#I just think the message was delivered poorly

[zparkl]

Barbie Movie [4/10]

[SPOILERS] [PERSONAL GRIPES]

[Spoilers]

The costumes, set design, and music were all really well done. That said, the plot was just tripping over itself in trying to get the message across. I felt like I was watching three different Barbie movie concepts that were being squished together.

The fact that Ken was exposed to the patriarchy of outside and brought it to Barbieland was an interesting idea that was completely botched. The problem with the patriarchy is that it is harmful and causes damage to the people living within it. Women are oppressed and are able to be harmed and objectified without recourse while men are supressed and forced into toxic positions to hold up to a masculine ideal. But in the movie the Barbies loved it! Literally were having so much fun. The Kens were also living the life after finally getting some kind of respect.

The Barbies were just magically brainwashed with no explanation other than "they have no defenses like the Native Americans with smallpox". That was a stupid reason and makes no sense. He managed to do this in what like 20 minutes or like an hour? How? Since when do Kens have the power of controlling minds? Did he just ramble about horses and beer and every Barbie and Ken just fell in line? Wtf??? I understand the point the movie was trying to make but the execution was awful. Especially since the movie already established that Barbies don't really take Kens seriously anyways. But because the movie needs to make the point that little girls grow up in a world that minimizes their dreams we need Ken to brainwash the smartest women in the land.

Then we get to the second part where patriarchy also hurts men. Be honest, that was also weak sauce. Ken throws a fit and cries that he just wanted to be recognized but that falls flat when a majority of his speech is actually about his unrequited feelings for Barbie. So then its not actually about respect its about him being in love. And then you have another Ken chime in that he misses his best friend Barbie in a throwaway line. It was just far far too short of an interaction to show that these Kens did not enjoy patriarchy. This is also only verbalized after the Kens lose. An apology after a loss is just not as sincere as one made organically. If the Kens had realized during their whole Kendom that they missed thier Barbies and were not having as much as fun as they thought and then apologized it would have been more impact full. It was a movie trying to push a feminist message but it just couldn't quite get there.

Then you have the secondary plot with the little girl and the mom that is completely unnecessary. The Sasha character was just not endearing nor did she have any role in the movie. There wasn't even a reconciliation scene for Sasha and Barbie. Why set up that montage of them playing together? Why have Sasha tear Barbie apart emotionally? What was the point if there is no scene of Barbie and Sasha actually talking to each other. Or a scene of Sasha realizing what Barbie actually values and apologizing for the things she had said? In fact, Sasha should have been the one to motivate Barbie. She and Barbie are both transitioning from the innocent child into an adolescent. She could speak to Barbie about how it feels to suddenly be sexualized and how she became tough as a way to fight against it. Or how she herself is dealing with all those teenage emotions and her own awareness of her mortality. It felt as if Greta was planning something there but it just didn't fit.

The mother-daughter conflict was also just dropped once it became clear there just wasn't enough time for it. If Gloria was going to be the human that Barbie connected to the most then she should have just been Gloria's Barbie!! That would have solved many of my main criticisms with Sasha. If Barbie had belonged to Gloria then her arc makes sense. I could have also seen Barbie being an instrumental figure in bridging together Sasha and Gloria. Similar to Life-Size where the doll turned human is able to bring joy and self-confidence into a broken family. But again there was just not enough time so we had to speed past this little plot point.

There were so many excellent ideas in this movie. However not a single one was given the time and effort needed to fully flesh them out. A movie with such amazing potential should have been able to completely blow its audience away. Unfortunately this movie was just drowning in itself. I will say that the What Was I Made For? scene was absolutely heart wrenching. It was the best scene of the movie and I could watch that over and over again. I just wish that the rest of the movie was able to match that.

4/10 very funny and beautiful movie but the plot drags those points down

[cat-toess]

───── `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 LYNEY THOUGHTS...

✩: Wrote this lil thing so the Lyney enjoyers don't starve (I need a 200k wc fanfic with this gremlin in it) while I work on pt 2 of Love Sick （pt.2 of lovesick is out btw!)

✩: Lyney x gn!reader (intended, I sincerely apologize if not, please message me if you find any mistakes in terms of this topic! I will do my best to improve my writing :D), short,

✩: I love you if you got the reference between the image and some of the lines <3

✩"Watch carefully now, blink, and you might miss it."

✩ Lyney thoughts that feed my delusional brain include...

✩ Lyney who falls in love with you the moment he first sets his lavender eyes on you. He thinks you're far by the most breathtaking person he's ever had the honor to lay eyes on. ✩ Lyney who without hesitation asks you out on the spot. Resulting in you looking at him as if he just grew a second head. ✩ Lyney who falls even harder when you reject him (he knows he's corny, but you were just that ethereal?!) while you try explaining why you couldn't just date someone you just met like 30 seconds ago?  "Um but I don't even know you-"   "My name's Lyney. I have 2 siblings, Lynette and Freminet. And my birthday is February the 2nd. See you know me now right? So how about that date?" ✩ Lyney who continuously visits you at your workplace. Popping his head through the door and soon becoming a familiar face in the shop. ✩  Lyney who has that magician rizz and famous person privileges, which he uses to his advantage to somehow (?) make your co-workers agree to let him come into your office? ✩  Lyney who waltzes to your desk to sit near your workplace and talk to you all day. Who could blame him? You were the most perfect person in the world (in his eyes at least).  ✩  Lyney who just starts hiding random presents for you everywhere. You found a miniature grin-malkin cat in your bag once which exploded into doves the moment you touched it. But the presents also included magnificent flowers, each hand-picked by the blonde magician himself (the flowers meanings were also carefully picked out as well, who did you think Lyney was? Some uncultured brute who didn't know how to impress someone?)  ✩  Lyney who uses 'magic' to remind you about that date offer. You'd find a slip of paper in your pockets saying "how about that date?" He once gave you a latte with poorly scribbled words on the foam (kind of like latte words? Is that even a thing?) saying "Will you go on a date with me?" He even went as far as to ring your doorbell to deliver a toilet paper roll with the words  "Roses are red violets are blue, consider going on a date with me, will you?" drawn on to every sheet of it. (He's trying okay) ✩ Lyney who nearly cries tears of joy when you finally agree to the date. "Really? No take backs okay? But don't worry I'll make sure you won't regret a single second of your decision." he simpers. ✩ Lyney who, true to his word, planned out the most romantic date you had ever been on. Showing you marvelous magic tricks he invented just for you, taking you to a lovely rolling meadow full of rainbow roses to go star gazing. With a flick of his wand, a picnic blanket was laid out and on top of it was the most mouth watering selection of food you had ever seen. From local dishes to foreign ones, this man had prepared it all. Just for you <3 ✩ Lyney who felt like the luckiest man in the world when you gave him a little peck on the lips, telling him you were looking forward to the next date. He heads home with a giddy expression on his face, practically illuminating half the nation with his aura. (I just know Lynette looked at him weird when he came home looking like that) ✩  Lyney who just loves you so much he would do anything for you. "I would do anything for you, if you want the moon I'll scoop it right out of the sky. All you need to do is ask." ✩ Lyney who has your wedding certificates already printed. What? It's not his fault that you're so lovable. Right? ✩ Lyney who whines how he wants your caskets to be buried next to each other (if possible he wants you two to be in the same casket) ✩ Lyney who would leave a flower with a card attached to it every day.  Each card containing a unique poem he composed himself, talking about his unwavering adoration for you. ✩ Lyney who's just a silly little goober that's down bad for you. 

✩ Lyney who waits for you while you're tying your shoes. Sometimes even tying them for you (much to your embarrassment) 

✩ Lyney who carries you bridal style, whether you're taller or shorter than him, it doesn't matter! 

✩ Lyney who intertwines pinkies with you in public, because he's worried you'll get lost. Like he isn't the one that goes wandering off. ✩ Lyney who rants about how perfect you are to his siblings. A string of never ending compliments run out of his mouth "They are like the sun, I wouldn't even have to look at them to notice their presence-" "Oh for the last time Lyney, It's 4 AM!" ✩ Lyney who like to relentlessly tease you whenever he gets the chance to. Putting a finger up to your lips as you lean in for a kiss. Smirking and cooing at your expression. ✩ Just Lyney who loves you to the moon and back <3

@cat-toess 2023 please do not plagiarize or copy on other sites <3 Reblogs are appreciated, but please give credit :D if you have feedback please refrain from being offensive <3

Extra note: I forgot to tag this when I first posted it- 😞

[from-the-clouds]

lost in the fire - kendall roy x f!reader

| masterlist | succession sideblog: @kendollroyco | my kendall playlist

chapter summary: your boyfriend works too much. a oneshot, but if we're being real, i was thinking about kendall and the reader from thinking of a place, because i miss them. pairing: kendall roy x f!reader words: 4.6k warnings: SMUT (18+ only). soft dom Kendall. Somewhat unhealthy/jealous/co-dependent relationship but this is a Succession fic so like…what do we expect? Alcohol consumption - I don't know what Kendall's definition of sobriety is but he drinks a cocktail in this. a/n: i'll get back to tlou but i've had this partially written for like a year at this point. It started out as more of a manic Ken on a power trip type of fic but then it got really soft and fluffy because I am feeling touch-deprived lately so I’m sorry if I didn’t deliver enough evil ken for ya’ll. :/ OOPS!

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

"We're like the Lewis and Clark of fucking." - Kendall Roy

Teetering down the hallway, you attempt to quell the outrageously loud click, click, click of your stilettos against the marble floor by shifting most of your weight into the ball of your feet and shuffling forward. It only makes it harder for you to balance while you attempt to put on the flashy gold hoop earrings your friend had insisted you’d wear. Of course, being quiet didn’t really matter, because you were the only person inhabiting the Hudson Yards penthouse. 

As usual, you are running late. Famously, you always underestimate how long it will take to get ready for social events – your friends could attest to that. It is a bad habit that, despite years of trying to correct, you can never quite shake. 

Beelining for the double doors of the multi-million dollar home, you are interrupted by your name being called out in a sing-songy voice. There is a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turn towards the familiar sound to find your boyfriend rounding the corner, a drink in hand.

The sight of him at home is rare these days, that for a second, you aren’t even sure if it’s really him. Maybe the place is being  haunted by an eerily similar lookalike, or it could be some new ridiculous billionaire technology that he’d invested in– holographic messaging, or something similarly dystopian that you’d roll your eyes at when he tries to explain it to you. It’s fuckin’ next level, I’m telling you. I’m a fucking tech pioneer. You can practically hear him trying to sell you on it despite your distaste.

“Ken?” you cling to the clutch under your arm, unable to stop the shit-eating grin that works its way onto your face. “Hey. When did you get home?”

“Hey yourself,” he answers, poorly hiding a bemused smirk behind Baccarat crystal. “I just got in.”

That much was clear, even though his briefcase and coat had already been cleared away from the table in the entranceway, and his suit jacket draped over the back of a barstool. “Are you going out?” He lowers the tumbler and leans against the counter, but still keeps it close, one finger sliding along the rim. 

