#but marvel simply does not want to acknowledge it...

[buckydeservesthebest]

*New Bucky theory on Thunderbols*

Ok, now that a few days have passed and I'm thinking things through more calmly, and also because of Seb's comment “he's a little bit of Bucky and a little bit of the Winter Soldier”. I think I came up with a theory that doesn't include mind control, but could explain what's going on with our boy, keeping him in the character Marvel has shown us for 13 years...

I think first of all, Bucky is being forced by the government to work for them, and that's why he's a congressman, which otherwise wouldn't make sense. And let's remember that this is Ross' new government, the same asshole who wanted to have the Avengers under his control, the same one who said Bruce's body is government property, the same one who resents enhanced people, and the same one who didn't care about Bucky's innocence in CW, scoffing at the idea that he might have a legal defense.

His new government no doubt could have modified the conditions of Bucky's pardon, consisting now of having to do compulsory service for them and him being obligated to do only what they allow him to do. Doesn't that sound familiar to the Sokovia Accords Ross insisted on so much? This would explain the court scene in the trailer. Because no, that wasn't a congressional meeting scene as many thought, Bucky is in a courtroom, almost identical to the courtroom scene in Iron Man 2.

I think in addition to the modifications to Bucky's conditional pardon, there could be another type of blackmail, such as the government threatening him to pursue charges against those who helped him and Steve escape in CW and who Cap broke out of The Raft, ergo the remaining living members of team Cap: Sam, Clint and Scott.

Being how cynical the government is, and more so Ross's, I totally see this coming. I also absolutely see the emotional blackmail coming, something along the lines of “you worked for the bad guys, if you really want to repair the damage you caused to society, now get the bad guys”. They know full well Bucky still feels guilty about what he was forced to do as the Winter Soldier, though of course he's an innocent victim in all of that, and they're using that to manipulate him.

And there is no doubt Yelena, John, Ghost and Taskmaster are bad guys in the eyes of the law, 'cause well, literally they are criminals, who have done nothing but take dirty works as job for a living. And the government could have drilled it into Bucky's head that they are a threat to society and their freedom puts the lives of innocents at risk, which isn't too far from the truth to be honest.

I'm sure Bucky would prefer to take more of an arrest approach, and not a final elimination as such. Just like in TFATWS, when he plotted the arrest of Senator Atwood and the Flag Smashers. But if it is now the government/congress itself who ordered Bucky to capture/eliminate the TBs, and I suspect also the paramilitary group that was pursuing them, he could not resort to police intervention, because the mission itself is not one of arrest, and because the police work for the same government.

So, if Bucky is being coerced by the government, and he has no ally to turn to, he would literally have no choice but to do what the government demands of him. All coupled with the emotional manipulation the government would use by taking advantage of the unfair guilt Bucky always has to carry.

I also feel like that Winter Soldier mode is something the government also forced Bucky to adopt. They would want to use him and show him off as their own living weapon just like HYDRA, something like “the Winter Soldier who was the fist of HYDRA is now the fist of America”. Of course this is something our poor Bucky hates with all his heart, but he literally would have no choice... This explains how unhappy and depressed he looks, and why he let his hair and beard grow back as a sign of lack of self-care...

It is more than clear that absolutely with all this, Marvel is undoing their own “happy ending” that they gave Bucky in TFATWS, where they at least left the door open for him to be more than the Winter Soldier.

Of course they're not going to let him shed that name, because they're simply not going to let him develop and be recognized as a hero, even though Bucky has always been a hero in every sense of the word and in his own right...

[persephonesfill]

steve meeting a young tony rotten with grief after december 16, 1991 and thinking "oh. he's like me."

[bunsiesblog]

Viktor Relationship HC

Viktor x GN!Reader

Purely self indulgent headcanons for Viktor in a relationship. You want fluff? Here is fluff.

tags: s1!viktor, established relationship, typical domesticity and fluff

➽───────────────❥

Viktor prefers subtle displays of affection. His intimacy is quiet—a hushed whispered shared between the two of you.

Very public and grand displays of affection tend to leave him embarrassed and flustered. This doesn’t mean he shies away from showing the world he is yours. But he prefers those intimate acts to be shared between the two of you.

That being said—he is a man in love. And he simply can’t help himself when you are near. So he has found a few ways to express his devotion to you:

A gentle bump of the knee under the table as you both sit together.

Interlocked pinkies. A touch so small it might have been missed if not for the faint smile pulling at his lips.

A hidden hand resting on your thigh while he reads or works—absentmindedly tracing circles with his thumb.

A tender touch to the small of your back as he guides you through crowds. Not only to keep you close but to keep him grounded as well.

Quick kiss to your forehead when parting ways. “Take care, lásko.”

Viktor adores holding your hands. Such an innocent and simple act leaves him feeling profoundly connected to you.

He often does it absentmindedly—reaching for your hand when his mind is elsewhere. His thumb traces your knuckles or the faint lines of your palm. He’ll even play with your fingers, as though committing their shape to memory.

Our lovely scientist quite likes the size difference between your two hands. He’ll press his palm flat against yours, marveling at the contrast with a soft smile on his face. “It’s quite unfair that I am so lanky, no?”

When privacy is reliably assured, Viktor rather enjoys spoiling you with affection and being spoiled in return. Here are some favorites of his in no particular order:

Kissing. And not the kind that is full of tongue and saliva (although he can acknowledge certain … situations … where it has its benefit.) He prefers the soft and revert kisses he gives you. The sort of kiss where he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and simply embraces you. Like he’d rather be at your lips all day than breathe air.

Viktor also has a pension for kissing you in places that are not just your lips. His kisses are gentle, playful, and unexpectedly intimate. Some of his favorite places to leave them on you are the inside of your wrist, the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck, and the tip of your nose.

He particularly enjoys the way you laugh or squirm when he traces light kisses to your neck and jawline. Viktor will hold your hands to keep you from wiggling away. Despite being quiet by nature, Viktor’s smirk betrays how much he enjoys hearing you laugh. “You want me to stop? But you make such sweet sounds for me, Koťátko. Just one more.”

A quiet night in the lab made him realize just how much he enjoys seeking your warmth and filling in the empty spaces between you. When you’re perched at the edge of his work table, Viktor will instinctively step between your legs and rest his hand on your thighs as he looks up at you. It’s any wonder how he gets any sort of work done when you’re around.

To others, he is a polite but distant man. Constantly consumed by his work and ambition. But with you, he is something else entirely: gentle, tender, and devoted. And it is clear to anyone who knows him just how special you are.

Viktor always gives you his unwavering attention. When you speak, he listens. His whiskey eyes are held steady to your own. Oftentimes, when he thinks you won’t notice, they’ll flick down to your lips. And he’ll rub a thoughtful hand over his jaw, trying his best to hide an amused smile. “Hm? Yes, I’m listening, sweetheart.”

His reserved nature doesn’t lend itself to overt sentimentality. But with you? It shines. There is a tenderness in him that only you can bring out.

Viktor has a weathered notebook he keeps in his coat pocket for when inspiration strikes or he simply can’t put his pen down. However, among the haphazard grocery lists or scribbled equation are notes about you like ‘prefers chamomile tea when anxious’ or ‘smiles when it rains’. Even the margins of his notes are decorated with absentminded doodles of you.

He most definitely is an act of service kind of man. The chain of your necklace is broken? Or your watch won’t tick past 6:33? He’ll silently take it off your hands, fiddle with the repair in the quiet hours of his lab, and leave it for you to be found the next day. Any sort of thanks you try to give him are met with a humble “it was nothing.” Although the blush on his ears tell a different story.

[wonderjanga]

Billy’s Ideal Hero

Billy has had so so so many years to think about being the ideal hero. He’s finally come to the conclusion as to what being the ideal hero is.

It’s being super mysterious and suave. Mary thought him that last word.

Thankfully, he came to this conclusion before he started fully interacting with the public so no one needs to know about his normal, not hero-like self.

Billy didn’t realize how much of an impact this persona had on history and other heroes in general. The first time he found this out was, after the time bubble popped, when he was in DC because he needed to talk with some government people. On his way back to Fawcett, before he could leave the city, he spotted some kids bullying another, and he swiftly put a stop to it.

Marvel: *lands behind them with a smile* “I think it’d be wise for you boys to stop.”

Bullies: *turn and scream before running off*

Marvel: “Now then, are you alright?” *picks up some books on the ground*

Kid: *gobsmacked and takes the books back*

Marvel: *raises a brow but starts to float off the ground so he can fly off again*

Kid: “WAIT! WAIT! Are you the real deal?”

Marvel: “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kid: “That’s… Awesome!”

The kid started yapping and yapping about something Billy didn’t entirely understand. The kid then shifted his books around so he could get to a history textbook.

Kid: *flips to a page* “This is you, right? You said this!” *shows it to Billy*

it was a black and white picture of him, making a speech in front of a crowd.

“It is a heroes job to protect anyone they can. Weak or strong, black or white, man or woman. It should not ever matter. If it does, you were simply never a hero in the first place.”

— Captain Marvel, circa 1949

It took every bone in Marvel’s body to not scrunch his face and look away and embarrassment because WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S IN THE TEXTBOOKS?! But alas, he has to remain that cool mysterious disposition.

The second time he realized the impact of this persona was when he was also in another city. Metropolis. See, he’d wanted to talk to this so called “Superman” but before he could, a giant foreign aircraft made itself known. Naturally, he went through the proper proceedings of telling the aircraft to leave and that it was in a foreign airspace. Instead of leaving it shot at him. None of its weird doohickies worked though. How humans have developed… Anyways, that ended up with him luring the ship to the middle of nowhere. After all, he would never fight it in a city. He’d have to be an idiot to do that.

He took care of the ship itself in a minute, his lightning frying it. Then he took care of the invaders inside. Turns out they were from a different planet. He took care of them in a couple minutes. In the end, he was covered in alien guts and picking it out of his suit and gloves.

After Marvel steps out of the ship…

Supes: *standing there confused as to why the aliens weren’t attacking and suddenly sees Marvel and stares*

Marvel: *stares back and stops picking alien intestine out of the hood of his cape* (idk I just like it whenever he has a hood on his cape. Think of the injustice version of him if you don’t know what I mean)

*silence*

Marvel: “I presume you’re Superman?” *steps forward, ignoring that he’s covered in blood because that wouldn’t be very mysterious or suave of him to acknowledge*

Supes: “Uh…” *looks behind Marvel and sees a bunch of dead aliens* “Yes?”

Marvel: “Wonderful!” *moves in front of Clark, takes off a glove (Yes he also wears gloves because I really like his injustice costume if you ignore all the black and replace it with either red or white) and holds out a hand for a shake* “It’s amazing to meet a new hero, let alone one from outside of Fawcett.”

