#their expressions are everything I cannot

[victorlincolnpine]

From what I've seen from my years of watching these people talk amongst themselves, radfems are deeply, deeply insecure about their femininity. To the point where this insecurity influences their perception of everything else (and I mean absolutely everything).

Porn is considered evil because it "alters your brain" because they feel like their minds are easily breakable by pictures on a screen.

Trans women are considered as "invading women's spaces" because to a radfem, their entire world is a balloon that collapses the instant something touches it's fragile shell.

Trans men are considered as "poor (specifically "little" or "young") women who let the trans ideology take their femininity away from them" because to a radfem femininity is this inherently fragile thing that is subject to the whims of others (especially men).

Enbies are considered as "abominations" because the radfem cannot conceive of a gender expression beyond the binary of "evil man vs fragile woman".

Radfems see with a fun house mirror lens on the world. Everything is bigger than it is and concepts are distorted beyond recognition.

I have literally seen radfems say that men are all "rapists in waiting", and I bet you money a radfem will take offense to this and then immediately confirm that this is exactly what they think.

So like, it's obvious to me reading the comments on my post that anti-porn people are largely like, afraid of porn. Like the concept of a sex video is really spooky to them. They're not making thoughtful critiques of the porn industry, which is genuinely a really fucked up industry, they're mostly just spooked by the concept of a sex video and what it could Do To You If You See It.

I said this in another post, but it's like, the difference between "a ton of coffee is produced using slave labor" (valid, important criticism of the coffee industry) and "coffee turns people into raving coffee addicts who forget how to interact with anyone because they're so obsessed with their coffee" (objectively not true, insane viewpoint).

It's literally just sex videos. They really cannot hurt you.

[cybermannete]

𝖡𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖩𝖺𝗑 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾..

I'm going to just let you know now to not expect a lot from him. If you have a crush on him, just be prepared for absolutely nothing. Not a lot of fun extravagant dates, surprises, nothing like that.

Jax isn't the guy to immediately crush on someone at first sight. That's just not who he is. After all, he enjoys getting a rise out of people and poking and prodding at what makes them tick. And that includes you.

The only time he'd show any kind of interest is if you seemed to not allow him to get under your skin. Just kind of ignore him, really, and he'll start to maybe have conversations with you. You know, the ones where he doesn't have that shit eating grin on his face.

If you somehow manage to get him to like you, you will become even more of a target for him to play with. Expect jokes, pranks, anything and everything. It's a test to see how much patience you have with him. But he will also try to make you laugh by messing with others. He considers it a win if he makes you laugh.

Don't expect a huge confession under the stars. Your relationship just kind of.. happens. An unspoken "hey we're together now" between you two. And everyone just understands that you both are off limits, though everyone cannot imagine how the *HONK* this happened. You just tell them "He makes me laugh."

Jax will open up to you eventually, and his attitude will soften. When you're in a bad mood, he'll just say *come on, you're prettier when you're smiling* to get a good laugh, before he sits down and he just.. talks. He'll blab on about an adventure he went on, or he'll sit and he'll shit on the other circus members. That's his way of showing he cares.

I know I said to not expect a lot, but if you look really closely at him from across the room, you'll notice his expression soften, and his smile become just a tad bit more genuine. ♡

[suzukiblu]

I don't know how to express this sentiment in a way that I am gonna be confident will make actual coherent sense to other people, but I just instinctively don't trust any media/comics/movies/TV/content that makes Tim Drake any more physically attractive than, like, a generic boy ( wonder ) next door might be. 🤨

Like . . . sir ma'am mx, that man cannot be PRETTY, you need a CHARACTER actor to play that man. That man needs to look like a wet pigeon and a Nokia cell phone got dumped in a centrifuge with a restraining order and an everything-is-legal-in-Jersey energy drink and then all had their composite parts reassembled into one(1) incredibly autistic skater dude with a camera who either has absolutely no idea he's autistic or self-diagnosed the day he heard autism existed and then decided it was irrelevant to his life and literally never thought about it again. We need to FULLY UNDERSTAND why Jason Todd and Damian al-Ghul/Wayne both took one look at this dude and got the ick while ALSO fully understanding why Stephanie Brown and Bernard Dowd both took one look at this dude and started decorating their "hear me out" cakes AND fully understand why a good eighty-five percent of the Batfam would pick him over Bruce ninety-nine times out of a hundred and another ten percent could prettily easily be convinced to AND why the literal entirety of the Titans once went supervillain for him.

( Young Justice is Just Like That, though; that one does not require any further understanding whatsoever. Like that one's just self-evident. )

[mswyrr]

1x08 has some beautiful and devastating character work for Mensah, in the writing and Noma's performance, which all leads up to her yelling at Ratthi and I want to go into that.

First of all, I read this moment as her sincerely (if also in the awareness that it's a bit silly) using the affectionate endearment Ratthi has come up with -- after finding out about the transponder, she's relieved that Murderbot has come through yet again. And NO, it's deeply unfair for her to later think of this bonding behavior as treating it like a "pet" -- that's a teammate with a team nickname! That's Ratthi literally doing *the same thing* he did when he started affectionately calling Gurathin "Gugu"! He's sweet and a bit oblivious but deeply caring and not treating Murderbot any differently as a bot than he'd treat a similar human person.

And then during the surgery, when she cannot help Gurathin, Murderbot steps up -- she's moved and also doubtful (she knows it so well by now! lol)

And then, well -- Gurathin finally found the pressure point to hit with her, the one piece of evidence that would make her feel she cannot continue advocating for Murderbot to remain part of the team. Gurathin is deeply in love with her, subconsciously jealous, and consciously convinced that Murderbot has to be driven away for the safety of Mensah and her people. (This is incredibly stupid and more likely to get them killed than Murderbot hanging around... but emotions don't actually make sense!) And he found it. This whole time, with Murderbot killing Leebeebee, with Gurathin's prior accusations and the team's doubts -- nothing shook Mensah's confidence in the bond she felt with Murderbot and the mutual trust they've shared. But this revelation does.

This is evident in the way she asks: it's not true? And Murderbot cannot tell her what she needs to hear.

Her expressions in light of it not being able to reassure her are heartbreaking

And then they really hit us in the feels -- they do a reversal of the scene from last episode, where she said that it would help if Murderbot put its helmet down so the group could see it as a person who is trying to help -- "because that's how I see you."

And here... she no longer fully believes in it and trusts her own judgment and sees it that way, she doubts that vision due to the evidence Gurathin just provided (intentionally hammering on her buttons -- her guilt and responsibility as a leader -- just as hard as he can, believing that it's right... but it was also cruel).

After Gurathin says his "maybe you're just defective" and always just moments away from killing line, Murderbot focuses on Mensah, hoping for the support she's provided -- seeking her judgment of it -- and it cannot find the acceptance it came to trust would be there. This time *Mensah* looks away. It puts the helmet back up because the person who invited it to put it down and be "part of the team"--whose trust and care it has bonded so deeply with-- isn't issuing that same invitation. It leaves because of *her* reaction.

It's a moment of heartbreak for both of them. But Mensah's leadership responsibilities mean everything to her. If it could truly go off on them at any moment--not in theory, because it is a being with free will, and all beings with free will could technically go of on each other at any time, but because it has a "defect"? She feels she has to put her people first -- she feels foolish and like she took risks she shouldn't have because she was following that deep sense of connection, trusting her feelings.

Even with all that, she's still torn -- and, *SHE* is the first one to say "We can't let it leave." While looking so desperately sad and aching.

But over the course of this conversation she firms her resolve of what she feels she has to do to care for her team. You can watch this happen in her body language and her face (Noma is such a talent!!)

And then Gurathin uses the effective tool he's found and drives it right into her heart again:

Not only can we see the shift in her expression and body language, but then she finalizes her forced resolve by literally *closing the door on it*. She's closing the door on her own heart and the parts of it that have bonded with this strange, moving, kind, dangerous being.

It is out of this emotional place--where Ratthi is actually speaking those parts of her heart--that she lashes out. Not because Ratthi did anything wrong! She's a complex human being, not a perfect Mom, not unable to be worked on and for someone to find a weak spot and crack it right open, as Gurathin did. With the best of intentions. Because everyone here is under tremendous stress -- and nobody has to be a villain for people to wrong and wound each other deeply.

She's yelling at herself more than Ratthi. She's yelling at the part of her heart that she sees in him in that moment (and that the writing invites us to see, beginning with the "Seccy" parallel early on) and that she's trying desperately to close the door on and keep it hammered shut even though it hurts terribly. It's excellent writing (the writers have a really nuanced grasp of psychology and the characters!) and acting on Noma's part. And I'm SO EXCITED to see where this goes in the final two episodes!