“Yeah,” you approach Kendall cautiously. “...did you get my text? I thought I’d get ready here, we’re going to that place around the corner.”

He’d given you a key to his flat, even though the relationship was still pretty new – but decidedly not that new, given your history. Things were still moving quickly though, if you compare him to your past flings.

Kendall’s eyes close briefly in recognition, his brows pulling together as though he is scolding himself. “Oh, uh-huh, yeah….right.” It’s then, and in closing the space between you, that his haggard appearance becomes clear. You’re one of few who would probably even notice it. To the untrained eye his white dress shirt is impeccable, crisp and stark as usual – save for the lack of cufflinks, which you notice he’s discarded on the counter alongside his drink. His tie is still fastened tightly around his neck in a perfect half-Windsor. But salt and pepper stubble is sprinkled across his jawline, faint red hazy in the whites of his amber eyes. 

Work has consumed him in the last few weeks. It’s been nonstop. And he is still home earlier than you have expected, even though the sun had gone down long ago.

Kendall’s hand wraps around your waist and you lean against him, accepting his affectionate peck on the cheek. “Hey, honey.” The cedar notes of his cologne, the acidity of the vodka on his breath, and the weight of his arm around you makes your stomach flip, even as he draws back, releasing you so he can sit on a barstool. It’s probably for the better, as the impulse to throw yourself into his arms and abandon your plans will become impossible to resist if you don’t leave soon.

It would be a lie to say his career hasn’t put a strain on things lately. Business trips, dinner meetings, weekend conventions all seem determined to keep him away from you. For the past few weeks, you’ve been deprived of him, forced to accept only minutes of his time – mostly sweet nothings and apologies whispered as falls into bed beside you, then presses of his lips on your cheek, still half-asleep in the early hours of the morning as he leaves the next day. You have been forced to savor those moments, even though they are hardly substantial. But you know yourself, you aren’t better off with someone else. He has always been what you wanted.

Still, lately you have been thinking about all his failed past relationships. There is certainly a…pattern. You’ve seen enough, and sometimes it feels like you are purposely ignoring the signs – Watch Your Step!, before falling into a pit of daggers. 

He needed a break or he’d burn out, but you’ve learned when to bite your tongue and save those suggestions for when you are sure they won’t erupt. And you both aren’t always good at keeping arguments good-natured. 

Kendall shifts in his chair so he can look you up and down – this time up close. “Is this what you’re wearing out?”

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, feeling your face heat up. 

“Turn around,” his resting facial expression is already kind of indignant, but you can tell right now that he’s definitely frowning. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says. “I want to see.”

You shrug, but obey, unable to hide the way your lips quirk when you are back facing him again, hands on your hips. All you have to do is read the look on Kendall’s face to know that he doesn’t approve. And even though there is no way in hell you are going to change, the slight blaze in his narrowed eyes makes you think this is about to become a controversy. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, feigning innocence, glancing down at the getup. The red dress barely covers your ass – is far more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, accompanied by stiletto heels that lace up your calves. Sure, it’s a lot, but you look good, and you’re going out. 

“You’ll definitely be getting a lot of attention,” he conveniently doesn’t answer your question.

If you weren’t wearing lipstick, you would’ve bit your lower lip to keep your composure. Instead, you tilt your head and give him a coy smile. “You should come with me.” 

Kendall glances down at the countertop and shakes his head, the comment causing him to drop the subject of your attire entirely. “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting first thing.” To be fair, he avoids the club scene most of the time, so it’s not a well-thought-out offer. Too much temptation. “But you look good,” he concedes. 

“A work meeting on a Saturday?” you ask, ignoring the compliment. “Fuck,” you reach to take a sip from his tumbler. The vodka he keeps here is always chilled to perfection, so smooth it tastes like it’s melting off a glacier. “It’s that bad?”

He takes the beverage from your hand when you return it, shrugging before throwing the rest back, then standing to pour another. “Just the usual, la-dee-fuckin-dah….corporate bullshit.”

You frown and stare at your shoes, flexing your foot and inspecting its soles.

“Those heels don’t look very comfortable,” he remarks as he passes you.

“They aren’t.”

“Well then I’ll guess I’ll have to take you shopping to replace them.”

You feel yourself flush. “Let me know when you can fit me in your schedule.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall ignores your jab, changes the subject. “How’s your job?”

“Same as yours. La-dee-fuckin’-dah corporate bullshit,” you repeat his words from earlier, lowering your voice slightly to mimic his cadence of speaking. 

The sound of his warm chuckle makes your stomach flip again. “You want me to, uh, pour you one?”

“No, I should probably get going.” You sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you are running behind, and you hear the clink of ice against crystal.

Then, his voice, deep and husky, directly against your ear. “Who’re you texting?”

You jolt in surprise at his sudden proximity.  “Fuck! Sorry,” you clear your throat. “Uh….the group chat.”

Kendall’s arm reaches past you to place his drink on the counter, and you feel his fingertips brush the hair away from the nape of your neck. Then, his lips follow, pressing there gently, his thumb trailing down your arm and then back up again. You shiver at the contact, and it dawns on you how touch-deprived you are.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against sensitive skin. His hands land on your shoulders and begin to knead at the taut muscles there. You try to keep yourself tense, even as you feel your phone slipping out of your hands, the drafted text all-but forgotten.

But instinctually, you shift backwards to feel the weight of his chest pressed against you.“You’re all wound up,” Almost chastising. Every part of your body below your bellybutton clenches. It’s those hands, his hands. Hands that used to wrap around your throat, thread into your hair, hold your wrists in place. Pin you down, spread you open…. While you think about them, you let him work at the tension that he is partially responsible for, nodding and letting out a long exhale.

“Just a little.”

“When are you gonna quit that job?” he asks you.

You first, you want to say, but let the retort die before it could leave your mouth. “Hmmmmm,” you pretend to mull it over, but you’re only half-aware of things he’s saying to you. “I don’t know.” 

“What kind of uh, feminist would I be if I let a girl as hot as fucking you have to worry about a job?”

You can’t help but snort, turning your head so his forehead bumps against your own. “Is that how feminism works?” 

“Uh-huh,” he chides, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Fucking whatever. I wish you’d just let me look after you.”

You are unable to find your voice to answer, because you remember through your needy haze that you are running late, and when he says things like that, it certainly doesn’t help you regain composure. It’s only after you straighten, trying to pull yourself out of the trance he’s worked you into, that you discover how close he has pinned you to the countertop.

“Ken-” you try to protest, but the way it comes out sounds more like you’re pleading.

“What is it?” Kendall asks, returning his lips once more to your neck, beginning to work them tenderly up the column of your throat, which makes it impossible for you to finish the rest of the objection. “I’ve missed you so much,” he pulls you back against him by your waist.

“Me too,” you sigh. “But I-,” you’re cut off when he grinds against you, already half-hard, and your pelvis hits the granite lip of the countertop. It hurts, just for a second, but the pain is quickly replaced by warmth. Kendall pulls his hands away and you’re only held in place by his hips, the metal of his belt buckle cool against your sacrum. The dress you’re wearing is so thin it feels like there’s nothing separating him from your bare skin. 

“You what?” he prompts when you remain silent. You know him well enough to hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face, and his nails rake up and down your arms.

It’s a little petty, but you are hesitant to give yourself over so easily to him. To abandon your evening, just because he’s finally decided to see you at a reasonable hour. Of course, if your friends knew you were late because you were with him, they wouldn’t care. Kendall had been a well-kept secret until it was impossible to deny his existence in your life. But they were all a little too supportive of the relationship, since it meant they suddenly had guaranteed access to any club VIP section - and you perpetually pick up the bill. Not to mention the first-class, luxury accommodations they get on girls trips. 

There was more to it than just being late, though. You had always been willing to do anything for him, even before you were dating. He told you to jump, you asked how far? He gave you one pleading look from underneath those thick lashes – and you folded. And Kendall is very aware that he’s your weakness. So you constantly try to convince him otherwise, lest he get too comfortable. And really, after his neglectful behavior, did he really deserve you without any opposition?

“Kendall,” you manage to turn slightly. “I’m going to be late.” Wriggling some more in his grip, but it’s only enough to bring you face-to-face, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

He studies you carefully, like he might let you leave if he senses enough conviction. “I don’t care.”

You might’ve laughed, if it weren’t for how stern he sounds. It almost scares you. Almost. Hoping to soften him, you fit your thumb into the dimpled fabric of his tie, and use it to drag him forward, offering a tender kiss on his cheek. Returning the embrace, his stubble scratches your face as he smiles against you. He reaches behind you for another sip of his drink and his unoccupied hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass through the silky fabric. 

You are burning, fire licking up your arms, your neck, your face. It’s too much, to have him so close and not be able to have him. All the tension building with nowhere for it to go. When he pulls back, you lean forward.

It’s a little rough at first, because you are so desperate, tasting the vodka, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth. Kendall is the one who softens you, cradles your jaw to draw you closer, opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, so deliberate and practiced that you’re unable to speak when he pulls away. 

“Tell me something,” full lips so close to yours that they brush your own when he speaks, your eyes fluttering shut. His touch coasts up your sides, up your arms, landing on your shoulders. “Who are you showing off for in this?” Kendall hooks his pointed finger around a spaghetti strap of your dress, and lets the elastic snap back against your skin. You savor the sting it leaves behind.

Admittedly, there’s a third reason why you’re being so withholding. He’s so spoiled, so used to getting what he wants, whenever he wants it. Not just from you. And when he doesn’t get it, he becomes petulant, fiery. You’ve learned that if you piss him off just enough, you don’t have to ask him to fuck you within an inch of your life. He just does. 

So, you decide to poke the sleeping bear, shrugging and crossing your arms like it’s nothing, giving him a demure smile. “You wouldn’t know him.”

Kendall’s nostrils flare as his hand rises to grip your jaw – tightly. “Uh-huh.” Even if you’re only joking, the very idea of you dressing up at all – let alone like that –  for anyone except himself, pisses him off.  “Fuck you.”

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you?” you try to keep your voice even, but it sort of loses the steadiness you were hoping for when he hooks a finger behind your knee, dragging it up across the expensive, soft wool of his slacks to peg around his hip.

The bruising kiss that answers is clearly intended to erase the smug look on your face, and it works – your breath hitching, the hand on his tie tugging him closer. Kendall seems to speak without saying anything at all, grabbing your opposite thigh and lifting until you are perched on the edge of the countertop.

It’s getting real, but you still haven’t decided if you are actually going to stick around. The way he looks right now, however, swings the pendulum farther into the side of staying in – red lipstick left behind on his cheek, shirt wrinkled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. You wanted to make him look even more wrecked. 

Kissing him again, his hands begin to roam, tugging the dress off your shoulders and freeing your tits. “Shit,” He dips his head to sloppily mouthing at the newly exposed skin. “Knew you weren’t wearing a fuckin’ bra.”

“Ken,” you squirm when he latches onto one of your nipples, pinching the other between two fingers. “I really need to get going.”