Supes: “Really? It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir.” *shakes his hand*

And it really was, even if Clark kept looking between Marvel and the aliens because he hadn’t heard a single sound of pain from the ship. That either meant Marvel did it quickly or he did it quietly. Clark wasn’t sure which was better. It was still a shock to see a revered hero, a hero Clark actually idolized, look like the person responsible for a massacre.

The two talked though and Clark wasn’t picking up any homicidalness so…? They actually managed to get smoothies after the Captain cleaned himself up with magic. Clark didn’t even know how they ended up in a smoothie joint. It’s just the other hero was so- so- so suave and mysterious. It reminded Clark a wee inseey weesy bit of Bruce. (Billy would internally cheer upon realizing that his persona was working) The other hero was also extremely easy to talk to and actually liked a lot of things Clark did, like reporting!

it almost made the kryptonian forget about the fact he was pretty sure the other man massacred a bunch of aliens. Almost. He brought it up to Batman immediately after their little little hangout session.

[heliosunny]

YANDERE!SAE x READER

And so... he's changed Sae was a genius. You’d known it all along. Your (once) friend was a prodigy in soccer. You’d marvel at how effortlessly he made his goals. But life, as it often does, pulled you away. Your parents' work demanded relocation, and you left without so much as a goodbye.

You often thought back to those days, replaying the memories in your mind. He was distant, never chatty, but you still tried. Compliments, small gifts like sweets, you always hoped to get through to him. Most times, he'd just hand them off to his younger brother, Rin. You convinced yourself he wouldn’t miss you. You were just a face in the audience, after all.

Yet Sae noticed.

At first, he thought you might’ve been sick or busy. You never missed a game before. He told himself you’d show up at the next match. But when his mother mentioned over dinner that your family had moved, his world stilled.

When? Why? And why hadn’t you told him?

He told himself it didn’t matter. There was no time to dwell on things outside soccer. Yet the gnawing ache in his chest refused to leave. He hated himself for how easily your memory began to fade. He didn’t want to forget. He promised himself that one day, he’d find you again.

-----------

Years later, standing in a packed stadium, Sae’s sharp teal eyes scanned the crowd. Then he saw you. Older, more composed, but undeniably you.

“There you are, Y/n L/n.”

The sound of his voice made your blood run cold. Your best friend, Hana, practically screamed beside you, overwhelmed by the sight of the famous Sae Itoshi addressing you.

He didn’t waste time. The crowd dispersed, and he cornered you. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“Explain yourself.” he demanded.

“What?” you replied, confused. “What are you talking about? I’m just here because my friend dragged me along.”

His jaw clenched. “You left without saying a word. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Sae, I was a kid. My family had to move for work. What was I supposed to do? And you-” You pointed at him. “You barely acknowledged me back then! What did it matter if I was there or not?”

“It mattered!” he hissed, stepping closer. “You mattered. You still matter.”

You shook your head, overwhelmed. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I have my own life now. Just… let it go.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Sae frozen in place. How could you be so indifferent? Didn’t you see how much he’d changed, how much he’d suffered... all because of you?

---------- Later that night, Hana regretted letting you drink so much. You slumped over the table, utterly unconscious. “I shouldn’t have let you drink, idiot!” she muttered, trying to shake you awake.

“Need some help?” a familiar voice asked.

Hana turned to see Sae standing there, his teal eyes locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Oh! Sae Itoshi, right?” Hana stammered, momentarily starstruck. “Um, my friend’s had a bit too much to drink…”

“I’ll take her,” Sae said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Oh, but-”

“I’ve known her for years,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Before Hana could protest, Sae had you slung over his shoulder. His grip was possessive, and his gaze was cold as he turned away. ---------- When you woke up, your head pounded like a drum. You blinked, taking in your unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn’t your apartment. The room was too pristine, too impersonal.

Panic set in as you sat up, only to find Sae sitting in a chair by the door, watching you.

“Sae?” you croaked. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’re safe,” he said simply. “With me.”

Your heart raced. “What? Sae, I need to go home-”

“This is your home now.” His calm tone was more chilling than any shout. “You won’t leave me again.”

You stared at him, horrified. “Sae, this isn’t funny. Take me home.”

He stood and walked over, his shadow looming over you. “I don’t think you understand, Y/n. You’re the reason I kept going. Every match, every goal—I did it all for you. And now, I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not your parents, not your friends, no one.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you realized the depth of his obsession. “Sae… you’re scaring me.”

His expression softened, but his eyes remained unnervingly intense. “You don’t need to be scared. I’ll take care of everything. You’ll never have to leave again.”

As he reached out to touch your face, you flinched, but there was nowhere to run. The door was locked, and the man you once called a friend had become someone you barely recognized.

And so, Sae Itoshi had changed- but not in the way you’d hoped.

[lgbtpopcult]

Ranking the Top 10 GL Series of 2024

10. My marvelous Dream is You

A highly expected gl from Idol Factory that fell short of our expectations not for lack of chemistry from its love team (they in fact had some of the best chemistry in the industry) but because of the bad writing. The writing simply didn't allow the story to flourish. The couple spent most of the series apart, and we don't mean simply not in a relationship. They hardly spend any time together at all, and when they did, there were no romantic moments happening most of the time. What saved the series was its couple that sold the rare moments they had together really well. No surprise that they're dating in real life.

9. Apple My Love

Short and sweet, this story was a fun little romcom that fulfilled its purpose well. The couple needed to prove themselves as a love team, and they did. Happy to know they got a new series out of it.

8. Petrichor

For the people who had heard of Englot but had only seen them as a love team on Show Me Love, their popularity remained a mystery until this series. This police drama/romance has been good enough to prove they may not be the team with the best chemistry out there, but they're definitely not completely deprived of it like Show Me Love made us think. The series itself is interesting if you like your romance in small doses amidst the action.

7. Blank The Series

Here comes the controversy. One of the most successful and also controversial series of the year. We have to acknowledge that unlike what some fans would like us to believe the problem was not in the age difference per say but in the fact that one of them was 21 and initially very immature for her age. However, she was not underage, she was not unintelligent, and she had agency. She was the one who persistently pursued the relationship. The story was exciting and passionate. Also, mommy issues sell.

6. 23.5

A series that gave milklove, a much beloved love team, its chance to shine. It was a sweet high school romance that was enjoyable for most people and had some great highs. Its jealousy episode was one of the best around, and both of the admins here in lgbtpopcult are willing to die on that heel. It did, however, have the limitations of an innocent high school romance. A lot of time was dedicated to side characters and the couple could not be shown in a more mature relationship. Still, a good time!

5. Mate the Series

It is endlessly entertaining to watch Gen and Aoey interact. The perfect ice queen, rich girl that wanted to only be with the perfect man (somehow nobody was ever the perfect man) trying to resist her innocent, tempting friend. They are funny and sweet and passionate at the same time. The series does a good job of focusing on their relationship with little interest in anything else

4. The Loyal Pin

This production, supported by the Thai ministry of culture, definitely deserves its spot at number 4. At 16 episodes and with great production value, it is a journey through time that not only shows us the love story between two women but also the food, dance, and customs of the country of Thailand. The love story itself did a good job of remaining entertaining by inserting some jealousy and lots of obstacles in the course of the couple.

3. Affair the Series

A fierce debate broke out amongst us about whether this series would occupy the third or the second place in this list. You see half of it, the second half, was so incredibly good. The push and pull of a couple with exploding chemistry while they lived together. The obsession Wan had with Pleng. The amazing love scenes. But the first part of the series dragged it down. The chemistry was there from the beginning but they spend too much time in the past when the leads were young, and one of them was pushing the other to be with a guy just to avoid her feelings. That part wasn't bad, It had its moments, but it was at times frustrating and too long. A great series nonetheless.

2. Pluto

This series has it all. A love team with great chemistry, an interesting plot, good acting, and quality writing. It did not only show us an exciting romance but addressed issues of disability and even teased a throuple (through a side couple don't worry the mains are as crazy in love as gl couples should be). Insert some surprising twists and turns and it's a go!

1. The Secret of Us

The number 1 spot could go to no other series. It wasn't even a debate. Lingorm, the love team comprised of Ling and Orm, was tasked with proving a gl can go toe to toe with straight romance series on a major Thai network. They knocked it out the park! The Secret of Us was super successful. Throughout its run, it remained in the top 10 of Netflix in Thailand and the other Asian countries it was available in. It frequently occupied the number 1 spot, and its numbers on the network's own streaming app surpassed those of its straight counterparts. There was a reason for all of that. The story was a very popular romance trope (angry ex vs. regretful ex) done right, the chemistry of the love team was enticing and both main characters were infinitely charming. We all fell in love.

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men act when drunk

(rick grimes , daryl dixon , negan smith)

Here’s what you can expect when Rick Grimes is drunk and hopelessly in love with you:

Forget the stoic, reserved leader. Drunk Rick is a fountain of heartfelt admiration. He’ll tell you how strong you are, how much he admires your courage, and how your kindness keeps him going.

Expect specific details. He won't just say you're beautiful; he'll tell you how the way you smile at Judith makes his heart ache with happiness, or how your practical solutions always save the day.

He might stumble over his words, but the sincerity will be undeniable. His eyes, usually guarded, will be soft and filled with an overwhelming affection. Prepare for your cheeks to hurt from smiling.

Rick isn't usually one for grand gestures. Survival takes precedence. But drunk Rick? He's all about physical closeness.

He'll want to hold your hand, not just casually, but tightly, as if afraid you'll disappear. He'll pull you close, burying his face in your hair and inhaling deeply, murmuring about how good you smell.

Kisses will be frequent and lingering. They won't be passionate or demanding, but soft, tender pecks on your forehead, your cheek, the curve of your neck. Each one a silent promise of protection and devotion.

Be prepared for spontaneous hugs, long and enveloping, where he simply holds you, needing the reassurance of your presence.

Rick carries so much inside, the weight of leadership, the loss of Lori, the constant threat of death. Drunk, those walls crumble.

He might talk about his fears, the things that keep him up at night. The safety of the group, the future of Judith, his own failings.

He'll likely apologize for the burdens he carries, for the darkness he sometimes brings into your life, for the things he can't give you.

This is a chance to reassure him, to remind him of his strengths, of the good he does, and of your unwavering support. Just listen, hold him close, and let him know you understand.

Prepare for a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Rick will reminisce about your early days together, the tough times you overcame, the moments that solidified your bond.

He'll recount specific instances, things you might have forgotten, highlighting your strength, wit, or compassion in each story.

He’ll marvel at how far you’ve both come, acknowledging the scars you both carry, but emphasizing the unwavering connection that has kept you together.

These shared memories will serve as a powerful reminder of the depth of your love and the unbreakable foundation you've built.