[toyboy-molloy]

Heinrich was in a right state. He was covered in blood due to a split lip as well as having a black eye, several cuts and severe bruising. His mother fussed over him, alternating between cuddling him and dabbing at his wounds with an old cloth. His father paced the room, flexing his hands in rage. Uncle Henry stood in the corner of the room, watching with a quiet anger.

"I want whoever did this executed," Jitka demanded of her husband, stroking her son's hair, "people cannot go around attacking nobles like this."

"He started it, Jitka," Hans had stopped pacing but was still clearly tense, "there will be punishment but he must set an example," he addressed Heinrich directly, then, trying to avoid sounding too much like Hanush, "you nearly killed the other lad, Heinrich. You should be behaving like a nobleman! This isn't like you."

The heir bowed his head and refused to explain himself, his fists clenched tightly in his lap. Henry could see the boy was struggling, holding back from telling them the full story.

"Heinrich, is everything okay?"

Jitka scoffed, turning to Henry, "stay out of this, Henry. This is a family matter. It's likely you he learned this kind of behaviour from. Punch first, ask questions later."

"Enough," Hans snapped, sensing Henry was about to retaliate. This wasn't about the three of them right now. He looked to his wife authoritatively, "you're upset, Jitka. Calm yourself and have someone send for the sawbones."

"But-"

"Now," Hans' tone left no room for argument but Jitka made sure he knew she was unhappy, storming from the room and slamming the door behind her. Once he was sure she was gone, Hans let out a deep sigh and moved to sit beside his son, "alright. She's gone. Tell us."

Heinrich looked up, his gaze flitting between his father and godfather. He wrung his hands nervously as he let out a sigh.

"Marek got what he deserved," Heinrich started, running a shaky hand through his hair, "he was talking shit, saying the reason I don't have siblings is because..." he hesitated and Henry didn't even need to hear him speak to know what he was about to say, "because you would rather fuck uncle Henry than mother. That you were bad Christians and sinners and dirty just because of who you choose to love," Heinrich breathed deeply, trying to calm himself as he looked at his damaged hands, "so I shut his stupid fucking mouth myself."

"Hopefully permanently," Henry sounded somewhat impressed. Hans chuckled despite himself. He quickly shook his head.

"No, we cannot encourage this behaviour," he wound an arm around his son's shoulder, pulling him close, "but this filthy sinner can have him thrown in the stocks. I'm sure he'd love that."

"What if he tells everyone?" Heinrich said, looking between them with a panicked expression, "they'll believe it because I attacked him."

"Yeah, sure," Henry chuckled, sitting the other side of Heinrich, "before your pa fell head over heels for me," Hans rolled his eyes but smiled fondly, "he had quite the reputation around here. Just ask the butcher."

"Very fucking funny, Henry."

"My point is," Henry said with a chuckle, ruffling the boy's hair sweetly, "it's going to be fine."

Heinrich nodded, reassured that he hadn't completely fucked things up and ruined the lives of his two most favourite men. He got to his feet painfully, hugging them both and leaving to find his mother and the physician.

Henry kept his eyes on the door as it swung shut behind Heinrich, his tone thoughtful, "is it appropriate for me to say it's really fucking attractive when you get all authoritative?"

"Always, dear Henry," Hans grinned smugly, patting Henry's knee, "always."

more heinrich fics

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

I. CANNOT. WITH HOW COOOL THIS ISS SISKEMWEIEIEJE WO I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

???? THE RENDERING? THE EVERYTHING? HIS EXPRESSIONS?? THE DETAIL? HOLY FUCK I COULD NEVERRRR

This was the piece I did for the @rise-fashion-zine! I made this a while ago, but I still really love how this came out! 🥹💖 I wanted to do a fun fashion mashup with Raph in a soft punk sort of style! He alters everything himself, obviously 🥳💖💕💕

If you're interested in the full zine, you can grab the Style on the Rise digital zine here!

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey - Part 2 (+18)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd Warnings: MDNI, Possessive!Paige, mild dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, explicit content A/N: Okay. So… this is the third bet I have lost...I might be a little superstitious, but every time I make one of these bets, Paige goes off… so honestly? I guess I cannot stop now.

This is a direct continuation of the first part. Please DO NOT read if you are under 18. This is pure smut. You have been warned.

Word Count: 3.2k words

The ride to the hotel was quiet. 

Azzi sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes trained on the glowing city lights flickering past the window. She was doing her best to look composed, but Paige wasn’t buying it, not with the way Azzi had been shifting in her seat every few blocks, thighs pressed tight, breath shallow. She kept sneaking glances at Paige’s hands on the steering wheel like she was imagining them already on her.

They didn’t speak at all, but they didn’t really need to. Azzi still felt watched, even when Paige wasn’t looking directly at her.

By the time they pulled into the underground garage, Azzi could barely sit still. She climbed out quickly, grabbing her own bag from the back seat, hoping the movement would hide how badly her legs were shaking. But her overnight bag was snatched from her shoulder before she could blink. Paige hooked it alongside her own gym bag, one in each hand.

"I could’ve—" Azzi started.

"No," Paige said, gently but without room for argument. She didn’t even look at her when she said it, she just started walking. Azzi followed.

They walked through the lobby side by side, but Paige didn’t take her hand, did not even press their shoulder together as they used to, but every inch of her still screamed her hold on Azzi.

The elevator doors slid shut behind them. Paige stepped in close, her presence settling around Azzi. One hand slipped beneath the hem of her top, resting low on her bare back, just above the waistband of her jeans.  It was warm and steady. She didn’t move it, just left it there, firm and claiming, like a quiet warning and a promise all at once.

Azzi felt her entire body shiver under the touch. That one silent gesture said everything: I’m here. I’m in control. And you’re mine.

By the time they reached the seventh floor, her mouth was dry. Paige guided her out, walking one step behind her until they reached the room.

When the door to the room finally clicked open, Paige stepped aside and held it wide before motioning her in with a soft gesture. It was polite, almost gentlemanly, and far too composed for what Azzi knew was coming. That contrast made her shiver all over again.

Paige’s hand brushed the small of her back again as she passed, but she didn’t linger.

Azzi walked in, heart hammering, the cool air of the room prickling over her skin. She stopped in the center, suddenly unsure of where to go, what to say. Paige stepped in after her and let the door close with a soft thud. 

Then silence.

Paige set the bags down by the dresser with quiet precision. She wasn’t rushing it, she took her time, every movement measured, fully aware of how the slow burn of it all was driving Azzi insane.

Then she turned and finally, Paige looked at her. Still no words, but the message in her eyes was clear. Azzi’s breath caught, stood frozen at the edge of the carpet, arms loose at her sides, eyes wide and locked onto Paige like she couldn’t look anywhere else.

Paige walked toward her slowly, each step intentional.

When she reached her, she cupped Azzi’s face with both hands, tilting her chin up with gentle control. Her thumbs brushed across Azzi’s cheeks, soft and grounding. For a moment, her expression softened, just enough to let something tender flicker through the tension.

"I missed you," Paige murmured. "You looked too good tonight. Everyone saw."

Azzi swallowed hard. "Just wanted your attention."

"You have it, princess," Paige said calmly. "And now you are going to prove that I have all of yours back."

She didn’t let go. Still holding Azzi’s face, Paige leaned in and kissed her slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world. Azzi whimpered into it, knees nearly giving out. She melted into Paige’s body without thinking, craving every inch of contact.

But Paige held her firmly in place. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head, keeping her close, steadying her.

When they finally pulled apart, Paige didn’t move far. She leaned in again, her breath hot against Azzi’s ear.

"First, you are going to take off your clothes.” she murmured. "One piece at a time. Slowly. Then you are going to fold them for me. And you don't get to take your eyes off me.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her head nodding before she even thought about it. "Yes."

"Yes what?" Paige asked softly, dangerous in the way she didn’t raise her voice at all.

"Yes, Paige," Azzi whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

"No. Try again, princess."

Azzi blinked up at her, breath trembling, skin flushed.

"Yes, daddy."

Paige smirked, her fingers dragging slowly up Azzi’s ribs, just under her shirt.

"Good girl,” she murmured, voice like velvet. "Now strip for me. And don’t you dare rush. I want to enjoy every second of it.”

Then she stepped back and sank into the armchair behind her like it was a throne. She was so casual but entirely in control. Eyes locked on Azzi, watching her like she was something to be unwrapped and savoured at the same time.

Azzi took a breath, hands already shaking as she reached for the hem of her top. The fabric stuck a little against her skin, whether from sweat or nerves, she couldn’t tell, but she peeled it off slowly, arms lifting over her head, deliberately drawing out the movement. She folded it methodically and placed it on the nearby dresser without breaking eye contact.

