#and make the post as flat and useless as possible

[pancakeke]

people reposting me to reddit has gotten annoying. why are you taking my jokes and putting them on another website that I also use. like let me do that and try to be funny yourself.

[deadghosy]

Okay so I just started reading Hazbin stuff on your blog, but they're AWESOME!! I'd like to request some Catnap!reader headcanons with the Vees if that's possible?

SURE! Thanks for the suggestion anon🦆💗

CATNAP! READER W/ THE VEES FOR A DAY

prompt: one of the Vee’s grabbed you out of now where and brought you to their tower to hang out.

You didn’t know how this flat faced person got your attention…more like grabbed your tail like a untrained child 😭

Vox grabbed your tail dragging you to the Vee’s tower as you sighed, leaving some red gas out of your mouth annoyed.

I feel like somehow you would agree to hang out with the Vee’s as long as you don’t see them in your hellish life forever.

I can imagine a picture of you and the Vee’s taking a selfie, but Velvette is on her phone, Vox is smiling at the camera, and Valentino is trying to blow a kiss at you.

Valentino was trying to cook for the other two Vee’s and you only for the kitchen to burn down as you and Velvette order take out as Vox gets the fire extinguisher. Valentino is trying not to touch the ✨pretty fire✨

I headcannon Valentino finding you attractive because if your tall frame. But also your smile as you just stand there smiling having your hands behind your back.

Imagine Valentino showing off his guns and you’re like. “Who needs guns when I can do this.” You said smiling as poppy gas slides through your teeth and knocks Valentino straight out on the ground when you smirk.

I can see the Vee’s and you going in a shopping spree and you decide to fuck with them and spend almost all their saving worth. Vox knew what you were doing so he stopped you.

I feel like the Vee’s will try to use try to get info on Alastor. But that’s mostly Vox so it would useless as you don’t anything form Alastor other than Alastor hates when you knock him out for bedtime

You literally sat there as Valentino was trying to get you to watch one of his sex tapes…you knocked him out and left the room as you grumbled.

I can imagine if it was sleepover it would chaotic as hell as Vox would be the one to fall asleep first and duct taped to the ceiling as the other snicker

For shits and giggles, Velvette will say you give off Lana Del Rey vibes as you just side eye her saying, “what tf you know about Lana Del Rey?”

You two are the best music buddies of modern genre.

Imagine a cute little headcannon where they all have secret matching bracelets and they let you have one.

Vox brought you on his channel to talk about your weird and cocky appearance. You were just on there to be clowned until you smirked letting poppy gas as the camera man fell breaking the camera.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! You dumbass cat!” “I’m dumb?” You said glancing at the man beside you as you slapped him smoothly with your tail as he had a shocked face touching his cheek.

I can see Valentino trying to get catnap! Reader to wear heels only for catnap! Reader to break them in their hands shaking their head no as they walk away again

I headcannon that the only V that catnap! Reader finds tolerable is Velvette because of her whole personality and not how she tries to bring catnap! Reader down

You definitely have that fun friend troupe with Velvette which is sweet and wholesome.

Velvette and you were hanging out on her side of the tower as she was getting you dressed in [style aesthetic]. You actually liked it as you gave her a thumbs up and grin.

I headcannon Velvette and Vox to try to make you do those dumbass TikTok dance trends with them so they could get #1 on the trending board.

I can imagine catnap! Reader ordering one of tose bug zappers to only electrocute Valentino

Velvette posted you and her doing a fashion walk as Angel was shocked seeing this on her page and shows the staff of the hotel.

The hazbin hotel gang will be like: “why tf is our resident hanging out with them?” As you are just trying to see why people even love the Vee’s.

I can headcannon that Vox forced you into a group chat with them

I can see that every time you hang out with the Vee’s, your phone gets blown up with worried text from the hazbin hotel crew. And then Vox will try to hack or get into your phone to disable your phone.

I imagine you and Vox literally shitting in each other. Like you say “why as you so short.” While he thinks of a comeback to say back to you.

I headcannon that if you and the Vee’s played uno together, you’re rigging it. Cause ain’t no one gonna win today.

At the end of the day, you left their asses as you used your red smoke on them…well idk about Vox cause that bitch has a tv head. You probably gave him a virus to circuit.

BRO WHO TF MADE THAT SMIRK FOR CATNAP?! EHH? Anyways I hope you guys liked this🦆💗

[writing-with-sophia]

Write a weak hero

Okay, first, what is weak? According to Oxford Dictionary, weak is lacking the power to perform physically demanding tasks; lacking physical strength and energy, or liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

That means, a weak hero is a character who isn't physically strong, mentally strong or even both.

So, how can we create a weak hero but do not make readers hate him/her? You will know after this post!

First, developing an effectively background

Unlike typical heroes who may have been born with incredible powers or had a dramatic origin story, the weak hero should come from a mundane background. They can be an ordinary person with nothing outstanding, a failure, etc. and suddenly have to shoulder the responsibility of "a hero" even though they don't want it.

Focus on their mundaneness and weakness. Describe the awkward situation where they are forced to become heroes. Why were they chosen to be heroes, when there are others who are more talented and powerful? What were the circumstances under which this happened? Make it as clear as possible.

Don't forget to describe their thoughts, feelings, and reactions. In their backstory, highlight times when the weak hero tried to be heroic or take on challenges, only to fall flat on their face. Was there a specific incident that shattered their self-esteem? Do they come from a family or environment that was overly critical? These past embarrassments and disappointments can inform their current self-doubts.

Use flashbacks strategically. Intersperse key backstory moments throughout the narrative to gradually reveal the hero's history and motivations, rather than dumping it all at once. This will help the reader better understand the character's journey and the reasons behind their reluctance to embrace the role of a hero.

Second, emphasizing their weakness

Focus on their mundane, everyday struggles. Rather than epic battles, the weak hero's conflicts should revolve around things like asking neighbors for help or failing to complete simple tasks.

You can also contrast them with stronger, more capable heroes. Have the weak hero regularly get overshadowed or overlooked by the more impressive feats of other characters.

The weak hero's ineptitude and frustrations can be a great source of comedy. So don't be afraid to poke fun at their failings :).

Third, slowly build towards small victories

If you want your weak hero to be liked by the readers, never let them be weak all the time. Drop subtle hints in the backstory that suggest the hero has untapped potential or unique talents that could one day be leveraged in unexpected ways, even if they don't realize it themselves.

Focus on the why. What made them become strong, or strive to become stronger? Is it a long-term motivation or a temporary one? Are they doing it for themselves or others? What will they do to overcome their weaknesses? Over time, the weak hero can learn to leverage their "useless" powers in clever ways and gain a little more confidence, even if they never become a heavy hitter.

And, remember to highlight their determination. Despite their shortcomings, the weak hero should possess an underlying stubbornness and refusal to give up. Showcase moments in their past where they persevered even when success seemed impossible.

Fourth, crafting challenges

When crafting challenges for a weak hero, you need to focus on obstacles that play to their specific limitations and insecurities. Here are some types of challenges a weak hero might face:

Outmatched in combat

The weak hero tries to take on a powerful villain, only to be easily overpowered by the villain's superior strength, speed, or abilities.

They get into a fight they can't win and have to rely on their wits or dumb luck to escape unscathed.

Inability to complete basic tasks

The weak hero struggles with simple everyday activities like opening a jar, fixing a leaky faucet, or assembling furniture.

These mundane challenges become major roadblocks that highlight their incompetence.

Social humiliation

The weak hero tries to interact with others, only to say the wrong thing and embarrass themselves.

They may attempt to flirt, negotiate, or simply make small talk, but end up flustered and socially awkward.

Lack of confidence

The weak hero doubts their abilities and has a hard time believing they can accomplish anything meaningful.

They may shrink away from opportunities to be heroic, worried they'll just mess things up.

Overbearing comparisons to stronger heroes

The weak hero is constantly overshadowed by the exploits of more powerful heroes, making them feel inadequate.

They may try to emulate the other heroes' successes, only to fail miserably.

Underestimation by villains

The villains dismiss the weak hero as harmless and ignore them, allowing the hero to stumble into accidentally foiling the villain's plans.

The villains may even make the mistake of toying with the weak hero, giving the hero a chance to catch them off guard.

The key is to create challenges that force the weak hero to rely on their limited abilities in creative ways. Gradually building their confidence through small wins can be a rewarding character arc.

Fifth, supportive relationships

The weak hero likely has friends, family members, or mentors who believe in them, even if the hero themselves does not. By including a support system of characters who see the weak hero's hidden potential, the narrative can strike a balance between the hero's self-doubt and the encouragement of those around them. These supporting characters can provide a counterpoint to the hero's negative self-perception, offering validation and pushing them to exceed their own expectations.

The interactions between the weak hero and their cheerleaders can also be a source of character development and emotional growth. As the hero gains confidence and finds ways to leverage their unique talents, the relationships with these supportive figures can evolve, deepening the overall narrative.

Supportive relationships can be of many types, but the most effective are:

A mentor figure who sees the hero's hidden strengths and pushes them to overcome their limitations.

A loyal friend who constantly encourages the hero and refuses to give up on them.

A capable sidekick or partner who can cover for the hero's weaknesses in battle.

A tech-savvy ally who develops gadgets or abilities to enhance the hero's limited powers.

A family member who provides unconditional love and acceptance, even when the hero doubts themselves.

A romantic interest who sees the hero's inner strength and brings out their best self.

A rival or adversary who recognizes the hero's true talents, forcing them to confront their own insecurities.

A renowned hero or role model who inspires the weak hero to strive for greatness, even if they don't believe they can achieve it.

It is not easy to create a weak hero. Crafting a compelling weak hero requires carefully balancing their flaws and insecurities with moments of growth and determination. You must find ways to make the character relatable and likable, despite their shortcomings, by highlighting their underlying potential and the support system that believes in them.

Hope you enjoy this. If you have any questions about writing, inbox me. I will answer as best as I can.