“Not yet,” he hums, the vibration of his voice against your skin makes the space between your legs ache. “If you’re going to go out in this fucking dress,  I don’t want you to forget who you belong to.”

You squirm in his grip – not because you want to get away from him – but because you want to see if he’ll pin you in place, be even rougher. He does. He is. “Stop that. This isn’t a fucking negotiation.”

Well, okay.

He kneads into your thighs now, one of his hands dipping beneath the skirt of your dress that’s already so short he’s only an inch or so away from your already-soaked panties. 

“Fuck,” You tilt your head back to look at the ceiling, like you might find some self-control there, some will to resist him, but it’s about as cold and uninspiring as the rest of the apartment. “Please.”

Kendall lets out a dark chuckle,  pushing aside your thong and brushing his knuckles against your damp cunt. He loves to tease, and right now is no exception. His touch isn’t enough to satisfy, so you press yourself forward to seek it out yourself. You don’t dare meet his eyes, which you can feel are watching you intently, admiring how you keen and arch and whimper in frustration. Still, you aren’t quite ready to beg. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, groaning as he does, his thumb finding your clit.

“Yes, Kendall, that’s–” you don’t finish the thought because you aren’t entirely sure what you actually have to say. His digits curl, attentive, practiced – tuned in to  exactly what you like, what you need.  You grip at the fabric of his shirt that’s bunched around his elbows. Despite how intense meeting his gaze right now will be, you turn to look at him anyway, surprised by the affection and warmth you find in his eyes. 

“You try so hard not to be,” he says while he continues to stare you down. “But you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Your stomach flips, partly in shame, partly because of how good it’s always felt to be seen by him. Throbbing around him, feeling your pleasure build, but he withdraws his fingers from you before it can crest. An embarrassing noise leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The clink of his belt unbuckling immediately snaps you back to reality, and you hike your dress further up your hips, shimmying out of your thong. It’s pitiful, the way you don’t want to delay any longer the feeling of him inside you. 

He strokes himself in his hand, lines his cock up, and pushes a piece of hair off your face. 

“You want me?” he asks, and you bob your head enthusiastically. “Tell me, then.”

“I want you, Kendall. Please, I want you so bad.” 

“Yeah you do,” he mutters, and wastes no time jerking forward to enter you. 

Though you’d had him plenty of times you never could quite get used to the feeling – he’s big, of course, and it’s always electric, the blood in your veins buzzing, your hands tightening on his shoulders. 

“Relax, honey,” Kendall says, feeling the way your body tenses at the intrusion, placing a hand on your sacrum, one between your shoulder blades to steady you.

He presses his hips forward until they are flush against your own, bottoming out inside you, pausing. It’s welcome at first, a chance to catch your breath, to let out a shuddery exhale - temporarily appeased by the way your cunt stretches to accommodate him, and he’s so close to you after so much time spent away. You’re embarrassed at how badly you’ve needed this, how reliant on him you’ve become, but he always feels so good. 

Kendall stays still for long enough that you grow frustrated, and you use his tie to pull him closer, loosening the knot and rutting against him until he presses his thumb into the crease of your hip and thigh so hard you are forced to stop. Once you do, he starts to move, thrusts slow but deep, lips pressing hastily between panting breaths. 

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he laments.

Despite everything, you can’t help but talk back. “You don’t say?”

Kendall doesn’t like that at all, his hips snapping at a punishing pace, which seems more like a reward than anything else, his hand clasping your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t speak to me like that,’ he warns.

An involuntary, low moan leaves you. It’s overwhelming – always is. You aren’t used to sex with someone you feel so connected to, or with a lover who is so attentive to your needs, who effortlessly strikes a perfect balance between rough, passionate, and tender. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, anxious to run your hands through the smattering of hair on his chest, feel the warmth of his skin under your palms. Even if it’s not possible, you want to be closer to him. Needy. So needy. You’ve heard it from him before, and would probably hear it again. He is right, and in moments like this, you can never bring yourself to care. You like it.

He’s watching you so intently, and the rest of the city might as well be too. He basically lives in a fishbowl, you’re surrounded by windows that offer panoramic views of the glittering lights of the city. The only reason you have any privacy at all is because of just how high up you are, no one else can actually see you right now. Even if they did, what could possibly happen? Kendall loves to take advantage of this – he’s taken you up against the cold glass windows, has let you sink to your knees in front of him out on his balcony. 

“What are you gonna tell your friends when they ask why you were so late tonight?” he asks. “Gonna tell them you were letting me spread you open on the fucking counter?”

“God,” you stutter out, always shocked by the things that come out of his mouth when takes you like this, voice deep and firm, enunciating each syllable like he’s giving a speech – frustratingly collected. It makes you ache that much more. “I missed you,” you whimper, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. As much as you want it fully off, not just hanging loose around his elbows, you don’t want him to release you from the bruising hold he’s got you in. This would have to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall answers by fucking into you even harder, his pelvic bone kissing your clit with every thrust, and your nails etching crescents into his biceps. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

His head falls to your shoulder in a brief moment of humility, lips working on your neck, and you feel your release fast approaching. In moments like these, you don’t doubt how he really feels. He gives it all away, tries his best to make it up to you, and it’s so easy to forgive him.  Kendall’s fist wraps around one of the stiletto heels of your shoes, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder and drive his cock deeper into you. He’s perfect, feels perfect, there’s no one else who makes you feel the way he does. When his thumb begins to rub delicate circles around your clit, you’re gone.

Your body tenses up for so long, you actually think you might’ve psyched yourself out. And then everything releases. Kendall coaxes you through your orgasm, deep voice muttering things that are either unintelligible or that you wouldn’t dare to repeat out loud, and you cling to him while your cunt pulses in waves. It lasts for a long time, or at least it feels like it does, he slows just to fuck you through it, so you can both savor how good it feels. That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl. When he tries to kiss you, you oblige, but it’s open-mouthed and sloppy since you’re struggling to breathe and can’t stop whispering his name. 

“Ken, you’re so good, it’s so good–”

You know he likes to be praised just as much as you do. He cuts you off with a deep kiss, moaning into your mouth and vibrating every nerve in your body as he follows you over the edge, spurred on by your own release. He buries his cock inside you as deep as he can, you feel warm and full and complete. 

For what feels like a few minutes, you remain tangled with one another, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the soft puffs of his breathing against your skin, which is now damp.

Eventually, he draws back, kisses your cheek and tucks himself back into his underwear. You pull the straps of your dress back into place and when you push yourself off the counter, realize your legs are trembling and you wobble.

Kendall reaches to steady you. “Go sit down,” he squeezes your arm and you barely manage to stumble to his couch before you’re slumping against the cushions and struggling to unlace the strappy heels you’ve still got on. 

He joins you a moment later, placing a glass of cold water on the coffee table and kneeling to help you out of your shoes. You can only imagine what you must look like, because he looks disheveled, shirt still hanging open, pants unbuttoned, your lipstick still smudged on his cheek. Exhausted as you are, it makes you want him all over again. 

He settles next to you, pulls you to his chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to whisper softly in his ear. “Ken,” he turns his head slightly, cheek pressed against your forehead. “I love you.” 

From this angle you can only see the corner of his eyes, the way they crinkle as he looks down bashfully, eyelashes nearly touching his cheeks at your admission, words he so rarely has heard before. Words you have vowed to repeat until he believes you – because sometimes you think he doesn’t. Still, he answers. “I love you, too.” You close your eyes a moment, your heart rate returning to normal, and take in one final deep breath. Content. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your friends,” Kendall says eventually, hands in your hair, tugging gently so you’ll look up at him. 

“Right,” you nod. “Honestly, I don’t know if I even want to go out anymore.”

“But you got all dressed up,” he smirks.

“Look where it got me.”

He laughs. “Uh-huh. You knew what you were doing what you fucking put that shit on.”

You don’t deny it, feeling your cheeks grow warm. It’d be too easy to stay with him, to slide across his lap and kiss him until he takes you again. But your phone dings on the counter, and you know you can’t abandon your friends entirely. You sigh, pulling away from Kendall and looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he encourages. “I’ll wait up for you.”

[the-guilty-writer]

The Faces of Emily Prentiss

Request from anon: Could I request Emily Prentiss & teen!daughter? Maybe Emily doesn’t notice how her daughter pulls back and keeps to herself more and more because she struggles with her mom being gone so much recently and school being a lot for her (procrastination, problems concentrating when worrying about her mom, …). You can do with this whatever you like Gill, I’m just excited to read more of yours 🥰

Emily Prentiss x daughter!reader (can be read as teen!reader)

Summary: reader’s grades have been slipping and it brings up many feelings between them and Emily.

A/N: Okay, wow, I did not expect for this fic to come out this long. Maybe I should write more mom!Emily because apparently it’s inspiring. Kinda angsty with a fluffy-ish ending. There were no places to put in pronouns, so even though it’s daughter!reader it can be read as teen!reader.

CW: brief mention of psych evaluation, Emily is an absent mother, one mention that Emily wears weapons, nickname for reader is “kiddo” (if you think you know why let me know and I’ll give you a pat on the back for the right answer), reader has hair but length is not specified.

---

Manila, in your opinion, was the worst color. Not because of the color itself, but because of the things adorned with it - walls poorly painted by landlords, rags that should have been thrown out years ago, the hair of the snooty girls at school, the tug-of-war rope used in gym class that always burned your hands.

Folders.

If you could have tossed the one your teacher gave to you into the trash, you probably would have. I might as well, you thought to yourself. The thing was destined to get lost in the pile of similar ones on your mother’s desk. Would you rather go to a landfill, or sit with a bunch of cases on serial killers?

The folder, expectantly, didn’t respond. If it did, you would have been worried for your sanity. Then the next folder that landed on Emily Prentiss’s desk would have been a concerning psychiatric evaluation instead of your report card. At least with the evaluation she might have to pay a little more attention to you.

The door to your mother’s home office was always open. She locked you away from too many parts of her already - and even though she was well aware that some of the information in that room was supposed to stay classified - the idea of locking you out of a room that was in your own home, was too physical for her to bear. Not that she would ever tell you.

You knocked on the wood softly, though you didn’t know why. She wasn’t home. She was never home anymore; knocking was just a polite habit. You put your hand to the knob and swung open the door, then found yourself disappointed when she wasn’t asleep at her desk. Knocking wasn’t a polite habit; it was a hope that, for once, she would be there to answer. A hope that was far out of reach.

You put the report card folder on top of the stack, becoming just another document that had to be marked with the initials E.P. before it could be filed away.

In a house this big, the quiet should have been eerie, but it wasn’t. The quiet was normal. You sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out your phone, opening to your messages with your mom.

Badass Maman:

Hey, kiddo. Leaving for an emergency case. Be back soon. (Received 2 days ago)

You:

Okay. I love you. (Delivered 2 days ago)

Yep. Normal.

It was still that way an hour later when you did your homework, and when the nanny came to check on you. It was that way when you went to bed that night and woke up the next morning. Everything about it was normal.