Paige quietly watched, her eyes tracking Azzi’s every movement. She leaned back in the chair, legs parted, hands resting on her thighs. At first glance, she seemed infuriatingly calm. But if you looked closer, you could see her jaw tight, her fingers tense. Every part of her screamed restraint, like it was taking her tremendous effort not to get up and put Azzi on her knees right then and there.

Azzi’s pulse thrummed in her throat as her fingers moved to the button of her jeans. She hesitated for a quick second and Paige’s head tilted in quiet warning. Azzi didn’t need to be warned twice. She unfastened them slowly, then pushed them down her hips, slow and obedient, until they pooled at her ankles.

Her body was already buzzing, skin hot, heart pounding as she bent to pick it up with trembling hands. When she straightened up, standing there in her black lacy bra and matching underwear, her legs felt like jelly. Paige’s eyes dragged over her, burning into the curve of her waist, the inside of her thighs.

"You are stalling," Paige said quietly.

Azzi flushed deeper. "I’m not—"

"You are," Paige interrupted smoothly. "Come on, beautiful. It's only me."

Azzi’s fingers moved to the clasp of her bra, fumbling only once before it came loose. She slid the straps down her arms and let the fabric fall, folding it quickly and placing it on the growing stack. Her breathing was ragged now, barely able to steady herself.

Paige leaned forward slightly. Her eyes raked slowly down Azzi’s body, predatory, until they landed on the tiny lace waistband hugging her hips.

"Those too," she said. "But slower."

Azzi swallowed hard. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid them down inch by inch. Over her hips, her thighs, her knees. She finally stepped out of them and folded the last piece of fabric neatly and placed it on top of the stack.

And then she stood there, completely bare, eyes fixed on Paige, heart pounding chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a sprint. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching for her touch. For Paige.

Paige stayed silent for a beat longer and then she rose from the armchair.

She walked slowly until she was toe to toe with Azzi again. Her fingers brushed lightly over Azzi’s hip, trailing upward until her hand settled at the base of her throat. Just resting there, thumb stroking the sensitive skin.

"You look so fucking pretty when you listen, baby." Paige murmured, dipping her head to kiss just beneath Azzi’s ear. "So desperate to behave after misbehaving so publicly."

Azzi whimpered, her knees nearly giving out. Paige caught her with ease. She reached for one of the throw pillows on the bed, dropped it on the floor. 

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat as Paige gently pressed her down, guiding her onto the pillow at her feet. She dropped to her knees with a shaky exhale, her skin already flushed, her chest rising and falling fast. Her hands instinctively moved behind her back, her spine straightening under the weight of Paige’s gaze.

"Now. You’re going to show me how much you missed me," Paige said, voice steady, deep with control. "And when you’re done, you are going to thank me for letting you."

Azzi’s lips parted, eyes wide, pupils blown. "Yes, daddy."

Paige smiled slow and wicked. "Good girl."

Paige stood tall in front of her, slowly peeling off her hoodie, revealing the toned lines of her stomach beneath a black sports bra, still damp from the game. She tossed it aside without a word, her eyes locked on Azzi the whole time.

"Hands stay behind your back. You don’t get to touch me yet."

Azzi nodded, lips parted. "Yes, daddy."

"Louder."

"Yes, daddy," she said again, breathier now, her voice trembling.

Paige let the moment sit between them for a beat. Then, with complete calm, she slipped off her bra and tossed it aside, standing bare from the waist up. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her briefs, dragging them down slowly, never rushing, knowing exactly what the anticipation was doing to the girl kneeling in front of her.

Azzi’s mouth watered, lips parting, already leaning in. But Paige stopped her.

"Wait."

Azzi froze. Paige reached out and cupped her face, tilting it up with careful hands, her thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, and finally to her lips. Each kiss was slow and intentional. 

Paige kissed Azzi like she was the most precious thing she’d ever had the privilege to hold.

This was her Paige, even in this dynamic. Because this wasn’t just about letting her take control, this was about them, their connection. 

And Paige, in all her quiet intensity, always made sure Azzi felt that before anything else.

Then finally, Paige shifted her weight, hiked one leg up on the edge of the bed next to them, opening herself just enough, and looked down at her.

"Now."

Azzi moved like she was pulled, her hands still behind her, mouth open, eyes never leaving Paige’s. She kissed the inside of her left thigh first, then higher, then again, until Paige let out a low breath and tilted her hips forward slightly.

The first swipe of Azzi’s tongue made Paige's knees buckle.

"Fuck," Paige whispered, one hand flying back into Azzi’s hair, tightening just enough to ground herself, the other resting on her shoulder. "Just like that, baby. Just like that."

She moved slowly at first, tracing the sensitive skin with delicate precision. Paige’s hand tightened in her hair more, still not yanking, just holding her there. Claiming her.

Azzi moaned against her, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it. The taste of her, the scent of her, the fact that she had the privilege of being here with her, like this. She licked again, firmer now, and Paige’s hips rolled forward instinctively once again, breath catching.

Azzi found her rhythm fast, pressing in close, licking slowly, then deeper, tongue circling and pushing, confident and so goddamn hungry.  Paige looked at her the entire time. Watched Azzi hold eye contact, watched her whimper softly against her, watched her work for it.

"That’s it," Paige said, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re gonna make me come like this, princess. On your knees, being so good for me."

Azzi moaned at the praise, thighs squeezing together involuntarily, the vibrations dragging a curse from Paige’s lips.

Paige tried to stay composed, but Azzi knew her tells. How her hand tensed a split second before her hips started to move, how her breath hitched when Azzi hit just the right spot. Her head tipped back, lips parting, the muscles in her stomach twitching under the strain of holding on.

"F-fuck, baby," Paige gasped. "You missed me that bad, huh?"

Azzi didn’t ever want to stop. She licked, sucked, circled her tongue just the way Paige liked, dragging her release out. Letting her feel every second. She wanted Paige to fall apart for her.

And Paige did. Her thighs shook as she came, breath catching in her chest as her whole body seized with it. Her orgasm rolled through her, wave after wave, her fingers gripping Azzi’s hair as she let out a low, shattered moan. Azzi’s name caught in her throat.

Azzi held her through it, mouth still soft and tender, licking her through the aftershocks with the kind of gentleness that made Paige’s knees buckle. When it was over, Paige exhaled hard, her legs shaking. She reached down, cupping Azzi’s face again and lifting her chin.

Azzi looked up at her, lips swollen, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with pride and want.

"Thank you, daddy," she whispered, voice raw.

Paige leaned down, kissed her slowly before guiding her to stand. She held her face again, kissed her jaw, her cheek, her throat. Then she pulled back just enough to speak, calmer now, but no less serious.

"You were a good girl for me," she murmured. "But that was just your apology. Now I am going to remind you exactly why no one else gets to have their name on you."

Azzi barely registered when it was over. Somewhere between her final sobbed please and the moment Paige finally let her come, her body had shattered. Her final release wasn’t loud, just this soft, broken gasp and the way her hands clawed uselessly at the sheets. And then everything blurred.

The next thing she felt was Paige’s weight beside her, warm and grounding, arms sliding beneath her body with a practiced gentleness. Paige gathered her up like she was something precious. Something fragile and spent and too soft to be left alone for even a second. Azzi melted into her without a sound, breath still catching in quiet aftershocks, her cheek pressed to the damp curve of Paige’s collarbone.

"I got you, baby," Paige whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I’ve got you."

Azzi nodded faintly. She couldn’t move yet, and didn't really want to either. Her whole body felt like it was buzzing from the inside out, every inch of her tingling. She curled in tighter, a tiny, whimpering sound escaping her lips as Paige pulled the blankets up around them and adjusted her grip so Azzi’s thighs were tucked over her hip.

She was still shaking slightly which Paige noticed right away.

"Okay, okay," she soothed, voice low and steady. "You did so good for me, princess. So fucking good. I have got you now."

Her fingers moved to Azzi’s curls, combing through them slowly, while the other hand rubbed soft circles into her back. Azzi let out a long, shaky exhale and tucked her face further into Paige’s neck, mumbling something that sounded like "don’t go."

"Not going anywhere," Paige promised instantly. "You are mine. You did everything I asked. You were perfect, baby."

Azzi hummed at that, dazed and glassy-eyed as she finally looked up at Paige, still glowing with a post-tease flush and that vulnerable kind of haze that only came when Paige pushed her right to the edge. Her eyes were a little watery, her voice was small.

"I really missed you, Paige."

Paige’s face softened completely, she leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose, her cheek, finally her forehead, whispering, "I know. I missed you more, Azz."