[feverish-dove]

Sun Kissed Science

Having to rebuild humanity means having to re-invent pretty much everything from the ground up. Unfortunately for you this includes protection from the big, angry ball of sunshine in the sky. Maybe try staying in the shade? Senku Ishigami x Reader warnings: reader has a preset appearence trait, reader uses she/her pronouns, oneshot, fluff word count: 1,059 cross posted on ao3

The Stone World had its fair share of inconveniences, but for you, the biggest one had been discovered almost immediately. The first time you spent an entire afternoon under the sun, helping Kohaku gather food near the river, your skin had turned an angry shade of red.

It was ridiculous, really. The others had laughed, assuming it was a temporary reaction. But by the next morning your shoulders ached, your cheeks stung, and you could barely move your arms without feeling like your skin was being set on fire.

It hadn’t taken Senku long to realize what was happening.

“You’re a redhead,” he’d mused, watching you wince as Kohaku helped apply wet cloths to your burned skin. “And not just that—pale skin, American origin… You don’t have the melanin to handle this kind of prolonged UV exposure.”

Kohaku had tilted her head. “Melanin?”

“Basically, her skin is really bad at handling sunlight. People with darker pigmentation have natural protection, but she’s the kind of person who would have had sunscreen in the old world,” Senku explained, arms crossed as he analyzed you like a particularly interesting science experiment.

You had groaned, half-exasperated and half in pain. “And, let me guess, there’s no sunscreen in the Stone World?”

“Obviously not.”

That was three days ago. Since then, Senku had gone strangely quiet on the matter, which meant one of two things: either he didn’t think sunscreen was possible, or he was busy figuring out how to make it himself.

And knowing Senku Ishigami, it was probably the latter.

You sigh, watching the sun hover high in the sky as you sit under the shade of a large tree near the village. Kohaku had flat-out refused to let you work again until the burn healed, and while you appreciated the concern, you couldn’t shake the uselessness weighing on your shoulders.

“Getting restless?”

Senku’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to see him standing over you, his usual smug grin in place. His makeshift clothing flutters slightly in the breeze, and he’s holding a wooden bowl filled with a strange, pale paste.

You raise an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“Your new best friend,” he says, crouching in front of you. “Took me a few days to work out the formula, but I think this’ll do the trick.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—no way. Is that… sunscreen?”

“Damn right it is.”

Your heart leaps. “Senku, that’s amazing!”

He chuckles, pulling off his bandage-sleeves. “Of course it is. Science is amazing.” Then, without warning, he dips two fingers into the mixture and reaches for your arm.

You flinch instinctively. “Hey—wait, what are you—”

“Relax,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re just gonna make a mess if you do this yourself.”

You huff but don’t argue as he starts applying the homemade sunscreen to your arms. The paste is cool against your still-healing skin, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Senku smirks. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, cheeks warming. “What’s in this stuff, anyway?”

“Zinc oxide, primarily. It’s one of the most effective UV blockers. I had to make it by roasting zinc ore until it oxidized—pain in the ass, by the way—but once I had that, it was just a matter of mixing it with some animal fat and plant oils for consistency.”

You blink, impressed. “You figured all that out in three days?”

“Tch. If I had the proper equipment, I’d have done it in three hours.”

You laugh, watching as he carefully spreads the mixture over your skin. Despite his usual cocky attitude, his touch is surprisingly gentle. He works with quiet precision, ensuring every inch of exposed skin is covered.

It’s… nice.

The realization hits you like a stone to the head. Senku is always so focused on science, so analytical, that it’s easy to forget he’s also incredibly thoughtful in his own way. He hadn’t just made sunscreen because it was an interesting challenge—he’d done it for you.

Your gaze softens. “Thanks, Senku. Seriously.”

He pauses for half a second before smirking. “Don’t mention it. Can’t have you turning into a boiled lobster every time you step outside.”

You groan. “Oh my god, I will actually push you into the river.”

Senku chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “Not before I finish applying this.”

He moves on to your shoulders, rubbing the sunscreen in slow, even motions. The casual intimacy of it makes your face heat up, and you pointedly look away, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“By the way,” he says, breaking the silence, “this isn’t a one-time fix. You’ll have to reapply it regularly, especially after swimming or sweating too much.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“And you still need to stay in the shade when you can. This isn’t as strong as modern sunscreen, so don’t go getting cocky.”

You smirk. “Me? Cocky? I think you’re projecting.”

He snorts. “Says the girl who thought she could work all day in the sun without consequences.”

You glare at him playfully, and he just grins in return. The warmth in your chest spreads.

After a few more minutes, he finishes applying the sunscreen and sits back, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Alright. That should do it.”

You stretch your arms, already feeling better now that your skin isn’t exposed and burning. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No, I’m a scientist,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips.

Just then, Kohaku appears, arms crossed. “Are you two done with whatever weird thing this is?”

You blink. “It’s not weird, it’s science.”

She squints. “Sure. Science.”

You glance at Senku, who just smirks knowingly, and suddenly, you’re very aware of how close the two of you had been moments ago.

Kohaku raises an eyebrow. “Well, whatever. If you’re feeling better, you can come help me now.”

You glance at Senku. He shrugs. “You should be fine for a while. Just don’t roll around in the dirt too much.”

You huff. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

As you follow Kohaku, you steal one last glance at Senku. He’s already moved on to another project, but there’s a tiny, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

Your heart does a little flip.

Yeah. Maybe the Stone World wasn’t so bad after all.

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ you're so art deco ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ apollo x mortal reader ୨୧ no muse in the world was better than the artist himself a/n: (1.1k words) happy valentines day!! sorry it's been so long since i last posted a fic, i've been trying to write more on ao3 so check me out on there for more work @blondejellykitty

It was another beautiful day. The morning sun rose above the waking green hills. The clear springs glistened in the sun's rays. The grass was soft without a trace of any thorns. The soil beneath you had just begun to warm under the sunlight.

It was always a good day when the sun was shining bright. Luckily for you both your suns shone bright today. The one high up in the sky heating the world below and the one sat lazily with you looking up at the puffy white clouds together in the bliss of an early morning.

It never ceased to amaze you how it could be possible that Apollo could be in multiple places at once. You wondered where his other selves could be right now.

One was directing the blinding chariot across the blue sky, maybe one was on Olympus creating a beautiful song. Perhaps one was to answer prayers, and guide those in need.

You suddenly felt very useless. In your defense the day had only just started not too long ago but even if you finished all your plans for the rest of the day, well it didn't really seem like that much to do, not in comparison.

You huffed in thought, where and what would you do if you could be in hundreds of places at once. You definitely wouldn't be nearly as productive as your love. One of you would be darting around the countries of the world to try their food, one of you would be doing the chores you must do, one of you reading all the books you’ve been waiting to read. Oh, and one of you would still be sitting here, with him.

A warm hand on your knee brought you back to reality. You glance over and see him in all his glory. He looked like a painting, no he looked better. Lying so casually in the long grass without a care in the world. His blonde hair sparkled lightly in the sunlight. He held a soft smile on his face making a slight dimple in his chiseled cheek.

The sight made your face warm and a similar smile appeared on your own face. You shuffled down and lay your head against his thighs. His careful hand instinctively played with your hair.

Looking up at him, you knew why there were so many poets, musicians, writers. When you looked at him every other muse in the world fell flat. You now understood the sappy stories, the clique songs, and the overdone poems. Looking at him made even your own uncreative brain burst with ideas.

You both sat in silence, listening to the odd bird flapping past, the distant creek rushing downhill. It was the company that spoke volumes. He chose to spend his time with you. For what reason he seemed to be  entertained by you, you didn't know. But you’ll gladly soak up all his affection. Who were you to deny the likes of him?

Apollo hummed softly, it was a tune you'd never heard before but it was soothing and warm. It filled you with butterflies that kissed your insides. It was new you realized, he was crafting a song right now in your presence. you could tell when he'd hum the same few melodies over and over again. You felt honored to be witness to such a masterpiece being made.

He hums a tune, gets stuck in thought repeating the last note a few times before continuing with the next line. You closed your eyes, letting yourself almost float in his inspiration.

The tender notes drifted against the cool breeze. You subconsciously began to hum along quietly.

It wasn't until you opened your eyes that you realized he'd stopped and your voice had been heard for a few moments.

The calm atmosphere suddenly shattered, you felt ashamed and embarrassed. How could you let yourself be so stupid? You dared to hum in front of the god of music himself? You, who could hardly hold a note. You couldn't even look at his gorgeous face anymore.

Apollo had heard you, from the first breath you took. He heard it all from the start. He didn't think his ichor filled heart could bear anymore love for you.

Your hum was off key compared to his and it had cracked at certain notes but it wasn't the quality of your voice that warmed his heart. No, it was the amount of love that shone through. Each note is emphasized by your love. It was the sincerity of the song that made his gold eyes melt.

Of course if he heard this so-called music out of anyone else's mouth he'd have grimaced and banned them from his domains but he was wholeheartedly biased. You weren't perfect but that is exactly why he loved you. Perfection was so overrated. It doesn't take long to grow bored of it.

He'd had his fair share of arguments with Aphrodite, most of which he had just cause for.

He'd been certain she'd cursed him to make him miserable. But now- now he realized he might have been wrong.

How else do you know how much you utterly loved someone than when you know you could lose them? He knew he loved you dearly and in this moment he vowed he wouldn't let you be anything like his past lovers.

He softly caressed your cheek, delicately turning your head towards him. You relax under his loving gaze. Perhaps you truly had bewitched him because he looked at you with nothing but kindness and warmth.

He tilted his head slightly and leaned forward. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss. His lips were soft and sweet, so unlike yours. Kissing him always made your heart race. It was always breathtaking. Completely different from the boys you'd kissed in the past.

You envied him. You never wanted this moment to end, you wanted to spend forever in his hold, just like this. But forever for you meant a passing blip in his eternity. How you wished to live like this, with him, until time stopped. But you couldn't and deep down you think he knew that too. But how you wished it could be different.

