#does that make sense. someone who hates women can direct good movies. someone who hates fags can write good books

[skyburger]

Ohmy god my bad guys i spent like an hour ramblingabout music opinions. at least its in the tags of my own post though could be worse

[spookykoolkat]

kinktober | the man in apartment 6a - j.m.

kinktober day three - dumbification

pairing: older!joel miller x younger!plus size!reader

wc: 9.0k

summary: your older, grumpier yet handy neighbor can hear everything that goes on in the comfort of your pink four walled bedroom, simply because shitty apartment buildings made the walls so thin.

warnings: 18+ ONLY! minors are NEVER welcomed. pervy!joel, creepy!joel, older!joel, JOEL IS WARNING IN HIMSELF LOL, mentions of self loathing, uncomfortable sex (not with joel), marijuana use, alcohol use, fingering, oral (f receiving), manhandling, degradation (slight), creampie/breeding, pet names (sweet girl, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, dumb, stupid, daddy), a little bit of ass eating (whoops), raw penetration (p in v) *wrap it up pls*, aftercare

reblogs, likes and comments are very very appreciated!

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IT WAS A FRIDAY NIGHT, work was tired, and you needed to take the edge off with a fat blunt and a full glass of wine. it was so quiet in the apartment complex you lived in that you might be the loudest one there, since three of your neighbors are older than 50. 

so after you poured your bottle of wine into a glass, you turned your led lights under your coffee table on and the bulbs that are in your two lamps beside your couch. it was such a colorful scenery, you loved smoking and drinking like this with music or a movie on in the background. making sure to not turn the volume up too loud, or else joel would come knocking on your door asking you to turn it down. 

joel was your neighbor in 6a and to you he always seemed like he had a thorn stuck in his ass cheek. he was a bitter old man who seemed like he hated fun, or maybe he just hated you. 

but you didn’t care much. nothing was going to stop you from being you, being bubbly and optimistic. it makes no sense to you to sit solemnly and think about every wrong turn you’ve ever made, and yet it seems that’s all joel does. 

he was always on edge, noticing the way he would flinch meeting you as the two of you locked your doors and headed off to work. you watched him from your window when he walked into the complex up the stairs, and noticed how he always had his jaw and fists clenched, head whipping in every direction before seemingly slipping inside his apartment and locking up. 

it made you curious as to what made him so tense, so frustrated and even paranoid. you wished you were someone he could go to, to release all of his ugly emotions and thoughts onto you. maybe you were being young and naive, having irrational sex daydreams as you gathered your paraphernalia to roll a blunt. It was delusional, yes you knew that, but you couldn’t help but fantasize about your neighbor.

but you wanted him in every way. you didn’t care he was twice your age, and you didn’t care that he was about as introverted and mean as they come. he’s a real asshole. to you, you felt you were allowed these fantasies given he’d never be the type of man that would want you. i mean, you were young enough to be his daughter, and you weren’t so sure that he even liked bigger women.

shaking your thoughts of him, you hummed along to whatever song that was on your halloween playlist playing loudly. soon after it’s rolled, you spark it up and take hits of it as you throw your body back on the couch.

you feel at ease as you listen to your playlist and smoke your blunt, enjoying peace for a day. your hair was still wet from the shower you took, and your blunt was barely starting to form a good cherry when three bangs hit your door over the music that startled you. 

you take a few more hits trying to get the most out of your blunt and ash it out quickly, yelling a choked out, i’m coming!!, over the music. you get up with your wine glass, walking barefoot to the door and opening it as your eyes meet a broad chest in a button up black and gray flannel, buttoned over a plain white t-shirt. 

joel.

“uh, hey. what’s up?” you say, setting your glass down on your door side table. 

“you told me your toilet wasn’t workin’? didya need me to take a look?” he asked as he unsubtly soaked in your attire. shit. you completely forgot your piece of shit toilet stopped flushing. 

you noticeably had no bra on, and your tank top was resting at the curve of your waist with one strap off of your shoulder, showing off your plush body and midriff. he could almost see the hardening of your nipples when you opened the door. 

“oh, right. i thought you meant you could do it like, monday.” you said, wishing to just relax tonight. he shook his head and looked back over your body, before meeting your eyes. 

“i’m busy monday. it’s now or never,” he bargained with a hard tone and you rolled your eyes.

“of course, right, sorry. come in.” you said and moved out of the way to step inside your girly apartment. you went to your coffee table to grab the remote and turn the volume down a little on your tv. 

“the restroom is-,” you start to say and go towards it until he cuts you off. 

“i know where it is. i’ll be done in a bit,” he said coldly and you pressed your lips into a thin line. he renovated these apartments dumbass. 

“alright.” you said and let him go to the back hall to find the restroom, and you released a breath. 

you felt like you looked messy, you just got out of the shower and had no bra on, and didn’t have panties on either. you were embarrassed. 

it was a free night for you and he had to barge in. of course. you decided to grab your wine and sit down on the couch, eyeing the blunt wishing you could be smoking it right now. instead you sip on your wine and scroll on your phone for maybe thirty minutes until he calls out for you. 

“coming!” you replied a little too cheery, and walked to the back rooms to see him on his hands and knees trying to reach under the toilet with his tools sprawled out on your pink bath rug. 

joel tried to hide the smile that grew when he heard your eager voice.

“yeah?” you asked and blushed at his image. he looked so sexy with his eyebrows furrowed, even sexier looking so manly in such a pink room. His dark colored clothes made an exciting difference in your bathroom. 

joel quickly scaled you over, from your bare feet with black toenails up to your week old shaven legs, up your wide thighs, to the fat of your tummy and the curves of your breasts. 

“you think i can have me a water bottle?” he asked, and you smiled, completely unaware he was thinking of bending you over the sink and making you watch yourself take all of him.

joel had a teensy crush on you the second he saw you at his doorstep. 

you mustered up the strength to knock on two doors to be greeted by two elderly ladies, and introduce yourself as their neighbors while giving them cookies you baked for them. 

you figured it was the best way to gain their trust and familiarity as you were going to be living here for a while. and while it worked on them, you weren’t so sure about your last neighbor. you were nervous. you hated socializing and to introduce yourself as the new person in the area, but the last door you knocked on was one that truly ruined your day. 

the door swung open ferociously to present a tall broad figure with tan skin, eyes tired and hair all ruffled. you could tell he just woke up, and you instantly regretted it. the force of the door opening made you feel a gust of wind, and chills. 

you were taught it was common courtesy to introduce yourself when you’re new somewhere, though it didn’t seem he was happy to see you at his doorstep all cheery and energized.

“uh, hi, i’m your neighbor in 6C, i just moved in and i just wanted to introduce myself,” you said and told him your name, with a small smile. he kind of just looked at you blankly, adjusting his eyes to your figure and face. 

“i, uh i made cookies for everyone so, i thought i’d bring them by cus i just like to bake and i thought maybe it’d be a peace offering... it’s okay if not i just wanted to be nice,” you rambled looking into his brown eyes as you held the plate covered in foil out with your hands. he looked between the plate, you and next to him to look at the clock on his doorway table.  

you were nervous, tapping your fingers on the plate and biting the inside of your cheek. he was so handsome. so manly. 

“you’re knockin at my door at eight thirty in the morning ona saturday to give me some cookies?” he asked, making sure what was happening was real. it was a little comical to him, only seeing shit like this in the movies. but to him, you were cute. he knew he didn’t carry southern hospitality and kindness like most, like you.

“you don’t have to take them. just tryna be nice,” you mumbled and pulled your arms back, your texan accent almost as thick as his. 

“Mmhmm, well i don’t need no cookies this mornin’,” he said surely. it kind of pissed you off honestly. 

“forget about it,” you said and turned your head down, moving to the door next to his and opening it right before mumbling, “asshole,” and slamming your door shut.

you were just so cute, so lively that he was drawn to you. it was odd because joel’s taste in women usually ranged, but he’d never been so drawn to a woman who seemed so eager to take on the world everyday. joel wasn’t used to seeing people so happy to leave the comfort of their homes to go into the city and interact with people, he wasn’t used to people making small talk as you fetch the mail at the same time. but that was you. 

he would just shake you off, mumble words to get you to stop being so cheerful and kind. he didn’t want you to waste your time on him, he didn’t deserve your kindness. you heard the small comments. 

“so damn pink,” 

“ya have to hum all the way down four flights of stairs?”

“you ever not dressed in glitter and ponies?” 

which he over exaggerated, you just liked pink. you would ignore the mean comments, and you would force yourself to remember that he is a man of cutting down trees and building houses with his bare hands. whatever you think is manly, he is. he wore nothing but dark colors, denim, work boots, and still had the iphone eight which seemed like it was forced on him. 

but this is the first time he spoke to you remotely nice, and asked you for anything. 

“yeah, uh do you want like, ice or just room temp?” you asked a bit embarrassed, wondering if that was a dumb question to ask. and a small, very small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it was so slight you almost gaslit yourself into seeing it. 

“don’t matter sweetheart, whatever ya wanna get me,” he said and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing. 

your tummy just fluttered at the small pet name as you pushed yourself off the door frame and moved to the kitchen.

never did you ever think you would hear a word like that come out of his mouth when referring to you.

you grabbed a water bottle and grabbed some ice chips with a scoop to pour it into a tall thermos. you took it straight to joel, and he faced you as you leaned down a bit to hand him the cup. from your stance, he could practically see down your shirt but only stole a small glance. 

you couldn’t notice, you were just excited to do something nice for him. 

“you need anything else?” you asked with your hands behind your back, your chest poking out a bit more and the light made it easy to see your nipples against the cloth. 