Azzi just sighed again and clung tighter, fingers fisting the hem of Paige’s shirt like she couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. As always after such intense sessions, she was needy in that soft, boneless way that only came when she’d fully let go.

Paige reached behind her, snagged a water bottle from the nightstand, and held it to Azzi’s lips.

"Come on, princess. Just a few sips for me. We are both dehydrated."

Azzi groaned a little, but obeyed, letting Paige tilt the bottle until she’d had enough. Then she collapsed again, limp and satisfied and entirely wrapped around her girlfriend.

"I will not be able to walk tomorrow. I hate you," she whispered with a dopey smile.

Paige chuckled softly. "No, you don’t."

"…I hate you a little."

"I am sure you’ll love me in the morning."

Azzi snuggled in even closer, lips brushing lazily against Paige’s neck. "I already do."

Paige smiled, arms tightening, heartbeat steady against Azzi’s cheek.

And for a long time, they didn’t speak. Just laid there in the quiet, tangled up in each other, the tension finally gone, the trust between them humming in every gentle touch.

There were still probably threads of red jersey discourse all over Twitter. People making assumptions, joking, picking sides. Still those who said Paige didn’t post enough, or that Azzi was too loud about how much she loved her. Still those who doubted it was real just because it wasn’t curated for them.

But here, wrapped in each other’s arms, that noise didn’t matter.

Paige shifted slightly, only to press a kiss into Azzi’s hairline, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, "You are mine, Azzi. Always."

Azzi nuzzled closer with a small, sleepy sound. "Always yours."

They didn’t always get it perfect. Sometimes Azzi pushed buttons on purpose. Sometimes Paige shut down too quickly. And God, they still had so much learning to do. But they chose each other and kept choosing each other.

Azzi drifted off first, one leg still hooked over Paige’s hip, her hand tucked against Paige’s chest like she was anchoring herself there. Paige watched her for a while, her own body finally relaxing now that Azzi’s breathing had slowed into something steady and safe.

They didn’t need to perform for anyone else. Didn’t need approval or permission or perfect photos on the internet.

They had each other, that was the promise they kept in the dark, beneath the noise. No matter the day, the score, the headlines, or the doubts.

They were each other’s home. Always.

[lunabrothersblogs]

to the brothers, Are you guys still emotionally attached to the Prototype?

There's a startling silence. In truth, none of them know what to say to such a question at first. Each of the three would look at each other at first, before moving to give an answer. Their expressions were quite mixed.. with Gemini being the calmest.

However, both Lavender and Plush looked visibly distraught. In spite of this, answers were to be given regardless.

Gemini would begin, wanting to give the others a bit of time to prepare their response. Putting a clawed hand underneath his chin, he looks away. He's pondering.. as if a bit reminiscent, but unsure. Sure, you could tell there's some less than... enthusiastic feelings.. have things calmed down where he's from? He says..

Wait, hold on. Twins? Did you hear that right? Never mind that, but he was fine with the idea of dying altogether. Was he truly the calm one here.. or had he already accepted everything from the start.

He looks at Lavender, who looks like they were going to have a panic attack. The other large cat was trying to hug himself for comfort, their eyes watered as they stared away from the camera. This.. this was deeply troubling for him.

You can almost hear it in his words.. the words of regret and denial that seeped through every expression of his voice. The cat's answer is..

".. I shouldn't have foolishly believed in his idea of "freedom".. to him, saving means to kill," he added. His body was shaking like a rustling bush, being blown by the wind as harshly as possible. And those demons? He may just be talking about himself and his former god.

There is no mercy for the wicked, of course. If there were, he wouldn't be feeling like he was such a mess.

But then? Plush. Plush is the only one looking at the camera. They're staring at you, their pupils shrunken, almost as if there were daggers piercing your body through those tear soaked eyes. And those tears? They're black.. how strange.

But there isn't a time for you to think about the semantics.. while short, their answer is as thought provoking as the others.

You can feel how tense they are. The simple idea of the angel defeating his lord sounds impossible. Improbable, even.. if they could, they'd perhaps try and prevent that from happening again.. and yet they know it's too late for that.

Yet, it would perhaps hurt the others to know of such a lingering attachment. The angel CANNOT win.. that is at least what they wish to believe.

Though, despite all of this, one person had something to say. Through all of the important speaking, Violet would be standing there.. extremely confused. It was as if he heard something that sounded.. admittedly a little too unbelievably to consider being real.

All he had to ask was..

And the room went. Dead. Silent.

A sour subject for each respective "toy" involved. A topic none of them wish to go into, no matter their views. Perhaps, it would take a while for them to get over their respective gods..

Or never at all.

[yannaryartside]

About not respecting your audiences intelligence and time

It’s so fucking funny that the show is failing and getting dragged.

I mean it. It’s so funny to me. Not out of spite (well kinda) but this is not a shipper note. It’s about author intention vs audience.

This show was praise by critics and audiences. The dialogue, the themes, everything was raw and interesting, but mostly, intentional. I’ll say both in s1 and s2 there is not a second waisted

But this last two seasons could have been one. Definitely.

There is also the shipping component. I was talking to @alwaysshipping1 about the possibility of sydcarmy being created later in the development of the show. I do think Sydney was introduced like a possible love interest. But I think storer was not planning having Carmy end up with anybody when he pitched the show, the idea of sydcarmy could have come from executives as a way to bait audiences into watching such a emotional heavy show (it definitely feels like baiting right now)

Let’s pretend for a minute Claire is supposed to be Carmy’s endgame. I don’t believe it but lest go with it. She maybe have been written badly and then acted awfully by Molly. I liked her previous work so if she is not indeed playing Claire as insufferable as she comes across, then…

At some point and author has to be mature enough to revise their capacity of delivering the message they intended. If is not clicking, rubbing it all again is always gonna feel like betraying your audience intelligence. You cannot make fixes to a character after having them for almost 20 episodes, unless you address the things that were previously misrepresented by your writing, that has happened. They stir into making Claire feel shallow/sus for two seasons and then they make her a lot more human (at least to me) this season, and still feels wrong because the things that bothered me about their relationship are never address as bad things. And yet, they only managed to make her more human by her expressing her hopes and fears about their relationship, her personality is still shallow as fuck.

But lest pretend there is Claire twist coming. Maybe she hooked up with Michael idk. Maybe she is indeed a narcissist and that’s why she sometimes displays lacks of empathy (seeming shallow) and has this need to be pleasant with everyone out of the need of being praise.

Even though, this show took the indulgence of waisting people’s times. Maybe the network got greedy. Maybe Storer wanted to display more symptoms of cptsd or complete what I suspect is a “suicide arc” in the sense Carmy had to loss all the parts of himself that he used to hide from his issues, the job, his skill, the relationship, his family. I have more thoughts in that but to get to the point…

Mental health arcs are incredibly difficult but they are manageable. This show is not failing because is about mental health, it’s because things that have been set since s1 and s2, the cleaner in writing, have still not been closed or properly address. Blaming the shippers for hating the show is bonkers, is not like Ted lasso was bagged because tedbecca didn’t happen, The Punisher was still top tier even when the main ship was set as platonic for a fourth season.

Mr Robot was a show about a hacker with extreme mental issues and a victim of CSA, and the show was fucking excellent, also without delivering on a promised ship. Plenty of sydcarmys have said: coupling characters doesn’t have to be the point

You are supposed to give payoffs and promises constantly. Again, this last two seasons could have been one. And the audience must be respected, if you had to rewrite Claire, you had to do it fully. All the things that the audience loved were eliminated or disorganized and the things people disliked are getting even more featured.

Even if all the issues with the character do have payoff, THEY ARE BASICALLY LEAVING IT ALL to the fucking last minute. A whole season of all payoff. How was the audience ever gonna be willingly invested in that?

[biancasaidstfu]

I don’t get that style of dancing but it’s not like she’s pulling it out of her a**. It’s a style that exists today for a lot of dancers.

I'll give my opinion here as someone who used to do ballroom, folk, and modern dance. I agree, the styles of some dances I see now are absolute shit. It exists but it's a disservice to dancers. I don't hate her but I don't think she's being taught properly.

A lot of what we see passing as "dancing" is really poor choreography and clothing illusion.

1. The clothing illusion. Unlike Ballet, ballroom, etc, a lot of the dancers wear joggers or baggy clothes like Antonia. The idea is to have loose clothing so movement is not restricted but the loose clothing hides flaws in technique. True dance teachers will not allow certain types of clothing because if they cannot see the techniques they can't help dancers fix it. Poor technique does not help the dancer improve and it can also cause injury. For example, sometimes when her steps look a bit off, to and untrained eye it might not be noticed but dancers can see if it's a missed beat or if she did not extend hand or leg with the correct posture and formation or if she's trying too hard to count the steps rather than just let the movement guide her.