How ironic it was that a split part of him was currently haggling with Ganymede for his golden chalice, letting the younger god gain a future favor from him in hopes of securing you immortality. So you are able to stay with him, live with him, and love him just as he will with you, without having to run out of time. All he had to do was gain the courage to ask you…

[astridthevalkyrie]

the floor between you and xavier is thin. you are beautiful. and xavier is tortured.

cw: afab reader, masturbation, nonconsensual auditory voyeurism 😭, xavier being a pervert

i have a midterm in two hours and i spent the last two hours writing all of this. dammit. inspired by this brilliant post (original poster is @skynapple) thank you for giving me permission to write this lolz

once a habit forms, it is incredibly difficult to break. he knows that. he has known that. xavier has had years and years and years to make habits and to subsequently break them.

those twenty-something years he was a nail biter. the tugging of his hair whenever he was tired for around thirty-two decades. six hundred years strong and he still can’t keep a straight face whenever he smells something his nose doesn’t agree with. 

some habits he’s fine with not breaking. 

but this one.

oh, he needs to break this one as soon as possible.

and yet, every friday evening he tells himself that this time will be the last time. when friday morning arrives, he wakes up refreshed and confident that it will not happen again. by the time the clock hits 3 pm, he can already feel his palms become clammy; if he was a cartoon he’d think an ironic bead of sweat would form on his temple. and by the time the sun is going down and the rain has soaked his hair completely, xavier is shoving his too practical key into the too practical lock of his apartment door, and the dread in his chest has already settled with the weight of what he knows he’s going to do.

he could leave. he could go.

he doesn’t.

xavier takes his time changing out of his uniform and showering. the water burns even when he sets it at a lower temperature. his entire space feels too hot. sweat is actually building on his forehead now. 

it’s been a long week, he thinks, as he rolls onto his bed, opting to wear nothing but boxers (and even that’s useless). he tries to remember all the missions he’s been on since monday, and more importantly all the missions you’ve been on. you’re a bit of a braggart, so he hears all about them, and he never minds, because he could listen to you brag about yourself for centuries on end and the whole time he’d only nod along and agree.

the more missions there’s been, though, the more exhausted you are at the end of the week. and the more exhausted you are, the more orgasms you try to pull from your fingers every friday night.

when tara’s over, your music is never loud. your laughs rarely carry over. and your volume has never been disruptive (not that he would consider hearing you to be disruptive at all). it’s as if you know that the walls are thin and you’re trying to be as polite as possible. 

then why is it that when you touch yourself, you’re so loud?

are you trying to make sure he can hear you?

or, and this is what already has him hardening at the thought, are you just so sensitive that you can’t help it?

your first whimper blesses his ears, and xavier shuts his eyes, lying flat with his head against his pillow. closing his eyes helps. it makes him feel less like a stalker who’s crossed through time and space for you, and more like he’s just someone you care for, because this way he can imagine you’re in front of him, on top of him, letting out those first few sweet sounds at his touch.

“mmh,” your voice carries over, and goosebumps litter his arms as he swallows, teasing the line of his boxers with the tips of his fingers. there isn’t a rush. usually, he has just enough restraint to make sure he comes with you.

the next thing he hears is a sharp gasp, and xavier groans lowly, trying to be quiet, or at least more quiet than you. already he’s building tonight’s fantasy up, spurred on by the sound of the rain beating against the window. the last time you and he had spent the night in the rain…

“just stay until tomorrow morning,” you’d urged him, lashes fluttering innocently, not knowing the key that he’d supposedly forgotten was heavy in his pocket. even though he was the one who’d lied, he’d still argued against it, because now that the invitation was out in the open you were too close for his rapidly beating heart, your eyes too inviting and your hands too soft.

xavier imagines he didn’t argue that night. he imagines he’d agreed instead, and had accepted the change of clothes from your closet. the acid in his chest that hisses knowing you even have another man’s clothes in your closet is quickly silenced when you don’t wait for him to leave the room, and instead lift your own shirt right above your head.

he’s never seen you like that. but his imagination is more than ready to supply him with what you’d look like, evidence gathered from how your uniform would cling to you while you fought, or even from how your robes would slip up a little when you were sparring him some hundred years ago—

his hand wraps around his cock without him even realizing it, and he lets out a small, choked moan.

your hands are softer than this. they’d feel better. in the corner of his mind he sees you, topless, pushing him back onto the bed and crawling above him, caressing his face with those soft hands before running them down his chest. your touch does so love to wander. and his body is yours to explore. he’s never belonged to someone else.

he whispers your name and almost as if in response, you let out a cute little squeal, and xavier curses under his breath as he pictures you making that sound while he fingers you. he’d start off with one, just because you seem sensitive. but then he’d add another. and another, and then he’d watch you ride them. 

slowly, he rubs his hand up and down his length, remembering the last time you’d held this hand to resonate with his evol. last week, for a particularly tough wanderer. your palm had been smooth against it, and now the next time you do it he’ll remember that he touched himself to the thought of you with that same hand.

“mmh, don’t tease me…”

oh, you’re speaking today. pleading with an invisible voice, or maybe you really do know that he’s just below you, hanging on to your every word. and he’s disinclined to acquiesce to your request—he’d do nothing but tease you. once he’d make you come once with his fingers, he’d toss your legs over his shoulders and drag his tongue along your folds, bring you to the brink before pulling away. he’d watch the way your lips pout and the way your eyes flare up whenever you’re emotional, and he wouldn’t give you time to complain before diving in again.

“sorry, sweetheart, you know i can’t help it.”

xavier’s eyes fly open with a gasp at the sudden other voice—there’s someone with you. there’s someone in your room, on your bed, with their hands on you. 

there’s a pause, and then he hears you again, letting out a small, “y-you’re so…haah, mean…”

one of his hands curl into the sheets below, clutching them so tightly in his fist that he wouldn’t be surprised if they came off.

someone is touching you. someone is making you—incredible, wonderful, beautiful you—whine like that, close enough to hear you, far closer than xavier has ever been.  

“i’m not mean,” the man who is invading your bedroom right now says, “you can’t look like that and expect me not to edge you. you’re the most beautiful when you’re begging, you know?”

“i could say the same about you,” is your not-so-hushed response, and during the next pause he can barely hear anything but he knows you must be kissing him. him, whoever he is. a date, your boyfriend, the devil—you’re kissing him, those soft, gorgeous lips of yours are against someone else’s when all xavier has done in his time with you is try to tear his eyes off those lips, wondering what they would like against him.

“c’mon,” your voice pleads again, “i need you. i’ve needed you all day.”

the man groans, and xavier hears the kiss this time, one fierce and stolen in the heat of the moment. 

“if you insist. you know i can’t resist you, sweetheart.”

there’s some shuffling and xavier thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest. he feels…he feels everything, sick and jealous and almost angry, and he can feel himself trembling with every inch of him screaming to get up and confront whoever thinks they can touch your skin and draw those noises from your throat—

but when you let out a high-pitched, muffled cry, xavier’s hand goes back down, and he starts stroking himself with more urgency.

you’ve never been this loud before. and xavier used to enjoy that, thinking of it as a challenge, that if he ever got to have you, he’d make sure you were louder with him than you were with anyone else. he’s brought himself to orgasm at just the idea. but now it’s torture, hearing your voice go up several octaves for someone who isn’t him, for whoever’s hips are roughly colliding against your own, filling his ears with a muted plap, plap, plap…

“fu-u-ck, baby, how are you this tight?” the interloper groans, “gonna make me come, m’gonna come inside you…”

xavier’s skin crawls at the needy moan you let out in response.

the fantasy in his head is ruined. there is no more vision of a seductive version of you having your wicked way with him, but instead he is imagining exactly what is happening, a dirty picture of him in a corner watching someone else enjoy you to the fullest extent. wrecking your beautiful body the way you deserve.

your moans are building, higher and higher, and his back is arching off the bed as he fucks his fist, still trying to pretend like he’s yours and you’re his, that he’s the one burying himself inside your wet heat, that your nails are digging into his back, leaving lines on his skin, drawing blood if that’s what you wanted—

“raf!” you wail, and your voice breaks, and xavier’s eyes roll back, and he spills into his hand.

there’s still a ringing in his ears as he pants, breathing heavily while the sound of skin slapping becomes more desperate, as the intruder—raf— speeds up to try and reach his own end too.

his hand moves on its own. with barely an intention formed in his mind, he presses it to his heart, and he feels a surge of energy run through his chest, no time left to regret anything.

the sounds stop completely.

after a minute, his phone lights up with a notification.

starlight: hey did your lights go out too???

starlight: my room just blacked out

starlight: i had a friend over i’m so embarrassed lol

with his chest heaving as he lays back against the pillows, and his right hand sticky, xavier texts you back with his left, a soft, tired sigh escaping him.

xav: no mine’s still on

xav: i’ve got tea and takeout come over

xav: i’d love to meet your friend

[jeridandridge]

For Lovers At Night conclusion

A conversation with Joe takes place and you evaluate your relationship with Melissa. CW: Homophobic slur, brief violence. No editing. We write and post like affection starved bitches.

“Oh for fucks sake.” You roll your eyes tossing a black trash bag in the dumpster. You truly didn’t have time to deal with a fake macho, butthurt man.

Joe gets closer and comes up standing now a few feet away.

“You the one that’s been fucking my wife?”

There is a hint of anger in his voice, but watching vigilantly you see his hands flat in his pockets, nothing to be hidden there.

“Well bud, someone has to.” You shrug mirroring his stance not shying away from making direct eye contact. Looking at him you suppose you could see hints of a once good looking man. He still had some muscle but it was evident the years of drinking were catching up with him if the beer gut and puffy cheeks were any indication. “I’m really not in the mood for this so can you get off my property?”

“You got some set of balls you know that?” Joe scoffs. “What’s a young girl like you wanting a woman Melissa’s age anyway?”

Cocking your head to the side you size the man up, quirking a brow. “I’m not blind or stupid, so I can see what an amazing person she is and I know how to treat her right.”

“Hey, I know how to treat a woman.” He steps forward towards you.

“Yeah? Then why cheat on a woman to fuck around with girls that could be your kid, huh?” You challenge.