You wished it wasn’t.

---

Phones weren’t allowed in classrooms, but they were allowed in the hallways. A familiar ding went off as you walked with your friend to second period math. Your friend pulled their phone from their pocket and frowned.

“Did something happen?” you asked.

They shook their head. “No notification.”

You pulled your phone out, and the world stopped entirely when you saw it was a message from your mom.

Badass Maman:

Flying home now. I’ll be back when you get home from school. I love you. (Received Now)

Relief flooded over you.

“Did something happen?” your friend asked.

“My mom is on her way home.” For the first time in days, you felt air could fill the entirety of your lungs. The million-mile-an-hour heart that was beating in your chest slowed to a regular pace. The tension in your too-tight shoulders loosened.

You:

Okay. I love you too. (Read Now)

---

You had all but forgotten about the manila folder holding your report card. It hadn’t crossed your mind since you placed it on your mother’s desk. You hadn’t bothered to look inside when you received it, too focused on the cursed cover to think about the letters inside.

When you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, you called out immediately for her. “Mom! I’m home!” but there was no answer. “Mom?”

It wasn’t unusual for her to fall asleep on the couch, waiting for you to get home from school after being sleep deprived for days. Still, the living room couch was void of any life. You turned to the kitchen, but found nobody there. So you made the walk to the only other place your mother might go in the house after a case: her office.

The door was half-way open, but still, you knocked. A polite habit.

She turned from her seat at her desk, took in the sight of you, and smiled. Within seconds you were wrapped in her arms. Your head landed on her shoulder, while she ran a gentle hand through your hair.

“God, I missed you, kiddo,” she said. The exhaustion in her voice contradicted the strength of her embrace.

“I missed you too, mom,” you whispered. She held you for a little longer than normal, and when she did let go, you couldn’t help but profile her a little.

There were three different faces Emily Prentiss wore:

The Agent Face: a raven-haired, modern fem fatale that runs off enough coffee to kill a small horse, she walks through bloody crime scenes unfazed. She’s a no-nonsense attitude dressed in heeled boots and a glock. With intelligence sharper than a blade and a smart-mouth to match, it’s only fitting that she works for one of the most elite units of the FBI.

The Emily Face: always classy with a little bit of fun sprinkled in. She’s got a wicked sense of humor, a brilliant laugh, and a bright smile to match. The kind of friend who is down for a night on the town or a quiet movie night. This, you know, is the face she wears outside of work, around her friends; you can only imagine what this face looked like before the agency, and before you.

The Mom Face: the one you see the most. It’s the face that can’t cook to save her life, though she tries very hard. The one that celebrates your ups and supports you in your downs. She’s started to find a few more gray hairs as you've grown older, but that’s to be expected from a strong woman raising a child alone. The only one of the faces that’s unsure about if she’s good enough; everything in you wants to tell her she is.

The face she wore right now, seemed to be a combination of all three. She hadn’t been home long enough to have changed from her work attire into a normal tee shirt and jeans. You could see the traces of mascara on her shoulder where either Penelope or JJ had needed a friend’s shoulder to cry on. The unsteadiness that crossed her expression only ever appeared when it came to parenting… when it came to you.

“There were kids, weren’t there?” you said. And though her past was full of secrets, she didn’t bother keeping this one in.

“There were,” she sighed. Once again, she brought her hand to your hair, as if she were trying to sooth herself with the texture of it while making sure that you were real. “But it’s over now.”

You didn’t know if that meant the case ended good or bad, and you were thankful that you weren’t a good enough profiler (yet) to read the answer in her expression. “I’m gonna finish up some work and then we can catch up, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go do my homework.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and you gave her a tight-lipped smile before she moved back to her desk and you moved towards the door.

“Open or closed?” you asked her, standing in the threshold.

“You can leave it open,” she replied.

It was her answer every time, but you still always asked. A polite habit.

---

Two hours later, you were still struggling through your math homework at the kitchen table and your mom was still in her office. Knuckles tightened around your pencil before you let it go with an exasperated sigh and crumbled up the loose leaf paper you were working on. You sifted through your notes, trying to find the formula, but you had either written it down incorrectly or not at all.

You pulled the textbook from your bag only to find that you’d forgotten to write down what section the class was studying. With your brain feeling fried inside your head, it made skimming through the chapter more difficult, and by the time you’d gotten to the end, you were no closer to figuring out the answer than when you started.

Fueled by frustration, a trail of French expletives left your mouth.

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least keeping up with your language studies.” You looked up to see your mom standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

Even in duck-print pajama pants, she still looked intimidating, leaning on one hip with her arms crossed over her chest. As soon as you noticed her stance, she began walking towards you, uncrossing her arms. In one of her hands was a dreaded manila folder. With the ease that only a master interrogator could have, she sat down at the table and pushed the folder towards you, opening it so you could see the grades inside.

You were sure the many files on her desk showed far more hellish images than your grades, but it even caught you off-guard to see that you were failing or close to failing every class. It dawned on you suddenly that your grades had been slipping, but you didn’t imagine that they had gone down so fast.

“I-” you started, but the shock was flooding you. Emily took the folder and closed it, pulling it out of your line of sight and snapping you back to reality. Your genuine reaction must have been enough to tell her that you were as unaware of the situation as she was.

“Kiddo,” she sighed. “What happened?”

Her voice and features softened - The Concerned Mother Face. It wasn’t one that appeared a lot… just when big things happened, like moving to a new country or faking both your deaths. That kind of stuff.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. This year has been…” With a shaky breath everything rose to the surface. “It’s hard to do things when I’m never sure if you’re dead or alive.”

A new face of Emily Prentiss formed in front of your tear-filled eyes. This one was vastly different from the others. It was exhausted from sleepless nights in random police stations across the country, when all she wanted was to be home; it was pain-filled from every wound she wore on her body that she insisted she didn’t need help cleaning; and it was that of a mother who had just brought home a newborn, with no clue as to how she was supposed to raise an innocent being into a human.

She said no words, only embraced you. After the familiar comfort of her arms calmed you, you went to pull away. She didn’t let you go. A spot on your shoulder had become wet with her tears. You held her tighter, and when a sob racked through her weary body, you hummed the tune of the ballad she used to sing you as a little girl.

Only when she began to sing the words of the song, you knew it would be okay. Only then, you could be sure that Emily Prentiss - the smartest, strongest, bravest person you had ever known - wouldn’t fall apart if you let go.

In French just as smooth as her English, she began to whisper the rhyme. A dozen times you had wondered why that was the primary tongue she chose to raise you with. You were passable in Spanish and Arabic, but it was the language of love that your mother had wanted you to speak fluently.

That reason was good enough.

The song came to an end and she pulled away to look at you, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

You shook your head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, mom. You save people.”

Emily sighed. “But I can do better letting you know that I’m safe. I can at least find time to make sure to answer your texts.” You looked down, feeling the slightest bit guilty. But your mom wasn’t a profiler for nothing. “Don’t you do that,” she said sternly - The Agent Face.

“But-”

“No buts. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.” A sneaky smile escaped from her lips. “Plus I promised myself I wouldn’t be like your grandmother and put my job in front of my children.”

That had the both of you giggling - The Emily Face.

She pulled you back into her arms, stroking a gentle hand through your hair. “I love you, kiddo.” - The Mother Face.

“I love you too, mom.”

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Scorch awoke to the sound of paws on her window. 

She sat up in her window perch, chest tight. It was twilight. Her folk had all retreated to their private rooms for the night and the house was dark, save for a soft orange glow down the hall. Outside, a skinny grey she-cat with a torn ear and a scarred cheek stood on hindlegs to press her paws against the glass. 

Scorch sighed, angry at her own reaction. She hated that every little thing caused her body to react like she was about to die. She felt powerless. It was infuriating. 

“Gingersnap, right?” asked the cat outside.

Scorch shifted her posture to look down on the cat. “Yes. You are?” 

“Jagg,” the cat said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m your guard for tonight.” Scorch huffed indignantly. 

“Most of my guards know to use the proper respect when addressing one of the exalted,” she said, swishing her tail. One of Jagg’s brows lifted in a poorly hidden contemptuous frown. Scorch smiled. She liked this cat.

“Right,” said Jagg, dropping her paws from the window. “Apologies, your grace. I forget myself.” 

“It’s alright,” Scorch purred, relaxing her posture. “I’m mostly teasing. Did you need something?” 

Jagg gave her a skeptical once-over before continuing. “Just to deliver a message. Ghost says that he’ll visit you tomorrow as per your request.” Scorch’s heart skipped a beat excitedly. Finally, the old man had come to his senses! Despite her sudden eagerness to get up and run, she managed to keep her composure. 

“Thank you, Jagg,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Jagg shuffled, glanced over her shoulder again, and said, “Can I ask you a question?” 

“You just did,” Scorch replied. Jagg laughed a little, ears twitching back sheepishly. 

“Right. Sorry,” she said. “I was just wondering… What do you think of Ghost?” 

Scorch raised her brows. “Oh, dear. He’s not after you now, is he?” 

“A-after me?” laughed Jagg. 

“Yeah, you know,” she waved a paw, “flirting, pestering, acting like you're the only girl in the world?” 

Jagg frowned. “Yeah. But I mean… He seems genuine. It’s not like he doesn’t care about me at all. I mean, there are plenty of guys who act way worse.” 

“And plenty who are better,” Scorch huffed. “You want my real opinion on Ghost? He’s a stubborn old man who only cares about himself. Sure, he’s not a total bastard, but he’s also not going to look out for you when push comes to shove. Only you can do that. If he still seems worth the effort after that then knock yourself out but don’t be surprised when he moves on to the next pretty girl he sees.”

Jagg nodded, seeming deep in thought. “Gotcha. Thanks, Gingersnap. Your grace.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Scorch purred. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?” 

“Will do,” Jagg smiled. She gave a dip of her head and then slipped off the ledge and disappeared into the shrubbery.

[crossdressingdeath]

You know, DAI is definitely the standout for Dragon Age totally failing to take the protagonist's background into account during moments that certain backgrounds would respond more strongly to than others, but DAO has at least one moment too. Because Duncan sending the Warden to Alistair on arrival at Ostagar wouldn't mean much to most potential Wardens, but to Surana/Amell it would have a very different feel to it. Think about it: for most Wardens this would be a very normal moment where Duncan sends them to the next most experienced Warden in the order for guidance in the next steps, but for Surana/Amell? They're finally free of the Circle for the first time since they were a child, and the first thing their new commander does on arrival at Ostagar is send them straight to a damned Templar to follow his instructions without even doing them the courtesy of warning them first. And sure, Alistair is a former Templar, but how much difference would that really make to someone who got free of the Circle less than a week ago? Hell, one of the first things Alistair says to the Warden is (paraphrased) "Oh, you're not another mage, are you?" Again, it wouldn't mean much to most Wardens, but to a former Circle mage speaking to a former Templar... DAO just doesn't acknowledge at any point that Surana/Amell has every reason to distrust, fear, and even hate Alistair when they first meet. They think they're free of the Circle and then one of the first people they're introduced to is a former Templar who they're introduced to by way of him first sassing a mage for being rude to the former Templar he's being forced to interact with (he even acknowledges why the mage is uncomfortable talking to him and that he was asked to deliver the message as a form of harassment by the Chantry!) and second by him going "Oh, you're not a mage, are you?" which—while I don't think Alistair meant anything by it—a mage who's been out of the Circle for probably less than a week likely would take poorly.