“nah, i got all i need, you can go relax.” he said and went back to work as you walked off. 

you wondered if there was a softness to his voice as you sat back down on the couch, turning your music up a little bit but not loud enough to get bitched at by joel. you figured he’d might be here for a bit given his outbursts of cursing because something wasn’t working with him, so you grabbed your blunt and lit it again. this was your apartment. 

joel was frustrated enough from the stupid toilet. a bolt kept untightening every time he tried to flush, and it pissed him off enough but kept him busy as he smelled the scent of strong weed filling his nose. he knew he smelled it when he walked in, but now he can smell the smoke and hear your muffled coughs every once and a while.

he was actually a bit surprised, for some reason you didn’t seem like the type to partake. he knows in his days he did, so he wasn’t judging you at all, it just didn’t seem like something a girl like you would do. you seemed so… behaved.

he ended up managing to find the bolt he was looking for because it fell somewhere and skidded across the restroom floor. 

joel didn’t mind working on things for the neighbors in his complex, he was really the only one that was able to fix almost everything in sight. he was never bothered by it either, in the back of his mind he wanted to feel like he was needed. like he could do some type of good for people even if he was closed off and cold. his hands were godsend, and in many ways. 

but he’d always see things maybe the resident wouldn’t want him to see, like a box of condoms or a sex toy. it didn’t bother him, he’d just ignore it.

but here he was, still and frozen as he finally found the bolt laying on a pair of red panties that were laid on your floor like you just had these on. and you did. 

you managed to get all of your clothes in the hamper except the pair of panties you had on, you actually thought maybe it was in the tangles of your clothes. but no. there they were, and he was on his way to losing his mind. he couldn’t move, he just stared at the red high cut panties that even had a black bow on the trim. 

he couldn’t stop himself. before he knew it, he grabbed your underwear and almost inspected them quickly before taking them, pushing the fabric into his nose and breathing in your musk, and folding them to put in his back pocket. he felt drunk on you already. he knew it was wrong, he knew he was probably a sick man. but he needed something from you, anything. 

the opportunity showed itself, he just took it. 

now, he still smelled you lingering on his nose, and imagined what your pussy looked like puffy and red for him. he wanted to fill you up completely and fuck you until you were sore and throbbing, he wanted to see those cute little glossy lips of yours kissing the tip of his cock and taking it in your throat like a fleshlight. 

you were just perfect. so much for him to grab, kiss, and mark. he wanted your eyes to watch him devour you whole, and he craved to watch you break for him.

he knew he was a creep. he didn’t care. joel never acted on his desires and his pervy ways, until now, when really he wanted to do it all. whenever you came out to the mailboxes the same time as he did, he wanted to get his phone and sneak pictures of you, under your skirts more specifically. 

he was thinking of if you’ve ever fucked yourself here in this very restroom he’s crouched in, thinking of the way your leg would lift to rest on some vantage point, fingering your hole until you fought to stand upright again. he imagined you walking in a little white towel back to your room, drying off and getting dressed in front of him. his cock was throbbing at the image, pairing it with the image of the red panties he stole. 

he couldn’t work like this, not thinking of all of the ways he wanted to make you whine, make you squirm, make you cum. 

he finally managed to fix the problem after 30 minutes and flushing once to test, smiling at his success. it was always satisfying seeing something broken be fixed, he was a problem solver, he loved the challenge. he cleaned up his area and picked up his tools, putting them in the bag and fixing himself before he washed his hands and wiped them down with a towel, leaving the restroom to see you puffing a small roach of your blunt. 

“y’know you shouldn’t be smokin in here,” he said and you jumped a bit, exhaling the last bit of smoke and ashing it out in your ashtray. you just looked at him with a small smile, but realizing this is your apartment. he can’t tell you what to do. 

“oh, well i mean, i thought… i mean it’s my apartment, so,” you said as you blushed, feeling like you’re in trouble now. 

“don’t worry yourself, darlin’. i ain’t gonna tell on you,” he suggested and you blushed, somehow even more. 

“would you want like, a drink? the least i can do,” you said as you grabbed a dos equis from your fridge and walked up to him, handing it to him. he was hesitant at first, really in deep thought about whether he should accept this or not. was it opening a door? he hoped so. 

“thanks,” he said and took it from you, not looking at the green bottle at all. he put his tools down on the small table you had in your kitchen and followed you to sit on the loveseat on the right side of the living room. 

“it’s joel by the way, no one calls me mr. miller,” he said as he took a swig. you nodded and responded ohh, moving to drink more of your wine. you ended up changing your music to a horror movie and kept your eyes trained on that instead of his eyes. you felt him watching you, every breath you took, every blink, every lip bite. 

“so who lived here before me?” you asked to break the silence, looking to him from the movie. his eyes were already on you, you just met them. you figured you’d make some sort of conversation if he was going to sit there and drink a beer. who drinks together silently? 

“nother’ older lady, she was a good neighbor,” he trailed and drank from his beer. you quirked your eyebrows, drinking from the wine glass and keeping it by your side. 

“am i not a good neighbor?” you asked sweetly, genuinely curious. he refrained himself from getting up from his seat and showing how good of a neighbor you really were to him. 

“you are, just a little loud from time to time.” he admitted, more so talking about your unsatisfying experiences with the men you bring him. 

“am i? i’m sorry, i’ll try to keep it down,” you said softly, almost embarrassed and you looked at your fingers tapping on the rim of the wine glass. 

“s’alright, it ain’t too distracting.” he lied. of course it was distracting. he was begging to know what you sounded like when you were really enjoying yourself, how you looked under him and on top of him. how he imagined you in his room instead. 

“still, i don’t wanna be that neighbor that’s annoying,” you said and looked back up at him to where he’s sitting. “i feel like you hate me.” you finished. 

he doesn't blame you. he doesn't make it easy for people to know him, or make a nice impression firsthand. he kind of feels bad for making you feel like that. but he was just not that friendly honestly, not that nice and not that comforting. at least he felt he was. he didn’t know how to be. 

“it’s nothin’ personal,” he said and drank from his bottle again, letting his eyes trail over your body. you felt it, hell you saw it, and you still squirmed. 

“i prefer to be by myself.” he said and you nodded, but he was still watching you. 

“i see. i understand now, sorry for imposing most of the time.” you say with an apologetic smile, and he kind of smiled. it shocked you really to see any emotion other than anger and discomfort displayed on his face.

“you don’t bother me, not one bit.” he said to reassure you, but he wanted you to know you did far more than “bothering” him. you just smiled, blushing a bit at his confession.

“so is it just you living here?” you asked and saw his face look a little pained, and again you regret opening your mouth. 

“uh, no actually. i have a sixteen year old i sort of adopted. just me and my daughter.” he said and you were a little shocked. how did you never manage to see her? or hear her?

“she goes on her own a lot, friends places, parties. i know she can handle herself so, she has my number if anything happens.” he answered your internal questions. 

“that’s really sweet. i wished my parents did that. i kind of had to move away from them’ after i graduated. m’ not really on speaking’ terms with any of my family.” you admitted a little sadly, even though he didn’t ask.  you seemed as though you could talk for hours if no one shut you up. 

“i’m sorry to hear that,darlin’,” he said and continued to drink his beer until he finished it. 

“it’s fine, i’m a lot happier now than i was before.” you said with a small smile, and drank from your wine glass. joel was glad you took the attention off of him and his daughter, not asking any questions about his situation. he appreciated it. 

he just nodded, finishing his beer as you finished your wine and suddenly you were nervous. again. it was just you and him, in this colorfully lit room. you looked at him as he got up, and walked to the kitchen to grab his tools. no no wait wait you can’t leave, not yet. 

“thank ya for the hospitality, i should go,” he said coldly and you almost scrambled to your feet to step in front of him. 

“um, wait uh,” you tried to think of an excuse. anything. something to keep him here a little longer. he looked down at you, how flustered you were, how you looked like you were trying to come up with an excuse. you really even didn’t think it through, you were just acting on the pulsing in your shorts.

but suddenly, you got a bit insecure. you didn’t know joel’s type, and you wondered what the outcome would be of throwing yourself at him. 

“yeah?” he asked and tilted his head, curious as to what you had to say. truth is, he didn’t wanna leave either. how could he wanna leave when you looked so desirable right now? he couldn’t even feel bad that he was practically 20 years older than you, he wanted to ruin you. 

“um, nothing, m’ sorry.” you said. you admitted defeat. there was nothing you could’ve said or done to make him stay, at least that's what you thought. 

“have a good night,” you said and he repeated it to you. you walked him out, shutting the door behind him. 

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joel was still awake after his shower. not by choice. he was laying in his bed, checking the time on his clock that flashes at 2:30am, and back at the wall that connects the two of you. were you seriously this unaware at how loud you were? 

he was thanking god that ellie wasn’t home, so she wouldn’t be hearing any of this either. but he was also wondering if you were even enjoying yourself in the first place. 

after joel left, you felt this aching feeling that you couldn’t satisfy yourself so you just called a friend over. one that you really don’t know, and you don’t care about, but one that wanted to have sex with you just as bad as you wanted to have sex with joel. 

one thing led to another and there you are once again, laying in bed as this guy poorly ate you out and uncomfortably fingered you. it just didn’t feel right, and at this point you were hoping he was done. your fake moans rang through the apartment again, wondering if you were over or under selling it. to the lanky guy between your legs, you were selling it just fine. 

you even tried thinking of joel being the one sliding into you as this guy did, but you doubted he'd be this painfully terrible at sex. it didn’t feel enjoyable, it just felt like blindly jabbing at your cervix. not even 10 minutes later, that man is out your door and you're back in bed, feeling miserable with yourself. 

you wanted for once to have a good sexual encounter, constantly feeling ugly and used. these men didn’t even care about you and didn’t care if you were satisfied, and you hated yourself for it. the physical intimacy you wanted seemed like it was something you wouldn’t be able to find. 

you craved a man’s touch even if you hated it or not, maybe blaming it on your daddy issues or just blaming the fact that you looked for the wrong things in the wrong thing. you wanted comfort and protection and looked for it in sex. 

you wanted joel. you wanted him since you moved in despite him being a dick. you wanted to know how it felt to be protected by him, to be held by him, to be wanted by him. and you wanted it so bad, you started crying. loudly, at that. 

in the moment, joel felt like he was imposing on your privacy. he felt bad listening to your muffled cries like this, and he wanted to do everything he could to help you. he knew so little about your family situation, but to him you had no family. he never saw you with friends, he only saw you with a new man every week. he wanted to comfort you, to show you that he and you were more alike than you thought.

he heard it stop for about twenty minutes all of the sudden, and then something bump into the wall he was staring at. then, it started again.  

you just laid there after your shower, now softly crying and sniffling as you heard a soft knocking on your front door. you got a little scared, so you wiped your tears fast and slipped on the shorts you had on to go open your door. it was dark in the main room, only a small orange lighting shining in front of your windows. you even noticed finally that it was actually pouring rain outside.