“It ain’t my fault she wouldn’t put out. I shoulda known she was a dyke a long time ago.”

You can’t help but laugh. Looking at the guy in front of you, you see not a man but a toddler throwing a tantrum over a toy he doesn’t get to play with anymore. This Joe doesn’t like.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” He lets out getting right in your face. Not phased by the closeness and possible danger, you tip your chin up as you lift your hands pushing him back by his shoulders. Not paying attention to anything else around you, you dont see Melissa’s truck pull up or hear the door slam.

Getting out of her truck Melissa rushes over bumping into people along the sidewalk to get to you worried you’ll be hurt.

“Back the fuck up before you get hurt, little man.”

Joe all but growls getting in your space again, bloodshot eyes meeting your own.

“You can have her, hot shot. She’s useless dead weight now that I got her good years. Maybe she can help you clean up this dump after it burns down.”

“Hey!” Melissa calls out getting to you just as you take a swing.

Adrenalin running through you at the sound of his insults and threat you give a wicked smile as you cock your fist swinging it up right under Joes chin sending him right to the ground.

When Joe hits the pavement a wave of lavender hits your nose and arms warp around your front holding your arms down keeping your now throbbing hand in place.

“Watch your mouth and get off my fucking property.” You spit at Joe as other people on the street now pay attention to your little corner of the block.

“Amore! Stop.” Melissa urges looking you over as if you’re not okay. She realizes the pang of desire that hits her from seeing you defend her like that.

“Cmon, let’s go inside. Shows over!”

You call out to the small crowd of people as you go to the steps wrapping your arm around the redhead.

“Hold on,” Melissa hums breaking away to go over to a woozy, confused Joe sitting on the sidewalk holding his face.

“Mel-“ you begin to argue, only to stop and watch the scene unfolding in front of you.

“Melly?” The sad man grumbles out.

Kneeling down Melissa reaches out roughly grabbing the defeated man by his now bruising chin making him wince.

“If you ever go near her again,” she warns in an eerily low tone as he yelps at the feeling of her fingers squeezing the injured area, “the last thing you’re ever gonna see is my face. Got it?”

Joe winces looking at the redhead. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Letting go with a rough shove Melissa stands up leaving her soon to be ex husband on the pavement to wallow and take care of his bruised ego and skin.

“That was hot.” You joke trying to break the tense air as you two go up to your apartment. It wasnt a lie at all, but you would behave for now.

Melissa shakes her head carefully taking your now angry and puffy hand in hers looking it over. “I can’t believe you did that. Sit, let me take care of that.”

Getting the door open with your good hand you let out a sigh trying to cool down going over to the dining table, red and purple knuckles facing upward making you wince. “I’m not letting anyone especially a man like that talk about you that way. We both know he had it coming.”

Melissa moves around your kitchen putting ice in a dish towel before coming over to sit beside you. “No ones ever done anything like that for me before besides my family.”

“I’d do it again in a second even though I know you can handle yourself.” You keep your eyes on the redhead, a softness spreading through you when you see the concerned look on her face while she tends to her hand. Having finally met Joe, you understood why Melissa felt the way she did in her marriage.

“Well hon, it looks like I don’t have to no matter how stupid that was for you to do. You coulda gotten hurt,” A proud smirk spreads across her lips despite her trying to be mad.

With her eyes cast down on the towel you gently reach over tipping her chin up with your finger to meet her eyes. Having her this close again after the day you’ve had, you can’t see this previous plan of taking things slow to fruition.

Leaning over to the side of the table where Melissa sits you meet warm jade eyes as you brush your lips against hers. Melissa melts into this kiss, her arms immediately going around your neck as a whine travels up her throat in an emotional relief. Tracing her bottom lip with your tongue the redhead gently pulls back keeping her arms around your neck. She meets your eyes searching for any regret or hesitation.

“Fuck taking things slow.” You hum leaning in for another kiss, this time wrapping your arms around her waist to bring her closer to you.

And that’s all Melissa needs. Nothing is rushed or frantic in the kiss. You both move in a fluid motion like a wave crashing to the shoreline; natural and right like you’ve done it a million times before as you pull her up and walk her back to your kitchen island. Your strides are slow and steady as you two move, almost like a dance as your hands glide up Melissa’s back to red curls.

Breaking the kiss with a shaky breath you peck her lips once more as you feel warm hands cup your cheeks. Melissa looks at you with a soft smile, lip gloss now completely gone.

Still catching your breath you lean forward to close the small space between you kissing the tip of her nose with a wide grin.

“Amore mio.” Melissa whispers wrapping her arms around your neck once more, eyes glassing over with tears.

Standing there in the little bubble you’ve created with her the Italian phrase that you can piece together sends a spark of joy through your chest.

“Every time you call me Amore,” you grin resting your hands on her ass, “it’s like fireworks go off in my chest.”

“That’s how I feel when I’m with you. You brought me back.” She smiles with watery eyes. “And my nana already likes you.” She laughs through a sniffle.

“Yeah? Well Im in love her grand-daughter so that has to give me some points.” You tease keeping your eyes on her the whole time, your stomach flipping at the admission.

Melissa lets out a giddy giggle cupping your cheeks again. “You love me?”

“So much, Mel.” You smile bringing her hands to your lips. The moment she walked into your bar you were intrigued by the mysterious woman, the moment you spoke to her you knew you would do your best to keep her around.

Putting her hands on your shoulders she tips her chin up with a smirk walking you backwards to your bed across the large studio apartment. When the back of your legs hit the mattress you let out a laugh landing on your elbows as Melissa moves to straddle your lap.

Bending over Melissa meets your lips in a hungry kiss sucking in a breath through her nose. Your hands roam her frame again, cataloguing every spot that makes her react. She breaks the kiss first, immediately lifting the hem of your shirt. Wincing lightly as you pull your injured hand out of the fabric Melissa slows down bringing the injured hand to her lips lightly kissing each bruised knuckle.

“I love you, bambina.”

“Is that baby?” Your face breaks out into a grin at her words.

“Yeah,” she laughs meeting your lips again as she unclasps your bra gliding her fingers down your arms.

“Oh you’re cute,” you tease putting your hands on her hips rolling the both of you over so Melissa is now on her back. “Lay back and let me take care of you.” You whisper unbuttoning her pants.

From that moment on you keep your eyes on the redhead only glancing away to pull clothing off. Clothing gone on you both with a few minutes of giggles and fumbling you prop yourself up hovering over the redhead keeping eye contact as you rub your fingers in slow circles over her clit.

“More, Tesoro.” She gasps against your lips keeping her fingers in your hair.

In a kiss that shows her exactly how you feel, you keep your fingers moving drawing whines and cries from the redhead. Not wanting to miss a second of her reactions you keep your eyes locked on her with a satisfied grin. You had done this with many people before, but you had never wanted to see their every reaction. This time, you’re in love and you’re loved back.

Hours later lying between Melissa’s legs resting your head on the soft skin of her stomach, your fingers absentmindedly move up and down her thigh as she plays with your hair.

Thinking about everything you two have gone through together already, you can’t help but smirk. “Mel?”

The redhead lets out a tired hum in response.

“You still wanna go to that Phillies game with me?” You ask not moving from the comfort and warmth of her body.

Melissa grins carding her nails through your hair. “I’d love that, hon.”

Lifting your head you move kissing up her body playfully tickling her sides. “Come shower with me?”

“That’s a good idea.” Melissa laughs as she squirms away, pulling you up by your good hand.

In the bathroom as the shower heats up you find clothes for you both settling on big tshirts and shorts knowing if you don’t you two will be up all night.

“I can bring these back to you tomorrow.” Melissa nods to the clothes.

“Keep em. You look good in my clothes,” you chuckle. “You’re staying the night right?” You ask hopefully, knowing she has to work tomorrow.

“Hell yeah. I haven’t gotten my fix of you yet.” She smiles hugging you from behind.

Chuckling you reach around for her arm as you step in the shower. Adjusting the spray so it hits both of you, you gently rub your girlfriends back thinking about the day.

“It took everything in me to not text you good morning today you know. Then, when I saw you at the cafe I wanted to kiss you so badly.”

“I’m sorry I lied.” She whispers.

“No, don’t do that.” You shake your head. “We already talked about it and I’m sticking right here with you through everything. That’s all.” You shrug.

Melissa gives you a soft smile knowing just by your simple actions since you met that she’s safe and won’t be hurt by you. After a quick and well behaved shower, you get dressed and move to strip your bed of your now soiled sheets putting fresh ones on.

“Baby, what time am I setting the alarm for?” You ask as the redhead sits on the side of your bed putting her hair up.

“Five thirty.” She hums climbing in curling into your side. As you two lay together Melissa lets out a content sigh knowing that she doesn’t have to pretend anymore. She can have this with you as much as she wants.

Turning to your side to face the woman you wrap your arm around her waist giving her a tired smile. “I’ll make the coffee in the morning.”

Cuddled together Melissa lifts her ring clad hand up gently brushing her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Say it one more time.”

Letting out a laugh you lean in chasing her lips for a soft kiss.

“I love you,” you hum kissing each of her cheeks, “I love you,” in between kisses to the corners of her mouth, “I love you.” You hum once more kissing her nose which you’ve come to love doing because it makes Melissa scrunch.

And that’s all Melissa needs.

In the morning you’re the first to move when the alarm sounds, hitting the offending device you turn back over seeing a groggy Melissa stretch out with a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she lets out in a scratchy voice.

“I’ll start the coffee.” You yawn getting up.

It doesn’t take long for Melissa to get up and ready, putting her clothes from the day before back on from the fabric littered on the floor.

In the kitchen you make enough coffee for a big blue travel mug you have, making it just how Melissa likes it. Stirring it you grin when you feel her arms wrap around you and her chin on your shoulder. “Walk me out?”

“Of course, honey.”

Coffee in hand with shoes on and all belongings gathered you walk Melissa out to her truck opening the door for her.

“Text me when you make it to work?” You ask as her arms snake around your neck giving you extra warmth in the cool morning air.