Rick is ALWAYS protective, it's in his nature, but when drunk, this protective instinct goes into overdrive.

He'll make sure you're warm enough, comfortable enough, safe enough. He'll check the perimeter repeatedly, even if it's already been secured.

He might insist on walking you to your sleeping quarters, even if it's just a few steps away.

This isn't controlling, but a deeply ingrained need to ensure your well-being, a manifestation of his love and his fear of losing you.

As the alcohol wears off, a wave of self-consciousness might wash over him. He might become quiet, withdrawn, worried about what he said or did.

Reassure him that you cherish his vulnerability, that you appreciate his honesty, and that you love him, flaws and all.

The next morning, he might be embarrassed, apologetic, or simply try to pretend it didn't happen.

Don't let him. Gently remind him of the beautiful things he said, the tenderness he showed, and the depth of your connection.

Normally, Daryl communicates in grunts and glances, but with a bit of alcohol, he starts talking. Not rambling, but offering snippets of thoughts he usually keeps locked away. He might tell you a story about Merle, a softer edge to his voice that you rarely hear. Or he might comment on the way the moonlight catches your hair, his gruffness laced with a surprising tenderness.

Daryl isn't one for grand gestures of public displays of affection. But drunk? Suddenly, his hand finds its way to the small of your back more often, lingers a bit too long when he pulls you close, and he leans into you just a little harder when you're standing side-by-side. He’s a heat-seeking missile, drawn to your warmth and presence.

His signature scowl might soften just a hair. A small, almost imperceptible smile might play on his lips as he watches you interact with others, a silent acknowledgment of the joy you bring to his life. It’s fleeting, but you catch it, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

This is where the real magic happens. With his inhibitions lowered, Daryl might confide in you about his fears. Not the surface-level fears of walkers or losing a fight, but the deeper stuff – the fear of not being good enough, the fear of losing you, the fear of failing the people he cares about. These moments are precious, raw, and build an even stronger foundation of trust between you.

Underneath that tough exterior lies a man who craves acceptance and love. Drunk Daryl might become unusually clingy, needing your constant presence and reassurance. He might ask you, a little slurred, if you're happy, if you're okay. Responding with gentle words and a loving touch is all it takes to soothe his anxieties.

Even drunk, Daryl is protective. If he sees someone paying you a little too much attention, a flicker of possessiveness might cross his face. He might pull you closer, wrap an arm around your waist, or simply give the interloper a subtle, but unmistakable, glare. It’s not aggressive, but it’s a clear message: you belong to him.

Don't expect sonnets or serenades. Daryl's romance is practical and heartfelt. He might stumble back from the food table with your favorite piece of pie, even though he doesn’t like pie himself. He might offer you his jacket when the night gets cold, even though he's clearly freezing. These small acts of service speak volumes about his love for you.

Picture this: Daryl, slightly swaying, trying to dance with you. It’s awkward, endearing, and utterly hilarious. He’s probably got two left feet, but he’s trying, and that's what matters. Laugh with him, not at him, and savor the moment.

As the night winds down, Daryl might lead you away from the noise and the crowd, finding a quiet spot to sit under the stars. He might point out constellations, telling you stories his mother used to tell him. He might whisper promises for the future, promises of safety, security, and a life built together. These are the moments you’ll cherish forever.

The next morning, Daryl will likely be nursing a headache and a touch of embarrassment. He might be gruff and avoid eye contact, but beneath the surface, he'll be grateful for your patience and understanding.

The vulnerability displayed during his drunken state will have forged an even deeper connection between you. You’ve seen a side of him that few others have, and he trusts you with his deepest fears and insecurities.

Don't expect a grand apology. Daryl's way of showing gratitude is subtle. He might bring you coffee in the morning, fix something that's been broken around the house, or simply hold you a little tighter than usual. These small gestures are his way of saying, "Thank you for loving me, even when I'm a mess."

Even sober, Negan has a way with words. But a few drinks in, it's like a dam bursts. The compliments flow, unfiltered and genuine.

He’d tell you how beautiful you are, not in a superficial way, but describing the curve of your smile, the way the firelight catches in your hair, the strength he sees in your eyes.

He'd compare you to everything he loves – the warmth of the sun after a long winter, the first bloom of spring, the comforting crackle of a fire on a cold night. He's not just saying you're pretty; he's saying you're essential to his world.

He’d slur out things like, "God, you're just...good, (Name). Real damn good." And he'd mean it with every fiber of his being. The kind of good that makes him want to be a better man, if only for you.

Negan is a man of action, and that extends to his affections. Drunk, he becomes even more tactile, seeking your warmth and reassurance.

He'd pull you close, not in a possessive way, but seeking comfort. His large frame would become a haven, a place where you can feel safe and protected.

He’d run his fingers through your hair, tracing the curve of your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. The calloused hands that swing Lucille with deadly accuracy would become instruments of tender affection.

He might even rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and just breathing you in. In that moment, the weight of the world, the responsibility of leadership, seems to melt away, leaving only the simple pleasure of being near you.

Negan keeps his cards close to his chest, but alcohol loosens his tongue and softens his heart.

He might start rambling about his past, not the Negan everyone knows, but the man he was before, the man he lost. He’d talk about his regrets, his fears, his hopes for a future he never thought he'd see.

He'd admit how scared he is of losing you, of failing you. "You're the best thing in my life, (Name)," he'd confess, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't ever leave me."

He might even talk about Lucille, not in a loving way, but with a deep sense of grief and remorse. He'd acknowledge the darkness within him and how you, somehow, manage to keep it at bay.

Beneath the gruff exterior, Negan has a playful side. A few drinks bring it to the surface.

He might try to dance with you, clumsy and off-beat, but with a genuine smile on his face. He wouldn't care if he looks ridiculous; he just wants to hold you close and sway to a nonexistent melody.

He might try to serenade you, his singing voice terrible but filled with heartfelt emotion. He'd butcher a classic love song, but you'd be touched by the effort and the love behind it.

He might even try to cook for you, a disastrous attempt that ends with burnt food and flour everywhere. But he'd laugh it off, pull you into a hug, and declare that takeout is a much better option anyway.

As the night wears on, and the alcohol settles, Negan becomes reflective. He wants to connect with you on a deeper level.

He'd sit you down, take your hands in his, and look you in the eyes. He’d tell you how much you mean to him, how you've changed his life for the better.

He'd thank you for seeing the good in him, for believing in him even when he doesn't believe in himself. He'd thank you for your strength, your compassion, your unwavering love.

He'd make promises, not grandiose ones, but small, meaningful promises. He promise to always protect you, to always be honest with you, to always try to be the man you deserve.

He’d end the night by simply holding you, letting the silence speak volumes. He’d drift off to sleep with you in his arms, feeling a sense of peace he hasn't known in years.

[paranoiddreams]

Creations of Mankind

✿ Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

✿ Warnings!! - very very brief mentions of beheading and blood LMAO, some swearing, fluffiest fluff, CRACK!

✿ A/n!! - idk my brainrot riddled brain decided to cook this up🫶🏻 also, any requests are appreciated, I have no ideas whatsoever 🙃

“What is that?”

Y/n cocks her head towards Sukuna, who’s currently draped over her couch as she texts away on her phone. He has a slight pout, one she knows he isn’t aware of because it’s something he only does in bouts of confusion or shock.

“What’s what?” Y/n quirks an inquisitive brow at him.

“That…device in your hands,” he grumbles back, “it is puzzling.”

Y/n looks down at the phone in her hands, a shocked laugh escaping her lips. “My phone?” She giggles. “You’re asking about my phone?”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, all four of them, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Do not think of me as a fool,” he demands. “I am simply unaware of the foolish creations of mankind.”

“Yeah I know, old man.”

The King of Curses, who once made people bow down at his feet, beheaded anyone who refused to acknowledge his power, and bathed in the blood of his enemies, marvels at the fact that a mortal woman is calling him an ‘old man’; and he’s letting her get away with it with a simple roll of his eyes.

“If you insist on being such a brat—“

“Sorry! Sorry!” Y/n barks out a laugh, holding her hands out to stop him rising from the couch and leaving. “A phone…well it’s an electronic devise most humans use for entertainment, or to communicate with others,” she explains to him, coming down from her fit of laughter.

Sukuna quirks a brow. “Communicate? Entertainment? I could have had those things, and more, in an instant with just one word in my day,” he says with a pompous grin, “and you humans need an unreasonably expensive device?”

Y/n feels her eyes roll to the back of her head, an ostentatious expression on her face. “Well, King Sukuna,” she says mockingly, “the world doesn’t work like that now. And sometimes people want to connect with one another online without…actually seeing each other.”

The curse lets out another huffy laugh. “Ahh, even more pathetic.”

“Okay, talk your shit, but I’m sure your royal servants and followers couldn’t do this back then—“ Y/n stands from her seat across from him, swiping into her camera app.

She moves in front of Sukuna and takes picture after picture of his face, each one showcasing his expression shift from smug, to confused, to slightly pink.

“Hey!” He growls, swatting at the phone as Y/n continues to snap photos. “What are you doing, woman?!”

After a few more snaps, she scrolls through the 50+ new pictures of Sukuna with an amused smile on her face. “Look!” She holds the screen up to his face, using her finger to swipe through the photos.

Sukuna’s brows raise in shock, his mouth agape in slight annoyance. “Strange,” he mumbles, lifting a single digit to swipe the screen himself.

Y/n smiles proudly as she watches him observe the screen of her phone, eventually resting it into the large palm of his hand. While he’s still completely invested in the photos of himself, she sits next to him, resting her chin on his shoulder as they both look together.

“That one’s cute,” she giggles softly when he comes to the last picture, his face struck with confusion, a rosy blush splayed across his cheeks, and the hand he was using to reach for the camera blurred across the screen.

Sukuna only grumbles incoherently in return, shoving the device back into Y/n’s hands before he stands and leaves the room. It’s only a few days later when he comes across her phone on the counter, her wallpaper one of the various pictures she took of him.

Maybe creations of mankind aren’t so useless after all.

[alice-after-dark]

Mer!Vox AU

I have wanted to do a Mer!Vox AU for a while now, but I hadn't quite found the vibe I wanted until @hiemaldesirae posted this adorable art and my brain ran away with me.

That being said, this AU is uh...not nearly as adorable. My brain does weird things with the most random of inspirations.

Takes place during the Golden Years of New Orleans (1810-1840).

Alastor is a wealthy oddities collector living in Victorian Era New Orleans. One day while out and about, he is approached by a man who claims he has something remarkable to sell him.

TW for implied racism, blood, gore, cannibalism, and other canon-typical triggers.

