastic Thing 1. You don't need Plastic Thing 1. Pick up a set of metal forks and use those for years. Convenience is killing the planet

[lightsoutmatthews]

willy just posted new pics from cannes on his insta and it gave me an idea! can you do willy x reader at some fancy event and the alllll the ladies keep coming up to will, so reader starts to feel really insecure/not enough. but sweet sweet willy is so loyal and so in love with reader and wants to show her that. thanks chica <3333

Those pictures made me go all 😵‍💫

There´s only you – William Nylander

You stood in front of the hotel mirror, adjusting the strap of your dress for the third time in probably as many minutes.

It wasn’t that it didn’t fit, it did, perfectly actually. You had gone shopping a week ago just to find something perfect for tonight.

A sleek, dark navy gown with a slit up the side, elegant but not too showy. Subtle jewelry, hair done up just the way you liked. You looked nice, good, even.

Unfortunately, good didn’t seem like enough for tonight.

Tonight, you were going to a red-carpet charity gala in Toronto on the arm of Leafs winger William Nylander.

You had been dating for a while at this point, but it would be the first time you would accompany him to such an event.

William was adjusting his cufflinks nearby, looking completely at ease in the tailored black tux.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. His blonde hair was slicked back, his jawline sharp and eyes bright. He looked like a movie star.

He was famous after all, but it was more than that. He glowed in places like this.

You felt lucky but at the same time incredibly nervous.

“You ready, älskling?” he asked, smiling at you in the mirror.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Let´s do this.”

-------------

The venue was stunning. All marble floors, hanging chandeliers and tall windows overlooking the Toronto skyline.

Cameras flashed as you and William stepped out of the car. He held your hand the whole time, even as the mass of reporters shouted his name.

“William! Over here!”

“William, who are you wearing?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

You clung to his side, eyes darting everywhere.

He leaned down, whispering softly against your ear as he sensed your unease, “You´re doing great.”

The moment you got inside, though, the swam began.

First, it was a group of women, models, maybe, with perfect hair and bright red lips. They recognized him immediately.

“Willy! Oh my God, I didn’t know you would be here tonight!” one of them almost shouted, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

She didn’t even spare you a glance.

Another one giggled, resting a hand on his arm. “I swear you get more handsome every year.”

You laughed politely, stepping a little closer to him. he didn’t move away, but he didn’t say much either, just gave them that soft, easy smile he used in public.

That professional smile you saw him spot many times before.

More women joined throughout the night. Models. Other attendees wives. Influencers. All gorgeous, all confident, all dressed to kill.

And every time they looked straight at William and barely at you. Some didn’t even hide they scanned him from head to toe.

It was starting to bother you, but you didn’t want to be that girlfriend. The clingy, insecure one. So, you smiled, sipped champagne and stayed close but not too close.

But your chest was getting tighter by the minute.

You started comparing.

You dress wasn’t as bold. You shoes weren’t as high. You didn’t have that high-society polish that they all seemed to carry effortlessly.

The way they walked, talked and flirted, it was like they belonged here, and you were just someone tagging along.

At one point, while William was chatting with a group of other Toronto athletes, you stepped away to the restroom.

You needed a break.

Your cheeks were hot, and not from the champagne or the warmth inside the building.

Why did you feel so small? You were the one here with him after all.

You knew William loved you. He told you all the time, but here, tonight, he fit so well in this world of flashing lights and glamorous women.

You couldn’t stop wondering, what if someday he realized he wanted someone more like them?

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pressed your lips together, trying to shake it off. He hadn’t done anything to even give you remotely the impression that he would.

You just needed a second to breathe.

--------------

When you came back out, you saw him standing near the bar. A tall blonde was leaning in close to him, hand resting lightly on his chest as she laughed at something he said.

It punched you in the stomach immediately.

You turned back towards the hallway and ducked outside to the balcony. It was quieter out there, the city lights glittering below.

You leaned against the stone railing and took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around yourself even though it wasn’t that cold tonight.

You didn’t cry, but the tears picked at the corner of your eyes.

You heard the door slide open behind you a few minutes after initially stepping out.

“Hey,” William said softly.

You didn’t turn around right away, the sound of his voice making the tears threaten to fall any second.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just needed some air.”

“I noticed,” he said, coming up beside you now. “Are you okay?”