What I'm saying is, with Surana/Amell the first meeting with Alistair is very very bad! It's the sort of thing that would likely negatively colour their opinion of him! But the game kind of acts like Surana/Amell would respond the same way to their commander immediately sending them to work with a former Templar—who first sasses a mage for being openly unhappy about having to deal with a Templar (despite acknowledging that it is reasonable for the guy to be uncomfortable) and then heavily suggests whether deliberately or accidentally that he has an issue with Surana/Amell's magic—the same way any other potential Warden would. And... they wouldn't. I would like the game to go into that just a little.

[sarahs-secrets2]

Repeat After Me (Phillip Graves x Reader) part 2 18+ ࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

PART 2 GET HYPED AHHHH sorry this took so long, me and this part 2 had beef bc I couldn't think of where to take this, I think I delivered tho?? Hopefully, it lives up to part 1

You Don't Love Him (part 1)

gn! (no use of Y/N), mentions of a boyfriend

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: NSFW, swearing, sexual tension, smut (oral m! receiving), cheating (and reader does not care!), voyeurism (i think idk), pet names (lmk if I forgot something!)

Taglist: @loneghostwolf @rascalxo @sunnybrunt

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“We’re busy right now, I’ll have ‘em call ya back”, biting his lip staring back at you as you watched him on your phone.

“Who the fuck is this?” a man's voice shouted through the phone, your boyfriend’s voice. You were fucked.

Phillip shot you a somewhat panicked look, you sat up now leaning on the headboard as your hand covered your mouth out of shock from what was happening, why the hell did he answer your phone in the first place, and why was your boyfriend even calling?

“I said we’ll call you back bud, don’t worry about it”, there Graves went again, cocky as usual. 

“Hold on, I’m not done, I asked a question, who the fuck is this” the voice on the phone was loud enough that you could hear it and it wasn't even on speaker. Despite your boyfriend being a dick, maybe it was kinda shitty to have Phillip tease him over the phone, but it was out of your control now. 

“Now calm down, no need to get all hot and bothered over the phone”, Phillip winked at you as he spoke, knowing that he had left you hot and bothered by answering the phone and postponing the inevitable. 

You were fully aware of how complex the situation at hand was, your current boyfriend on the phone with your ex-boyfriend who you were about to fuck, if it wasn't for the poorly timed phone call. 

“I think he wants to talk to you doll”, the Commander walked back over to the bed, attempting to hand the phone to you as you rolled your eyes, refusing to take it from him. You shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for Graves’ waist, pulling him closer to you. 

“What if I don’t want to talk to him, that's the whole reason I’m here with you Phillip”, looking up at him with big eyes as your index finger dragged slowly down his stomach, stopping at his boxers. You toyed with the waistband, hoping he would just hang up the phone. Instead, he just shook his head as he looked down at you, with his free hand he cupped your face slowly tilting it up. Phillip set the phone down on the nightstand, his hands rested on your thighs, slowly pushing them open as he positioned himself in between your legs. 

“What is going on over there, where are you, I will come over there and find you both, I’m not sitting on the phone listening to this” your boyfriend was getting progressively angrier as he could still hear you and Graves teasing each other. The panic from the voice on the phone made you giggle. Phillip put his index to your lips, shushing you as he slowly pushed you back onto the bed, as he positioned himself on top of you. 

He started placing kisses on your neck, working his way down your body, resuming his work before the phone call. The voice of your boyfriend on the phone was muffled as he cursed to himself about what was happening, still on the call. 

Your hand reached towards the nightstand, grabbing the phone, “It’s over”, you breathed out, “Let me enjoy my night please” you set the phone back down with a thud. Something about being with Phillip Graves changed your demeanor, his confidence poured into you. 

Phillip laughed, “Good work”, he whispered in your ear before pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Yeah, message received loud and clear from the both of you”, your boyfriend still rambling to himself, “Fuck both of you”,

“Don’t worry pal, I’ll handle it from here, that right doll?”Phillip took your jaw in his hand, slightly applying pressure, causing you to nod vigorously, a slight moan escaping your lips. The beep from the phone signaled the call finally ending, making Graves smile at himself at his handiwork. “He just wouldn't take a hint would he?”,

A part of you wanted to see how far Graves planned on taking it with your now ex-boyfriend on the phone, “It’s just us now Phillip”, you let your finger drag along his chest. 

“I know darlin’,” he coughed slightly, in an attempt to regain his composure. 

“Let me thank you for handling him”, you sat up on your elbows.

“Now how are you gonna do that?” 

“I’ll show you” smiling at him as you maneuvered on top of him pushing him back onto the bed. Positioning yourself in between his legs you slowly pulled his boxers down his legs. Placing a small kiss on his tip you hollowed your cheeks taking his length into your mouth, slightly gagging as it hit the back of your throat. His head fell back as his hand went to the top of your head to start building a pace. 

“Fuck baby, keep goin’”, you looked up at him through your lashes maintaining eye contact as he continued to use his hand to keep up your pace. The tension from the night made it easier for Phillip to finish, releasing into your mouth, as you happily swallowed it. 

Pulling you up to him, Graves connected his lips to yours in a deep kiss as a thank you, his tongue pushing into your mouth, showing his dominance. Finally, the both of you pulled away for air, Phillip placing a small kiss on your forehead before pulling you close into his arms.

Laying next to each other in bed was peaceful as the moonlight shined through the blinds. The Commander had a pretty big room for living alone, despite having a California king, the two of you were on top of each other, basking in the afterglow. Your fingers traced Phillip’s back, drawing shapes, and placing small kisses on his scars. He turned around, now facing you. 

“Having fun?”

“Just admiring you, turn back around”, your hand was now holding his face, slowly thumbing the long scar on his face.

“I’m glad you called me tonight”, he ignored your request and continued to face you,

“I’m glad too, even though you technically made me a cheater”, punching his arm slightly,

“Now honey, I didn't make you do anything, I clearly remember you repeating to me that you didn't love him”, he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Whaddya say to givin’ this another go?”

You propped yourself up on one elbow to get a better look at the man next to you, “What makes you think it’ll be any different than last time?”

“Let me treat you right this time, c'mon sweetheart”, he gave you a smile, the same smile that got you wrapped up in his mess the first time.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Eep hope you all enjoyed it! I barely proofread this so if there's a typo just let me knowww :))

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Short Prompt # 11

TW: Blood, restraints, murder mention, injury, captivity

Not edited

If Hero had hit rock-bottom before, this was infinitely worse. They vividly remembered the cold metal connecting with their skull, making spots dance in their vision till their world faded to a pitch black abyss of utter silence, the pounding headache they were suffering a testament to that.

Their arms were bound tightly behind their back, the thick rope unwilling to relent to any efforts of escape, only chafing against the crime-fighter's skin, reopening poorly healed cuts. The gag shoved into their mouth rendered their throat dry enough to rival a desert. Their legs felt like they were made of lead, and their muscles were on fire. They'd gotten themselves thrown into hell, it seemed.

The door creaked open, letting a sterile, white light blind the hero as it snuck into the awfully dim room. They cursed through the gag because every time that door opened, their torture was renewed, their wounds slowly reopened again.

Except instead of one of their many tormentors, their sworn enemy, Villain, stood face to face with them.

Unlike the hero's pathetically miserable state, the villain looked immaculate, untouchable. Their dark hair hung in loose curls, and their clothes were pristine and very soft-looking. They looked like they'd just stepped straight out of the salon, and Hero hated it with a burning passion.

"If I take out the gag, you'll behave?"

The look in Hero's eyes had already delivered the desired message more effectively than a thousand filthy swear words would.

The villain had the decency to finally cave in and slice through their restraints and pull the gag out of their mouth.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

When the hero didn't follow suit, they turned back to them, arms folded across their chest, and they raised an eyebrow at them. Always one for theatricality.

"I can't walk," Hero whined pathetically, fixing the villain with wide, adorable, manipulative eyes.

"Your legs aren't broken," they snapped.

"You try walking normally when you've been restrained for weeks!"

Villain scooped them up against their chest effortlessly. "Keep this up, and I'll bloody well murder you," they growled

"You'd miss me too much," the hero purred, tracing the curve of their jaw in a featherlight caress. Even when they were covered in dirt and blood, they still managed to send shivers up the criminal's spine.

"Wait." The crime-fighter's tone suddenly sobered up, making the villain stop in their tracks. "How do you expect to just waltz out of here with me in tow?"

The hero was usually the brains of the operation, but the villain wasn't too dull either. "I killed them all," they said softly, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Tu as tué pour moi? Tu es vraiment mon autre moitié," they whispered in awe.

Villain never really understood anything Hero said in French, but it sounded so alluring, they loved listening to it anyway.

"I just didn't know what you'd think of me," they answered sheepishly.

"What would you think if I told you I've always had fantasies of someone killing for me?"

"I-I'd kill a thousand more if I had to. They can't hurt you and expect to walk away from it unscathed," they snarled.

Hero pressed a kiss into their nemesis's temple, their mint-scented hair conditioner hitting them like a kick to the ribs.

"I'm going to spoil you so bad, you'll forget all this even happened," the villain promised.

"I'd want nothing more, mon amour."

"Finally, I understand what you're saying!"

The hero laughed, soft and musical, and it set the villain's heart on fire.

Hero had always been the one fixing up Villain's messes, stitching them up in the middle of the night and trying to save them from their path of self-destruction. This time, they could finally let someone else take care of them, let the weight fall from their shoulders, close their eyes, and finally feel safe for once.

To find someone that holds you in the highest regard, that knows your value and isn't afraid to show that to the world is a blessing without a price. To see your soul reflected in someone else's eyes is the most beautiful way to spell out the word 'love'. Et quand je pense de l'amour, c'est ton nom qui est toujours dans mon coeur.

Notes: Can you guess what the stuff in French means? If you don't want to, check the replies for the translation!

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[hungerofhadarr]

Tagged by my friend @aphoticfairy for Wip Wednesday ( come . Play Pretend with me . It is still Wednesday . )

Since I am nervous to tag anyone for this, please feel free to take this post as your invitation to join in if you wish ! ( also tag me so I can see , pease … )

Fic wip for a fic I like to call “ Wyll and Giilvas are going to get married also Ulder is scheming and Giilvas and Ulder are going to enact psychic warfare on each other “ it’ s a great working title !

——

The Ravengard estate. A rather proud, pompous building. Overlooking the sprawling gardens and the intricate stone archways. The hedge maze was a wonderful touch, maybe, when Ulder was younger and he would race through the hedges. Now, it was an all-consuming nightmare to keep trimmed. And it proves his internal compass has… lost its skills, so to say, he’s gotten lost many more times than he will admit.