It wasn't uncommon for people to approach him, trying to sell their snake oil. Anyone who knew Alastor Bourreau's bizarre tastes tried their hand at it at least once. So when this weasel of a man approached him, claiming to have a real live mermaid to sell him, Alastor nearly dismissed him. It was only when the man showed him a scale, a glittering iridescent shade of blue he'd never seen before, did he decide to entertain the sleazy man's offer. He'd go, see what hoax they'd put together, and be on his way. Some entertainment for the evening.

The full moon is high among the stars when he arrives at the warehouse with Husk by his side. Confident does not equal stupid and he is not nearly foolish enough to come to the docks alone at night. The man from before greets him with a bow and hurriedly ushers him into a back room while Husk makes his revolver known to their host with a casual brushing back of his coat. A show mostly. Alastor is perfectly capable of defending himself should the need arise, but he would rather not if he can help it. Giving away his secrets is not something he does lightly.

A long glass box filled with water sits in the center of the room. Heavy chains are wrapped around it. Alastor hardly acknowledges either of these things. No, his eyes are fixated on the beautiful creature inside the box.

The creature appears to be a young man, skin pale as moonlight and eyes a brilliant blue. Those same shimmering scales twist and ripple under the warehouse lights. He is gagged, more chains wrapping his body and biting into the flesh.

He is real. Alastor is certain of it.

The weasel sees his interest and starts to haggle, an unpleasant wrenching forming in Alastor's gut as the fool discusses the price of another person. The thought sickens him, knowing that had things gone differently for him he could have very well been on the opposite end of this endeavor.

But Alastor does not collect these things simply to marvel at them behind glass.

He collects them to learn.

"While your generous offer is greatly appreciated, I think I'll just take him."

"What?"

The shadows descend.

When it is done, the scent of blood hangs thick in the air. Alastor takes a deep inhale and basks in it. Beside him, Husk rolls his eyes, muttering "freak" under his breath. Alastor steps over a severed arm and kneels before the box. The creature inside looks up at him with curiosity. Alastor snaps his fingers and the chains unravel themselves, falling away from the box with a clatter. He opens the lid slowly, holding a hand over the creature and mimicking the same spell on the gag and chains binding it. The mer rises, grasping the edge of the box and lifting himself up so he is meeting Alastor's gaze. One hand comes up to touch the man's face, tracing his features and prodding curiously at his glasses. Alastor lets him explore, content with indulging the creature.

A low groan interrupts them.

The weasel man is still alive. Limbless, but alive. Husk pulls out his revolver, but the creature moves first, dragging himself across the floor with alarming speed and descending on the man. Pupils and irises give way to brilliant red and razor teeth and claws take turns rending flesh apart. Blood soaks the mer's front and Alastor remains silent as the disgusting little man is devoured. Eventually the screams fade and the creature pulls back, blood and viscera dripping from its jaw. His eyes turn to Husk.

"No, no," Alastor interjects. "He's with me."

The mer pulls back. The red glow fades from his eyes. He wipes the gore from his face, licks his hand clean. His tail begins to twist and warp, scales recede and pale flesh emerges. Alastor watches in fascination as the tail becomes legs and the mer takes on full human shape.

"Holy shit," Husk breathes.

Alastor stands, regards him with interest. He crosses the room and offers a hand to the creature. Thin fingers grasp his and the young man stands, stumbling almost immediately and collapsing against Alastor who braces him.

"Thank you."

"Ah so you can speak." There is a sheet draped over some crates nearby and Alastor has his shadow bring it to him. He wraps it around the young mer's exposed body and brushes wet locks away from his face. "Could we have your name then? I am Alastor and that man you almost ate is Husker."

"Husk is fine," the older man chimes in.

The mer pouts at up at Alastor and Alastor decides that a bloodthirsty creature who just devoured a man in front of him has no right to look so cute.

"I wasn't going to eat him. I thought he was going to shoot me." He pulls the sheet a little tighter around himself. "My name is Vox."

"A pleasure." Alastor scoops him up into his arms. "Shall we depart then? It wouldn't do us much good to get caught here."

Husk offers him a two-fingered salute and the three make their way out to the waiting carriage. Alastor's smile reaches his eyes as the mer gazes around the docks in wonder and he gazes out the window their entire ride back home.

What an interesting creature indeed.

---

Not sure if it actually counts as cannibalism since Vox isn't actually human, but tagged just in case lol

[thefixations-ofmine]

You Set Me Ablaze - Chapter 1 : Initial Landing

Pairing: Park Ranger!Evan Buckley x Air Ops!Tommy Kinard Word count: 4k Warnings: Blow job, hand job, semi public, stuff in a helicopter, pet names, come play

Summary: Tommy and the guys from Harbor rent a cabin in a California Parks campground some hours north of Los Angeles. He's hoping to enjoy the time off and participate in engaging team-building activities. Little does he know a blue-eyes boy would be occupying most of his schedule. / Evan is a new park ranger with high hopes to become employee of the month. He didn't expect to have his brain scrambled by the hot helicopter pilot when he picked up their file on his morning chores run. He hopes that his services will grant him a good review.

A/N: I had initially wanted to make a single long fic with this, but I keep getting ideas and I like where this part ends so this will be part 1 of maybe 3.

Main Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist | AO3

“Thank you for the walkthrough, Ranger Buckley.” Bennet shakes his hand with a truthful smile, and places his bag on the first bed by the door. The young man gleams at the acknowledgement of his good work, his baby blues nearly hidden from his stretched smile. Tommy takes note of the little quirks in his composure as he’s secretly checking them out; his favourite was seeing how white his knuckles turned around the clipboard when their captain started taking his uniform off. Ranger Buckley was standing there, unaware that he was being ogled himself by the beefy man just out of his eyesight. But then he turned in his direction and Tommy swears the kid’s smile sparkled like those toothpaste commercials.

“Pleasure’s all mine gentlemen,” Buck answers, diverting his attention back to the group - not before eyeing Tommy up and down. He turns on a radio and sets it on the wooden desk by the door, where books and maps are scattered. Most had started fading from the sun rays over the years - Tommy would argue that some might actually date back from before Buck was born. The thought of that gap fueled his wicked mind. “If you need assistance, simply call me over the CB. Use ‘Buck’, you’ll get my attention faster,” he adds with a chuckle, taking a step back to exit the door after his note. Tommy’s stomach knots at the sight of him leaving.

“Buck? Like a deer?” Riley half-jokes, but everyone sees the double entendre. Buck has googly blue eyes, and a soft grin. Plus he works in a forest. Has freckles. His hair is god damn fawn-coloured for crying out loud! Add all this to his ungodly long legs, and the man is quite literally the incarnation of Bambi. He must have caught up on the joke, because crimson is slowly creeping up his chest and cheeks. Tommy takes another mental note of that marvelous sight.

“Um, well-” he exhales a nervous laugh. Yeah, Tommy is so done for. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, no. I should put that on a mug!” He knocks twice on the door frame with his index knuckle and turns to head back to the main building. Tommy admires his backside as he’s walking away, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to remember every little detail of his body as if he needed more reasons to obsess over the poor guy. He’s running so many scenarios in his mind and he knows he has to come out of his bubble in the next seconds, and then:

“Buck? Hold on!” He reaches the ranger’s side in a few strides.

“Evan,” the younger man says first. “Please call me Evan.” Fuck, that would be delicious to moan.

“Evan.” Tommy’s body is now slowly changing colours too. He can feel his fingers tingling and his breath quickening. Suddenly, he forgets why he’s even standing here in the brisk evening air, swinging nervously on the balls of his feet. Evan tilts his head, silently waiting for him to come to.

“Are you okay, sir?” Evan eventually asks, pulling Tommy out of his trance with a shiver running down his spine. He’s gotta wiggle his leg to adjust his… growing problem.

“Yeah,” he manages to whisper. “I actually wanted to ask.” He rubs his hands onto his jeans, and licks his lips. You got this, he tells himself. You’ve been to war!

“I’m not a morning person, but I was thinking, maybe I could take you on a chopper tour over the park tomorrow?” The words come out without pause. He smiles, or tries to, as he realises he’s showing way too much teeth - he doesn’t know Evan is currently melting inside at his crinkly nose. When Evan’s mouth opens without a sound, panic sets in and he curses himself for reading this all wrong. “No pressure! I mean, I’m sure you’ve alread-”

“Yes!” Evan finds himself answering with enthusiasm.

“Yes?”

“I would love to. I haven’t had the chance to do this yet. We were thinking of offering the service for guests, but it’s quite difficult to get permits, and those things are expensive!” He stops to take a deep breath, and keeps going. Tommy listens to Evan ramble about the Park’s plans of expansion; watching his hand motions, his eyes grow big with passion, and overall studying him. He leisurely makes paths of where he wants to drag his hands first, then his mouth, and then Tommy has to stop thinking or a leg shake will not cut it.

“It’s settled then,” Tommy says. “After breakfast? I’ll pick you up at the front desk?”

“Sure thing, I’ll be done checking people in by ten,” Evan confirms.

“As long as you’re not checking them out too much,” Tommy teases with a wink and is pleased when the joke is received with a cute laugh. He amicably grabs Evans shoulder, maybe a second too long but Evan doesn’t pull back - Tommy lingers, trying his best to feel the hard muscles under his touch, a big contrast from the usually smaller, twinkier men he’s attracted before. He wonders how rough he could be with Evan…

“I’m Tommy, by the way” he states with urgency. He’s then confused by the chuckle that comes out of Evan.

“I figured,” he says, pointing to Tommy’s embroidered name on his uniform shirt. Smart. Evan returns the innocent touch and, finally, walks away.

***

Evan is up far too early considering the first check-in isn’t before eight. But as soon as the sun hit his face, which was probably around five thirty, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind quiet. There was a moment where he panicked over what to wear, as if he didn’t have a uniform to put on. As if this was an actual date and he was reading too much into it. Tommy was just being nice. He did try to choose the best pieces though; beige cargo shorts, to show the killer calves, a soft and adjusted white t-shirt, sadly covered by his olive green work shirt - he can take the shirt off later, he notes - and lastly his favourite California flag cap. When he is satisfied with the reflection in the mirror, he dumps the rest of his coffee in his insulated mug and heads to work.

It’s around seven when he makes it to the main building, so he’ll have plenty of time to check down some tasks before welcoming guests. He parks his quad by the back where they keep the extra fire logs, and he gets startled by approaching footsteps.

“Morning, Evan.” An oddly familiar voice greets him. It’s slightly more rough though, tired, adding to the morning air shivers that are running on his skin. He turns around, and closing in on him is Tommy, the tall, broad, handsome pilot. He’s wearing long, black, fitted jeans and a grey hoodie. Phenomenal. The dirty Timbs are a bonus, but he will keep that thought for later.