2. Bad choreography. A lot of those dances she does is amplified by tiktok shit choreography. Ballroom dance, Ballet and other types have strict movements more so than interpretive/modern/contemporary dance but the one principle with all of them is you dance on the beat. What I see passing off as dancing is doing it on the words of the song and not the beat/melody/instrumental of the song. They should be able to dance the same song with words or without words and still keep the beat, pace and fluidity of movement. So it looks sometimes like they fight the beat instead of move with it. They also dance like they are trying to keep count of steps rather than dance listening to the beat/melody of the song and dancing on that, letting the songs or instruments guide the movement so it is more natural and fluid. They also force the emotions. Sometimes a dance does not need all the face expressions, focusing on one thing too much can sacrifice the technique and way the dance is supposed to be.

Bad choreography is also when they do the Britney Spears type of 1, 2 lock steps for everything, looking like a scarecrow running behind chickens, flailing body parts all over, rather than feel the song and then do choreography appropriately. They do a lot of repeated stiff steps with lack of fluidity and a lot of popping body parts to look edgy or like they have control of the dance but they actually look like they can't control the movement. Also they learn by watching someone else dance a move or two, sometimes that works but sometimes the explanation behind the dance is needed. You need to understand the dance, feel the dance, to emote the dance, to actually dance it naturally. Even freestyle dance looks stiff because they focus on using repeated motions and TikTok viral moves.

This among other things is why she looks like she forces to dance. They aren't being taught proper techniques and dance is also a lot of listening to your body and the song you are dancing to. It won't look natural the more the choreography looks forced. A side by side of professional dancers vs dance class in a studio dancers posing as professionals will show you the difference. The teacher has to want to make sure it's done correct and the dancers have to also try to get better rather than try to be the most edgy or exaggerated.

This was a very interesting read!!

I love to hear perspectives of people with experience in these types of careers/industries/hobbies. It’s very enlightening!

[ghostreadingz]

# ⋆｡°✩ 👻 PAP :: What do you need to let go of?

take everything with a grain of salt. this is a general reading, and i am not a licensed therapist. as always - take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

masterlist | ko-fi | paypal

. . . want to book a reading? check my carrd <3

Take a deep breath, and pick the pile that you feel drawn to.

⋆｡°✩🕷️⊹ ࣪ ˖ PILE 01.

hello, pile one. you've been holding yourself back, haven't you? why? are you afraid? what are you afraid of? do you believe that you are not capable? are you scared of failure? of not achieving enough? stop worrying. put it aside. take a deep breath. in, out. feel that negative energy pour out of you.

you are holding yourself back. you have been neglecting your potential. perhaps, you have even been neglecting taking care of yourself. that isn't good, is it? no. stop self sabotaging, alright? you may not even be fully aware that you are doing it. perhaps you are so used to listening to doubt that it is second nature to you.

despite this... i get the feeling that you are aware of this. you know, wholeheartedly, that you are the cause of your drawbacks. this does not make you at fault, as you always have time to improve. but you need to take that step. you need to trust yourself — the self that is excited and confident. not the 'self' that is scared and doubtful.

you cannot achieve new things, or anything at all, if you're constantly plagued by "what if". so cut it out, and take that leap of faith. let go of your fear. let go of the doubt. let go of the negativity.

there are opportunities waiting for you. so, so many opportunities, shimmering on the horizon. this is your sign to run for them. forget your fear. ignore it. scream at it that you CAN and WILL do so much more. 

you have big ambitions. big goals. stop confining yourself to small tasks; you are capable of so, so much more, if you just let yourself try. just go for it. you'd be so surprised with how much you can achieve. it's time to nurture your passions (and maybe your wallet, LMAO).

let go of your fears, and instead embrace yourself. generally, it does feel like there's a lack of nurture being directed towards yourself, and that may be what causes your fear. so, direct some of your warmth inwards, and watch yourself bloom.

ASSOCIATIONS . . . the letter h. (black) roses. mice. "jessica". blue. artist. sniffing. daisies. cloaks.

⋆｡°✩🕷️⊹ ࣪ ˖ PILE 02.

i believe you may have experienced something recently which has filled you with bitter emotions. something has come to an end, and you're not particularly happy about it. i also get the feeling that this something ended in a way that was not pretty; it was unnecesarily drawn out (at least in your eyes). this conflict was unfair and chaotic.

i think some people in this pile may have been having this conflict with a friend/lover/family member. you were aware of their suppressed thoughts/feelings, but they refused to speak up until it eventually blew up & now your relationship is damaged. if this specific part resonates, great! if it doesn't that's okay.

you're holding onto some negative emotions, but trying to mask them. you may be trying to cope by putting on a façade of confidence and 'cool'ness, but that does not serve you. your feelings may be overwhelming you currently, but you're not exactly letting them out, either.

i'm also getting a message about financial control. don't splurge just because you can. yes, it is nice to treat yourself, but do not fall into the trap of spending your savings. make sure to maintain your goals financially. you might be feeling anxious/frustrated about financial issues.

my deck believes that you need to let go of these feelings. similarly to pile 1, it is expressing how these negative emotions don't serve you. if you believe in karma, then know that karma is coming for the person that harmed you & that you can rest easy. if you do not believe in karma, then just acknowledge that actions have consequences & you will come out of it alright.

it is entirely possible that some of you in this pile were the ones on the opposite end of this. some of you were potentially the ones who were "in the wrong", per se. if you reflect on this conflict and truly think about it, and come to the conclusion that you WERE being unfair, then apologize. it is never too late to do so. please understand that making mistakes does not make you a bad person, though. things happen, we are not perfect. do not let this reading cause a spiral.

whichever one of the roles you played in this conflict, my deck wishes for you to accept that the situation/relationship has come to an end. you must let go of it & the emotions that you've been holding on to. that's all.

ASSOCIATIONS . . . hourglasses. moth. petal. crouching. the letter N. daffodils. diamonds. capes. online shopping/amazon.

⋆｡°✩🕷️⊹ ࣪ ˖ PILE 03.

you have been stuck on something for some time. you may be in a bad situation, or struggling with a choice, or even both. i believe you may be trying to escape this struggle/decision instead of confronting it. i feel as if escapism might be quite a big comfort for you.

you may or may not use things of a more,, nsfw nature as a way to distract yourself. that is all i feel comfortable with expressing. anyway, aside from that, you may distract yourself with people, or by getting high. typically, you don't like to run head-first into big problems.

unfortunately, these coping mechanisms are exactly what is keeping you stagnant. you need to take a deep breath, find confidence in yourself, and start on your journey out of this situation / through the decision. you need to let go of your 'need' to escape. you may have gotten so used to just doing it that you don't realize how much it may have held you back.

anyway, you need to trust yourself entirely. your intuition can & will guide you if you let it. you may also struggle with indecision, so you feel at a genuine loss of what to do. this indecision could be caused by a feeling that there are 'too many unknown factors', or alternatively 'too many possible outcomes'.

just relax. trust your gut. you have got this. you deserve to be & feel confident, but unfortunately, to do that, you will need to confront the things you are trying to escape from. you cannot run forever, especially if you want to grow. but i believe in you.

ASSOCIATIONS . . . dolls. bows. blue butterflies. nathan. music. smoke. dice. quiet sighs.

⋆｡°✩🕷️⊹ ࣪ ˖ PILE 04.

you are extremely talented in a certain domain - or you COULD be. but your motivation is running low right now; you have so much passion, but so little drive. genuinely, you have such big dreams & goals for yourself but you aren't commiting to actually achieving them.

you may dream of fame, or wealth. this is not a bad thing, of course, just a descriptor. perhaps you want to be acknowledged as a talented artist. maybe your drself is a singer/actor. maybe you strive to be rich or famous in your cr. honestly, there is mixed energy in this pile.

you get overwhelmed sometimes. perhaps by fear. perhaps by insecurity. perhaps by imposter syndrome. whatever it may be, this overwhelming feeling is something that also contributes to the lack of effort you are putting into your domain.

you cannot reap any rewards if you do not sow the seeds first. it is difficult for me to say what you need to let go of specifically - it could be procrastination. it could be laziness. it could be fear. there are many general contributions to demotivaion. so, this might be a bit vague / generic in advice, but i will do my best.

do not give up. it is okay to be low on motivation, but it is not okay to completely throw your passions away because of that. you're capable of so much if you just push yourself to do it. do not doubt yourself, & stand proud above those who doubt you.

you need to love & support yourself, but it's also okay to seek support from friends. let go of fear, self doubt, and push yourself forward. do your passion because you love it, not because you'll get something out of it or because people expect you to. do it for YOU.

honestly, the 'advice' section of this pile was short. the most information i got was about the members of this pile.