The halls come alive at known intervals, for political parties. Or political meetings. Or for political holidays. Ulder has to pause and think hard about the last time a celebration occurred in these wall and it didn’t have some form of political weight. The resounding answer being never.

But. Nevermind that. It was still a few months off before anything should be happening. The next larger, world devorning event was the Feast of the Moon, and the many little events that it managed to spawn that Ulder was left trying to herd like righteous tressyms. Which is to say, poorly, with many colourful words, and he ends up tripping over his own feet.

He had just managed to survive the screaming, meowing, forever pissed off hoard of metaphorical tressyms for Highharvestide, and was rather content to spend a few days in bed. Dead to the world. Or in his study. Dead to the world. Or in the gardens. Once again. Dead to the world.

So he was rather concerned when he awoke to a frantic set of knocks on his study door. Reading spectacles clattered on oak floor, book that was laid politely on his lap joining them, Ulder jolted to attention when one of the maids creaked the door ajar. Blue eyes peering inward like a child, checking to see if her parents are sleeping.

“Sire? We have word of visitors. I think they’ll wish to see you, when you’re available, of course.”

She doesn’t push the door open any further, but she does not close it either. Just offers a bow of the head, and her quick footsteps mark her rapid descent down the hall.

Ulder manages to blink a few times, vision taking pity and unblurring after the third try. If he can see, then he can hear. And if he can hear, he can retroactively acknowledge what the maid-girl just said. And if he can acknowledge what was just said…

By the Gods. Give him mercy.

Highharvestide had just concluded. No one was supposed to be coming around. Unless… no. No, the ball was perfect. There would be no way any self-respecting noble would send a pageboy to deliver a message of displeasure. Not so soon, anyhow.

But maids and watchguards do not go into a state of panic over a pageboy, so who could it…?

Putting the window to use, finally pushing the lovingly embroidered curtains to the side- ah, good afternoon to you as well, shower of dust- and he tries to focus his eyes to the horizon.

There is… something! There is something coming up the front path.

He needs his glasses. Damnable things.

By the time he manages to save them from their temporary spot on the cold floor, hips be damned he can manage that bend, the something is further up the path.

Ulder gives the lenses the old one-two swipe with the cloth of his shirt to get rid of anything unneeded smudges, and finally places them back on the bridge of his nose.

Oh. By the Gods.

It’s Wyll. His boy, Wyll Ravengard. Coming up the path with singed armour and a travel pack slinging over his shoulder. He’s grinning, the lingering autumn warmth slowing his pace as he approaches. He looks well. Very much so, since the last chance Ulder had to see him. Would have brought a tear to his eye. If there wasn’t a concern pushing at the base of his skull- joyous! A migraine is already coming on.

Wyll wasn’t the concern. Wyll wasn’t the reason Ulder was feeling the need to call upon the Triad.

The hulking other, a step behind his son? That was the reason.

The Golden Rose. Giilvas Quickfoot. His boy’s betrothed. Ulder’s nightmare.

Ulder wanted to scrunch his face. In fact, he does allow his nose to wrinkle and his lips to go tight. But if he can see them, they can see him. And, since the Fates have made the decision that Ulder is their current focus of tortures, Wyll’s betrothed is scarily perceptive.

So, if he was to snarl from his study, far above them, Giilvas would see it. And made sure Ulder knew.

Instead, with an air of calm and I don’t care that you’re coming up my walk and will be inside my estate, Ulder yanks the dusty old curtains back in place. Then, he allows himself to scowl at the old embroidery that dances across the fabric. He swears he can see those mismatched eyes of the Rose staring back at him in the tapestry. And he swears they’re laughing at him.

With a dizzying clarity that he, Duke Ulder Ravengard, is about to pick a fight with his curtains, he pulls away. There’s a warm rush of embarrassment across his neck. He’s acting like a child. Get it together, he scolds himself.

It is a blessing that his boy and his… boy-in-law? Were coming for a visit. They’ll probably spend the night out at the tavern, and they’ll spend only an hour or two here.

Ulder smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, and affirms his thoughts. He would not demand Wyll stay the night here. And besides, this was just a visit. It wasn’t like the two of them were coming to the estate with world-changing news. The two of them were travellers- one of which had Ulder’s respect, but that was besides the point- they’d probably be seen leaving Baldur’s Gate by the dawn of the ‘morrow.

Now, time to take his place in the foyer, and wait for his welcomed guests to step inside.

——

“Father, we plan to be wedded!”

Ulder Ravengard was going to smash something. Over his head? Over the head of the smug man clinging to his son? Both of them?

Yes. Both of them, he decides. But, since the Fates chose that their newest decree would make it so no butler bearing two heavy bottles of wine came through the foyer at that instant, Ulder chose the high road.

He smiles, he knows it isn’t quite reaching his eyes but what can he do, and he nods like a village fool at the excitement in Wyll’s voice. There was something soft in his chest, seeing his son so… happy. He truly desires this, he wants the wedding. And he wants his father to know. It was sweet and Ulder wondered why he was so bitter a moment ago.

“Of course, this means I am here to ask for your permission, Mr. Ravengard.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Ulder Ravengard was bitter again. Wonder who caused that.

Giilvas kept a large hand almost permanently interlocked with Wyll’s, and Ulder has half a mind to tell him that Wyll isn’t going to run away on him. But the other half?

Oh.

Oh. It was planning. Spinning a web, even. Laying a dastardly trap. And the Rose would walk right into it.

“Of course. It would be wrong of me to deny you both from each other. But… May I make a request?” Ulder notes how Giilvas nods rather enthusiastically. And how Wyll nods, but slower. Brow furrowing just enough to faintly recrease his forehead. By the Helm, was he already onto him? Ulder didn’t think he was that predictable.

Well, he cannot back down now. He was the Duke, dammit. Dukes do not tuck tail and run.

“I would like to aid in the wedding. You’ll,” and Ulder locks his eyes with Wyll, making sure the fact that the you in this case is singular well known, “ have full access to our coffers for planning. We can even host the ceremony here. The garden can be kept alive by magic, you see-“

“You make it sound like we’ll be wed in the winter.” Giilvas cuts in, and Wyll eyes his father knowingly. Too knowingly. Ulder, suddenly, finds the wall behind Wyll far easier to lock eyes with.

“I was getting to that. You see, to make sure this wedding is perfect, you’ll both have to stay here. Allows us all to plan and have everything ready. It will be perfect, between Uktar thirtieth and Nightal first.”

Wyll sucks in a gasp.

“But that’s the Feast of the Moon-“

Giilvas’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, things slotting into place with Wyll’s words.

“You plan to wed us on the night for the Ball of the Moon.”

Clever boy.

“I think it would be grand. Wouldn’t it?” It also gives him the time to try and scare away the rapscallion that is trying to take his boy from him.

But, in a twist that Ulder feels more shock at the fact he did not see this coming, rather than the twist itself, Giilvas smiles at him. Not really a smile, top lip pulled too far back and it seems to refuse to reach his eyes, but he made the face all the same. It is the thought that counts.

“It’s a deal, gracious Duke Ravengard.”

Oh, the boy wishes to play the game with him? So be it.

Wyll eyes the both of them as they seal the deal with a shake. He is aware, the third party always is, but that only means Ulder will have to choose subtly. Espionage can win a war. It wasn’t like Giilvas knew how to navigate a noble home or the ecosystem of one. He has home advantage- literally.

He holds his potentially probably not son-in-law’s gaze for a few moments that last a century, seeing if he’ll shy away from the eye contact. When those mismatched eyes start to look like they’re laughing at him, Ulder releases the hand and turns to call for someone else.

“I’ll make sure a bed is prepared for you, my good man. And Wyll? Your room is the same as when you left. Make yourself comfortable once more, my son.”

He makes a mental note to tell the maid to make up Giilvas’ room on the opposite wing of the estate. Good luck avoiding squeaky floors in the night, foolboy.

For now, he guides the boys to deposit their belongings and encourages them to shed the heavier layers of armour. Might as well let them have as much comfort as they can now.

Hell stained metal and fabric collect alongside their travel bags, and Ulder holds his tongue. He will ask his son about it all later. The battles. The terrors. The cruelty. Now was not the time for any of it. Especially not when his son was still buzzing with the energy of announcing the plan for marriage.

“Father, are the gardens in good shape right now?”

Ulder knew was Wyll was asking for, and he reminded himself of the eye bags under Giilvas’ eyes. They both must be exhausted. And it would be cruel and unusual to try and being the warfare when one party was in poor condition. Ulder was nothing, if not a merciful man.

“Oh, go ahead Wyll. Everything will be taken care of in here.”

That damn warmth spread in his chest, seeing Wyll relock his hand with Giilvas’ own. He gives a tug, pulling the larger man along, and Ulder cannot help but sigh wistfully when Wyll mentions the maze to Giilvas. They’re going to get lost in there. Ulder knows it to be true.

But, with them both gone and busy, Ulder can plan with no risk of ever-watchful eyes catching him.

How does one drive away a man like Giilvas Quickfoot. It was time to delve into the worlds of speculation and trial and error.

He won’t be empty handed.

[gnomeniche]

it’s dhmis week day 4 which means i get to talk about dhmis s1e4 friendship and how interesting it is

so a lot of people’s analytical opinion about friendship has been “it’s funny but i don’t know if it really has that much to dig into, lore-wise or thematically”. i disagree. if you will indulge me, i will present the reasons that i find this episode persistently interesting in an easily digestible numbered list.

warren’s incompetence reveals more blatantly that the world’s reality can be and is manipulated by the teachers. we had hints of this before, but the shifts in reality were well-hidden with elements like the jobs song, which established a “teleporting” stylization to drop them into the factory, or the trip to the family house being built into the episode’s storyline. you could plausibly argue that maybe their world is just like this and nobody’s actually manipulating anything. however, warren dispenses with any kind of subtlety and straight-up pauses the show. because he’s bad at what he does! this is the episode that comes immediately before the two final episodes, which make the manipulation of the world explicit, so you could take this as setup for the idea’s full reveal.