“Hi, Tommy,” he chimes. The smile that comes his way warms his body back up. He checks his watch: “So much for not being a morning person.” He gets another crinkly smile.

“Sorry if I was off, last night,” Tommy begins. “I was tired and the guys had been dumbasses all day. To be honest I was baffled when I saw you and my brain just…  combusted.”

“Baffled?” There’s a bit of confusion in Evan’s voice. He sees Tommy’s expression change, as he realizes the implication of the word, and he replies;

“Oh, gosh. No, I didn’t mean it like…” Tommy rubs his face, thinking. “I didn’t mean it badly. All I meant was that I usually have a good, um, radar. And I didn’t want to overstep while you were working. I didn’t really know which foot to dance on for a minute.”

“Radar?” Evan questions, but he’s being playful now. He knows. He knows that Tommy knows. But he also will not give him what he wants right away. He wants to hear the adonis before him say it out loud. There’s a sparkle in Tommy’s Gatorade blue eyes, he’s got him hooked.

“I, well. I guess I just outed my intentions here.” Tommy takes his hands out of his pockets and seems to relax some more. He even reaches for the hem of Evan’s shirt and toys with it. “You’re cute. Like really cute. And I panicked last night and I try not to be too cutesy in front of my coworkers, so… I just wanted to have a moment with you where I could actually not be a total mess.” Evan gets it. He gets it too well, and he just wants to hug him and say it’s alright and-

“It’s alright Tommy. I-I can’t let that show either while I’m at work. I’m out, but it’s still… not the most comfortable thing to display,” he adds with a half-smile. “If only you knew how hot you were when you got down from that chopper yesterday.” He takes a step closer, rubbing the back of his index finger over Tommy’s forearm. “When you reached for my shoulder last night, I could barely keep my knees in check, but I didn’t want to act on it and be a fool. So we’re even, I guess, for both holding back.” The fucker winks, bringing Tommy’s eyes to his birthmark. His hand is still roaming, tracing the valley of Tommy’s bicep while Tommy’s has settled comfortably on Evan’s hip.

“What if I had lost control and kissed you last night? Would that have scared you off?” He’s being flirted with, and Evan would be damned to cut this off. The way Tommy looks at his lips, and then back into his soul as he waits for an answer has his nape itching with need. It doesn’t help that he’s so close they are currently sharing oxygen.

“A-are you joking? I would have most likely messed up my pants.” 

Tommy laughs, and Evan joins him, but he takes an abrupt step back when the truck of his colleague turns onto the driveway. He smiles, and excuses himself before getting to his tasks. Tommy confirms he’ll be back at ten, and goes on for a stroll around the trails. Evan will find a better opportunity to tell Tommy he’s actually bisexual, if that even matters for the moment.

***

It’s ten a.m. on the dot when the bells on the door jingle and Tommy walks into the main building. It’s a typical forest lodge; everything that can be made out of wood has been carved with skillful hands, and signature paintings from local artists decorate the walls. There’s a faint smell of incense burning and a distant rumble of guests in the lounge area. He’s surprised there aren’t any animal-head trophies displayed anywhere, though he doesn’t care for them.

“See anything you like?” Evan’s sweet voice interrupts. He’s still behind the counter, and Tommy appreciates the distance for now, because if Evan was taking off his shirt and looking at him through hooded eyes within arms reach, he’d be burying his hands in the poor boy’s locks and making a fool of himself in front of the lovely family sifting through the brochures.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Evan adds, walking around the counter with a small bag. “You’re staring, sir.” He teases and it’s only when his hand lands on Tommy’s chest that he comes back to himself.

“I, um. Sorry,” Tommy manages to whisper. He smiles then, and grabs Evan’s bag for him. “Please, let’s get out of here.” They both chuckle and head out to the backyard.

Tommy obviously walks about two feet behind Evan, watching the muscles of his back dance under the tight white undershirt. He allows his gaze to wander onto his lower back, then down his ass where the material of his shorts fold slightly under the bulb of it with each step. There, he thinks. That’s where I wanna dig my fingers. They reach the helicopter and Tommy hurries to open the door, desperate to be out of sight.

“So, did you catch all that”, Tommy asks after running Evan down the take-off, landing, and emergency procedures. He knows that he’s in control if anything were to happen, but he also noted Evan’s damp hand print on the side of the seat and how he took several deep breaths after buckling up. Calming down his nerves will be beneficial for him later. Evan nods with a smile and seems to adjust.

“I guess we’re getting off then!” Tommy winks.

The humming of the engine is quite relaxing and Evan tries to keep breathing through his nose until they're high enough and the scenery around him doesn’t seem to be moving extremely fast. His grip loosens around the edge of the seat, and he rubs the sweat that formed under them onto his shorts. They’re close enough that his elbow nudges Tommy’s arm in the process, gaining his attention.

“You okay, Evan?” Tommy asks, adding comfort through his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Tommy reaches to put his hand on his forearm and runs his thumb over - what Tommy doesn’t know - is a very sore muscle in need of attention. Evan manages to swallow the whine that threatens to rat him out. Little does he know the headset mics are very sensitive.

“Alright then, let’s see that side of the mountain first,” Tommy indicates and the chopper leans to the left, bringing Evan shoulder to shoulder with him. He relishes in the touch until they are sat up straight again.

“I can’t thank you enough for proposing to do this…” Evan adds, trying to keep his mind busy. But the hand on his arm is still lingering and he thanks the heavens above that Tommy is experienced enough to maneuver the stick single-handedly. The contact is burning through his skin and he feels himself filling up the last bit of room in his pants.

“Well, it’s my pleasure, trust me.” Tommy’s hand snakes along the top of Evan’s arm, reaching his wrist, and then lacing itself with his and he squeezes. “I have the dreamiest co-pilot.”

The air becomes thick and Evan wiggles in his seat to try and rub away at his current itch, but he reluctantly has to use his hand to pull at the material just enough for his dick to move into a better angle and not throb in pain. He pushes a sigh of relief, but Tommy’s hand lets go of him suddenly, leaving his stomach in a knot.

“You know,” Tommy starts. Evan doesn’t allow himself to look up from his empty hand until Tommy forces him by grabbing his chin. He doesn’t care that they’re several thousand feet in the air, he’ll stare into his eyes as long as Tommy doesn’t get tired of him. “Maybe there is a way for you to thank me properly for today.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, and Evan loves the direction this is taking.

“An- and, that is?” His voice is shaking - whiny.

Tommy chuckles and takes his hand back down onto him, not aiming for his arm. Before Evan knows it, Tommy is expertly looping the button of his cargos out of the loop and then rubs his hand along the inside of his thigh - his rings create a delicious sound against the ripples of the fabric. Evan shivers with his entire body. His hips have a mind of their own.

“I noticed you were having a little situation there,” he looks at Evan’s crotch, then back at his reddening face. Without breaking eye contact, he digs his hand into the front of Evan’s pants, cupping his entire semi and Evan salivates at the contact - his previous encounters had never engulfed him so easily, he starts leaking at the thought of Tommy’s deadly grip around him. But sadly: “Why don’t you show me what you’re working with, sweet boy,” Tommy adds, turning back to watch their surroundings while Evan proceeds to get himself situated.

Evant lets out a strangled moan as he pumps himself slowly, once and twice, and he’s hard and sensitive and toying with the pressure of his fingers around his tip to try and slow down his impending orgasm. It feels like his first time discovering that the appendage between his legs had nerve endings, and he’s gushing precome at an alarming rate.

“Good boy,” Tommy rasps between two peaks at Evan. His free hand sits on his own dick, not applying any pressure, just holding himself as if he was trying to keep a monster caged in. Not wanting to let it die, yet keeping the attention away from himself a little longer though the sight of Evan’s thick, curved dick would never stop the blood from rushing south. He realizes in vain how he put himself in a tough situation with his little game, but he’s good to keep this going a little longer.

“Tommy,” Evan whines. His cheeks are burning, there’s a sheen layer of sweat forming on his forehead. “Tommy.” This one is shy of a whisper. He keeps pumping and twisting and occasionally adding spit into the mix, his left hand knuckles are turning white as he desperately tries to hold himself onto the seat, his hips have slipped a few inches forward and his back is pushing into the seat every time he fucks into his hand.

“You look so good, baby. You wanna come for me?” Yes, yes, yes. Tommy thinks he heard Evan grunt into the mic, though his own thoughts have started to scramble from the pain between his legs. He expertly starts lowering them back to the pad as he catches a glimpse of Evan writhing on the seat next to him, and god he wishes he could have his mouth on him. Once he’s sure they landed safely, he lets go of the stick and turns towards Evan who’s long lost in the chase for his release - he doesn’t feel the movement or lack-there-of, until Tommy has his hand around his dick and is working him the last bit of the way. He feels a hot breath against his ear:

“Come for me baby, spill all over my hand.” With a couple more pulls and twists, and his hand pinching at his nipple, Evan comes into long, thick spurts onto Tommy’s hand, his own pants and shirt. His senses come back to him as he hears Tommy whisper sweet nothings into the side of his face, and Evan turns, not thinking twice before crashing his lips onto Tommy’s. It’s hungry, wet, and very much what Evan had wanted since the moment Tommy dragged his rugged body out of this chopper. He runs his hand into the dark curls at Tommy’s nape and elicits a strangled moan out of him. They break the kiss, foreheads leaning onto the other as they catch their breaths.

“See, now you messed up your pants before I even kissed you,” Tommy jokes, and kisses him once more, before pulling away to bring his hand to his mouth. He growls at the salty taste coating his tongue: one day he’s going to get it straight out of the tap. He sees the shiver running through Evan and he looks at the back of the chopper: “Would you like to return the favour?”

There are merely two minutes between the moment both their buckles are unfastened and when Tommy finds himself with his pants around his ankles and Evan kneeling in the small space between the rows of seats before him. The way Evan’s nose runs up the crease of his thigh as he inhales him in has his entire body slacking a bit. He hums in admiration and he feels his warm tongue roll onto his balls, before creeping its way up the underside of his dick. Evan sucks at the bead of precome and runs his pointed tongue into the slit.

“Fuck, baby,” Tommy moans, “run that tongue all over me.” And Evan obliges. He repeats the movement just enough times to feel the muscles of Tommy’s legs ripple under his arms. He takes Tommy into his mouth about halfway, and pulls back, and goes back down, and pulls back, until there’s a generous amount of saliva following his lips when he pops off. Tommy growls and grabs him by the chin, pulling him into a dirty kiss, tongues fighting dominance, before he lets go of him and motions for Evan to proceed. He brings his hands behind his head to recline a little, jutting his hips up enough to have his dick rub against the side of Evan’s face. They both chuckle quietly, and Evan gets back to the task at hand.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the challenge and the way the back of his throat burned at the stretch. He could pump him with two hands and still have room to fit his tip in his mouth. Evan had only been with women so far and a handful of - selfish - men who hadn’t really let him play with them before being fucked, so this is considerably the biggest, hardest thing he had ever put his mouth on. He’s already addicted to the taste, the ridges and curves and the pulses of Tommy’s veins everytime he exhales.