“I’ll text ya, Amore.” She smiles kissing you softly once more before she pulls away to climb into the truck.

“Drive safe.”

Looking over your shoulder to check for traffic you step back watching the truck pull off and head down the road. As your girlfriend goes you can’t help but grin.

Going back up to your apartment you stay up with the sun smiling into your own coffee mug when your screen lights up with a text from Melissa making you laugh.

My pops told me I’m not invited back to family dinner until Nana meets you. What kinda hold do you got on the Schemmenti women, Amore?

[bartonbones]

short little ficlet that i want to post before s3 takes this scene away from me: in which sugar finds out she's having a girl, which is the worst thing she can imagine being

"Don't tell Pete," she says. “Right?” 

Carmy stares up at her, unblinking, slightly ashamed, as if it's embarrassing to him that he doesn't immediately understand what she means. It’s like—Mikey would. Or no, it’s like, he really wouldn’t. But he’d know what Carmy meant. And that’s a failure from both of them—this deep, secret understanding between the Berzatto children that sometimes managed to stop just shy of Natalie.

"That you're having a girl?" he says, pressing his eyebrows together. "He doesn't know?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise," Sugar says, flashing all her teeth in an unconvincing mimicry of parental glee. "We're supposed to find out together, when she's born, but I couldn't—"

Carmy waits for her to finish. Doesn't guess her next words, partly because he hates when people do that to him and partly because there's no universe in which he can possibly imagine what they might be. It’s past the point of Sugar being left out of jokes and face-to-face with the cliff of being left out of Sugar’s experience entirely. Mikey wouldn’t get this, either, but, fuck, would anyone? Tina, maybe. Richie, even. Anyone except him, probably. But he wants to try, so he waits, patient, while Sugar looks at the ceiling with red, puffy eyes and opens her mouth without making any sound. 

“I couldn’t stop picturing his face,” she says. “Like, if it was a girl, he’d just—it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’ll look at me and it’s supposed to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me but I just—fuck!” 

Sugar smashes her palm against the table, surprisingly violent. It startles Carmy enough that he flinches back, a little, and worries him enough that he starts to reach out, to grab her hand, this battle between instinct and fear, old and gruesome, that strikes up whenever someone’s upset. 

She doesn’t take it. Brings her palm flat up to her face instead and scrubs away her tears, angry.

“I’m already so fucking bad at it,” she says. “I’m not supposed to feel like this.” 

“I think however you feel,” Carmy says, quietly. “Is, you know—okay.” 

“Thanks, Carm,” Sugar says, in the tone she gets when he’s said something particularly useless, usually something about money or taxes or anything involving numbers or spelling or high school science. 

She’s quiet for a second. Carmy clears his throat, flexes his hand that’s no longer holding hers. Even quieter, he says: 

“How do you feel?” 

"I wanted a boy," she says, laughing. "Is that fucking awful?"

Sugar laughs more, worse, looks at him and then the ceiling again and then at her hands, worrying at her silicone wedding band, her bracelet, her hangnails. Suddenly she shifts—away from him, enough that he feels it, tilts his head. She doesn’t look back at him and when she speaks, her voice is small and almost shameful. 

“I wanted a boy, and I wanted to name him Michael."

“Oh,” says Carmy. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when she said it—it wasn’t like it wasn’t on his mind, on the table, like everyone didn’t halfway expect it. They’re Italian. Names had always been dead things, ever since the first sorry motherfucker got martyred and printed up on the inaugural Holy Card. It’s just different when she says it like that. It’s just worse than he thought it would be. 

But Sugar continues. 

“But it’s shitty, Carm. I’m being shitty.” 

“You’re not,” he says, finding it harder and harder to find his voice. “Nat, you’re not.” 

“I am,” she says, voice thick. “I am because—it’s not like—I didn’t want to name a baby Michael for Mikey, I wanted—I just wanted Mom to—and I thought, because I’m just fucking—stupid, I guess, I thought that—maybe Mom would like them more, you know? Maybe it’d give them this chance that I guess I thought—I felt like I didn’t have.” 

They’d never fought about this before. It’s weird that that is the first thought that Carmy has, but it is—they’d never argued, all three of them in a room, who Mom was the worst to. Mikey never said: before you two were born, or, as the oldest son. Carmy never said: when I was alone with her, or after you both left, and she started drinking more. And Sugar never, ever, as long as Carmy could remember, said: she’s never that mean to you. 

But she could have. And they’d all known it, so maybe it was why they didn’t fight about it when they were younger, when the rage and sorrow tumbled down from Mom to Mikey to Nat to Carmy, and they were all fighting about something—they always knew there was nothing to fight about. At least, not one they would win.

“Nat,” Carmy says. “Jesus.” 

“I know,” she says. “It’s so awful.” 

Carmy presses his lips together. Shakes his head. 

“It’s awful that she made you feel that way,” he says. “It’s not awful that you feel it.” 

“I can’t stand it,” she says. “I won’t be able to handle it if Mom looks at her the way she used to look at me.” 

Carmy opens his mouth. False promises threaten to tumble out of it—that Mom wouldn’t look at her like that, that Mom might never have to meet her. Things he doesn’t have any place to say, especially when he knows they’re probably not true. But he does know one thing: has maybe always known it. 

“But it’ll be different, Nat,” he says. “She’ll have someone who loves her—just, so fucking much. And so fucking well. And it won’t matter that Mom’s being fucking crazy, okay? It won’t matter to her. ‘Cause she’ll have you.” 

“You don’t know that,” she says. “I’m sorry, Carmy, but you have no idea—” 

“I do,” Carmy says. 

“Carmen—”

“Natalie,” he says, serious and sharp and accented in the way he only sounds when he’s home, when he’s with Nat and Richie and he’s laughing or screaming or otherwise unfiltered. “Natalie, look at me. I do know.” 

She does. It’s wet and open and her face looks so terribly sad that Carmy feels probably the worst he’s ever fucking felt since the last time she cried like this. His face burns and his eyes sting and he looks at her anyway, through all of the awfulness, just to see his sister as the same person he used to look at five, ten, twenty fucking years ago. 

“I know, okay?” he says. He reaches out, wraps his palms around her forearms and locks eyes with her. “I know, because I had you. I had you and I was so fucking lucky to, and it was enough. I don’t—I don’t reach out to Mom because I don’t need to. She won’t, either.” 

Suddenly she looks so young. Her face swells and breaks, falls into something soft and hopeful and grief-stricken. She was so young, Carmy forgets that, and now thinks about how much everyone babied him and how no one ever babied her, and how she would’ve only been nine when he was born, learning to make bottles and how to do long division in the same week. 

“I never thanked you for that,” he says. “You or Mikey.” 

“For what?” she says, thick. It’s obvious what the answer is, but even more obvious that she needs him to say it, so he does. 

“For raising me,” he says. He nods, licks his lips, sniffs what he is somehow surprised to find are tears. “You’re going to do such a good job, Nat. You already did.” 

“Okay,” she says. She the heels of her hands into her knees, nods her head. “You turned out okay, right?”

She sounds uncertain about this. Carmy has never been good at convincing anyone of that fact except himself, so he just shrugs, watery and helpless. 

“I don’t think anything about me that’s fucked up is your fault,” he says. 

“Alright,” she says, sounding uncertain. She sniffs, doesn’t stop looking at him like she’s scanning him for the things she couldn’t fix, until she’s pressing her hand against his face and running her fingers through his hair. He bends his head, lets her, in a way he maybe hasn’t done for a decade. “God, I just want you to be okay, you know that, right?” 

“Would you believe it if I said that I feel that way about you, too?” 

Sugar tilts her head, considering, still with her hand on his face. 

“I think so,” she whispers, thick. “I love you, Bear.” 

Carmy nods. It’s not something she has ever needed to say. 

“Pete’s going to go fucking crazy when he finds out,” he says. “There’s not going to be a pink blanket left in the tristate area.” 

Sugar laughs, but this time it's an uncomplicated, joyful one. It is suddenly the only sound in the entire universe worth hearing. He’ll need to do this a thousand more times to ever make up for half of what she’s done for him—and he’s decided, right now, to try anyway.

“I love you too, Nat.” 

[genshinconfessions]

Honest to god, the more I see people behaving like actual monsters or children throwing a temper tantrum over characters not having skin as black as the abyss the more I flat out just do not have the capacity to care. I get it sucks that the characters aren't being diverse enough, I get it, but throwing death threats, slurs and god knows what else at the devs while behaving like spoiled rotten brats just makes me not care to any degree. If people can't behave like ACTUAL ADULTS and genuinely have polite points to say other than "Time to attack the devs again/slander the VAs or whoever for agreeing to go with this" whenever a character isn't dark skinned, they have no one to blame but themselves if the devs elect to not listen to what basically amounts to spoiled two year olds not getting what they want. I genuinely feel bad for people who want more diversity but are less hateful and end up being lumped in with the assholes who think threatening the devs lives is a okay, and I also feel bad for anyone genuinely excited about the Natlan characters getting absolutely harassed and ripped to shreds for not "thinking they're ugly for not being dark enough". I feel like if the fan base were ALOT LESS VITRIOLIC about the issue of diversity the devs would likely listen more. But as it stands now I can't wait for the harassing and death threats being thrown around to die down again so I can actually browse genshin twit and tumblr again in peace without having to worry about running into anyone being genuine human trash towards the devs over the color of fucking pixels. I've got enough stressing me out like grieving the loss of a parent, I don't need people being assholes to add to it and it sickens me that they don't see anything wrong with how they're acting. I'm just. I'm tired and wish people could be less like bullies or arseholes for once over a silly little gacha game they claim to love yet act like this. Sorry for this being a long confession, I just needed to get this off my chest cause it's been bugging me and stressing me out so much since the Natlan teaser got released whenever I've gone to look at Genshin stuff practically everywhere lately.....

i'm very sorry for your loss :( and if it will help you feel less alone, i generally agree with your sentiments.

for me, i am a pretty staunch hoyo defender (evident in previous posts when we used to comment on asks more frequently), but i must admit, i was slightly disappointed in the natlan characters since i believed the fan edits with darker skin did look better, and i wished hoyo would have listened to the intl fandom regarding south american/african/indigenous poc things.

that said, it's never okay to send death threats to anyone for any reason. i'm sure the devs are a lot less willing to make changes if all they're getting is death threats and, like you said, vitriolic hate. constructive criticism helps ppl realize where they're wrong and how to fix it; unconstructive criticism is generally useless and tends to be ignored.

the societal issue of colorism runs very, very deep, both in asia and generally around the world. it's not something that hoyo can fix singlehandedly by changing some characters. granted, i'm sure it would set a very good example for future game devs, and it would be really great if they did listen to intl feedback! but if they choose not to, that's not smth we can change their minds about.

side note, regarding a lot of the 'natlan is colonized' comments, we don't know the story yet. it's possible that hoyo will address it as social commentary, or it might be something totally different. leaks and the search for instant gratification have really made it difficult for people to enjoy a drawn-out storyline, and that's really sad.

we've said this a lot on this page but i'll say it again: why spend so much energy hating fictional media? if it no longer brings you joy for whatever reason (i.e. you dislike the natlan characters), stop playing. if the fandom is the main source of negativity, stop engaging with the fandom, block users and tags, curate your own experience. if you claim to hate everything about it but continue to engage with it, that's quite hypocritical and unconvincing.

in any case, if you like the game well enough to keep playing, keep playing. you don't need to justify your reasoning to anyone, and you definitely don't need to fall into a trap of radicalized (and dare i say often performative) social justice.