“who is it?” you said a little loudly, too nervous to peek through the hole. you fiddled with your polished black nails before the person answered. 

“it’s joel,” he said and you paused. 

“joel?” you asked. 

 you quickly unlocked your door to open it enough to peek your head out. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked, looking up at him. you scanned over his attire, now barefoot and in a simple black shirt and pajama pants. his head was whipping right and left, seeing if anyone else was in the hall to see him. 

now, he was the one that was nervous. what was he doing here? what did he think was going to happen? if he played it right, everything he ever wanted. 

“can i come in?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck and you gulp, opening the door wider to allow his broad figure in your home. your eyes were trained down, refusing to let him look at you. 

“can i get you something? water?” you asked, still not facing him and turning a lamp on next to your couch and moving past him until he grabs your wrist firmly. you still, and you have no choice but to look at him with your bloodshot eyes. 

“i can hear, y’know,” he said, paying attention to your tear stained face as you slowly looked up to him. 

“hear? hear what?” you said unknowingly. 

“everything. i can hear the guys you bring home, i can hear you moanin’, i can hear you cryin’,” he said, pulling you closer to him. by now you were almost to his chest as he grabbed your other wrist and held you tight. 

“i-,” you began but you felt humiliated. you didn’t realize he could really hear everything, that he heard everything that transpired in your room tonight. 

“did he make you cry?” he asked grimly, his eyes dark and his stare serious.

he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt you, your breath just caught in your throat because you were nervous. nervous to admit to anything. 

“no, he didn’t, he didn’t do anything to me,” you said and looked down at his hands gripping your flesh. 

“it doesn’t matter. i’m just really sorry, i didn’t know that’s what you meant earlier. i’m sorry it won’t happen again.” you apologized with tears in your eyes. the guy who you fucked wasn’t even worth all of this embarrassment that flooded you. 

“then why’re you cryin, sweet girl?” he asked, moving his hand to your chin so you can look up at him. 

“i, it’s nothing, i’m sorry for waking you up,” you said and blinked your tears away, your hands falling to your side when he released you. you just stood there though, his hand on your cheek while his thumb rubbed circles into your face. 

“it ain’t nothin. he wasn’t makin’ you feel good? made you feel bad?” his southern accent was thick in this tone, but for some reason you felt at ease. better now that he was here. 

“he made me feel bad,” you were too nervous to lie, he already heard you through the wall. 

“i know, baby, i know,” he said. you really couldn’t move, the words coming from his mouth were insane to you. you couldn’t fathom the fact that he was talking like this, to you. his hands slid to grip your hips, to feel the way they curve into your waist, resting at the small of your back so that now you’re pressed against his body. 

“i never hated ya,” he said, his face getting closer to yours to where you could feel his breath on your lips. while your breathing was faltered and shaky, his was calm and collected. he wasn’t nervous anymore, he was determined. 

“actually, i think i like you more than i’d like t’ admit,” he whispered, moving his lips to your ear and your neck. 

“what are you talkin’ about?” you breathed. your arms just went slack, you didn’t know what to do with them, if you should finally touch him and feel his hard chest, feel his body the way he feels yours, or if you just want to accept that this is a dream. 

you finally move your hands to his waist and grip tightly onto his shirt, almost like if you let go you’ll fall. 

“i know you feel the same, darlin’. i can hear you, remember? i can hear you callin’ for me, moanin’ for me when you touch yourself.” your breath shook slightly and he smiled against your neck, moving his hands up your back. 

and the only thing you can say, that your brain can think of, is to apologize. 

“none of that, don’t do that. tell me sweetheart, do ya want me to make you feel good?” he asked, and you pulled his body closer to yours. 

“do, um, do you want to do that?” you were so unsure of all this. did he truly like you? did he truly find you attractive? you never failed to question men’s sincerity, was this just for pleasure or was this emotional? 

“my sweet baby, if i ever say no to you like that, i’ve gone fuckin’ senile,” he groaned against your neck. 

“y’know how many times i've thought about being between these legs of yours?” there was nothing else that could’ve made you as wet as you were right now, you heard the roughness of his texas accent, the lust mixing with desire. he wanted nothing but you. 

“been wantin’ t’ ruin those little skirts you wear. jus’ wanna watch you fall apart on my cock,” your eyes widened and you felt a pool of arousal coat your cunt. you’d never been talked to like this, the crudeness of his words sliced whatever tension there was, and you gave in.

his lips moved down your neck and to your chest as you pant against him, your body pressed into a wall near the hallway that leads to your bedroom and restroom. he pressed against you enough so you could feel the hardening bulge on your thigh and he could feel the softness of your breasts pushed into him. while kissing your neck and shoulder, he moved your hand to feel his hardness while grunting a bit into your skin. 

“you feel what ya do to me? you see how i get for ya?” he asked, and you whimpered a bit feeling how large he really was through his pajama pants. he pulled away from you a bit and looked down at his hand on top of yours, your own hand voluntarily softly massaging his cock. 

“fuck, sweetheart, you know,” he cooed, smoothing your hair down and grabbing the nape of your neck to crane it back, “you know exactly what that pretty face does to me,” 

he tilted your head to look at him, to be close enough to his face to feel his breath on your face. 

“tell me you want me, honey,” he said sweetly, looking between your eyes and your lips. you just kept your eyes on his while he examined you. 

“i, i want you,” you said in a whisper and blushed. joel smiled to himself, another smile you’d never seen, and slid down against your body and grabbed the back of your thighs, urging you to jump and instinctively you did. 

only he made you forget you were three times the size of a skinny woman. 

“joel, wait i’m too heavy for this wait,” you said but he stayed put, didn’t move, didn’t talk. he just stared at you. 

“ain’t no such thing as too heavy, princess, i’ll still pick you up and fuck you stupid,” he assured, playfully tapping your ass as he carried you all the way to your room, laying you on your back. you swore he could feel the pulsing of your cunt against his abdomen. 

he brought you to your room, dark and quiet with the help of your small lamp illuminating your face as he laid you down on your back, falling with you. 

“gonna let me see you, baby? let me see all of this,” he said lowly, crawling to straddle you and put his hands on your tummy, groping and massaging. 

“i-,” you said, out of breath already and joel smirked. he was loving you like this. so dumb and innocent for him. 

“you’re jus’ the sweetest little thing, baby,” he said as his eyes roamed your body. “gotta use your words, baby, let me hear that pretty voice, tell me what you want,” he said again. 

“touch me, anywhere, p-please,” you whimpered out enough and he hummed in satisfaction. 

his fingers creeped up your stomach, leaving a burn with their trail and acted like he was going to help you out of it, but instead he bends down and grips the center of your tank top with two hands and careful to not hurt you, but fast and swift, he rips the weak cloth in half. 

“what, joel oh-” you said and joel’s fingers wrapped around your throat with no pressure, and held you in place as his eyes trailed over your body again, his other hand roughly moved the two halves of your tank to either side. 

“what did he do that you didn’t like, baby?” he asked you as he stayed on top, playing with your breasts by squeezing and pushing them together, only thinking impurely about you. 

you couldn’t think of anything as he felt you up as he pleased, his calloused hands rubbing your smooth skin, tugging and pinching your nipples to watch them harden and extend just for him. 

“just,” 

“he, ugh,” 

he laughs. “can’t even talk while i play with these pretty titties? goin’ dumb already baby?” 

“mmmph,” you couldn’t muster any words. it was a new feeling, feeling lightheaded and only drunk off of joel. 

“please, fuck me,” you whimpered, moving your hands to play with his waistband and try to tug at it. but he stopped you quickly, never letting you even grab a hold of the fabric when he grabs your wrists. 

“need you to tell me exactly what you want, can you do that?” he asked you and you whined, squirming with his hands still locking you in place. 

you looked up at him, his eyes only on yours and his cock straining against his pajama pants. “fingers,” 

it’s all you mustered and he accepted it, moving down a little to move his fingers down into your panties and spreading your legs with his. his fingers immediately felt heat when he spread your cunt and moved down to your hole, teasing and prodding in your arousal. 

“baby’s so wet for me, yeah? you ever thought about me, honey?” he asked you as he looked between you and where his fingers hid in your shorts, waiting for an answer. you were a whimpering mess, soft breaths and pants falling from your lips with every touch. 

“mhm,” you mustered, clenching your eyes shut when his middle finger circled your hole and pushed his palm against your clit, “always wanted you,” 

if you weren’t so dizzy, you probably would’ve scorned yourself for saying that. but he was amused, moving his scruffy cheek to glide against yours and leave kissing on your neck. 