ASSOCIATIONS . . . layla. bats. snake bites. hotels. microphones. polka dots. amethysts. candle.

Thank you for reading <3

[guillotinesandroses]

Artistic Expression; Vil Schoenheit + Genderfluid Reader

He has always valued fairness above all else, in every sense of the word. You have always been a little more of a rough-and-tumble kind of person. Perhaps it is true, all that they say about opposites attracting. In spite of all your differences and occasional arguments, you find yourselves back by each other's side before long. Together you are completed, simple as that. 

His brows furrow as he scoffs, adjusting your uniform once again. You roll your eyes as his hands work near your chest. To anyone else, the pining glances and softness between your glares would have been obvious. Even so, you continue the same way as always. He comments on your rough appearance, a disapproving frown on his face. 

A harsh retort falls from your lips, calling him out on barely being alive. Over time, these jabs have grown crueler and crueler. Still you stumble back together, whether by fate or loneliness. Now as you stand in the rain, a particularly bad fight from yesterday lingering in your mind, you wonder why you bothered to go to NRC to begin with. It is a prestigious school, but since your friendship with Vil is already so strained, you cannot help from wondering whether it was such a good idea after all. Being stuck on the past lights a flare of irritation within you; forgetting should be easier. 

A choked sob snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, having thought you were alone. Much to your shock, you find Vil sitting in the mud with dirtied clothes.  

"What are you doing here?" 

"None of your concern, potato." He wipes his eyes, but it is not as if you could have discerned tears from the raindrops anyway. His makeup remains smeared nonetheless. "I was meant to search for potion ingredients before the rainstorm, then I fell. Not as if you could understand why I'm in such disarray." 

"I guess that's true." For a while you stand in silence as he collects himself. Wondering how you could distract him from this, you smirk. "Hey, I got an idea. How about we have a good old mud-fight, like we used to?" 

His nose scrunches in repulsion. "Have you lost your mind?! There's no world in which I'd partake in such nonsense!" 

"Your makeup and clothes are already ruined, aren't they?" You chuckle, offering your hand to him. "C'mon, be alive with me for today, won't you?" 

He stands muddied in the pouring rain. His purple, painted lips hang open in utter bewilderment. No words fall out as he gapes like a fish out of water before he finally sighs. Expensive robes shift as his shoulders relax. Your brows raise in surprise and excitement as his manicured hand reached toward yours. 

You pull him in, then immediately slather mud over his cheek. He seethes as you dart backwards with a cheeky grin. Thus begins a familiar back and forth of hiding and striking. Eventually, he gets the better of you and puts a stop to the game. Vil pins you to the dirt, gold and violet, wet locks of hair framing your face.

Your breath catches in your throat, he looks like a masterpiece as usual. Face heating up, you avert your gaze. He picks up on your mental absence. "What is it, potato? Had your fun already?" 

His breathing is the one to pause as you brush a strand of his muddied blonde hair out of his face. Absolutely enamored by his presence, you realize you have not looked at him like this in a while. "You really do work yourself to the bone. I've been... worried. As of late it seems like it's gotten a lot worse." 

"I don't want you to lose yourself because you feel like you aren't doing enough. I know the standards you hold yourself to. Though I... admire it, I can tell you're tired, mentally." 

"Your worrying may be sweet, though it is unnecessary. I can take care of myself, thank you very much." 

"I know. I just... miss this. I miss moments where everything didn't need to be picture perfect." 

He falls silent for a while. You get up when he indicates he is going to stand. About to turn away, you are suddenly tugged back. 

"I'm not letting you slip away this time." He grabs your wrist with a so firm it surprises the both of you, acrylics unintentionally digging into the skin. He offers no apology aside from an ashamed look cast to the side before locking eyes with yours again. "I entertained your immature desires for once. You will partake in what I wish to do now." 

You sigh, but agree to his demand. For the most part the both of you remain awkwardly silent as he washes your hair and cleans your face. The bath was relaxing, but your eyes avoid each mirror. You enjoy being around him, but cannot stand seeing yourself next to him. Only when he sits you down to remove your face mask does he talk again. 

"It isn't only due to keeping up appearances that I enjoy taking care of my own. I find it enjoyable and relaxing." 

"Each to their own," you mutter.

"Perhaps in terms of makeup, but it shouldn't be with self-care." 

"What do you mean? I do take care of myself." 

"Barely." He scoffs. "You always assume no one could see you as beautiful. That's why you let yourself rot, and you refuse any help. It's infuriating to watch such potential go to waste, you foolish thing." 

"Compared to you, what am I?" You huff. He pauses as you continue. 

"You're an actor, a model, a celebrity. You have been long before we reached adulthood. All these years I've watched you become more and more."

Taking in a breath, your chest weighs heavy as your frown deepens. "I know I should be happy... inspired, but nothing I try ever works or sticks. I can't become anything... so at least I can be happy and take it easy." 

"That sort of perspective is precisely why you stay stuck in place." He grabs you by the chin, squishing your cheeks. "You claim to be happy? Oh please, you may be free but 'happy' is not a word I would describe you with." 

You blink before he forces you to face the mirror you have avoided. "Look at yourself. All I did was clean out your hair and moisturize your face." 

You barely recognize yourself, reflection glowing with beauty. Eventually you chuckle, which turns into a short laugh, "...we should have had this conversation a while ago." 

"I must agree. Though I take it this means we understand one another better now?" 

"It does. Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry for yesterday... and everything before that." 

"Likewise. I will be more considerate of your feelings in the future as well." 

"Pinky promise?" You hold out your finger with a goofy grin. 

He sighs, but the exasperated smile reveals his true thoughts. He connects your fingers, speaking in a soft tone. "Pinky promise." 

[threegoldfish]

Steven has never had the opportunity to ever go through that kind of conversation - to face someone who listens with such intent, just to offer words in return that... that, well, give Steven so much more than he thought words ever could. He's never gone to therapy before, never thought he'd need it - if anything he'd considered to go to a GP perhaps, to try and let them figure out why he's doing the sleep-walk thing - but now that he's here, even though he cannot remember how and when he'd ended up inside this psychiatric hospital... he realizes that therapy might be the right thing for him.

He's never felt so seen, so heard; While he's not sure how much of the whole topic really connects to his being-up-at-night-issue, he supposes that, maybe, one thing could led to another, in a way he's unable to see just yet.

He's got social anxiety, apparently, and... that makes sense. Steven's not really read about anything in that regard, or other mental illnesses... but the more they talk, the more Doctor Harrow offers insight into what might be Steven's psyche, the more it makes sense, as said. The more he's able to agree, to see that this might be something, yeah, that... that stuff is going on there.

Perhaps Steven isn't stupid, isn't a hopeless case, a weirdo - maybe he's got social anxiety. Maybe he speaks French while everyone else speaks English. Maybe he just needs to figure himself out a bit better, maybe he needs to work with this - face his social anxiety, whatever else there could be, and maybe it could also offer an explanation to why he sleep-walks and why he oftentimes seems to just... wake up at random places, doesn't remember what had happened before, experiencing blackouts.

Maybe he also just needs to find the right people to connect with - others that speak French rather than English. ...Maybe Marc could be one of them. Maybe he is speaking a bit of French, at least?

A hum, a dark gaze flicking over to that little succulent as well, taking in the sight of it. A few moments pass in which he doesn't say anything; A lot of thoughts race inside Steven's mind, ping-ponging from one side to the other, and it's a little overwhelming, really. But it's also very... eye-opening. Causes him to feel a bit in awe, almost, about... everything.

"!---Y'know, doctor Harrow..." A breath is being taken before Steven's gaze trails back to meet the other's own, expression still very open and vulnerable, anxious, but also... a bit more at ease. "I think... I think I've never... talked to anyone like this. Like, ever. I think no one has said so many things to me, and... gave me so much to think about. I never considered anything of that to be the case - or to even exist - and... it feels... it feels--- good, really, to... to know that someone understands what I feel. Why I might be doing things the way I do."

A swallow, with Steven smiling after another second passes - not as bubbly and giggly as usual, much more soft, but nevertheless sincere and heartfelt.