He deducts that his work is appreciated when he feels a sharp tug at his hair, and meets the dark eyes looking down at him. Tommy’s mouth is open and his breaths are staggered - Evan can’t help but run his hands up his stomach and chest as he tries his best to get his nose to the base of his cock. He gags, but holds on and Tommy licks his lips at the sight of the tears running down his face - that he swipes with his thumb and brings to his tongue with a devilish smirk. Evan moans around him, his renewed erection bobbing as he focuses on breathing and swallowing around Tommy.

“Baby, I’m-” Tommy begins, but has to focus as the simple thought of saying it out loud takes him near the edge. “Can I come in your pretty mouth?” There’s a simple nod, and Tommy loses it. He brings his hands on both sides of Evan’s face and starts fucking into him, just enough that he gets his rush but doesn’t have to stop to accommodate Evan. It’s only around five strokes before he feels his body tingle and his asshole start to spasm anyway.

“Evan,” he moans, the sound coming out like sweet honey as it rolls on his tongue. Yes, that does sound delicious. He pulls Evan’s head off him and takes himself in his other hand, pumping his tip and aiming onto the sweet boy’s waiting tongue. His body goes rigid and his head falls back until the first spurt comes out, and then he watches the next three coat Evan’s tongue and chin, before wiping his tip onto his top lip. He curses as he sees him swallow and lick at the excess around his mouth.

Evan bites his bottom lip and looks down at himself, hand coated in his own come that he had absentmindedly been rubbing out as Tommy was fucking his face. He chuckles, suddenly shy and when he looks up at Tommy, he simply raises his eyebrow at him and Evan goes on to lick his hand as well.

“Please tell me I can invite myself to your cabin tonight?” Tommy blurts and Evan chokes onto his come. They both laugh and Evan answers after a moment;

“You’ll have to wait until it’s dark,” he says, starting to put his clothes back to normal.

“I’d wait a month if you asked me to.”

Next chapter (wip)

[nevermindirah]

I'm a lucky duck who lives in one of the markets getting the limited release of Dandelion! Per Nat's request here are my thoughts to tide you over until it's more widely accessible.

As I said in my immediate reaction post, KiKi Layne was built for the big screen. This movie is full of gorgeous closeups of her. And medium-sized shots, and distance shots, and ok maybe it's just me, but bless this movie for making her a singer-songwriter-guitarist, because this means there are so many lingering closeups of her hands, and oh mY GOD NOT TO BE A LESBIAN (gender-neutral) BUT >:)))))))))

I could look at KiKi Layne all day, and now I could also listen to her sing all day. Her voice is beautiful and so expressive. She said in press leading up to it that she was nervous to share her singing voice and maybe that had something to do with just how expressive she is as a singer. Maybe sharing that is more intimate for her than the on-screen nudity this movie also has, and which is also compelling as hell.

This pro review notes that KiKi contributed to the music writing, which is so cool! It also acknowledges that much of the dialogue isn't quite right, often a little too like an essay or a headline to be organic for these characters, while getting at how forgivable that is in a movie whose soul is in the music and the visuals and the chemistry.

Somewhat miraculously for a movie with a white writer-director whose skill isn't primarily in dialogue, about a Black lead in a mostly-white place, it's conscious about race without being didactic. Dandelion is wary of going to white redneck territory for a music competition, and there's a sequence where microaggressions turn into shitty petty crime, but she's also not the only Black person in the sea of likely [redacted] voters. The movie does get a touch didactic about the struggles of women in creative industries, so maybe it wasn't a product of careful effort so much as Nicole Reigel's limited perspective, but the result works. Antiblackness isn't The Conflict of The Movie, simply a shitty part of the background radiation of Dandelion's life.

The music is so damn good. Soundtrack album here! Though the album tragically leaves off two of the movie's best songs: the stunning final number where Tracy Chapman vibes meet Prince, and a cover of 90s white boy song Hey Jealousy that starts off as mere pleasant background track introducing us to KiKi's voice and turns into a sleeper thematic tornado. Once you've seen the movie go look at Hey Jealousy's lyrics and backstory so you can join me in screaming about it and these characters.

Dandelion is a little movie, marvelously so. It's about just a few people in a short time in their lives. I hadn't thought about it like this until now but there are several thematic as hell shots of one or two characters shown tiny and off to the side amid sweeping rocky nature. The artsy shots of flowers superimposed on emotive faces aren't my taste but the overwhelming scale of the landscapes really spoke to me and now I'm realizing this is why.

There's a thing about some side characters wanting to be the biggest band in the world that's kind of an example of the clunky dialogue and kinda perfect for how wonderfully small this movie is. It doesn't matter where Dandelion's career goes after this. These scant few weeks of her life make for such a rich story on their own. This moment in time matters, even if these events don't turn out to have any more effect on the characters' futures than they do on the timeless mountains and prairies of South Dakota.

Fandom people are probably more likely to connect with this movie than the average non-musician viewer because of something that baffled me about a review I wildly disagreed with. Apparently some people can watch this and not understand how fast two people can develop deep intimacy and attachment despite barely knowing each other, just because they make art together. I don't understand how that reviewer didn't understand. You make art with someone and you're in each other's souls. It's intoxicating to collaborate with someone who gets what you're trying to say with your art and helps you make something that best captures the ineffable but crystal clear thing you're trying to say.

Not so intoxicating that you can no longer make rational decisions — but, well, in a way maybe it's the more rational decision to keep chasing the high of drift compatible creation, even when the person you've found to be your musical brain twin is maybe a not great choice in other ways.

Purely for Book of Nile reasons this movie is a damn gift. Tons of shots would be so easy to swap out one scruffy white boy's face for another. (Though Thomas Doherty is the same height as KiKi, which I personally enjoy, it's fun to have variety.) So much of the lyrics are extreme bait for gifsets and fic titles. (Tiny for the movie but very big for the BoNers spoiler: SHE LITERALLY CALLS HIM OLD MAN.) The first two thirds of the movie I kept thinking how perfect this plot would be as a BoN musicians AU — until a twist where I was both so pissed on Dandelion's behalf and internally screaming BOOKER WOULD NEVER.

As I was watching the final scenes I kept waiting for a thing to happen that didn't happen, a certain way of resolving the romance. The ending we do get left me yearning a little. But starting a few hours after leaving the theater the yearning subsided and now a week later my satisfaction with the ending has fermented into a yearning only to listen to that last song on loop forever. (WHY is it not on the soundtrack. I mean, TRACY CHAPMAN MEETS PRINCE.)

One more thing before I go. Dandelion is another thrilling expansion of the repertoire of KiKi's characters in terms of vibes and aesthetics. She looks so different than Nile in a theoretical mirror image outfit of practical boots and jeans and an oversized borrowed button-down thrown over a tee. None of KiKi's other characters, not even gentle Tish, would look so at home in delicate florals, doubly so when they're paired so effortlessly with a comfy denim jacket. And KiKi's physicality here is unique to this person: Dandelion, Theresa, a guitarist. Wholly unlike Margaret the dancer or Nile the warrior. Maybe someday Nile will grow locs like Dandelion's though.

In conclusion: watch Dandelion! I'm as glad I saw this in theaters as I was glad I watched Don't Worry Darling at 1.5x in a small corner of my laptop and only slowed it down for Kiki's scenes. The limited release is real limited, alas, but if you have access to a biggish tv to stream it on I'd strongly recommend making that effort. Both for the landscapes and those gorgeous closeups of Kiki's face.

[theoldhereafter]

Scene: a blast to the past with a noble girl and a foreign boy having fun in a meadow

content warning: they kiss, and just a bit of blood

He is stark against the cornflowers that surround him. Cerys stands on the hillside, watching his form lying amidst the meadow of blue and white; his lips are moving, perhaps singing a lullaby as he often does when his head is resting on her lap—but he does not at the moment; he lies on a bed of grass, and she cannot hear. That is a crime against her, she thinks, and people may fault her for such childish selfishness, but Cerys has long become an unreasonable woman when it comes to him.

She is running down to him before she knows it, dress billowing, and she is calling out his name, his sweet name—

“Cerys!” he answers in return, jolting up in surprise, and then his mouth is stretched into a beaming smile as he opens his arms, catching as she stumbles into his embrace.

They roll a few paces from his original spot. Their laughter is loud and unrestrained, with petals tickling her cheeks as Cerys gazes up at him, his shadow cast over her face.

“Why, good morning,” greets Cerys, biting on her lip to not grin widely. Her hands on his shoulder lower and caress down his sleeves, then resting on his wrists that are beside her head. “What were you talking about just earlier?”

He leans closer. “Must I tell you?” says her love, before pecking her forehead and turning over to lay on his back, still close for their arms to be pressed together.

Cerys huffs at that. “You should!” she shouts, aghast he thinks otherwise. “You must!”

He laughs softer this time. “Dearheart, I was just singing.”

“Singing? Singing what?” She moves to rest on her side, palms stacked over each other to rest her head on. He’s taken to twirling a lock of her dark hair between two fingers.

Cerys wants him to kiss it, so she tells him so.

“It’s a song from my hometown,” he answers after giving her three kisses: first on the hair already in his hand, second on her nose, and third on her forehead again. “My mother used to sing it whenever the springtime began, to entice good fortune and blessings into your life she said, so I wanted to try it for myself.”

Cerys hums in acknowledgment, feeling the beat of her heart echo throughout her bones. His voice is a blessing itself to the ears, but to hear him sing? Oh, it is the birdsong they describe wafting the air of the Garden for certain. She inches closer to him, and he lays down his arm for her to rest on instead of her palms. His face is all she can see now, and she drinks it in greedily; his pale eyes especially. They can see the world and beyond that yet still choose her to focus on, to lay with among the flowers. What a beautiful man she has found for herself. What a man she wishes to lock inside her ribs and simply have forevermore.

“Sing for me?” whispers Cerys, already knowing he will indulge her as he often— always—does.

It takes a moment, but he starts quietly, and she could have missed the beginning entirely if not for their closeness. The words he speaks are none that she recognizes or understands. It reminds Cerys of how he was born far from where they are now, how the land he marvels at in his dreams is not the same as hers.

It tickles her ears pink. She wants to whisk him farther away, to hide him from even the sun and the moon and his precious stars.

Cerys shuts her eyes instead, to let his voice lull her towards more reasonable thoughts.