“thought about you too, pretty girl. just so damn cute all the fuckin’ time, couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how you’d look taking my cock,” you whined at his words, trying to shut your legs to stop the pressure but he just shook his head and pried them apart. your hands were tight on his wrist, begging him to let up as he fucks you with two fingers and uses your slick to rub circles over your clit. 

“r-really?” you asked through choked moans, your body lifting up to watch him finger you. he chuckled softly, “yeah, sweetheart. can’t stop thinkin’ about ya,” 

he pauses before taking your shorts and panties off quickly, spreading your legs further and throwing them over his own spread thighs you went back to gripping at your sheets, your body responding to every touch as he spread your cunt even more and spit on it. 

“you want me to fuck this pretty hole, baby?” he asked, watching your slick cover his hand as he curled his fingers inside of you. you were a mess, incoherent, making sounds and guttural noises as he brought you closer to your edge. all you could do was nod erratically and try to close your legs. 

“i’m gonna need you to cum for me then, sweetheart. needa’ see this little cunt cum for me,” he growled, his other hand pulling his pajama pants down, easily taking them off. 

“i, i-,” you choked, your chest tight as you watched him abuse your pussy and watched as his eyes flashed quickly. he managed to lift your lower half up in the air by your ass cheeks, bringing your core to his mouth and pulling you closer to him so he could taste you. 

“daddy,” you moaned as he pulled away with a harsh breath. 

“‘s that right? that’s what you like, baby? want daddy to make you feel real good? go fuckin’ stupid on my cock?” he taunted, his words making your stomach flutter and your clit throb. 

you whimpered a small yes, but you couldn’t think. you’d say yes to anything he offered. you’d take anything he gave you. he didn’t even have to ask, you wanted him to give you anything he wanted. he went back to lapping at your cunt, slurping up any of your juices that ran down your crack, licking at your unused hole that puckered for him. 

it was a new feeling, something no one had done but the way he lapped at both holes made your orgasm build ten times faster, and soon you felt it creeping down your shoulders and sending a cold chill down to your toes. it was blinding, the noises you made were yelps and gasps as if the air had been knocked out of you. 

your entire body shook within his grasp and his mouth never let go of your overstimulated bud, sending more of your juices to leak out of you nonstop. joel wasted no time to lick you all up and manage to strip naked, watching your body go through aftershocks of your orgasm and smiling. 

“pretty girl, such a fuckin’ pretty girl,” he cooed, crawling between your legs again and grabbing you by your waist, flipping you onto tour tummy and chest as he helps you move to steady yourself on your knees. 

“you’d let me do whatever i want to ya, ain’t that right princess?” his voice was like velvet, making you feel warm all over as you pushed your ass into his groin. you whimpered as you felt his hardness against your cunt and you wiggled your hips, making joel laugh a little and slap your ass. 

“so eager too, huh?” all you could do was nod into the pillow, using your forearms to fold under it and hold your head up. the arch in your back was exaggerated, but you wanted him to be able to get the best leverage on you. 

he gripped your hips tight like you were going to leave him, and spread your asscheeks to see both holes shining for him. 

“tell me you want me, can you do that for me?” he asked condescendingly and you hummed, drunk off him grabbing your ass to pull your cheeks apart and watch as they jiggle. 

“i want you,” you muffled, your voice not sounding recognizable. it was hoarse, from moaning and crying and was about to get even more raspy. 

“good girl, you tell me if you want me to stop yeah?” 

“no! please,” you clung onto whatever he was giving you, “i want it, all of it, please,” you cried for him. 

he spits down on your asshole and watches it slip down to your cunt, and he positioned himself at your hole as he keeps your ass spread apart for him. 

“so fuckin’ messy, such a sweet cunt for me,” he moaned as he pushed the head of his cock inside, making you whimper at the small stretch. you didn’t think he could stretch you anymore, until he sunk deeper into your hole and made you start gasping for air. 

“what baby? is it too much? can’t take daddy’s cock?” he taunted behind you as your weak arms went from under the pillow to trying to push his thighs back. unfortunately with your strength, it was no use and only gave him incentive to pin both your arms behind your back, right where your back arched. 

you could feel your drool leaking onto the pillow as he slid slowly into you, not stopping until you felt his balls hit against your cunt. your legs were already trembling from his sheer size, making joel put one hand on the fat of your hip to steady you and one hand on your wrists. 

he started to pull out again, just to slide back in and repeat the movement as he slowly started to speed up the pace. you could hear faint groaning and the sound of your slick gathering on his cock, the wetness being the only noise that was distinct. 

it was pain and pleasure balled into one as he kept gliding in and out of you, feeling your walls tighten and release around him the faster he went. you felt each thrust make your body lurch forward, pushing your face into the pillow as he kept his relentlessness up. 

“oh, baby you feel so fuckin’ good, so good for me,” he groaned. he grabbed both your wrists with his hands and yanked your body up off the mattress so that your breasts are exposed for him. he takes advantage of the space between you and bed, and pulls you even further up to press you against his chest. 

“keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me, makes me wanna ruin this little pussy even more,” he grinned against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you threw your arms back to grab onto his hair and head. you needed something to balance yourself now that you were standing on your knees, and being fucked into like you weighed absolutely nothing. 

“d-, fuck, i can’t,” you choked through a loud moan, one that made joel grunt as he fucked into you harder. he wasn’t doing small strokes, he was pulling out almost all the way and slamming back into you in a way that sent pain to your cervix, but pressure on your clit begging to be released. 

“can’t what princess? can’t think? i know baby, gettin’ fucked so good you can’t even talk,” he chuckled, moving his hand to grab at your breast and knead your flesh. his hands molded onto your body like they were made to fit you, but all your mind could focus on was the sound of his skin slapping against yours. 

joel knew you were going dumb already, not expecting answers from you as that would just be cruel. he wanted to make you feel good, and the way your spit covered your chin and your mouth fell open but hardly any noise was making its way out, he knew he was doing a damn good job. 

“hear that, baby? such a fuckin’ pretty mess, you like soakin’ my cock like that? so damn wet, so fuckin’ tight,” you couldn’t get enough of his words when he plucked at your nipple, teasing and pinching to get you closer and closer. 

“s-so big, m’ so full,” you cried and he smiled again, holding you closer than ever as he wallowed in your voice. 

“my baby’s full of me, full of my cock,” he repeated, never slowing down as he pulled out just to push all of him back into you at once. he was in love with how you felt, he even felt like he was losing his train of thought at you let out deep moans that made his cock jerk inside of you. 

“‘s okay baby, you look so cute all fucked out like this, can’t even fuckin’ breathe can ya?” he asked and you shook your head no, reminding yourself to unclench your chest so you could let in a good breath. he heard it, and rubbed up your chest to grip your throat, which elicited a harsh whimper. 

his other hand traveled down your body, past your larger stomach and reached down to your cunt. he used the slick between your lips after stuffing them in your mouth and started to rub circles over your nub, making you squirm and wiggle against his body. 

“uhn-uh, thought you liked takin’ my cock like a slut? take it, baby.” you couldn’t even move if you wanted to, wanting to fuck back on his cock and meet his thrusts. you were almost empty headed, words sounding like words but not being able to form them yourself. 

“there you go, take it all baby it’s yours,” he repeated as he watched you grab onto his arm that held you by the neck and let him ravage you like no other. he was the animal, and you were his prey. 

the feeling of his thick cock ramming you, splitting you open while he fingers worked your clit makes you throw your head back on his shoulder and shut your eyes strongly. it was blinding, the pleasure you felt that he inflicted, and you felt yourself clenching your entire body as your orgasm reached its peak. it’s all you focused on. his hands grabbing you everywhere, soaking you in as he pushed your thick body into his chest and managed to lay on his back. he let our body fall onto his and held you up like that, his hands spreading your legs as you tried to sit up on your hands. 

you couldn’t, of course, couldn’t even think about how he changed positions so quickly, or if you were too heavy for him. your body was limp as he held you open, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster as he fucked into you. 

“m gonna, j-joel, gonna cum, gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” you chanted in a strained whine, one that sounded needy for him. one of his hands lets go of your leg and rests his palm on your forehead, pulling you back to his shoulder so he can kiss along your jaw and neck. 

“cum for me baby, such a dumb fuckin' slut, taking my cock like you were made f’ it,” he was so insulting, so degrading, but the feeling of losing your autonomy so he can fuck you like you deserved made it even sexier for you. you didn’t know your neighbor felt this way for you, that he’d been wanting to feel you and have you like this. it was exhilarating and when you finally let go, when the ringing in your ears started and every muscle in your body tightened just to go slack again, you realized how much you’d been missing. 

you’d never been fucked to the point of silence, nothing but quiet moans and strained breathing falling out of your lips because you couldn’t think, and as joel holds you by wrapping an arm around the thickness of your tummy and letting you close your legs to alleviate the intensity, he whispers nothing but dirty things in your ear. the shaking never stopped, even as joel started to reach his peak. 

“such a pretty girl,”

“love watchin’ you go dumb on my cock,” 

“gonna fill this cunt with my cum, ya want that sweetheart?”

“can’t even talk, such a dirty fuckin’ whore,”

you were mumbling, blabbering, making noises that couldn’t even be registered as noises as his hips slammed against your ass lazily. you feel it the minute he empties inside of you because he holds you even closer than before, stilling your moving hips and you feel the heat of the white ropes that cover your walls. it was so dirty, so messy, so filthy that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were embarrassed after this. you were still mindlessly groaning, humming as your orgasm buzzed through your body and the feeling of his cum trying to push its way out. 

you both lay there, breathless, sticky and with joel still buried inside of you.