"Maybe... Maybe I can actually connect to Marc. Y'know, his reply was... nice. A little short, but... I think it read very friendly, and... as if he's looking forward to hearing from me again!" A nod, with that smile widening a bit, hands folding on Steven's chest as he sits a bit more upright. "---I was already worrying about being too much, or... to mess it up. But... maybe that's just a feeling and not a fact? Y-you said that, yes, that... that feelings aren't necessarily facts. And... well, if I try to see this from a very, uhm, not-feeling-perspective, I... I don't think Marc has written anything that would indicate that he's annoyed by me. Which means I'm just afraid that it could possibly happen, but there's no proof of it having happened!"

Whether Steven will be able to always decipher his feelings from an actual fact, he doesn't know. But having Marc as an example here helps him to use his newly gained knowledge - the advice he's been given - and put it into action, so to speak. Maybe he can hold onto it a bit better from now on, also do the same when he's in the community room doing puzzles.

"---Thank you." Another inhale, a series of tiny nods, dark eyes on that succulent again. "I'm... not sure I'd be able to see all of this, hadn't I... ended up in here. Maybe... maybe I need the help, yeah. Like, more help than just... for the sleep-walking thing." A hum, a shrug. "Maybe it's all connected, in a way. Maybe I'm not, like, dense or something - maybe there's just more going on. Anxiety. French. Yeah."

...

---A sudden chuckle, amused, with Steven's brows rising as his attention is back on Harrow, accompanied by a finger pointing at himself.

"I speak French, by the way. Like, fluently. ---Je ne l'ai pas parlé depuis un certain temps, mais je pense que je m'en sors plutôt bien quand il s'agit de ça, non ? ...Oh gosh, that feels odd! No one ever wants me to speak French; I do own a collection of French poems, so... there's that, at least. Read them all."

Arthur nodded as Steven spoke, just enough to let the man know he was truly listening to him. He wanted the silence to be warm, comforting; it was something that was a necessity. Listening was always a necessity. 

His fingers tapped against the edge of his notebook for a moment, before stilling again. “It’s very common for people who struggle with small talk to also feel like they’re… fundamentally incompatible with others. Like there’s something wrong with you, or something that’s ‘off’. Misaligned. But… Steven, I would like you to imagine this for me.” 

He shifted back just slightly, leaning comfortably in his chair. There was a reason to it, of course - leaning back gave Steven space, and made it feel less like Steven had to believe him without question. 

“Imagine that you speak French,” he offered. “Fluently. Beautifully. But almost everyone around you speaks English. You try to connect with them in French - and it is passionate, it is earnest - but they don’t understand. They decide not to respond. And eventually, sure, they’d drift away.” He stayed holding Steven’s gaze, gently. “It would be very easy for you to think that something is just wrong with you. Maybe that your voice is off-putting, or the sound of your words annoys people. But the truth is… you were just speaking in a different language. One that fewer people are fluent in.” 

He inhaled softly, leaning back in, hands folded gently on the desk. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you try to connect. I think you’ve been surrounded by people who don’t know how to respond, or don’t really want to learn. And when that happens enough, you probably do feel unreachable. That it’s not the language, it’s the speaker. But that’s just a lie that you’re telling yourself. It’s a very convincing one - but it’s still just a lie.” 

He adjusted his seating just a bit, briefly letting his eyes flick to the little succulent as if it had something to say with that.

“You mentioned something else that I’d like to come back to,” he continued. “The idea that, even if people don’t initially dislike you, the lack of connection will eventually lead to disliking. That belief is something I hear often from people with social anxiety. It’s not about being afraid of rejection, it’s about anticipating it as inevitable. Like the clock is always ticking, and you have to stay ahead before you get rejected. I want to acknowledge how exhausting that has to be.” 

His tone didn’t waver. It was still calm, still professional; but there was an unmistakable note of sadness in his face. 

“I don’t want to sit here and lie to you, Steven. Not everyone will understand you. Not everyone will make an effort to learn your language. But the ones who do are going to be very lucky. They’re going to meet someone kind, thoughtful, deeply intelligent. They’ll find someone who listens, who cares, who wants to share his knowledge - they’re going to be very lucky to have that. I think Marc knows that he’s lucky to have a person like that talking to him - you’re going to be a very good friend for him.” 

He smiled just barely, genuine warmth in his face even as his eyes were still tired. “Over the next few days, as well, I’d like you to try something. Anytime you feel the urge to pull away, I want you to ask yourself if it’s fact - or feeling. If someone tells you that they don’t want to work on a puzzle with you, then that’s a fact. But if you’re just worrying about it, then it’s feeling. And even though feelings aren’t always wrong, they’re not always facts, either. 

“I want you to start testing your emotions. Start pushing them, do things that might lead to discomfort. And if it ever gets too heavy, then I want you to bring it to me. That’s what this space is here for - think of me as someone you can fall back on.” 

[lily-bisque]

Way Out There Spoilers!

(Scroll for hints per volume) - Regarding Way Out There discourse… I’m going to explain a couple of things that happen either in the comics or the films of Wolverine, but you do not and I repeat DO NOT need much backstory/understanding of Wolverine himself or the MCU. Everything you need to understand, I will explain so do not let this plot twist deter you from reading this if you aren’t familiar.

If you do want to understand where this AU came from, you really only need to watch X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) and that should honestly be enough.

Starting off strong—just wanna say that the Wolverine’s favorite band (fanon I’m pretty sure) is the Rolling Stones (Sympathy for the Devil—read the lyrics lol I was being cryptic)

I also made plenty of comments about Sukuna being a man with an “old soul” because the Wolverine is technically born in the late 1800s so… of course he’s behind on most pop culture or listens to outdated music despite not looking quite old.

Please remember—he served in the army with his brother, who he has not seen in years. I will not elaborate at this time LOL.

His abilities include super strength, super hearing, traits akin to a wolf (he snarls, flashes his canines, growls, etc.) and regeneration—AKA the guy technically cannot die. We do not need to address the Logan film lmao.

Hints per volume, I probably missed a few. Let me know if you’d like elaboration on any of these but I feel like they are pretty straightforward for the most part with the knowledge of his identity now.

Volume one

“Mind lighting this for me?”

You could barely conceal your agitation, a sense of urgency tugging at you as you were quite literally naked in a forest with a strange man, night falling soon. “I’m sorry?”

“You need my help, I need yours. So be a darling and help a guy out, my hands have been sore all afternoon.”

2. “You’ve got three options,” he ruled, pulling the cigarette from his lips and inhaling sharply, before pushing it out of his nose. “One, stay here and figure your own way out, and probably die. Two, you can listen to the directions I point you in… andddd probably die since you clearly don’t know your way around. The wolves here tend to get real hungry,” he snarled, wanting to get a reaction from you.

Volume two

You nodded, nose nuzzling into his skin and practically choking him out of fear.

You could hear him crack his knuckles, knees bent before he moved forward, letting out a loud huff.

He did it again, and again.

You couldn’t see his expression, but you could imagine his frown and bared teeth as he pounced forward.

Metallic sounds resonated in the charged air before Sukuna made a growling sound, stepping forward once more.

You could hear the whine of the wolves, whimpering and afraid, stepping backwards while whistling quietly. They began yelping and yapping to each other before one barked, maybe some sort of a signal to retreat as a pack.

They huffed, before the sounds of their paws meeting wet earth sounded in the opposite direction, and thus disappeared.

2. After a couple of silent moments where you gathered your mental bearings, you spoke quietly, still afraid of what managed to lurk beneath the shadows. “Do you come across wild animals often?”

He wiped sweat from his browline before removing his hat to skim his fingers through his hair then placing it back on. “What?”

You bit your lip, your jitters still lingering despite never taking a glance at the animals that nearly mauled you. “Well, you seemed to know fire would scare them off.”

He was silent for a few minutes. He stepped over a fallen rotten log bustling with dawdling vermin, his footfalls suddenly louder as night began to fall and wildlife lurked in the shadows, a quiet hum of locust chirps and low howls of the wind. “What are you talking about?”

Shuffling uncomfortably, you still kept your voice to a hushed tone. “Your lighter. I-I wouldn’t have known what to do in the moment,” you sighed, a sort of dread washing over you.

Who knows what might have happened to you if Sukuna hadn’t been there? You definitely would’ve been dinner for a pack of wolves in the middle of the woods, not a scrap of you left to send back to your family.

Sukuna sighed, attempting to hone his focus on the protruding branches in the dark in case they skim you again. “Been here a long time. Can’t have myself gettin’ scared of a couple of mutts.”

Volume three

You blew grit that speckled the surface from the record player and plugged it into an outlet before switching it on. Flipping a single vinyl case open, you settled on You Don’t Mess Around With Jim by Jim Croce, sliding it out from the sleeve. The groovy beat had you bobbing your head after you placed the vinyl on the platter and positioned the tonearm and ensuring the spindle was in place.

Cleaning is a hell of a lot more enjoyable with outlaw country resonating off of the walls.