[unwelcome-tagalong]

hello i’m back from the dead (sleeping) and it’s time to talk about

why Cullen won’t let anyone fix the hole in his ceiling 💖

someone has probably said this before but it wasn’t me, so here we go!

so remember that Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath grew up with three siblings, who he describes as being “very loud.” i see him as always being a very disciplined child, kind and warm and willing to let Mia take charge (because fighting her for it would have been useless), but a steadfast follower with a keen sense of justice and fairness, willing to voice his objections when he had any, and very fastidious about not breaking rules when Mia or Branson tried to stir up trouble. you know, that whole second child archetype. he was prone to a bit of escapism, running off to that pier on some lake which is definitely not in Crestwood, which tells us he likes having somewhere to escape to, somewhere to run if he gets overwhelmed.

skipping forward a bit, when he lived in Kirkwall, he had quite a bit of freedom to come and go physically, but to me at least it seems like he felt trapped by his duties under Meredith. he explicitly describes her keeping things from him, things she thought he’d disagree with as her second in command. he felt lied to, deceived, manipulated by her (bc he was), i think, even before the events at the end of DA2 that expose her for what she is. can you imagine that feeling? like he actually wants to do good, to treat the mages fairly and help keep them and everyone else safe (that’s why he signed up, after all), but he’s got this nasty, evil commanding officer who’s whispering in his ear, twisting all that good intention to do her malicious bidding. it must have felt like beating his head against a brick wall, like no matter what he did, his sincere desire to believe that other people are fundamentally good disappointed him. i always say that Meredith gave Cullen just enough rope to hang himself with.

jumping forward again, let’s talk about the Winter Palace. Cullen is very obviously uncomfortable there, and it makes sense why: he can’t leave, not without being extraordinarily rude, can’t get away from the people bothering and sexually harassing him, can’t get out of that jacket that is too damn tight. if you bring Cole with you, at one point in his ‘Investigate’ tree he comments that, “Cullen is afraid. They’re hurting him, following fear. He shouldn’t be here.”

all of this is just to illustrate: man’s got a Thing about feeling trapped, stuck, unable to fight back or defend himself or just flat out leave. and why does he have such a hard time with this?

because of that one time that Uldred blew up the Circle at Kinloch Hold in Ferelden. for reasons we don’t fully grasp, rather than being claimed by the demons or simply killed in the fighting, Cullen held out. he resisted demonic possession completely, somehow, and was instead trapped within that magical prison with no possibility of escape, probably for weeks. no escape from his hunger, thirst, or lyrium withdrawal, and no escape from the (probably Desire) demon(s) that tortured him with freedom if he’d only give in to those things he won’t quite allow himself to want.

so the fact that there’s a hole in his ceiling, even months into the repairs at Skyhold, when almost everything else has been fixed but a few, hard-to-access bits of masonry, is not lost on me. and sure, you could always blame it on lighting for the romance scene that takes place up there. but i like to think that it’s there because Cullen refuses to let them fix it. here’s why:

Cullen doesn’t like to stray far from his post. he likes that there’s a loft with a bed where he can pretend to sleep that’s not far from his desk, where he commands the lives of thousands of people. (i think at one point in Absolution, it’s revealed that at its height, the Inquisition was composed of ~10,000 troops, plus all the necessary support personnel.) the fate of the world is quite literally depending on his ability to do his job, and when the lyrium withdrawals make him feel like he must be losing his mind, he likes that he’s got an easy choice between resting (like he knows he probably should) or working (like he knows he really needs to), separated only by a little wooden ladder and a few planks that make up the floor.

he needs that little hole in the ceiling. if ever something happened at Skyhold, and it wasn’t safe or possible to leave through the three fucking doors on the lower level, he needs a back up plan, a way to get out from the top of that tower, or he’s every bit as trapped as he was at the Winter Palace, or by Meredith, or by Uldred and his demons, and he can’t be, not here, not with so many lives in his hands. not after Haven.

he needs it when he wakes up shouting, drenched in sweat, from another nightmare where he’s back there, trapped with demons who’ve murdered or enslaved your brothers and sisters and are trying to break you next, or pinned under Meredith’s thumb, doing things that he knows are wrong, he knows, but she’s his commanding officer and he trusts her, so how wrong can they really be? he needs it, first thing when he opens his eyes, to know he’s got an escape route, a backup plan. he’s safe.

and when he finally gives in to temptation, that thing he wants more than anything that he really shouldn’t let himself want, when the Inquisitor confesses that she wants to be with him when this is all over and he very dramatically sweeps aside everything on his desk, his whole life, shattering it all over the floor, he needs that little patch of sky to remind him it’s real. he’s free to leave whenever he needs to.

and that’s what allows him to stay.

[agendabymooner]

timezone || dr3 fic

daniel ricciardo x ofc (måneskin member!ofc)

Summary: Her life wasn’t normally like this, but Lester was more than willing to pack her shit and take the next flight to see her boyfriend if it meant for them to find solace in each other. OR no amount of talking could compare to the love shown in silence. 

Content warning: Hurt/comfort, story was taken place after 2022 Abu Dhabi, they're really sad, mentions of Z*k Br*wn, mentions of isolation and lack of communication, awful grammar, but I've shed some tears, based on Måneskin's TIMEZONE. (I know little to zero things about Dan's houses, so I'm just putting random locations that can be convenient for his part- in this story, at least).

Note: Demon time!!! I wrote this yesterday and decided to cry a little while doing so. I have also read enough about what happened last year with... Z*k Brown and McLaren. I only put enough information into the storyline. I might also start making a masterlist but it'll be garbage. Anyway, have a good day lovies. Enjoy xx

Her life wasn’t normally like this. She lived for the energy that she could absorb from anyone. She’s known to be the only girl — a wild wild girl — of her band, she’s loud for a woman with a small figure. 

She wasn’t normally like this. Yet she packed her bags quietly, all alone as she purchased a ticket for the next flight to Australia. 

She didn’t care how much of a hole that ticket had burnt on her pocket. She paid double so she could be there for him as soon as possible. 

She didn’t question his credibility as a boyfriend, didn’t ask herself if he had done the same for her or if he’d ever do the same because her brain could only handle one thing as of this point: Dan. 

Their sour argument almost two weeks ago had taken a toll on her own sanity. Who would have thought that leaving a jacket on the couch would turn into an argument over their careers and their feelings? Definitely not them. 

Their squabbling was often annoying, but they weren’t petty enough to stop talking. Even if she found herself mad because he really was an asshole, at least she found herself telling him that. But it’s different this time.

And the lack of words from either led them to the absence of their messy behaviour at Twitter. Neither party posted anything about their other half, and everyone wondered what had happened. No one got an answer besides the two. 

She kept herself inside their flat in Milan and would come out whenever she needed to be at the studio to record their songs. 

She found herself in his Lacoste polo—the sky blue in particular. It was an old shirt; she had kept it because he once said she wore it better. She found her arms wrapped around herself while she attempted to sleep and tried to imagine that her knee socks covered legs were tangled with his. 

Her best friends had noticed how bad it was, but a simple request of “I need some space” was immediately fulfilled. They texted her daily and had gotten her involved in things but not to an extent where boundaries were crossed. 

Her mind didn’t settle for the next 17 and a half hours of flight. Why did Australia have to be that far? It wasn’t like she’s complaining, she just wondered if there’s any better solution than 17 hours. 

This wasn’t the first time she’ll be in Australia. The first time she went when their relationship began to bloom was her band’s spontaneous trip to the country. She could remember how excited he was when she told him about it.

It was a fresh relationship, but Dan already asked Lester to meet his family. It was a funny story to tell their kids. She was insistent on meeting them with him, seeing as he was in England for a meeting and his family lived in Australia. 

Her friends came along to meet the family just in case “she needed a backup,” only for their presence to become useless. Dan’s family took her in almost immediately as if she was meant to be the bride for him. His niece and nephew were lovely, dragging her along with them as they insisted on playing with “‘Auntie Lolo,” a nickname that remained familiar still to this day.

His sister and brother-in-law appreciated the raw energy that Lester brought to Dan’s life. He wasn’t as wild as she was, yet she managed to help him get to her level. 

His parents were ready to ask for a child, but she knew they refrained. She remembered being told they had been asking him about having a child or getting married. It wasn’t something to tell your future-in-law if you were meeting them for the first time. 

But still, the first time she went to Australia for what was meant to be a spontaneous trip ended on a good note. It was almost like she already had a home to stay in. 

The second time was when Dan finished his first year at McLaren. He wanted to celebrate Christmas with his family. But his celebration came with a surprise. 