“i have… i have to get off,” you breathed out, coming back to the sense of reality. the air in your room felt cold, pricking at your skin like needles. the sweat didn’t help either. 

“no ya don’t,” he said, only to hold you tighter. 

“joel, i’m like crushing you,” you tried to wiggle out of his grasp and he just gave a quick slap to your cunt, making you jolt and still. 

“don’t be ridiculous, ya need me to show you exactly how strong i am or are ya gonna take my word for it?” he warned and you swallowed, blinking at the ceiling before you turn your head to look at the side of his face before he turns his head to look at you. still, the back of your head rested on his shoulder and your legs were between his.

“i can’t even move, joel,” you said in a smile and he laughed, leaning in to kiss your forehead and over your face. 

“i’ll help ya with that.” 

joel proved once again that he was strong enough to pick you up, because he carried you bridal style to the restroom and got a bath ready for you, joining in to help clean you up and massage your muscles. you were dazed, so entirely fucked out that you let him do whatever he needed to do with you to get you into bed. and he didn’t seem to mind, because after taking care of you he got to snuggle in the same bed he made you drool in. 

he let you cuddle into him all you wanted, wrapping your arms and legs around him to bury your face in the shirt he put on. even though it was your bedsheets and your body wash he used, he still smelled like joel. and it was all you needed, ironically the man you longed for to make you feel good was the man who stayed in 6a.

[thelesbianpoirot]

if you ever do feel like mocking saltburn please do. god that movie was ridiculous. just disjointed nonsense and shock factor (although, for me, the most 'shocking' scene was actually the end when he's about to unplug the ventilator or whatever, just because of the suspense and horror i felt knowing he's some deviant freak who's probably not above abusing an unconscious elderly woman.)

I tried to hold back on mocking Saltburn because the director is a woman, I hated the Barbie and only made a single post about it, because I didn't want to obliterate the film of a woman just trying to say some feminism 101 talking points while still making a giant toy advertisement. Especially a woman I know can make good movies, she made ladybird and I did enjoy that.

But when I found out Saltburn was directed by the woman who wrote, co-produced and directed promising young woman, I realize I had to say something. Emerald really isn't a survivor of assault, she can't fucking be, if she thinks promising young woman isn't a fucking slap in the face. I have never hated a protagonist and plot more. The message of her movies are any lacking substance. They have down right conservative messaging masquerading as radical, and are so misguided. Sheltered rich kid movies. She can't write for shit and people are blowing smoke up her ass. There are many male nepobaby hacks and frauds in hollywood, Emerald fennel is a rare female version. Saltburn is no different from promising young woman. I will be quick because I am about to go to sleep. She wrote that one too. She can't write. She could be a good produce and director, but not as a writer. Her ideas are uninspired, childish and not realistic. And she isn't inventive enough to make viewers suspend their disbelief. She made no effort to hide that the main character was sinister. I don't blame Barry, he's a good actor, he can do innocent and evil, but the movie showed it's hands so fucking early. I knew within the first 15 minutes where this movie was going and the only thing that shocked me was the blatant-ness of it all. This feels like the plotline of a season of dynasty, when I know she wanted it to feel like succession.

Oliver Quick is character that should be dismantling the wealth elite. He isn't poor, he's upper middle fucking class. I could not take any solace in a working class character seizing the wealth of the rich. His family is fucking loaded. Do you see his house? His happy loving parents. He is not a hero, or even anti-hero, he's no better any of the rich people he killed or had a hand in killing. If that is the point, what is the point. Everyone is an entitled rich evil bastard in succession, but they are people, they don't see themselves like that and we the audience no matter how aware we are, can fall victim to caring about them. At no one in this movie do I care about Oliver Quick or any of the other characters. They weren't people, just quirks and archetypes.

Is she saying poor (middle class really) people are entitled psychopaths social climbers? We hate and love the rich and famous because we want to fuck them and be them? Is that the message? I think she decided to make it a comedy after she saw the completely boilerplate boring runt of a film she made, so she added wacky scenes to get comedy from it, I did not laugh, not even in a dark things are funny sense. It just pissed me off more and more. I paid to see this on my day off, took the bus into the city and everything, emerald give me my day off back!

Does the women's wealth make their treatment okay? The sexual manipulation of the younger sister, and the abuse of an unconscious elderly disabled mother?

Young women are horny for Jacob Elodi, who isn't even a good actor, he's just tall, like I can't see a reason why this man is famous another than he's tall, and straight girls need to feel small and little to feel sexy idk. The whole film is dedicated to how enigmatic Jacob elodi's character is, and how someone wanting to be him or be with him could drive them to murder. Yet he is a PLANK. A BRICK WALL. THERE IS NOTHING THERE. He will never be Jude Law/dicky greenleaf (i.e charismatic asshole).

Yes, putting nonsensical meaningless shocking scenes in your movie doesn't make it good. Having a jump scare in your horror movie doesn't make it scary, you just surprised people, got a natural human response from them. I cringed, scrounged up my face, rolled my eyes and complain about the movie, that doesn't make it thought provoking. Just irritating.

She wanted this to be her THE MENU (Latest hollywood class struggle critique) mixed with Talented Mister Ripley (sympathetic but psychopathic protagonist tries to blend in with the cold shallow rich people).

But what she did was connect a series of aesthetic shots (jacob Elodi montage that belongs in a music video at best), weird sexual shit social media will cling to because it is weird and sexual, and location shots/scenes that looked like meaningful things should be happening but nothing is there. Film twitter tiktok can't stop talking about this dumb movie, and she got what she wanted. I can't wait till she makes a good movie for once, instead of relying on backlash, outrage to fuel her film career.

[footballffbarbiex]

Thank you 😭 I request for so many but I’ll limit it to Virgil Trent and Leon.

oh boy this took a while. ANYWAY

here are your chosen ones. lemme know your thoughts. I'm pretty sure there are some more too but this will give you a little idea of things to come.

Baring in mind, these are REQUESTS only, and not any of my own ideas 👀

Fluff:

Leon Goretzka - she’s determined to leave a good impression with his teammates but the only problem is, she doesn’t speak German. How wrong could this go?

Leon Goretzka - she’s not a German native and Leon quickly becomes her new found home.

Leon Goretzka - Leon takes his children trick or treating to some of his teammates houses

Leon Goretzka - Leon’s sense of direction is awful and it results in you both getting lost in a pumpkin patch. 

Leon Goretzka - Leon cannot believe his luck that he should be paired to tackle the corn maze with someone that he absolutely detests - or does he?

Leon Goretzka - He’s not scared of scary movies or ghost stories. But this one gets under his skin

Leon Goretzka - he tries to do a good thing to prove that he is capable but it all goes disasterously wrong. LINKED WITH AN ANGST PIECE. 

Virgil van Dijk - it’s time for him to meet her family and if there’s one thing that Virgil can do, it’s be the perfect partner. 

Virgil van Dijk - it’s almost christmas and Virg has a rare day off which doesn’t include training, there’s only one thing for it. 

Virgil van Dijk - with the last of the orchard’s offerings available, Virg and his girlfriend make the most of it…little does he know he’s in for a surprise.

Virgil van Dijk - Virgil usually hates being used by women, but a small cute female who is desperately needing his assistance? He can’t say no to this one. 

Virgil van Dijk - he’d always insisted he wouldn’t do fancy dress with her, but she does have a way of sweet talking him into things…

Trent Alexander Arnold - she was a single mum when she met Trent and as much as she always hoped that Trent could possibly see her as his own, she didn’t realise she really needed to hope that her daughter would see Trent as her dad. A real dad. (might include this in the single parent series)

Trent Alexander Arnold - Trent takes her to Abu Dhabi for a little holiday and goes immediately into tourist guide mode. Little does he know, he’s the tourist here. 

Trent Alexander Arnold - he wants the baby to be scoring goals before he can even crawl and walk. 

Angst:

Leon Goretzka - “You deserve someone and a relationship better than both me and what I can give you”.

Leon Goretzka - She’s fed up of working and coming home to continue working when Leon isn’t pulling his weight. Things get said in anger and though home truths (and they are truths) are spewed, will Leon accept them? LINKED WITH A FLUFF PIECE. 

Trent Alexander Arnold - he’s wanted nothing more since that first date to lock her down and shout to the world that she’s his. But she has reservations about making it official and Trent realises that an ultimatum is needed. 

Smut:

Leon Goretzka - she makes comments in public that are meant for in private and Leon makes sure that she doesn’t do it again. 

Leon Goretzka - Leon’s bulked up frame has given him more confidence than ever and a rekindled romance from the past shows just how far his confidence has come. 

Leon Goretzka - Leon sneaks into her room and she has to be quiet. 

Leon Goretzka - the warm weather usually brings out a horny side of Leon at the best of times, but a blossoming pregnant wife and small bikinis aren’t helping. 

Leon Goretzka - PATREON ONLY REQUEST (not coming to tumblr) a CL match results in Leon’s girlfriend’s team eliminating his from the competition and only one of them is happy. Virgil van Dijk - He can’t help but take his girlfriend when others are nearby. One little noise will give them away but can they stay silent?

Virgil van Dijk - she promised that she wouldn’t play while he was away. She couldn’t keep that promise. But if she wants to cum, he’ll make sure she gets her wish. 

Virgil van Dijk - he’s given up his control and she’s taken away some of his senses, but can Virg prove to be a good submissive for the night?

Virgil van Dijk - light smut - heavy on the aftercare. 

Virgil van Dijk - Virgil is one of your dad’s closest friends. You promised that you’d help keep this a secret but it’s too much fun to flaunt yourself when he cannot touch. Or rather…shouldn’t because oh will Virg touch you. 