He goes on for minutes, arms drawing her closer and closer until they embrace her tightly. He stops to speak directly over her ear for a second, informing her before he turns on his back and moves her to lay over him. She can hear his heartbeat now, louder than her own. He continues to sing, and Cerys does not want to be anywhere else.

She loves him, she is certain. From the moment Cerys laid eyes on that boy in the nearby forest years ago, when she sought solace in the greens of nature, and him in the blues of the skies.

She can still hear his first words to her so clearly, his foreign tongue undeniable then.

Who died?

It startled her as a child; his frankness, his staring, his unusual appearance that contrasted everyone she had met until him. But she had glanced down at her outfit—a mourning cloak embroidered with her favorite flowers—and remembered her manners. My brother is receiving his pyrexial rites, she had answered.

He spoke again, softer this time. What’s a pyrexial rite?

He interested her, so she closed the distance between them and sat beside him in the tree shade. Their first conversation lasted hours until the stars appeared dancing across the night sky, and because of him, she had forgotten the heaviness in her chest from knowing she would never see her younger brother again, even in the Hereafter. She was alone when her family found her; she had ushered him to hide when the first shout caught her ear, and they had promised to meet again if the chance arose.

Now here they are, in each other’s embrace, and Cerys thinks.

“I will spend this spring with you,” she declares, raising her head to lock eyes with him.

He pauses, the birds chirping above. “But your family,” is all he says.

“Like always, they will return once Father is demanded back at Central, but I will ask to remain here.” Cerys grins. “With you.” She punctuates this by leaning to kiss him.

They have kissed before, certainly. A group of Cardinal flowers bore witness to their first by the lake. Cerys can still recall the sweet way he had taken her lips, and it comes as a pleasant surprise when this one is different from their previous kisses; it is fervent and passionate, moreso than usual, and she wants to devour him, to ravish him down into the grass so that her words leave a mark: She will be staying with him regardless of her family’s wishes.

She pats his shoulder once, twice, and he sweeps her into a hold as he stands. Their chance to breathe is small before their lips are locked together once more, fiery and eager and loving and yearning all at the same time. She has a tight grip on his pale hair, other hand pressed on his nape. He cradles her like she is something precious beyond belief.

They break apart only when their lungs have started to ache, rosy-cheeked and shameless in their delight. “What if they disagree?” he asks, ever so careful since he was a boy.

Cerys feels more alive than ever, and her hand on his nape urges him forward, knocking their foreheads together. She says this like a vow: “I will run away. We will marry.”

Every word that leaves her mouth is an ultimatum, an absolute nobody can deny her—not her family, not the other houses, not even him. But Cerys needs not to ask him either way, because his eyes are teary, looking at her with love that can replace the stars in the sky.

He lets her down to her feet with a gentle peck, searches through the meadow, and plucks one cornflower among the rest. A blue one; Cerys thinks of her own eyes seeing its color.

“I’ll get you a better, grander ring than this when I can,” he whispers, taking her hand and tries his best to tie it around her finger. The sight is adorable, making her heart race and cheeks flush a deeper red.

“A ring is nothing as long as I have you,” says Cerys, but she lets him finish, watches him snap the excess stem off, and marvels at the sensation of it on her skin. A crudely-done ring, from a cornflower picked simply from this meadow—but one he chose and shaped to fit, one he places a delicate kiss upon like engraving it with a promise.

She cannot restrain herself now. It has been on her mind for a while now, and she indulges herself.

Cerys grabs his hand, his ring finger to be exact, and brings it to her mouth. She hears his breath hitch when she places it inside, and stares at his face, his eyes, scrutinizing every inch of him.

And then she bites down, hard, until blood lands on her tongue and she licks it up.

There.

He is lovely, lovelier than any rose, than any flower in full springtime bloom, looking utterly bewildered and starved all at once. Cerys wants to imprint this particular expression of his into her mind, to lock it up so only she gets to ever witness it. She concedes to intertwining their hands instead, his blood staining the petals of the cornflower.

We are married in the way that matters.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m rewatching X-Men (2000) for the first time in a long time and besides finding it exquisitely nostalgic, I keep finding myself thinking, “Damn, [character] is kind of OP” with literally every. Single. Character. And it’s funny now to think of how crazy powerful all the X-Men are compared to say, the Avengers, where I feel like the only god-tier power the MCU ever delivered was Captain Marvel and maybe Thor in Ragnarok. I guess the first X-Men kind of downplays Jean Gray’s powers, and there are cool take-downs like Magneto’s iconic “That remarkable metal doesn’t run through your entire body, does it?” line and Toad getting fried by Storm, but I feel like it’s so fun that most of the time literally every character is OP. Anyway, I wanted to ask you as an X-Men expert, have they always been so cool and powerful, or do the comics toggle back-and-forth with how powerful they are like the later X-Men movies did? And did comics Avengers and Fantastic Four ever think they had a chance vs. the X-Men?

LOL its ironic, I kinda consider them to be massively UNDERPOWERED in the X-Men films, but also I hate everything about them because Singer, so who's unbiased, not THIS guy!

For the most part it depends on the character. Like, you know Bobby's my Blorbo above all Blorbos there, so the X-films in particular did a shitty job of depicting his actual power levels, but in their 'defense' I guess, so does every other adaptation. Nowhere but the comics has been consistent about him being portrayed as ridiculously OP as he is, which is kinda funny because for all that Iceman doesn't SEEM like he'd be a top tier power level kinda character, he's consistently been that way since the early 90s. Hell, for that matter, he and Jean were the original omega level mutants used to debut the term in its modern interpretation.

(A lot of people point out that omega was first used to describe Rachel Summers, who isn't considered an official omega level mutant these days, but that was by Sentinels describing her as an omega level THREAT, so I don't consider that the same thing as the OL classification mutants use among themselves, but just throwing that out there).

In the comics, there are different classifications, kinda, that mutants use to describe different power levels. Most mutants are gamma or beta mutants. Most combatant mutants like major X-Men and foes, such as Cyclops, Bishop, Psylocke, Emma Frost, etc, are alpha level mutants.

Omega mutants are the rarest of the rare, and are, simply put....god-tier mutants. Their literal definition is mutants whose upper levels of power are beyond any ability to measurably quantify. A lot of people default to calling them infinitely powerful, which isn't quite INaccurate, but also isn't quite accurate....its more like....they're mutants who will never stop finding new ways to grow and advance their abilities, who have no upper ceiling to their powers...though all of them reach different tiers of ACTUALLY utilized power at different times/lengths of time.

A ton of people HATE the omega concept because frankly, it DOES make those with that designation overpowered as fuck but I like to point to DC and the Justice League which has always been full of god-tier characters who are nevertheless possible to write for and give relatable issues and equivalent foes. Personally though, I've always loved it for the narrative possibilities rather than the power levels per se. I like it because omegas are like, ultimate examples of evolution (Marvel style, lol, as in the kind they always have go hand in hand with mutants but uh, isn't always scientifically on point haha). But I mean, they're individual mutants who embody the concept of constant, unending evolution. The view of omega mutants as just the most powerful misses the point, IMO...part of why I hate Bobby's constant cycle of 'untapped potential' storylines (his most often recurring narrative) is because it fails to acknowledge that omegas like him CAN'T ever fully realize their potential, just MORE of it, because like evolution, there is no actual intended ENDPOINT for his or any other omega's powers. There will always be more. Further they can go.

Anyway....I know X-Men '97 emphasized Jean, Storm and Magneto as omegas, but even it didn't actually convey the level their powers are at in the comics, other than Magneto doing the global EMP thing. Omegas can pretty much all affect things on a global scale. A group of twelve of them in the comics recently terraformed Mars, in order to relocate a bunch of mutants called the Arakkii there after they returned from their 4,000 year long war in a demon dimension, protecting Earth from being invaded by it. (Long story).

But yeah, so omegas are a thing in the comics, and no adaptation has quite yet even scratched the surface of what they can do in the comics. There's only 12 acknowledged omegas out of all the Earthborn mutants (though Hickman's list is shit IMO and its ridiculous that there's only one person of color on it, Storm, and there's several other mutants of color I'd happily add to it if given the chance to balance things out), but the Arakkii (who are all black-coded if not actually black, because of where and when Arakko/Okkara originally existed on Earth before Amenth invaded 4K years ago), have a similar number of omegas of their own. But again, we're talking around 12 mutants EACH, among their total respective populations of about a million mutants each.

Anyway, the big four of the omegas, the major names among the X-Men, are Jean, Storm, Bobby and Magneto, with the other Earth omegas being Exodus, Elixir, Hope Summers, Absolon Mercator, Jamie Braddock, Proteus, Gabriel Summers/Vulcan and Quentin Quire (sigh). And then on the Arakkii side there was Isca the Unbeaten and her sister Genesis, Apocalypse's wife, Lactuca, Sobunar, Xilo, Ora Serrata, Lycaon, Tarn, Lodus Logos, Idyll, Kobak Never-Held, and Apocalypse and Genesis' kids, the original four Horsemen. Plus they keep going back and forth on whether or not White Sword is an omega or just a really powerful External, but whatever, I digress. Anyway, that list isn't accurate anymore because as of Genesis War, a few of them are dead, just like on the Earth list Hope is....transcended I guess you could say, lol, and Elixir and Proteus are back in the White Hot Room with her and who knows where the fuck Mercator is these days, but like.

Point is, the omegas are cosmic level. Jean's current solo literally has her being called a cosmic entity, because yeah, she's one with the Phoenix again but since the Phoenix has long been described as a future point of her own evolution and was recently solidified as like, a mass gestalt of mutant life force and psyche that was collected within her and her power like a nexus point, its kinda one and the same. Storm's solo is said to have plans to have her interact with the Abstracts of the Universe (the like, ultimate top-tier beings in it), Eternity and Oblivion.

Bobby's been quite literally unkillable since the early 2000s at least, as in he's been hit with a nuke and atomized, been blown up MULTIPLE times, and he just makes himself new bodies out of the next nearest moisture. He once started a new Ice Age, can create armies of semi-autonomous ice giants, teleport anywhere there's water, etc. Oh yeah, and since he's the walking embodiment of the future heat-death of the universe, he's also frozen reality on a quantum level to quarantine a cosmic tier threat. Oh AND frozen Hell. Jean reignited a sun recently. Storm took out an alien mercenary army in seconds by just hitting them with Jupiter-level atmospheric pressure with a snap of her fingers, and the only thing about that which actually required she exert herself came from holding BACK enough that her allies standing mere feet away weren't affected the same as her targeted enemies. Vulcan talked about obliterating Mars when he got cranky, and everyone took that very seriously because he can absolutely fucking do it. Any of them can.