They didn’t even realize they had taken the fast lane in their relationship until she ended up in his secluded mansion. 

He grinned at her flabbergasted expression as they entered the place. 

She took her dear time looking around, alright. She scanned each detail that her brain could handle.

She remembered the slight dust on the picture frame she held in her hand. It wasn’t the dust that did it— it was their first decent photo. According to him, her grin was so infectious that his lips even had their own. Her legs were obviously crossed by his hips, and his hands were inches below her butt while their foreheads rested against each other.

She didn’t realize how many pictures he had of her— or them together— until she found the collage of their cutesy, sweet, and even unnerving photos hanging on his office wall. 

Unlike the London flat they rented, this was something more comforting. She tried to make it homey and familiar in London with the beige velvet loveseat and the burnt orange throw blanket—their bulbs were smart lights that could be controlled to warm up the environment of the flat.

His house in Australia showed a different side of his life. She had always considered him someone who’d have sex by the windows of a top-floor penthouse. He’s the life of the party, for fucks sake. He always gave that vibe. 

But it turned out that there was a massive difference between Daniel, who lived in the city, and Daniel, who had a mansion on a rather rural side of Perth. It was as if she found a different side of her as well. One would like to avoid cameras and allegations regarding substance abuse and cheating. She dreamt of being a successful musician, but her fame didn't mean much for the future she wanted to have with him. She found herself wanting this kind of life—she sought domesticity. This wasn’t her home. Just yet.

Only then, when she turned around, she witnessed his knowing smile resting across his face. She didn’t even live there, but he made her his home. 

She must have dwelled on the past year so much that she had fallen asleep. She woke up when the plane moved with a thud, and the rolling of wheels became loud and annoying, indicating that they have landed on the airstrip. She was there. 

But she had another flight to go to. And a thirty-minute ride. 

Sure enough, four hours passed and she was buzzing herself in. She was glad she had written down the code for the gate. Otherwise she was fucked. She hadn’t been in this house as much considering that well… it’s not in Europe. 

It’s extremely dangerous if Danny didn’t hear his gate opening from the intercom, she thought to herself. What if I was a killer? 

She dragged her suitcase, her other hand shaking as she refrained from putting in the code for the front door. She breathed shakily. Her heart was beating fast, not knowing how to handle what would come. She wondered if she could just return to Italy and isolate herself again. She asked herself if her presence would have a purpose at all. 

But she knew the reason why she stood at the porch with her knuckle gripping on her suitcase like her life depended on it. She knew why she paid twice the price just so she could take the next flight to another continent. 

The termination of his contract with McLaren took a toll on him, and she knew why she had to be there for him. It wasn’t his fault that McLaren had a shitty chassis and engine that lowered his performance on the tracks. She had a lot of things to say about the matter, but it wasn’t as if she could simply do that. She could jeopardize her career, let alone his. But still, hearing the name Zak Brown made her want to rip her hair out and spew out the most colourful words possible. All she could do at this point was send out the comfort message and fly as soon as she could get her hands on a ticket.

Her anxiety feared that he didn’t mean what he said through his phone. That someone played a fucking prank on her. That he hadn’t needed her at all.

She stepped inside with a call, her hands immediately placed her worn out sneakers on the shoe rack and made her way to the bedroom upstairs, not even minding that her suitcase was still standing in the entryway. The melancholic atmosphere nearly cleared out as she made her way to the bedroom—one that Dan called “ours” on their first night there together. 

Despite it being done temporarily, the melancholic nature had been cleared up as she swung the door open, finding him breathing quietly as he slept with his back facing the entrance. 

She hadn’t even heard how he felt, yet she felt nothing but pain and sympathy. As if her body was his and his body was hers. She could feel his body and its scream for help. She could feel her own wanting to do the same, but instead she approached the side of her bed. 

It didn’t take long for him to feel the warmth that she brought with her, his eyes opening as he sat up. 

She hadn’t spoken, but her silence did the talking. The way she watched him as she handed him the glass of water from the nightstand, the way she ran her fingers through his unruly hair, the way she smiled ruefully while her thumbs wiped away the tears that nearly fell from his eyes. She spoke so much, but not with words.

She was frozen for a moment, not realizing that he, too, had wiped her tears away with a sob and chuckle. His large hands grabbed her head, and he kissed her on the temple. His arms swooped her and squeezed her tightly. His embrace was enough to leave her crying continuously. This time, Daniel couldn’t stop the tears from falling off. 

“I’m here,” she straddled his lap as she rested her head against his neck. She held both of his hands tightly, squeezing them lightly as she reassured him, “I’m always here, mio caro.” 

If she was ever asked about it, she’ll only blame it on the time zone difference. She’d say that she found solace in her boyfriend’s presence. 

If Daniel Ricciardo was asked, he’d say that it’ll get better for him. He needed her to be home, and with her perched up on his lap, he couldn’t ask for anything more than her legs tangled up with his as they slept, silencing the demons they knew they’d be able to fight the next day. 

Her life wasn’t normally like this. But even then, she trusted that she could get used to it if she spent the rest of her life with him. She wouldn’t mind even if the next few racing seasons would affect the difference between their time zones, as long as he’s there. Fighting alongside her.

[justatalkingface]

I saw your post about Black Whip and I wanted to get your opinion on something that to me, is so damn obvious, but maybe I am looking at it differently than others.

When Midoriya is explained how Black Whip works, why isn’t the first thing in his head is, “Hey, I should talk and pick at Tokoyami’s brain to get some insight from him on how to keep it under control!”? Because when Banjo explained Black Whip, my mind immediately went, “That’s literally Dark Shadow, just not sentient.”

And it would have been a perfect segway into Tokoyami possibly becoming a more defined character if he’s hanging around Midoriya and they chat and Izuku gets to know Tokoyami better. Because for the most part, Tokoyami is around Hawks a lot, but he acts a bit like a blind fanboy to him and we never explore Tokoyami more, it’s always about Hawks.

Then it could have started a trend. When Midoriya unlocks Float, then introduce Uraraka into the meetings. And both her and Tokoyami can replace Bakugou because he was absolutely useless and obnoxious in Midoriya’s “training”. And for the other quirks, Midoriya will gradually gain his own circle of trust with OFA and the stored quirks through their help of similar quirks or advice from other brainy students like Yaoyorozu, Iida, and Todoroki. Such as how All Might had his own circle that knew the actual truth about OFA when he was it’s wielder.

I don’t know, I just think Horikoshi squandered an opportunity to flesh a few more prominent characters and instead stuck to the boring, tedious BakuDeku scenes.

*tilts head*

That... that is actually a really good point? I never thought of it, probably because he wasn't really even a character at that point, but it makes a lot of sense.

Both of them are dark, shapeshifting energy, and both of them require self control... somehow. Not quite sure how that works for Tokoyami since they never really got into how he 'self controls' a separate entity, but, damn. This would have been a great way to get into it. I mean, hell, in the war arc Izuku uses Black Whip to get past his body's limitations by supporting himself and cushioning impact of OFA (which I'm... eh on), but that's really similar to how Tokoyami uses his Quirk later on in the story with Black Abyss. That being a collaboration idea between them is great character development, and makes these newer power ideas feel more organic than they are when a big fight rolls around and Character X deploys New Power Y seemingly out of nowhere.

And using that as a segway into introducing OFA to the rest of the class, rather than just finding out in a note (I mean, considering how disconnected all of that felt by that point, I'm kind of confused to why Izuku even told them at that point, you know?)? Using Izuku as the glue to bind 1A together (like he was implied to at one point, before they stopped being relevent)? That's honestly inspired, it really is.

So much of the drama thus far in the Final Arc is built around 1A, but they're so out of focus, so undeveloped, and such strangers that it makes it all fall flat...er. But if we get an arc or two of Izuku binding them all together, making them relevent again, then the stakes would feel that much bigger to us (and you know, we could avoid the Dark Deku arc all together, or at least make it feel more... anything, really. And less dumb.)

Hori squandering opportunities to waste them utterly, or drop some fraction of the idea on someone else isn't a new thing, but damn, now I'm really regretting this was never a thing.

[ddarker-dreams]

I want to be you, how do i be someone like you :c sob everytime you post smtg it makes me laugh and i think about the story naybe for the entire day:c how do i lock

please anon i reassure you that’s there’s no one better to be than yourself!! i’m sure there are plenty of things you’re capable of that i’d fall flat on my face if i tried.

also, i think it’d be dangerous if there were too many of me. my friends once changed their pfps and usernames to mine and tried to see who could pull off the most convincing impression. i think the concept could be pitched to a24 for a psychological horror movie.

if you’re determined to walk the path, though, my suggestions are as follows

develop an obsession with an author from 19th century russia

???

believe in cryptids (i just know mothman is out there)

watch the most random video essays and attain as much useless trivia as possible

i’m not sure where this will get you, but at least it’s a potentially fun (?) journey.

[ashweather]

Daily RPG Readings

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, Part 5

If you want to read along with me, you can get the demo copy for free on A.N.I.M.'s official site or head over to their Patreon to get a copy of the latest playtest draft for $5. I'm reading the most recent playtest draft and there are significant differences from the demo copy, just as a heads up.

For part 5, I've stopped lying to myself that I'm ever going to be able to keep up a daily schedule. Today, we'll be going over Pages 94-104, finishing chapter 1. This is a short post, but next time I'll be covering the entirety of character creation, and that's definitely going to be a lot to cover.

Today is all about Traits! Traits, features, powers, perks, whatever you want to call them, they're little mechanical bells and whistles that make a character stand out and really pop off the page. In many TTRPGs they're the most fun part of making a character, and I would argue that holds true for Eureka as well. Investigators get three to six of them initially (but usually three). Traits are sometimes purely beneficial, but especially powerful Traits usually have an attached drawback. These are one of my favorite parts of game design, so let's get granular and cover some highlights!

Bumbling Detective lets characters take after Inspector Clouseau (the book might not be able to mention copyrighted characters, but I sure can!) and be a bumbling fool who completely botches the investigation but then saves the day in the nick of time! Mechanically, the character is more likely to fail Knowledge rolls but more quickly accrues valuable Eureka! Points.