Virgil van Dijk - virgil is broody and he’s desperate for some unprotected sex

Virgil van Dijk - she hates flying and Virgil knows that. What he didn’t realise is that she wore that skirt for a reason. 

Trent Alexander Arnold - a little comparison of how Dom!Trent would act and how sub!Trent would act

Trent Alexander Arnold - sometimes a little sexting which leads to a quickie is all it takes

Trent Alexander Arnold - why sleep with one man when you can have two? (please let me know if you’d like to read this threesome with Trent / oc / AND Leon Goretzka, Dominic Calvert Lewin, Mason Mount, Hector Bellerin, John Stones, Marco Rose, Serge Gnabry or Roman Burki)

Trent Alexander Arnold - everything’s fine 🙂 It’s not as though Trent scored the winning goal against your team 🙂 it’s not as though he’s a happy boy while you’re suffering 🙂

[clueless-fan-critic]

She-Hulk Overall Season Review

The Good

Tatiana Maslany’s Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk

What kept me engaged with the show was how Jennifer Walters was portrayed by Tatiana Maslany. She gives a level of fun, charisma, and sincerity to the character while delivering fun lines. I also found her journey very fascinating compared to the oversaturated market of MCU Superheroes with someone who doesn’t want to be a superhero. I loved that it wasn’t another traditional superhero origin show but how an average person deals with the MCU madness. In the first episode, Jen and Bruce get into a conversation about how she’s choosing to go back to her normal life instead of embracing the good and bad of being a superhero. Jen wants to live a normal life by still being a lawyer and does so in the finale while also being a superhero in a way that doesn’t require big fights to win.

On the contrary to popular media, Jen Walters isn’t a “feminist icon who hates men” but rather a woman who experiences the problems that come with being a woman. There are subtle themes about how the males tell Jen when to transform and how she’s perceived by society. The eighth and ninth episodes show how Jen “Hulking out” is only shown throughout media coverage without actually covering why she did so or the attack on her, only make it about the spectacle rather than the person being impacted like Peter Parker in No Way Home. It also intersects that she’s also a Hulk who lost control like how Bruce Banner was like, but making it more her as an out of control public figure instead of a mindless monster.

Episode 7 “The Retreat”

This is one of my favorite episodes for how it characterizes Jen’s perception of She-Hulk with her superhero persona as something that everyone loves while no one wants Jen Walters. After being ghosted by Josh, Jen becomes upset that a guy she liked essentially made her feel like she wasn’t good enough from both sides. There’s also a whole session with the “reformed” Emil Blonsky, the Abomination, and other superhuman people that actually seem to have a genuine want to better themselves.

Episode 8 “Ribbit and Rip it”

Daredevil. Enough said.

But seriously, Matt Murdock returning to the MCU with a less darker attitude made it interesting to see Charlie Cox’s more comedic skills. The courtroom scene with Jen and Matt arguing the case for superhero anonymity was very satisfying to see, as well as a fight between Jen’s Hulk powers and Daredevil’s agility.

Jen’s anger at the end was realistically justified in a way that reflects how most women who’ve been attacked felt. Jen was targeted and embarrassed in front of her colleagues but made into someone who didn’t “need” to get angry, which I think is bullshit because she should get angry. 

Episode 9 “Whose Show is This?”

The Finale ends with Jen literally breaking the fourth wall to change the ending to her show that makes the most sense. I loved the way they incorporated the level of power she possesses with breaking the fourth wall as she literally took control of her narrative in her show. It’s kind of weirdly hilarious to see Kevin Feige portrayed as a supercomputer who makes all movie decisions. I also love that the show didn’t end with a huge battle of brawn but Jen using her legal skills to persuade KEVIN into a new direction.

The Flawed

Episode 3 “ The People vs Emil Blonsky”

This episode felt the weakest out of the series for the Light Elf court case as it seemed misplaced for some reason just to have Megan thee Stallion be a cameo. The CGI can also be seen at its most obviously bad on She-Hulk.

Supervillains

I felt the “supervillains” like Titania didn’t go anywhere in terms of story as she could have been a foil in how Titania could represent the illusion of strength in terms of character and morality like she’s putting on a show for an audience.

Don’t get me wrong, having Intelligencia as a reddit-type hate forum for She-Hulk was good to serve the story, but I just felt Todd as a threat wanting Jen’s blood kind of typical MCU bad guy. Making Jen fight a more social and/or legal threat than a physical one was much more interesting and the whole reason for the show as a legal comedy.

The Result

She-Hulk is a flawed but unique show that takes the step into actually changing up the status quo of DIsney+ MCU shows by making itself into a more comedic show compared to the forced humor in the more serious shows like Moon Knight or Loki. For season 2, I think Jen will try establishing her own firm while also dealing with the fallout of Intelligencia’s attack, as well as more legal drama and court room scenes that establishes Jen’s skills as a lawyer more clearly.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Would you mind elaborating on Don't Worry Darling 👀?

Hi!

I wish I could properly elaborate on that movie, because I have been thinking about it quite a bit, but I still get the sensation that there's some idea about it that is escaping me.

Tumblr mostly focused on the batshit stuff going behind the scenes, and honestly, who wouldn't, and clearly a huge part of the mess the end product is is tied to that.

The things I mentioned in my review of Glass Onion have to do with

DWD feels like a clumsy rehash of The Stepford Wives. Which is an extremely well known novel with two very well known adaptations. But you get this sense that DWD is pretending that TSW doesn't exist. Both Knives Out and Glass Onion treat the works they are referencing (mainly tropes from Agatha Christie) with... referentiality. More "Rich people ;) all shut up together on a trip of pleasure ;) and there's murder ;)" and less "Rich people??? all shut up together on a trip of pleasure???? and there's a murder??? in the mediterranean??? exciting and new!" Even the part that is supposedly new is, apparently, accidental: when Shia Lebouf was on the role of Jack, he was some sort of creepy janitor kidnapping a woman he didn't know. When Harry Styles took on the role, apparently for optics, they went for the route of his being her husband and his misogynistic behavior, benign-y in his concern for her being overworked. Which leads to

The villains in the story: Jake and the boss that is a thinly veiled attack on Jordan Peterson.

(rather 2.1, I really hate the new post editor) I honestly think that there is room for a TSW-adjacent story that addresses the specific subtype of "benign" control-objectification that this movie accidentally stumbles upon; the men in TSW love their wives as an extension of themselves; love them as something that is useful, and so they don't feel a loss at all in turning them into robots. But there's a brand of it that presents itself as being meant for the good of women; a stay at home mom is a woman liberated from the shackles of capitalism, protected from stress and harrassment, liberated from having to make hard decisions because she is subordinated to her husband, finally in her natural environment. It is a view I have seen more and more in Catholic circles, but that feels anthropologically Lutheran in a way. Catholicism has a long history of nuns and sisters making their own way in the world, organizing and ruling themselves, not having biological children, managing businesses (ultimately a monastery that makes food, candles, vestments, drinks, etc, requires being managed with an eye to its continued existence) and professions (as teachers and nurses and such). I digress. I think there's a general tendency to objectification in romantic relationships, that because it isn't sexual in nature, often goes under radar; I remember reading this article about how people, in dating, most often search for a person who can make them happy (that is, someone that fills a checklist of characteristics, like a phone or another product) rather than searching for a person they can be happy with (someone that shares the same basic ideals and life goals. And I think a whole lot of the time the "homestead 1950s nuclear family with a stay at home mom and a bunch of kids" mishmash fantasy is an exaggerated version of that. "I want a wife that will stay at home, I want 12 children, I want... I want... I want... specs for a product and a plan that spins around the self. That¡s interesting to explore! But that's not something DWD does anything with.

(2.2) Then there's the Jordan Peterson villain. I haven't ever really sat down to make my own firm opinion on him. My gut feeling is that he's overrated in both directions. Beyond the caricature portrayal of a guy that is EVIL just because HE HATES WOMEN and ALWAYS SPEAKS IN GIBBERISH... it's a wasted opportunity for talking about cults, why some people create cults and why others fall into cults. The movie attempts to make of Project Victory a cult, but has a terrible understanding of what cults are and how they work (as a side note, I have seen people say that the job Jack gets is inside Project Victory, which tells me some people have a hard time understanding how MLMs work). More often than not, cults are fascist-y, and I don't mean this in ideological terms, because fascism is fundamentally action and not ideology. A fascist movement is first a charismatic leader and a goal, and then an ideology is formed to theoretically support the former. Which usually means that most charismatic leaders of cults are not believers in the cause; the cult is an excuse to gain money, power over others, and/or satisfy the leader's appetites (that's why sexual abuse is so so common in cults). Cults prey on people that are isolated, emotionally starved, and idealistic, people that want to bring change or do good and are willingly to put a lot of volunteer work on it. The cult establishes heavier mechanisms of isolation, control, group aesthetics and a them-vs-us mentality that hinders questioning and raises a barrier for leaving to disillusioned members (public perception of people in cults as bad people that deserve bad things and no help does also greatly contribute to that goal). The big villain of DWD is not realistic that way, but if he were, the movie would have been radically better. Show that the man is in it for the money and the power trip and the sex, and that he is extremely cunning and charismatic and that's how he can get away with it. Have the heroine be able to look through his facade. Built in a redemption arc for Jake, if you want, based on the realization that he's being used. Or not, if you don't want to. You can have a failed attempt at making a resistance (resistances don't work in cults because the structure itself is designed to prevent them from succeeding). Show the difficulties the heroine faces in leaving the cult. Attempt to showcase what kind of people and why would fall for a cult like this one.

Man is an evil evildoer because he's evil and the men that follow him are evil because they are evil and bad can be satisfying if all you want is dehumanize and make a fantasy of dismissing the threat your ideological enemies pose, but it's bad storytelling, and a fundamentally lazy and unthinking storytelling.