the question of what the other two actually said to yellow guy: did they insult him? the bleeping happens immediately before warren starts his spiel. since the episode is riffing on the after-school bullying special, that is the kind of moment that would be built into a storyline as a segue for that kind of moral, and the recurring element of traditional kids’ show storylines with nice, pat morals being forced on the characters leads toward the bleeping possibly being a mislead. combined with the blatant world manipulation i discussed, the bleeping could have been added by warren to imply something harsher than they actually said. even the lead-in of “it’s not your fault. you’re just a—“ could plausibly set up a non-insulting phrase; part of the humor of the sudden bleep is derived from the expectation that it would be some kind of reassurance. still, they COULD have genuinely insulted him, but they just as possibly could have not. this ambiguity is compounded by…

the way the “being a good friend” message slips away to reveal a message of “insecurities can ruin your relationships” and how neither of them seems fully accurate: what is even up with the message? it starts with warren’s poorly delivered anti-bullying program, but it slowly transforms into being about how insecurities can get the better of you. warren styles himself as a teacher, but at some point, he becomes an embodiment of and metaphor for insecurity. with this in mind, if warren’s influence caused the bleeping, it becomes even more plausible that the other two did not necessarily insult yellow guy. was his impression that they insulted him really just a “worm in his brain,” an insecurity that he thinks his friends hate him manifested literally in the episode plot? HOWEVER. IT IS STILL MORE COMPLICATED, EVIDENCED BY…

the fact that his friends ACTUALLY do not respect him: there is repeated evidence in the rest of the show that his friends DON’T see him as an equal! i do believe that they genuinely do not hate him, but they certainly do not always treat him well either. red guy and duck don’t always respect each other, but both of them seem to see yellow guy as being on a slightly lower level than the two of them, and they treat him accordingly. he may have had a worm in his brain, but in the plot of the episode, they were the ones who encouraged warren to get into his brain, and they had to fix their fuckup. they may or may not have insulted him in the bleeped instance, but either way, they do not think about the behavior that could have led him to believe they would. the ending message of “your friends love you; don’t let your insecurities get the better of you” is then misleading; they are making it all about his insecurities and not about their behavior. sure, they love him. sure, insecurities can ruin your relationships. but neither of those facts negates that even when both are true, there can still be genuine problems within a friendship that need resolving. and boy do these guys have friendship problems.

the ending fight: peak television. funniest moment in the show. but also it adds to the weird ambiguity of it all. what DOES friendship even mean here? in a world like this, where nothing is ever really true and the enforced narrative is you and not you at the same time? can you ever really understand each other? or maybe it just means that sometimes you do need to call your friend on being a dick for no reason instead of trying to be the bigger person. and sometimes that means hitting him with a glass bottle and a katana and a gatling gun and also a chainsaw. who even knows

anyway that’s all the reasons i find dhmis s1e4 friendship interesting. and also it’s just really funny? the jokes do not stop coming and there’s a bunch of really subtle tiny gags that are just delightful. dhmis is always making you feel several levels of weird complicated emotions at once and this episode really does that to me. all of the lessons it gives have Something within them or in the surrounding context that complicates them or throws them into question. friendship is not the most emotionally devastating episode by a LONG shot (the one-two punch of transport and electricity kills me instantly every time i rewatch), but it is the one with the most weird shit that i keep trying to puzzle out.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Twenty-One - Mushroom @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 961 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Marlene needed a solid plan. She was a bit shite at improvising on the fly. That’s why she was a good goalie, Marlene didn’t need to be creative with her saves. She stuck to her tried and true methods and refused to be baited out of her net.

I need evidence. She can’t argue with tangible proof that we belong together. Then again, she can’t argue if I’m kissing her either.

Technically, Dorcas could argue with a wall. That’s why she would make a brilliant lawyer. Marlene had no chance to win a verbal battle. Dorcas’s weakness was that she was sentimental. She still had the bowl they made together in the sitting room and hadn’t scratched out her message underneath, Marlene checked.

Goal: Convince Dorcas to take me back.

Steps: 1. Reminiscing 2. Kissing 3. Confessing my love.

It was a lofty goal, to be fair, and with a bruised nose, her charm had a heavy burden to overcome. Unless of course, Dorcas wanted to kiss her out of pity. Marlene certainly wouldn’t turn her down.

Kissing Dorcas was the key. They always spoke more clearly through physical affection. Dorcas couldn’t mistake her meaning, no matter how poorly her message was delivered.

Once they reached the flat, Dorcas disappeared into her room. Marlene was tempted to follow and continue their banter. Arguing often led to kissing, in her experience.

“Marlene,” Pandora whispered, waving her into the kitchen.

Curious, Marlene followed the summons. She checked the bedroom door before stepping into the kitchen, but it remained shut. Hopefully, Dorcas was simply changing her clothes.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lily asked. “I don’t want to upset Dorcas on my second day here.”

Pandora hushed her gently, then focused on Marlene. “Are you a mushroom or a tree?”

“Huh?” Marlene glanced between the two women with a frown. “What does that mean?”

“Are you surface level?” Pandora elaborated, gesturing with impatience.

Marlene stared at her blankly. She was starting to wonder if she’d wandered onto a planet where everyone’s brains were extra wrinkly, while hers had begun to smooth. Either everyone in this flat was far too clever for a normal sod to understand, or they were complete nutters.

“I want to say ‘huh’ again, but I have a feeling that’s not the answer you’re looking for.”

Lily giggled. “She means your feelings for Dorcas. We can tell that you still care for her, but how deep does it go? How much is buried underneath? Is it like a tree’s roots? Or is it like a mushroom’s mycelium?”

“Plants aren’t really my thing,” Marlene said slowly, reaching for the door. “Hold on, I think I need a translator. Regulus? Do you speak plant nerd?”

A sharp snort from Regulus was followed by a booming laugh from James. The pair appeared in the doorway with matched grins. Regulus’s head cocked when he met Pandora’s intense gaze.

“Plant nerd?” he repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Am I a tree or a mushroom?” Marlene asked, shrugging. “If I had to pick a plant, I would have said eggplant just for a laugh, but this is over my head.”

“More like nettles,” James added with a smirk as he poked her arm repeatedly. “Little jabs that annoy the piss out of you and are impossible to ignore.”

Marlene flipped him off. “Not helping. Regulus? Care to give it a go?”

Regulus grabbed James’s hands and wrapped them around his waist, immediately distracting his boyfriend. “Behave, mon amour. Now, what are we talking about? Trees and mushrooms?”

Pandora scoffed, “It’s not that complicated! It was a metaphor for her feelings for Dorcas.”

“Marls doesn’t speak metaphorically either,” James said, propping his chin on Regulus’s head.

Marlene pointed at him in agreement. “What he said.”

Regulus frowned. “This isn’t any of our business, Panda.”

“Which is why I was using metaphors!” Pandora defended. She stepped forward and gripped Marlene’s chin, then tugged her head down. “Are you in love with Dorcas?”

“Yes, obviously. Who wouldn’t be?” Marlene snarked.

Lily, Regulus, and James all raised their hands. She glanced between them in confusion until Pandora forced her attention back on her face. For such a tiny woman, she was rather demanding. Marlene liked her already.

“Trees are show-offs, surface-level lovers. Their roots cannot support them and that’s why they fall. Shallow affection isn’t enough. Mushrooms have root systems that dig deep in the soil, connect with others and grow constantly. They can survive in any weather, withstand any trial. If the mushroom is plucked, it will simply regrow. Soul deep love survives,” Pandora explained tersely. “So, are you a mushroom or a tree?”

“Oooh. I’m a ‘shroom then. A psychedelic ‘shroom!”

James grinned wide. “That must be why Peter puts up with you.”

Pandora groaned and rubbed at her forehead. “You’re such a twit! I cannot begin to understand why Dorcas built a shrine for you.”

“A what now?” Marlene spluttered.

Lily cringed hard. “Perhaps ‘shrine’ is too strong of a word, love.”

“No, it’s not.”

Marlene waved her hands urgently. “Wait, wait, wait! What kind of shrine? Are we talking candles and voodoo dolls or hero worship?”

“Does it really matter?” James asked, nudging her shoulder with his own. “You would be into either of them.”

“True, but I want to be prepared. What kink am I appealing to? Am I sacrificing my body to my goddess or blessing her with my lofty gaze?”

James’s laugh bounced around the walls of the kitchen, while Regulus buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck and shook with silent laughter. Even Lily giggled, but Pandora continued to glare at Marlene. She was a tough nut to crack.

Oh good, now I’m making plant metaphors. It’s contagious! Maybe Pandora is poison ivy.

[spopsalt]

https://www.tumblr.com/godmodebeginswithlesbians/732567688496431104/we-need-less-sanitized-queer-stories-youre-the

I cannot believe the amount of notes this post has of people agreeing with it. I have no idea what The Locked Tomb is so I can’t speak on that, but regarding She-Ra, ever since the finale, I’m one of the people who’s been agreeing with the statement that OP is mocking here. To clarify, though, I’m all for less sanitized LGBT stories, but I want them to still be well written, make actual sense narratively, and deliver a positive message for a target demographic of children, all which She-Ra failed at.

I read some of the notes and aside from the typical nonsense I’m used to seeing toxic She-Ra fans spew, there are people who reblogged this defending She-Ra while simultaneously admitting that they DIDN’T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW. Ofc they’re not gonna understand or interpret any of the criticism in good faith if they haven’t even watched the damn show. That’s the brainless mob mentality that’s to be expected on this site.

Anyway, as a writer who majored in animation, seeing posts and notes like this is so disheartening. I don’t have much hope for the entertainment industry (especially animation) or the LGBT community. Both have proven that their standards are lower than dirt and that they all have piss poor media literacy and critical thinking skills that lead them to harassing and hating on anyone who dares criticize the media that they blindly worship. It’s insulting as a writer and sets a bad precedent that professionals can just produce poorly written fan fiction with a budget that validates childish NPCs who eat it up as long as it caters to their sensibilities and is under the guise of progressivism for kids so it can be praised as “groundbreaking.” It makes me wanna steer clear of this industry entirely tbh .

Yeah, my problem isnt that it's not santized, my problem is that not only is it romantized, but targeted towards kids, kids are seeing this and thinking it's ok, again bubbline and lumity are much, much better repsentation in kids shows, I wish that people could just admit that Catradora isnt good now that we do have good rep in kid shows now but I guess there's nothing we can do. Even Star vs The Forces of Evil did it better when it showed that Jackie Lynn Thomas and Star Butterfly were bisexual which is cool. Now both were kinda ambigious but they couldnt do much since it was disney and its still better than romantizing toxic relationships to children.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

New WIP Tag Game!

Courtesy of the wonderful @weirdly-specific-but-ok <3

Give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you love [fiction, non-fiction, from different works or the same, from completed stories or poems or WIPs, from yesterday or ten years ago]. If that seems hard, even one will do. It doesn't have to be perfect. It can just be something silly that gives you joy.

And give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you dislike and find shitty. Anything at all as long as you wrote it. If you think it's ridiculous or absolute fucking garbage, even better! That's the point of this game. To see that we all write good things and bad things. Yeah? You can do this. And remember that both these categories are subjective.

**

Shitty lines (hard to find not because I don't write them but because I erase them as fast as I can think of a new one...)

They were tree trunks wider around than some men are tall with myriad scrubby looking bushes around them, looking almost like God herself had just throw piles of leaves down haphazardly. (Crowley is accidentally Robin Hood and Strumpet is bad at describing foliage)

"Getting a bit long in the tooth for crawling around on bad carpeting, these days.” Crowley took a beat, shouted something obscene toward the screen, then turned his full attention back to Aziraphale. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that, though. Since I was hoping you assumed I was a ripe twenty-something.” (RHPS WIP, just don't love that last line yet)

“But it was way cool of you. Really.” Newt smiled, a genuine and guileless thing, much like the man, himself. (Glam Rock AU - wanted Newt to awkwardly use 70's slang but google failed me and 'groovy' was too obvious)

Lines I love

RHPS Fic:

 “Do you often scare off audience members?”