There's a reason X-fans are sore about how editorially scripted AvX went, and not just because the X-Men were known to be a lesser priority at that time due to the film rights, so they were never going to get to be the 'winners' of that, ideologically, even though the optics for how that fight started were not actually as great for the Avengers as Marvel seems to think they were. But it also has a lot to do with the fact with all credit to the Avengers heavy-hitters, which there are quite a few of, they tend to get their powers/origins from cosmic storylines far away from Earth, hail from other dimensions like Asgard, etc, whereas mutants have been home-growing cosmic tier fighters on Earth for decades now, and that was pretty much treated like a non-factor.

None of the omegas (and Magneto and Storm may not have OFFICIALLY been listed as such yet, but Bobby was, and its not like they actually got any power UPGRADES when they were finally canonized as omegas, it just was a label change acknowledging the power they've always been depicted as having) actually played definitive roles in that, and again, when you've got global threats in one side's ranks that you refuse to acknowledge as such in order to make sense of pitting them against opponents they should be able to handle with a finger snap, it does tend to make stans cranky. Its like yeah, they gave me a panel of Bobby fighting Red Hulk in the background, but that was the extent of his impact on AvX as a whole, even though he'd quite literally taken Thor on, solo, mere months before during the Dark Iceman arc.

But yeah, you say AvX around X-fans, we will hiss at the memory like a snake. Was not fun for us. And again, this isn't to disparage the cosmic tier characters the Avengers have, and of the Fantastic Four, Sue and Johnny are right up there at the top of any power ranking system one might care to devise. But...like....mutants tend to deal with their threats internally in the Marvel universe, so every mutant alive has known for decades that Magneto, Storm, Iceman and Jean should not be locked in a room together and told to fight because without nonomegas who can't actually survive the stuff they can around them to remind them to keep their power levels DOWN, those four could very easily blow up the Earth before they even realize what happened since omegas vs omegas equals unlimited escalation.

Meanwhile, it was literally only during the Krakoan era that anyone OUTSIDE of mutants sat up and took note of the omega classification (which has existed for decades) even being a THING, let alone mutants casually being like 'oh yeah, we have like, twelve of those guys.'

LOL, so anyway. Yeah, it is kinda funny to hear the X-Men in existing adaptations described as OP, because none of them even come close to scratching the surface of how many of the X-Men are portrayed in the comics. I have very little interest in the MCU as a whole, and am not expecting to be a fan of their take on the X-Men but I am very curious to see which X-Men they emphasize as the heavy-hitters and what level of power they depict them as being at. For better or worse, whether fans like it or hate it, there's a good dozen of them who can go toe to toe with literal gods without breaking a sweat.

(Like, literally literally, not how Kalen usually uses literally literally. Bobby single-handedly thwarted a Loki 'take over Asgard' scheme in the EIGHTIES, at a time when only Thor himself was going one on one with his brother and if he wasn't around, Loki was considered a 'bring your whole team' kind of threat. And this was a full decade before the omega term was even a thing. Thor's canonically been wary of Bobby since the latter was SIXTEEN because he considers him to be a baby Ymir, the father of all frost giants. He was literally playing poker with other Avengers when he sensed Bobby go Dark Side during the Dark Iceman arc and his face went 'oh fuck.' You know how powerful you have to be to make Thor's face go 'oh fuck'?)

(Fimbulvetr is the Asgardian term for the Everwinter, the start of Ragnarok. Its a Ymir thing. Incidentally, after AvX when the X-Men and Avengers were making a point to cooperate, Thor and Bobby teamed up against Ymir himself, and THEN Marvel was perfectly happy to allow Bobby to kick his ass solo and be like 'what, was that supposed to be hard' to an incredulous Thor, BUT I DIGRESS).

But anyway, the official omega list is very recent, but everyone on it like Storm, Jean, Bobby and Magneto have all been consistently powerful as fuck since the 80s, MINIMUM. Bobby's 80s solo was used to debut Oblivion, an Abstract of the Universe, Storm was channeling the energy of multiple stars when fighting the Brood in space, and that was all decades ago. They've all had occasions of being nerfed since then, but for the past decade or so, the Big Four have had relatively few occasions of that compared to any point before, and Marvel's been more pointed about keeping their upper ranges of power more normalized for them.

[summerlinenss]

Now with this latest Instagram ad, Taika Waititi's a sellout asshole with no heart according to some people in the comments. And he doesn't do anything now besides ads. Yes, there are obviously more ad posts now, simply because he barely posts on social media and only posts when he has to (about a year after lmao). But apparently people still think all of his many projects, including several small but important projects with indigenous people, are STILL happening because Marvel money. And his 3 million followers allows him to pick and choose from a variety of ads. This's insane.

it’s both funny and sad to me how these people really have nothing better to do with their lives besides wait around online to find something to complain about.

i think it also shows though how there are people who legitimately just have no idea what taika’s life is outside of instagram, and he barely exists on there. they genuinely believe he’s just a sad wannabe influencer flop director who only cares about flaunting his money because they’re still incapable of recognizing that he’s never being serious about anything. you know why he actually makes his little #spon posts? because he can. and it’s probably fun for him. and i’m all for being critical of millionaires, but we all know that’s not what people are actually doing here.

and i know there’s some criticism towards this company, mostly because their services are unaffordable to the average person (just looking at their website, the full-body scan is $2500 usd). but that’s not on taika? especially if he was actually paid to do/post about it. and he made a point of not only acknowledging/poking fun at his “wealth” but also shared a discount code for anyone who does want to try it out, so i don’t know what more people really want from him.

[chipinsolace]

VERSES OF THE DAY, ANALYSIS, AND PRAYER!

“Then God said to him: “Because you have asked this thing, and have not asked long life for yourself, nor have asked riches for yourself, nor have asked the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern justice, behold, I have done according to your words; see, I have given you a wise and understanding heart, so that there has not been anyone like you before you, nor shall any like you arise after you. And I have also given you what you have not asked: both riches and honor, so that there shall not be anyone like you among the kings all your days.”

‭‭I Kings‬ ‭3‬:‭11‬-‭13‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

Analysis:

Prayer is one of the most important and fundamental parts of our journey, our walk with Jesus Christ. It’s how we talk to Him, it’s how we communicate with Hi just as we would with any other relationship, and because prayer is such a sacred tool, we have to look to the Bible for examples on how it’s done. The Bible gives us many strong examples on this, but my personal favorite and the one that really inspired me was 1 Kings 3:11-13.

In this text, The LORD appears to King Solomon in a dream, and he tells him to ask for whatever he wants. Solomon, knowing he’s about to take on the big role of a king, decides to ask for something much more important than earthly desires; he asks for wisdom and discernment.

God is pleased by this, and tells him that because he’s so selfless, and devoted his asking for a way to benefit others and not himself, not only did God give him that discernment, but He also gives him riches and wealth.

Why does this matter? Throughout the Bible, we see a common theme of how important it is to prioritize God, in Matthew 6:3, Jesus says “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.” It’s our fallen human nature to want to put ourselves beyond all things, but we simply can’t! Think about times in the past when you were going through situations and decided to take on everything yourself. Didn’t it turn out horribly? I’m sure you can recall that you were left burnt out, stressed, and confused. We can’t do it all on ourselves, and God asks us very kindly to rely on Him. (Psalms 118:8) He says also that when we ask, we shall receive. (Matthew 7:7-11) And what a joy that’s been to me! God has helped me from my smallest issues like little cuts on my body when I didn’t have a bandaid, to fighting mental illness and abuse. When we pray through all our issues, let’s humble ourselves before Him and acknowledge the truth; We can’t do this on our own. Just like Solomon, if we humble ourselves in front of God, we will be exalted. (Matthew 23:12)

Prayer:

Heavenly Father God, thank you for inclining your ear into my prayer today, thank you for putting me on this Earth to enjoy your creation and your marvelous self. I praise you for the ways you’ve helped me before, corrected me through things, and brought me out of spiritual winters.

Today I pray to ask you to give me a wise heart, a heart that seeks and prioritizes your kingdom first. Lord, I acknowledge that I cannot face my trials alone, that I cannot put my trust in myself. You are my helper through it all, and I ask that you keep helping me.

Do not let me fall astray into the ways of the world, but let me seek your calling for me, and let me have discernment to know what is good and what is not.

In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Urban Stingby Larva (again)

Debut: Super Mario Odyssey

Did you forget about Urban Stingby Larva? I hope not! It's only the number one larva in all of media. Uh... a magazine said so. I don't remember which magazine, though, so I guess you'll never be able to disprove my claim! Hee hee!

It has been a long time since my Urban Stingby Post, so for a recap: Urban Stingby Larva is delightful. It is a marvelous maggot, a delightful stylization of any simple, blobby, featureless-looking grub. And it becomes a frighteningly large mosquito (also marvelous) without pupating, the imago simply popping right out of the larval skin!

This is not only Weird Insect Behavior, but Weird Mosquito Behavior, considering mosquitoes have non-maggot-like, aquatic larval and pupal stages. And since that post, I've done some thinking. One of the thinkings that I thought is, mosquito pupae are my favorite pupae! They are such strange little things. They look like the mosquito is bunched up in some kind of submarine escape pod robosuit! Behold! (in stock image form in case anyone isn't comfortable with bug photos)

The pupa, fully aquatic, breathes using its silly little respiratory trumpets, which are the things on top that look like they would be named after trumpets. And unusually for a pupa, this one is mobile! While a land pupa will typically just wiggle around when bothered, a mosquito pupa is so good at wiggling that it can send itself tumbling around in the water, earning them the nickname of "tumblers"! I love these things so much. They deserve their own social media site. We could call it "Tumbler", since there isn't already one with that name!

There is a reason I've been telling you about mosquito pupae. The reason is that I like mosquito pupae and want to tell you about them. But there is another reason. I think America's Favorite Maggot... may be hiding something big.

We only get to see two stages of Urban Stingby's metamorphosis: the maggot, and the winged adult. We never see where the maggots actually come from. Surely they just hatch from eggs, right? Maybe... but maybe not! Let's go over the evidence. Urban Stingby Larva molts directly into an adult mosquito. Mosquito pupae are uncharacteristically mobile. Yes, I am accusing Urban Stingby Larva... of being an Urban Stingby PUPA!

It does LOOK like a larva, yes, but it's not nearly as wiggly as one would expect. Perhaps we're looking at a puparium, the final larval skin serving as a protective case for the pupa within, as seen in some flies? The jumpy pupa inside could then wiggle around to make the whole thing move!

However, there is evidence against my claim, too, which I must acknowledge. The evidence is "it is referred to as a larva in an official capacity and is clearly designed as one". Hmm... compelling stuff! Could this mean that Urban Stingby Larva is not actually a pupa? It's really anyone's guess! All I know for sure is that it's a perfect creature regardless! Even if it turns out to be a liar, a fraud, a scoundrel, I love Urban Stingby Larva!