[smoochkooks]

—chapter two: of peonies and broken promises

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, future smut

word count: 1.4k words

summary: you are twenty-four, hopelessly in love with your best friend and the smell of peonies still makes you nauseous, just like it did eleven years ago.

previous || next 

Jungkook's apartment is an epitome of him.

Wherever you look, you spot a piece of him. A single, wooden shelf in the living room where he placed all his analog cameras, because he loves photography. The replica of Van Gogh's Starry night hanging just above the navy blue couch, because he loves art. White walls of his bedroom decorated with movie posters; among them the newest addition to the collection: French Parasite poster you remember him buying recently. He traded stupid amount of money for it and you'd scold him for doing so if you didn’t know how much he enjoys cinematography.

Staring at this back as he makes coffee, you almost forget why you came her in first place. It's trivial: the latest software update on your laptop made it work more sluggish for some unknown to you reason. Jungkook has always been good with technology (hence his degree in digital art), helping you fix things on your laptop whenever the issue isn’t too complicated for him to deal with it on his own.

You feel a little embarrassed, asking him for help again (as if he wasn’t installing a new antivirus software for you a few weeks ago) but Jungkook beat you to it, assuring you it was absolutely fine before you could recite a round of apologies upon entering his apartment.  

It’s just the way he is – the kindest, most selfless person you have ever met. Helping others seems to be etched into his brain for good.

“Here you go,” he says, placing a cup coffee in front of you. “I still haven’t quite figured out how the coffee machine works so I hope it doesn’t taste like shit.”  

You smile, wrapping your fingers around the cup. Jungkook is a tea person, something he most definitely took after his mother, who has a separate cabinet in the kitchen filled with various kinds of tea. That’s why it’s so funny to you that somehow he insisted on buying a ridiculously expensive coffee machine a few months ago when he moved into his new apartment.  

You wish you could focus on the delicate scent of his blueberry tea. You wish you could let yourself be overwhelmed by the aroma of your freshly made coffee. Anything.  

Instead, all you can process is the intense, nauseous smell of the peonies standing right before you.  

They’re definitely new, wrapped up prettily and ready to be gifted to someone special. Jungkook notices your lingering gaze, and clears his throat.  

“Soojin's coming later today. They’re her favourite.”  

He didn’t need to give any explanation to you. It’s his life, his girlfriend, his plans, her favourite flowers, her perfect boyfriend. You’re just you. Yet for some unknown to you reason, he felt and urge to mention it anyway.

“I didn’t peg you for the gentleman type.” you say to break the awkward silence. It’s anything but true, so Jungkook snorts in response.

“Aish, I always give you a single red rose for your birthday, Valentine’s Day and Women's day as well! And we know each other for eighteen years!” he reasons, somewhat defensive.  

You force yourself to grin. “I know, I know. I was just fucking with you,” He huffs and takes a sip of his tea. As soon as he does that, he regrets it, muttering “Shit, it’s hot.” under his breath. “Soojin's lucky to have you.” you add.

Despite coming off as a confident person on daily basis, Jungkook gets insecure too.  

You remember vividly the look in his eyes when he told you he didn’t deserve her. It was right at the beginning of their relationship, they were still getting to know each other and Jungkook couldn’t possibly understand why out of all the boys Soojin could date, she had chosen him. A digital art major who liked talking about cinematography and ate ramen at 2am in the morning when he couldn’t sleep.  

Back then, you wished he could see himself with your eyes. For you, he was far more attractive than any guy you saw on campus. For you, he was talented, hardworking, passionate. No doubt Soojin fell for him.  

But Jungkook was twenty-one back then. He lacked self-assurance he has now. It irritated you that he viewed Soojin as some sort of goddess who took pity on him.  Although a lot has changed since, he still could quite literally kiss the ground she walks on.  

You watch as a small tingle of blush covers the apples of his cheeks. Pink, just like the peonies standing before you. Pink, just like the flowers you hate so much.  

11 years ago

June was beautiful that year. You spent most of your time after school in Jungkook's garden, seated by the wooden table and doing your homework.  

His mother besides tea, loved planting flowers. And June was the month of peonies. There was so many of them, invading your senses with their sweet yet nauseous smell.  

Jungkook was scribbling something in his notebook. You doubted it was anything Math-related, judging by the quick and harsh strokes of his pen. ‘’Do you know Sana?” he asked out of the blue, startling you.  

“That new girl from Japan? What about her?”  

“Jimin says she has a crush on me.” he answered, his eyes still glued to the paper. You noticed he was sketching some anime character's angry face.

Your eyes involuntarily widened. “How does Jimin know that?”  

“Dunno. He told me he heard some girls talking about it in cafeteria the other day.” Finally, he dropped his pen and looked up. His brows were furrowed and he had a sour look on his face. “I don’t want her to have a crush on me.”  

At that, your heart started beating faster. You were just fourteen and yet already so stupidly in love with your best friend. “Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.  

You knew girls were checking out Jungkook here and there. He was a top athlete, had good grades and had grown at least ten centimeters taller over the year. He also had let his mother (and you) convince him to cut his hair shorter lately, getting rid of the emo fringe he was sporting for the past six months. Of course some pretty girl like Sana would have a crush on him.  

Somehow, Jungkook had always been oblivious to that, or at least you thought so. This was the first time he decided to talk to you about it.  

He sighed, looking away from you as if he was embarrassed all of a sudden. You could swear you saw his cheeks flush. “Because I don’t even like her. You’re the only girl I can stand being with.”  

Now it was your turn to blush. As best as you could, you tried to ignore the funny, giddy feeling in your chest. “You know you'll have to marry some girl one day, right?”  

“Then I’ll ask you to marry me,” Jungkook said and for the first time since he had started this conversation, he actually looked you in the eye. When he saw your shocked expression, he mumbled, “Maybe in like… ten years or something. Once we are out of college.”  

You snorted, nudging his side. Despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you regained your composure. “Do you think I will put up with your for that long?”  

“We know each other since we were six and you haven’t run away yet. Besides, I’m the only boy you aren’t scared to talk to.”  

“Hey! That’s–Maybe it’ll change in the future! Maybe–”

Jungkook ignored you and instead thrusted his pinky finger in your direction. You stopped speaking right away. Pinky promises held little significance yet for some reason, you felt like it was a serious situation. And if the determined look on your best friend's face was anything to go by, he thought the same.

“If we don’t find anyone worth giving our heart to by the time we are twenty-five, let’s get married. Promise?”  

You were astonished, to say the least, staring at this hand with wide eyes. You were only fourteen back then and to hear something like that from the boy you loved was like a teenage dream come true. You replied with blind devotion. Because there was only one, good answer to such question.

“Promise.”

You are twenty-four now, hopelessly in love with your best friend and the smell of peonies still makes you nauseous.  

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES

TWO - Grease 1 & 2

Masterlist 

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“  I made a friend. “

Dr. Raynor doesn’t look up from her notebook but the slightly surprised raise of her eyebrow doesn’t get lost on Bucky.

“ Thought you might want to know. “

She stops writing for a second and glances up at him, her eyes holding a certain sense of hesitation and reluctance. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. She’s trying to get one step ahead of him, figure out what smartass comment he’ll throw at her. Only this time there isn’t one. This time it’s all genuine. It’s all true.

“ I do. That’s — good. Where’s the catch? “

“ There’s no catch. I made a new friend, just like that. And it’s not some making amends thing either. “

She closes her notebook, places it on the table to her right, and then folds her hands in her lap the way she does sometimes when Bucky knows he’s said something important. He has her entire and undivided attention.

“ That’s good, James. Tell me more about this friend. “

“ Her name is (Y/N). She’s a waitress and she’s really into movies. “

“ Oh. “

“ Oh? “

“ It’s a woman. “

“ Yeah it’s a woman, is that a problem? “ Bucky asks. Now it’s time for him to raise an eyebrow in question.

“ No. It’s not. I just didn’t expect it. “

“ Are you saying men and women can’t be friends? That’s awfully antiquated thinking, Doc. Have you ever seen when Harry met Sally? “

“ I have. Have you?”

Bucky scoffs as if the question is an insult to his intelligence.

“ Sure. It’s a classic. “

He hits her with a sarcastic grin, the one he knows she hates. The one she knows is fake and fabricated but that allows him to be unreadable to her for just a second.

“ Well then. I’m glad you’re making friends. It’s a big step, James. But I don’t want you to get attached to someone because you think that’s gonna make you get out of this arrangement any sooner, “ she says and motions her finger around the room in a twirling motion. “ It’s a more permanent situation. I hope you are aware of that.”

Eyes averted to the floor, Bucky nods his head in understanding.

“ I know. That’s not the reason. I — she knows me. Knows about me before all of the bad stuff. In her eyes, I am the man I used to be before Hydra. It’s nice to go back to that even if it’s not the truth. (Y/N) gives me a chance to figure out who I am right now without being reminded of all the bad things I did. “

When he looks back up Dr. Reynor regards him with a look he’s never seen before. Softer. She even smiles a little bit and he hardly ever sees her smile. Granted, he doesn't make these sessions easy for her so what does he expect really? Her smiling at him feels like he’s doing something right.