You hesitated for a second. Debating to tell him the truth.

“I´m fine,” you lied instead. “Just a little overwhelmed with it all.”

William watched you for a second after that. “Something is wrong,” he pointed out.

You looked up at him finally and that was when your voice cracked. “I don’t fit in here, Will. I feel like I´m just standing in the background while all these girls throw themselves at you.”

His expression fell instantly. “What?”

“They´re all so confident and glamorous and they look like they belong with someone like you. Meanwhile I´m just me.”

He was quiet for a beat, his brow furrowing. Then he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Älskling” he mumbled, the Swedish term of endearment sending shivers down your spine. “You´re the only person I see in a room like this.”

You scoffed a little, not because you didn’t want to believe him, but because it felt too good to be true.

“I´m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “You think I care about them or that any of them matter to me?”

You looked down. “I know you don’t mean to make me feel this way, but when they look at you like that, it just…it gets in my head. I start wondering if I´m good enough.”

Williams hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up. “You are good enough. You´re more than enough and you´re everything to me.”

Your eyes burned.

“They don’t know me,” he said gently. “But you do. You know the dumb stuff I watch when I´m sick, the way I get grumpy when I haven’t eaten. You´ve seen me at my worst and still love me. That means more than some girl laughing at my jokes for five minutes.”

You swallowed hard. “But they´re all so…”

“Älskling,” he interrupted you softly. “I don’t want them. I want you. Always.”

He leaned in and kissed you softly, slow and sure. His hand stayed on your waist, grounding you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I know I don’t say this nearly enough,” he murmured. “But I love you. Not because you came here with me tonight or because you look amazing in that dress…which you do by the way. But because you´re you and nothing any of them say or do is ever gonna change that.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep your tears from falling. “Do you really mean that?” you asked quietly.

“I swear on every hair product in the bathroom,” he laughed, and you joined in a second later.

He smiled at the sound. “Are you coming back inside?”

“Yeah,” you nodded slowly.

He took your hand again, and this time, you didn’t feel like you were trailing behind him. You felt like you were right where you belonged.

-------------

Inside, the event was still in full swing, but William didn’t drift back into the crowd.

Instead, he led you to one of the cocktail tables off to the side, ordered you a drink and sat beside you with his arm around your shoulder.

When people came up to him, he smiled, but he didn’t entertain them for long.

When another woman approached with that flirty tone, he didn’t give her the polite brush-off. He simply turned to you and kissed your cheek.

It was a small thing, but in that moment it felt big.

You saw the woman blink, then glance between the two of you before she smiled politely and excused herself.

William leaned into you. “Better?”

You leaned into him, heart full. “Much.”

--------------

Back in your hotel room later that night, everything felt quieter and softer, like the tension of the evening had finally melted away, leaving just you and William, as you were meant to be.

You kicked off your heels the second the door closed, groaning in relief. “My feet are killing me.”

William chuckled and dropped the room key on the table. “You looked incredible, though.”

You gave him a look. “My toes are genuinely numb. I think beauty might actually be pain.”

He laughed in acknowledgement while he was already slipping off his tuxedo jacket and loosening his tie. “Do you need help with the dress?”

You turned around without answering and he unzipped it slowly, carefully, almost sensually.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of your back, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

You didn’t stop him.

Once free, you let the dress fall to the floor and stepped out of it, his glaze roaming over your body until you tugged on the hotel robe.

William toed off his shoes and changed into sweats and a shirt while you whipped off our makeup and tossed your jewelry on the nightstand.

Finally, the two of you ended up on the bed. Him stretched out, you curled into his side with your legs draped over his.

You felt warm, safe and exhausted.

William pulled the blanket over you both, one hand resting on your thigh, the other scrolling through photos on his phone.

“Look at this one,” he said, holding up a picture of you two from the red carpet. “We look hot together.”

“Speak for yourself,” you laughed.

“Babe,” he groaned in disbelief, setting the phone down. “Don’t make me fight you on this again.”

You buried your face in his chest. “I know. I´m sorry. I just… it was a lot tonight. Seeing how people look at you and how those women flock to you. I just felt like I didn’t measure up…”

He shook his head immediately. “You don’t have to measure up to anyone. You´re not in competition.”