“You don’t tug on Superman’s cape.

You don’t spit into the wind.

You don’t pull the mask off an old lone ranger

And you don’t mess around with Jim.”

2. It was a necklace. But not just any necklace—a dog tag.

You flipped the blank side over to read the name ‘Ryomen’ inscribed above a set of random numbers.

Hm. That must be Sukuna’s first name.

You itched the back of your scalp, fiddling with the icy metal in your hand. It wouldn’t be strange for a man of Sukuna’s caliber to have served in the military—a large, muscly man with a tendency to huff at anything and lives in bumfuck nowhere past the treeline.

He’s awfully reserved too, and maybe it’d explain his odd tattoos or abundance of small scars littering his face. You had no idea what they got up to in the forces.

Volume four

“I was cleaning and I, uh. I found something I think you lost,” you smiled at your feet, almost proud of yourself, before bringing your hands in front of you.

The orange light of the setting sun gleamed off of the metal, showcasing the scratches and marks of a forgotten time. You brushed a finger over the engravings, biting your lip at how brisk and noble it felt in your hand. “Pretty cool, serving in the army,” you whispered into the evening, letting the ball chain fall through cracks between your fingers.

Sukuna’s eyes settled on your palm, something in his chest twisting before he snatched it from your grasp. You gasped at the sudden disappearance and his behavior, gaze shooting up at him.

He scoffed, shoving it in his pocket, before returning to chopping lumber.

A sudden irritation flared in you. “What’s your problem?”

“Don’t want you snooping ‘round my things,” he stated matter-of-factly, axe coming down hard on wood, pieces splintering off and falling to the floor. You couldn’t read his expression for the life of you.

2. Lifting an arm, he flung the axe straight at a tree, the heel whistling as it soared through the air at incredible speed, digging straight into the trunk with a finite crunch and splitting the bark, splinters sent flying. His shoulders twitched, huffing under his breath, pulse thundering in his ears.

3. You gasped, but then began to paw off his claws with giggles, knowing you’d gotten under his skin. “How long have you lived here?” You started. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than you if anything, so it couldn’t have been too long.

“Long as I can remember,” he curtly replied.

4. You rolled your eyes, but still you were desperate for some conversation. “You get into a lot of fights?”

“Huh?”

You pointed at his knuckles, not even caring about your bluntness, to which he moved away as if you’d somehow burned him. “Your scars.”

He waited a beat before replying. “Something like that.”

You shrugged off his deflection with a ‘whatever,’ gaze lingering back towards the sky.

5. “That constellation is-“

“Lupus.” You interrupted in awe, mouth hanging open slightly as you cocked your head, able to make out the creature's shape.

Sukuna’s eyebrow arched, surprised at your knowledge.

A/N: Lupus is a wolf-shaped constellation LMAO.

Volume five

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the rucksack on your back as you shuffled down the wooden steps. “I won’t. You got a switchblade I can borrow?”

Sukuna eyed you as you leaned over to tie your boots, your face shielded from him as your unnecessarily wide-brimmed hat flopped in the early morning haze. “Uh. No. You’re outta luck,” he murmured, shoving a hand into his jean pockets and glancing down the hill.

You looked up at him from the ground, unable to hide your blatant surprise. “You’re kidding. A lumberjack doesn’t own a blade?”

He just shrugged, averting his gaze and narrowing his eyes. “We gonna get goin’ or what?”

You scowled, hopping to your feet and dusting your knees off. “Wow. You really have mastered the art of deflection,” you taunted, walking past him just to nudge his arm.

2. Sweat beaded across your browline and down your spine, your top clinging to the perspiration. Your eyes hung low, as if you could pass out any moment from heat stroke and your throat had gone dry after chugging all of your water.

Sukuna on the other hand? The guy was in tip-top shape. And it drove you mad. His stamina was one to rival a wolf with.

3. He seemed to have sliced it open against brush, a bleeding wound the size of your pinky across the front of his hand.

“Oh my god, your hand,” you gasped, fingers reaching out to smooth a finger near the broken skin, but Sukuna seemed to beat you to the punch.

He sat up quickly, tugging his hand away from you like you’d burn him if you came into contact and getting to his feet. “Christ, woman. I’m fine.”

You furrowed your brows, swallowing a thick lump of contrite lodged in your throat. “Are you sure? Your hand looked—.”

“We going or what?” He interrupted, a deep contempt and frustration brewing on his face, like he’d tasted coffee somehow even more bitter than his regular order.

He scoffed at your momentary silence and picked up his pace down the path, fingers flexing at his side again.

Volume six

“Sukuna,” he chuckled, cocking his head. “That bastard?” He tossed his head back with a boisterous laugh, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it. “What kinda business does a pretty girl like you have with a man like that?”

You frowned at his bluntness. A man like that? He is an ass, but he wasn’t an ass incapable of companionship. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

He shrugged, peering behind him to wave at a coworker who patted his shoulder and exchanging a greeting. “The guys’ fucking hostile, a beast. Not to mention his uh… moonlighting, for a lack of better wording.” He simpered at his own words.

2. You opened your mouth to reply, mind swimming with confusion, before he interrupted you with a wave of his hand. “Listen. Today’s his day off, but he’ll be on stage tonight. I’ll take you on one condition.”

You took a reluctant step back. “Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know—.”

“Just buy me a drink. Nothin’ else. You get to see your little creature, I get a free drink. A win-win.”

[pervertedoldwitch]

TITLE: I JUST GOT THE BAD ENDING!!! AND I DECODED SOME OF THE TEXT THAT APPEARED!!

Tried to decode this binary text that appeared in day 4

It was hard to read some of the text since it was glitching but this is what I got:

Erro 01101000 01101001 01101000 01101001 or 00100000 critical 01100001 ero 01101110 oror 01100111 e:/rror 01100101 01101100 unkno

The numbers only would be like this: (it's in binary)

01101000 01101001 01101000 01101001 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01101100

Literally just translates to "hi hi angel" or "hihi angel"

Erro H I H I or (SPACE ?) critical A ero N oror G e:/rror E L unknown (?)

I thought I'm gonna get some useful lore and information in here game theory makes me overthink 🤑😭😭

Plz give me more stuff to solve I love puzzles like this..

Edit:

I just got here and I got hit with another line of binary, time to work this bitch's education

"ERROR I SEE YOU..."

BRUH DID I JUST FREAKING DIE JWHRBWNBFJNWNFND

Omg when do attempts of staying the night with him he chats to me and it's kinda hot like he is attracted to the actual player and not the person in the game, it's so cool.

My head hurts, what the hell is this?

I can't go any further than this .. and my title screen is all messed up now..

I'll be making a second post because this is too long, I'll be decodint whatever the heck this is if I can.. please help me y'all...

Sorry this is literally my first post and it's so messy..

I will tryta translate the text that appeared in this: I will maybe give a tutorial on how to get the bad ending tomorrow too if I remember. Remind me please!

[rookamell]

There's a Varric/Blackwall banter in Inquisition that is probably my favourite quote to come out of the dragon age series and also says so much about Varric and also about Hawke but reframed in the context of Veilguard also says so much about Rook and why those people complaining about Rook 'not being a main character' or Rook 'not having any right to be the leader' are so completely missing the point of Rook.

Blackwall: You can't really think Reeve Asa is a better knight than Honorine Chastain. Her record's flawless. Four hundred jousts, never unseated. No one's ever come close to it.

Varric: Oh, she's easily the most skilled, that's a fact. It's just that 'scrappy' is better than 'flawless'. I like heroes who try their damndest, even if they fail a lot. It's easy to be valiant when you always win and everything goes your way. There's nothing great in that.

In Inquisition, obviously Varric is talking about Hawke. Hawke, the tragically doomed hero who tried and failed to save Kirkwall, but who tried. Now explain to me why Varric would pick anyone other than Rook to be his second? To look after the team while he talks to Solas? Varric is, first and foremost, however much he tries to be something else or pretend he isn't, an idealist. An author. He lives and thinks in terms of stories, it helps him deal with and make sense of the world. So why would he go and try and recruit the type of hero he doesn't like? Yeah, Rook is a nobody. They're probbaly not the best at what they do and the only reason Varric notices them is because they get cast out of their organisation for going against orders to save people. They might not be the most skilled, but goddamn if they don't try. Rook is the definition of scrappy, the prologue and first couple of cutscenes basically hit you over the head with it multiple times. They're exactly the stuff heroes are made of, according to Varric. And sure, they need some help, but what good would a story be if the hero was perfect all the time?

God I love Rook. And I love Varric and the way he thinks. And you know what? You know what the game says?

He's fucking right.