“Only the ones with no imagination…” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “Or the ones who only get on their knees in church.”

Priest AU:

When asked about Miss Device directly, Crowley seemed to give a different answer to every person: 

She’s my long lost aunt.

Sorry, never heard the name. Sounds a bit pretentious.

Wait, you can see her, too? 

Glam Rock AU: (this one needs context)

“I’m not repeating that,” she seemed to be talking to someone else, possibly covering the receiver as she did so. “You’re an absolute terror,” she told the other person before the muffling ceased and her voice was clear again on the line. “Sorry about that. We, uh, I mean I just needed to know if I should stock up on anything for Mr. Fell on Wednesday. Tea? Biscuits? Newt will know what I mean.” 

There was another series of sounds and more poorly stifled laughter, then a familiar voice chimed in, fuzzy and echoing in the background but unmistakable.

“Weetabix! So he can shite out that stick up his arse!”

The woman on the phone covered the receiver again, though not before releasing a snort of laughter, herself. There was a series of shushing noises and Fell knew he ought to simply hang up. The message had been delivered. And then some. 

Tagging @hakunahistata @voluptatiscausa @ineffabildaddy @mrghostrat @kotias @theravenmuse @malachitegrey @captainblou @ineffablyruined @mrscakeishere and anyone else who wants to!

[paramaline]

what made you watching foundation? and what made you keep watching it? i see you reblogging stuff and i’m right on the edge of watching… push me over?

anon i am so tickled by this message thank you. i have to warn you up front that i've got an intense love/hate thing going on with foundation and cannot "recommend" watching it per se…overall i think it's bafflingly badly written & poorly paced for the amount of money apple has spent on it! but it's giving me just enough of what i want that i keep coming back for more, and perhaps…just perhaps…it will do the same for you. and i would certainly love the company!

i started watching it because i grew up on the books that the show is (very loosely) based on, and also because jared harris is the puppet master who cursed my dick, so i'm going to see it through no matter what. i thought the first season was a fucking slog but for what it's worth i'm genuinely starting to enjoy myself about halfway through season 2. i think the show is at its best when it focuses on the bizarre family dynamics that arise from its space opera weirdness...like how the galactic empire is ruled by three differently aged clones of the same guy, plus their android mommy/wife/advisor/bodyguard/servant/captor. or the woman who goes on a quest across time and space to find her family, only to discover that her mother is a troubled nerd who is younger than she is and her grandpa is an angry ghost trapped in a four dimensional polyhedron. or the charming scoundrel magician missionaries who sell gadgets and half-fake religion to rubes on the outer rim of the galaxy. the cringey dialogue and clumsily inserted action sequences are still painful, and i don't think the show has a core sense of what it wants to be ABOUT. but i think foundation is learning how to laugh at itself a little, and how to lean into the compelling oddness of these character combinations, and that's working for me.

how else can i sell it…if you love beautiful sci fi vistas, it's got a lot of those. if you love seeing women of color populate what was originally a very Mid Century White Dude vision of the future, this show delivers. if you love watching jared harris suffer, he sure does that. if you love robots, laura birn gives a bewitchingly strange and compelling performance as an immortal android, and i know the Deep Lore so i can guarantee that her character is only going to get freakier. and if you love male nudity, lee pace is naked, like, ALL the time. that's all i've got. all i can say is that my mind tells me i should advise you to skip it, but my heart wants you to join me 🤖❤️

[the-masked-reviewer]

Wish (2023) Review

Potential spoilers ahead...

The writing, the animation, and even the color choices are nowhere near what one would expect from MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR company that is not only known for their animation, but a company widely considered to have revolutionized medium time and time again.

The writing is questionable at best, and at worst it, it feels like it was written by AI to some extent. Most of the dialogue feels rushed and incomplete. The questions with the writing really come to fruition when you look at the lyrics from the music, which, in musicals especially, is where the writing should shine and communicate the majority of emotion. The reason this movie doesn't succeed in this drastically important task could be for multiple reasons. One could be that the hiring of pop writers, who generally wouldn't feel the need to worry so much about making the lyrics carry any weight just so long as they are catchy songs. This led to less musical genre songs and more pop songs. Or… they used AI, which I feel is the more likely answer. I refuse to believe any human being would write the words "watch out world, here I are"(I'm A Star) and think it's good and acceptable under any circumstance, even when writing a pop song. Additionally, many of the scenes you'd expect to have any impact or relevance simply have no effect. For example, Asha at one point, fairly early on, wishes upon a star and the star comes to help her on her quest, but the star and whole idea of wishing on stars are practically irrelevant.

In terms of characterization, there isn't much to say due to the lack of establishing personalities and character arcs in general. Asha has little exposition, which isn't necessarily strange, it's actually fairly common in Disney Princess movies, but the lack of exposition coupled with the lack of believable motivation and growth results in a main character that is flat and a pure archetype with nothing unique. Every character in the movie lacks depth, development, and in most cases, personality. This makes it almost impossible for the audience to care about the conflict, the motive, and everything in between. This lack of development also makes it difficult for the audience to connect with anything or anyone within this story.

The Disney animation style is well-defined and well liked, however this movie's animation is just strange and feels un-mouse like. The animation ended up looking unfinished due to a lack of rendering and lighting. They tried to combine 3D and 2D animation which doesn't translate. As well as meshing the modern style with their classic animation style, despite the fact that these styles don't mesh the way they were trying to execute them.

The casting was really good. Which makes the mistakes, and questionable decisions, especially those in the writing, even more bitter because you know the cast is capable of delivering an amazing performance.

Many of the color palettes and choices were just simply unusual. The expected palette for example, is having Villains be associated with greens, purples, and blacks. This expectation was not only popularized but frequently attributed and associated with the company. And yet, they choose to disregard the precedent and history that they themselves fostered to put this movie's villain in white and gold, with the only sight of green being when ANY character does magic, while purple is Asha, the protagonist's, primary color. The color palettes may not bother everyone, but they are one example of where the choices made for this movie are weird and unexpected in negative ways.

The "message" that you have all the power to do anything you want, with no message of having hope, doing the right thing, or trusting someone/something to help you is done extremely poorly. Such a large company with such a successful history failing to even deliver this simplistic moral even a little is honestly sad. The plot of the movie makes little to no sense. There is almost no motivation for the audience to care about any of the characters, except possibly Asha, the main character. Many of the events throughout the movie feel disconnected and aimless. The entire movie feels like a series of "references" to other Disney movies, so blatant they should be called "callouts" instead, with few events pretending to be a plot between them.

In conclusion, this movie vastly under performs and fails to meet any of the standards expected of it. The only highlight i can think of would be Alan Tudyk's performance as the comedic relief goat. But even this character faces the same problems as the rest.

[thinplacesradio]

the driver's side of a silver car from the outside, hazy, headlights illuminating the road in front of it. the lights inside the car are streaked and blurry. the hood is popped. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[022] THE VISION. A CALLER REMEMBERS A MESSAGE. THE HOST TAKES A LOOK UNDER THE HOOD.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

[hissing] [car door dinging]

I’m coming to you sweaty from my studio, which is what I like to call the side of this poorly paved road that my car has chosen to break down on. It’s hissing out purple smoke, which seems. Well. I don’t know. I’m not exactly the expert in what’s normal or not normal.

I’ve got the hood propped up and am looking around inside hoping that any part of this triggers something in my mind. But it’s looking like fixing cars is an area I was, and remain, totally useless in – ladies. Hey, at least that’s something I remember about myself.  

It's a clear night – a beautiful night, honestly. The stars are bright overhead, and past the heat of the car, the air is finally starting to bite with cold. I don’t know how many seasons I’ve been on the road like this, but something about fall turning to winter just feels right.

On such a clear and beautiful night, the wind should be clearing away the sea of smoke that’s hovering around the car, but it’s settling down across the road itself, now, a strange, luminescent fog obscuring the old farm that I thought I saw off in the distance.

[strange burbling gasping sound, followed by clangs]

Hm. [clang] Do we think that’s good?

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you being tested?

Is someone beyond the grave getting a message to you just in time?

Has time been pulled out of joint? 

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

So this happened to my mother a long time ago, when my sister was little. She - my sister was really sick, but no one knew what was happening. And my - and so the doctors were like well, we'll just send her home for a few days. See if that goes, that goes away or something. And my mom was so tired. So exhausted. And she says that the image of my grandmother who had just recently passed came to her and said, don't you let them send my baby away. And so she didn't and they found out what was wrong with her and it was really bad, but they were able to get to it in time. To help her and save her. So, just wanted to let you know about that because that was a little weird. My name is Slay. You can use the name if you want to. Have a good day. Thank you.

[click] [searching music]

Hi, caller. I’m glad your sister is okay, first of all. It’s still scary that she was sick, even if she got better, and even if it happened a long time ago. This kind of near-miss reveals history’s many branching paths, some of the things that could have happened but didn’t. What a relief. What an act of faith and trust – to hear a message from beyond the grave and to believe it. And to deliver a message in the hope that it will be received, in perfect timing.

All communication is like this – reaching out across an uncrossable space and hoping that the thing you really mean can be understood by the person who has to understand it. But your mother listened to her mother, and her own gut. Thank goodness your sister had an advocate like that. The last thing you know how to do when you are very young and very sick is to stand up for yourself – even, or maybe especially, when you know something is wrong.

I don’t know what happens when you’re dead, and I don’t remember what it’s like to be alive, but I know a whole lot about the space in between. That’s where your sister was saved. That’s where your Grandmother found her, and said, no, please, not yet. It’s not time yet. I’m deciding that. I’m coming back for her.

[click]

Something strange, listeners. There’s something on the ground here, half buried in the gravel on the road beside my car. Hold on.

[rustling]

It’s a postcard, waterlogged and pocked but not torn. It's a picture of an old radio tower, black and white, and the light at the top is lit, I think, with a hazy bright glow. it says WISH I WAS HERE. It feels like if I found the right place, I could hold the postcard up to the horizon and the light would start blinking, full color. WISH I WAS HERE. So... where am I?

[click]  

The air is finally clearing, and the car is quiet again. Now that it's cooled and I can see under the hood, I can see that there's a cap that's come loose. [cap screws]

There. Let's give her a whirl.

[hood shuts] [door opens] [engine purrs]

There we go, baby! Where to next? I’ve been moving for God knows how long, forward and forward and forward. Maybe it's time to try to retrace my steps.

Do I have a mother, a grandmother, that cared for me the way the caller’s care for them? Who did I leave behind? Why? When? I’ve been reaching out to all of you, and you've been reaching back. Communication. A conversation. Maybe it's time I reach back to myself and see who shows up.

[car door shuts] [engine shifts to a low rumble] [turn signal clicks]

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Slay. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]