Elementary! is a trait that emulates the famous "biography-at-a-glance" of Sherlock Holmes... or, at least, the character thinks they're that good. An investigator with this this trait can have the Narrator make a hidden Social Cues roll (essentially the skill for reading people), and learn two facts about a person - but the investigator has no idea which of these facts is correct or incorrect.

Final Girl gives a small bonus to Physical Skill rolls when facing off alone against supernatural threats, and also allows the character to spend Eureka! Points to hinder a supernatural threat's rolls rather than just boosting their own. Its a very fun survivor's trait, taking after the time-honored tradition of "final girls" in horror movies. Of course, the character taking the trait need not actually be a girl.

Just One More Thing... is similar to the Bumbling Detective Trait, but for Interpersonal Skills instead of Knowledge. If you somehow didn't pick up from the name, its the Columbo Trait. You know, Columbo? You agree. Reblog.

My Glasses! gives a flat +1 bonus to all investigation rolls, but gives a possibility of the character's glasses getting knocked off in any combat encounter. As long as their glasses are off, they become pretty useless but also blind to the stresses of the situation with a +2 to all Composure rolls. A must have for the Velma Dinkley fans out there.

Not Finished Yet is for a bloodied and beaten investigator dragging their body through the dirt to see a case through. The character has double HP, but if they have less than half of that at any point in the story, they succumb to their injuries and die as soon as the story ends. This one's a personal favorite, as I'm a sucker for stories about the irrepressible human spirit.

Unpredictable is a fun one - add a +1 to all non-investigation rolls. However, all rolls are made with a 1d12 instead of a 2d6, making both Full Successes and total Failures far more likely.

[sasukeparagraph]

Wait since I'm here I should probably clarify what I think about Sakura.

Okay so since I'm a Sasuke liker I'm obviously not a big fan of her but it's More Complicated than that. She's not like well written or anything but I think a lot of the hatred towards her is over the top and chronically Misses The Point.

A lot of criticism of Sakura fails for me because it focuses on taking her down as a person, not as a character. Go onto blogs, even blogs whom I think are, otherwise, mostly correct and have good takes, and you'll find itemized lists of why Sakura is a bad person, posts explaining how her entire being is based on selfish, one sided feelings, how she's useless, unlikable, etc. This is all well and good, but from a Doylist perspective, could, in theory, be fine. A character being a bad person, or otherwise unlikable, is not necessarily a bad writing choice. Sometimes, you just need a character to be like that, and that's okay. Her characterization being primarily built on a man is somewhat obnoxious no matter how you slice it, but, again, would be fine in isolation. The real problem is that pretty much every Naruto woman is like this (except for Granny Chiyo, shout out to Granny Chiyo), so it feels like it says more about the manga's attitude towards women in general than about this particular character. Similarly, I wouldn’t necessarily be against her being an unskilled combatant, in isolation, if there was a good purpose and justification for it, and if it also wasn't symptomatic of how this story treats women. That aside, however, my point is that characters being bad people, or even just grating people, does not necessarily make them bad characters.

Sakura, however, has no good reason to be like that. She serves no greater narrative purpose, never meaningfully contributes to the themes, and even her flaws never really go anywhere. She simply is. I think she has her fleeting moments of being charming, typically when Sasuke is not involved, but even still, she falls flat for me, on account of just not having a good reason to be there. She seldom changes and seldom affects the story.

She does, however, get an arc in the Chuunin Exams. She seeks to grow out of her over reliance on Sasuke (and, to a lesser extent, Naruto). She must, to succeed in the exams, actually train more, and drop her saccharine little lady act (rip Stepford Smiler Sakura it was a nice idea). Her falling behind Naruto and Sasuke is represented as her "staring at their backs", and Sakura's long hair, which she grew out to try and impress Sasuke, obscures her back. When she's caught by the Oto Nin, they pull at her hair, and mock her for it, because "any good kunoichi wouldn't have the time to keep their hair so well". She cuts it off to free herself so she can fight back. She manages this fight in a way that is distinctly inelegant and rough, even biting one of the Oto Nin at one point.

This is quite possibly the most obvious piece of symbolism ever. With her hair cut, her back is now unobscured. She has rejected her desire to perform femininity in favor of being a good shinobi. The logical conclusion is that, after this, she would grow and develop significantly as a character, no longer held down. It also stands to reason that she'd let go of her crush on Sasuke, considering it's kind of pathetic, and her long hair is very tied to it. The story beats here are clear as day, no?

Yet, even after this, Sakura doesn't really change. She doesn't develop as a person or as a combatant, and this is even highlighted at the beginning of the Sasuke retrieval arc. Most importantly, she's still "in love" with Sasuke, and it continues to hold down and stagnate her character. This is bizarre and dissonant, because her scenes in the Chuunin Exams were framed completely earnestly. It was treated like a genuine victory and change, only for it to not have any effect long-term. This means that her stagnation is not just a character feature, but observably messy writing.

When Shippuden rolls around, she's gotten better at fighting, at least. Some people like to whine about how her Kazekage Retrieval arc fight doesn't count, on account of her being puppeted by Granny Chiyo for the majority of it, and while I find this take understandable, I also find it kind of stupid, because her own personal prowess and knowledge does come in handy, and seeking unity as a means of breaking The Cycle is pretty heavily emphasized that arc, so it works for me that it's a 2v1. The parts that really count, though, her actual characterization, are more or less the same. She still remains thematically and narratively insignificant, and she still remains obsessed with Sasuke to the detriment of her development. If anything, I actually think she gets less interesting, because Inner Sakura is dropped (rip Stepford Smiler Sakura, you were a nice idea), and also, she's less rude and goofy. Basically, she's less fun overall.

She plays at being interesting again in Gokage Summit. She lies to Naruto and goes behind his back to try to kill Sasuke, which is terrible, but it's fun to watch! It being extremely improbable that she could actually kill Sasuke, not to mention morally disagreeable, does not make this any less fun to watch. She's still obsessed with Sasuke, though, holding her character down and in place, preventing her development. It's really hard to emphasize that you wish Sakura had tried to kill him out of genuine contempt, here, because most people on that train of thought bitterly despise Sasuke and think he deserves it. I do not, obviously. I like Sasuke. However, it doesn't make any sense for Sakura to be holding on to her grade school crush she hasn't seen in four years and only ever had a tenuously friendly relationship with at best. She doesn’t have Naruto's complicated relationship to him and absolutely desolate childhood to justify it, so it just comes off as weird and unnecessary. Having Sakura lose that interest in him wouldn't even really change the story— it's not like she can kill him by herself, anyways, and even if she could, it wouldn't make any god damn sense for Sasuke to die here, narratively speaking, and Sakura, again, does not do much for the story.

That's Sakura. A character with little relevance and stagnant development in the places she does get relevance. She commits a far greater crime than being a bad person or an unlikable person— being a bad character, and unlike a lot of her male counterparts, does not have the genuinely compelling writing to allow me to see past the flaws in that writing. I certainly don't hate her, that seems like far too exaggerated of a claim, but I'm far from liking her.

[fellbeastie]

Doctor Who 1.1 - Rose

I found this post in my drafts, where it’s been for 10 years.

*****

So, the Doctor blows up the department store.  What about the security guard who was locking up just minutes ago?  How long was Rose wandering around the basement?

Rose brings the plastic arm into her flat.  Why hasn't she tossed it out a window or something?

Mickey comes to make sure she's alive, then immediately wants to go see a match at a pub.  Can't criticize, since I'd do the same thing.  And Rose doesn't seem to mind.  

News says no fatalities, but they can't possibly know that yet.  We know Wilson's dead in there somewhere.  Maybe they mean no bystanders died in the explosion?

The arm crawls out of the bin, and back up to Rose's flat.  Why?  The Doctor only shows because he's tracking the arm, so what is it hoping to accomplish in Rose’s flat?  If it just wanted the Doctor it could have stayed in the bin until he got there.  It went to a lot of trouble to get up the stairs and unscrew the cat flap, for what?

"That won't last, he's gay and she's an alien."  How does he know that?

He's never seen his face before, so must have recently regenerated.  

The plastic arm can fly.  So why can't the other mannequins?

Rose won't let the Doctor leave without explaining WTF is going on.  He half-explains, acts very mysterious, and disappears.  Rose decides to research him.

Rose conveniently finds someone local who's looking for the Doctor.  

Clive says the Doctor turns up all over the place, but he only has pictures of his current face. Convenient.

Mickey gets eaten by a garbage bin.  This always amuses me.

Rose apparently sees nothing amiss with Plastic!Mickey.  

Rose has decided that Clive's insane and the Doctor's not worth chasing.  She's discussing job possibilities and considering going back to school.  Plastic!Mickey tries to interrogate her about the Doctor.  She still sees nothing wrong with him.  Perhaps Mickey always acts a bit dim and jealous?

The Doctor shows up and Plastic!Mickey goes on a rampage.  

"The assembled hordes of Genghis Khan can't get through those doors, and believe me, they've tried."  I WANT TO SEE THIS.

The Doctor is using Plastic!Mickey's head to trace the Nestene consciousness, which he couldn't do with the arm earlier.  Why would the plastic people have their control mechanisms in their heads?  Deep in the torso would make more sense; much harder to hack off.

The Doctor starts explaining what the TARDIS is and Rose starts crying, thinking Mickey is dead.  The Doctor doesn't spare a moment to tell her Mickey's probably alive.  Of course, he's busy trying to save the planet.  In his mind they don't have time to worry about one person.  Starting to see Time War damage here.

Rose says she'll have to tell Mickey's mother he's dead.  Isn't Mickey supposed to have no family?

The Doctor's forgotten about Mickey again.  That war really fucked him up.

The Doctor tries negotiating with Nestene whatever.  Rose finds Mickey.  Doctor puts up very little fight when things go wrong, Rose saves everyone.

I've seen a lot of people saying Rose was a useless whiner obsessed with the Doctor, but I can see why he took a liking to her already.