You looked up at him. “It´s hard not to feel like I am in those situations.”

Willima stat up straighter, shifting so you were facing each other fully. “Okay. Listen to me,” he started gently. “I love you. Not you on a red carpet or you in a dress. You. The one who is always honest with me and weird and overthinks everything while trying to be chill even when you´re clearly not. I love every part of that.”

Your eyes prickled again, but you smiled.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I know I´m used to this stuff. The events and the attention and the cameras, but I don’t care about that stuff. The second you walked away tonight; I couldn’t focus on anything else. I was standing there thinking where you went because I didn’t want to do any of it without you.”

You swallowed and then mumbled. “I didn’t want to make it about me.”

“You are it for me,” he said without hesitation. “You´re the best part of my life. These nights don’t mean anything without you in them.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed in the best way.

He reached for your hand, playing with your fingers as he spoke. “I´m never going to let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong. Especially not in a room I´m in.”

After a short pause he continued before you could interject. “You´re mine and I´m yours. That´s it. That’s the whole story.”

“William,” you breathed, voice tight with emotion.

He leaned in and kissed you. Soft, slow and grounding. The kind of kiss that said “I see you and I choose you. Again, and again.”

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours like it had on the balcony earlier in the night.

“You´re the only one I want to come home to. After a shitty practice or a bad game, after a long road trip or just dinner with the guys, for as long as you will have me.”

You blinked fast, but the tears slipped out anyway.

You let out a quiet laugh. “God, I´m a mess tonight.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “You´re my mess.”

You curled tighter into him, heart full in a way that had nothing to do with the champagne or fancy clothes or flashing lights.

It was just him, just the warmth of his body and the quiet of this moment along with the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his life.

This time you believed it. Not because he said it, but because you knew he really meant it.

[sweetfirebird]

Trump is super mad about basically everything right now and is now telling Senators they can't go on vacation until his bill passes. (Which I don't think he has the right to do, but it's a sign of his blustering toddler despot energy right now). Republican Senators are complicit and/or little scared babies so none of them are telling him to fuck off like a grown ass adult should when spoken to like that.

Most of them do not like this bill but they are cowards. NONETHELESS. Keep calling them. Every day. Especially the ones up for re-election next year, and especially in tight races.

And just throw shit out and see what works. Joni Ernst now has a Dem veteran running against her specifically because she's so awful and he is very popular already. Nathan Sage? I think. Mention him.

Susan Collins is VERY aware of the several strong Dem challengers popping up now to challenge her. She keeps sort of waffling (on brand for her) about maybe not running next year.

Thom Tillis is so, so, so aware of how much those Medicaid cuts are going to devastate his state of North Carolina. Push that fucking button. (He printed out little handouts about it to hand out in the Senate as if the other Republican Senators care about his state or him.)

Rand Paul says he won't vote on it. Encourage that. Even if his reasons are not about compassion.

Lisa Murkowski claims to be a scared little bunny. And she might be. She opposes the cuts but might vote for them anyway (scared little bunny). Press her not to.

Ron Johnson claims it doesn't have a chance of passing but keep calling him anyway.

Stuff like that. Mike Lee is probably going to vote yes on the whole bill, but he was harassed into walking back his support for the sale of public lands (for now). (Though it helps that the Senate Parliamentarian threw it out first, I believe.)

Also mention that the House Republicans are begging the Senate the toss out or change certain provisions because they now regret voting for it (but want the Senate to do their jobs for them. Weak ass bitches.)

You could also potentially mention how LOW Trump's numbers are on every single issue. His hold is tenuous. If they wanted to, they could break it and be heroes. (I mean not really but depending on the person, flattery works.)

Oh. And some people have started calling it The Murder Bill.

You do not need to live in a Senator's state to call that senator, though they will likely listen more to someone who is and who makes that clear. But what you want to do is point to actions you are preparing to take if they vote yes. Such as supporting another candidate with actual action and money. They are hoping people will forget by next year but oh no, Americans are paying attention now and we are organizing.

Trump might primary them but... he's gonna primary some of them anyway. And even if he does, the people are also gonna move votes away from them.

I've also been asking if they want this to be their legacy, voting for the murder bill that is going to devastate America for generations. Especially with the older Senators. lol We know how to edit wikipedia. They don't.