“ She sounds lovely. “

“ She talks so much and she sends me weird videos I don’t understand. Like, yesterday she sent me one of a kid saying he’s 19 and he can’t read and — I have no idea what it meant. And she makes fun of me for having a flip phone. But it’s not mean-spirited or anything. She doesn’t make me feel left out. Doesn’t make me feel stupid. “

“ Anything else you know about her? “

“ Her coffee tastes horrible. “

Dr. Reynor lets out an airy chuckle. “ James, I like the fact that you’re making friends. We all need friends, especially during times when we feel like we’re lost or have no direction in life. And it sounds like this friendship is good for you. “

“ But? “

“ Why do you think there’s a but ? “

“ There always is. “

She regards him for a second then nods slightly. “ You’re right. But it’s not a bad one. Listen, it seems like this woman knows a lot about who you used to be. How about you learn a little more about her? Even the playing field. A friendship is based on mutual understanding and trust. That’s my homework for you. Get to know her better. “

“ Your homework is for me to spend time with a friend? “

“ Yes. Now that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? “

Bucky shakes his head in reply.

No, that really doesn’t sound all that bad.

The bell above the door chimes as Bucky steps inside the diner. It’s quite a bit more crowded than the last time he’s been here.

“ Grumpy!”

His head snaps towards the counter at the enthusiastic exclamation of his new nickname.

  (Y/N) stands behind the counter clad in the diner’s signature baby blue polo shirt, a pencil tugged behind her ears, and a frilly apron wrapped around her waist.

Her lips pull into a smile as he approaches and plops down onto one of the barstools.

“ You have impeccable timing, Grumpy.”

“ I guess that’s gonna stick? “

(Y/N) only nods her head in agreement, eyes full of mischief and determination. There’s no sense in arguing about this topic. That’s one nickname set in stone now. And really, it’s not like it doesn’t fit him.

“ I have something for you. “

“ You do? “

“ Well it’s not technically for you specifically but I need someone to try it so — “

Before he can even react she rushes back into the kitchen, her sneakers creating squeaking sounds on the shiny linoleum floor.

“ Do you want some coffee? “ the other waitress approaches, holding out the pot filled with the dark brew. It smells warm and delicious and Bucky wants to say yes until he remembers the last time he’s had coffee here and how bitter and burned it had been. And how he drank it anyway because he couldn’t bear to let (Y/N) know that her coffee was horrible.

“ Don’t worry, “ the waitress speaks up again, obviously picking up on Bucky’s complicated feelings towards the diner’s coffee “ I made it. Won’t let her near the pot when I’m around.”

“ In that case, please. “

Just as the mug fills with coffee, (Y/N) comes back tumbling around the corner and out of the kitchen. She leans against the counter, next to the red-haired waitress, and plops a Tupperware container in front of Bucky.

“ Try these and tell me what you think. “

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee before slowly opening the container to be greeted by a pile of cookies, of all shapes and sizes, no two quite the same.

“ Cookies? “

“ Eat one! “

“ Whoa, hold up.” Bucky exclaims as he raises his hands in mock defense. “ this sounds awfully suspicious to me. Are you trying to pull a Snow White on me here? “

(Y/N) eyes grow big and the most radiant smile spreads across her face at his words.

“ You made a pop culture reference!”

“ Saw it in the cinema. “

“ No way.”

“ Mmmh. With my sister.”

“ I just decided I love it when you make pop culture references. “

“ Noted.”

“ Okay, so since no one thinks it’s important to introduce me, let me do it myself,” the red-haired waitress chimes in and holds out her hand for Bucky to shake. He can see her eyebrows furrow a little as she notices his gloves. It’s not yet cold enough for people to not wonder about it. They know something ain’t right with him and he hates it. Wishes they’d just disregard it. Act like it’s a completely normal and feasible thing.

“ I’m Robin, (Y/N)’s best friend. “

“ I’m Bucky. Hopefully, not the first victim of (Y/N)’s poisoning.”

“ Oh, how arrogant of you to assume you’d be the first. If you don’t want my cookies, give ‘em back !”

(Y/N) tries to reach across the counter only for Bucky to snatch the container away holding it out of her reach. “ You gave me the cookies, you can’t take them back. That’s not how gifts work.”

“ Then try one for god’s sake! “

“ Alright, calm down. I will. “

He hates the fact that both (Y/N) and Robin are staring at him as he takes a bite of one of the cookies. The whole thing is almost the size of his face and littered with chocolate chips. It’s a damn mess of a cookie and he’d loved to have been there when she made them. No doubt it was chaos. No doubt it was an awful lot of fun too.

The cookie is — a lot. It’s too much sugar, too much chocolate. Too much of everything. He can practically feel the cavities building with every bite he takes. It’s that sweet.

But she looks at him with such glee in her eyes and this big beautiful smile that rivals the sun with its brightness and there’s no way in hell he can tell her the truth. Not when lying about it keeps that smile on her face.

Quite honestly,  Bucky thinks, life isn’t about telling the truth at all times. Sometimes, life is about knowing when to use your little white lies. Sometimes telling the truth isn’t doing anyone any favor.

“ So ? “

“ They’re — sweet.”

And they are. So really, it isn’t even an actual lie after all.

“ Good. They’re supposed to be. You see, I have a date tomorrow and I asked him what his favorite dessert was and he said cookies. I’m not sure they count as a dessert but anyway. Thanks for being my guinea pig. “

Robin throws him a look over (Y/N)’s shoulder. A look that lets him know she’s not buying it. She’s looking right through him. But she smiles so maybe she too realizes that sometimes lying saves everyone the heartache that may come with the truth.

“ You have a date? “

“ I do. His name is Russell, we’ve been hanging out for a while but he had to go to Europe for work and we haven’t seen each other in a few months. It was never anything serious, kind of a wrong place, wrong time thing. But maybe this time it works. “

“ Oh please, “ Robin exclaims, furiously slamming the pot back into the coffee machine. “ This loser has been stringing you along for far too long now. He’s not worth it. Trust me you can do so much better than him. “

There’s something about the way (Y/N) mood changes, the way she falters, that Bucky doesn’t like. Not even a tiny little bit. It’s a split second, just the whisper of a moment and then she’s back to her joking, bubbly self. But that tiny second is enough. Enough for Bucky to know he never wants to see it again. The doubt and hurt fluttering across her eyes. He’s seen too much hurt in too many eyes. It’s never getting any easier. It just makes him realize how much he hates seeing it in hers.

“ Ignore the crazy lady, he’s not that bad.” (Y/N) tries to reason, though the light and airy tone in her voice doesn’t sound quite as convincing as it usually does.

“ He refuses to put a label on your relationship and he treats you like you’re disposable. “

“ Sounds like a catch, is this the one with the fish picture or the one with the star wars facts? “ Bucky asks, biting off yet another piece of the tooth-achingly sweet cookie.

“ Neither. We met while walking our dogs. He’s nice, really. “

“ Sounds like it. “

“ He is. Robin over there just thinks she’s the expert on romance because she’s about to get married. Don’t believe a thing she says. Her own fairytale romance makes her blind to other people’s romantic struggles. “

Robin shakes her head in disagreement, making her red curls bounce with each motion. “ You’re a big girl, you know what you’re doing. I’m just calling things as I see them. Anyway, I gotta serve table 4.”

Silence falls upon them as Robin leaves to tend to the customers and (Y/N) averts her eyes back towards the countertop.

“ Hey, “ Bucky speaks up, getting (Y/N) to look up and meet his eyes. “ I hope the date turns out well for you, you deserve that. And if it doesn’t, just text me and we can watch another movie or something. “

“ You’d do that for me? “

“ Yeah. Sure. It’s what friends do. We’re friends now — right ? “

(Y/N) smiles “ right!”

And it’s nice, Bucky thinks, to have a friend again. Even though it’s all new and fresh, it feels wonderful. Like a tiny bit of weight has been taken from his shoulders. Like he can take a breath for the first time in a long time.

Joe’s Pizzaria is an American restaurant that tries desperately to trick Americans into thinking it’s an authentic Italian restaurant.

And while it does have a certain undeniable charm, (Y/N) gets a bit tired of chomping down on yet another breadstick while staring at the red and white checkered tablecloth and pretending not to grasp the gravity of the situation. He’s not gonna come. He’s two hours late. Two whole hours. Half a bottle of wine and one salad late. The waiters pity her, it’s painfully obvious. The way they keep checking on her, keep asking if there’s anything they can bring her. Keep filling her breadstick with no upcharge.

Pity, (Y/N) thinks, is her least favorite emotion. It doesn’t do anyone any good and in the end, everyone just feels worse.

A "ping" coming from her phone pulls (Y/N) from her thoughts and for a teeny-tiny second a flicker of hope sparks in her heart that maybe Russell is just late and this is him apologizing and explaining. Maybe she was worth it to him after all.

Then her eyes register the name on the screen and disappointment fills her veins. Does he really not care? Does she really mean so little to him, he doesn't even feel the need to cancel the date? Is this some sick joke?

Bucky's message reads: Hope you're having fun. Did he like the cookies?

It's a weird feeling, to know someone she hasn't known for very long wastes even the smallest thought on her while her date doesn't give a shit. All it does is set into perspective that her blossoming friendship with Bucky is worth any effort it might take.

"Don't ask. Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"Oh, that bad? Not much. Trying to figure out what to have for dinner. Why?"

"How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?"

He doesn’t have a couch.

That’s the one thought that spooks around his head as soon as he realizes what he’s just agreed to.

He’s been living here for months and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

When (Y/N) asked if she could come around, when she said she’d bring food and asked if her dog could come, he couldn’t say no. Not when she's already been stood up that night. Nevertheless, everything inside him starts twisting up in knots at the thought of opening his home to another person. Home. That’s really the problem now that he thinks about it. This place doesn’t feel like a home. It’s 4 walls and a roof. Nothing has felt like home in a long time.

He invited her over and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

There’s a TV and an armchair, a few cupboards, a chair, and a bed he doesn’t sleep in. Sometimes he thinks back to his childhood home, with all his mother's porcelain figurines collecting dust on the shelves and the wall of family pictures. It felt warm and cozy and like it was meant for people to live and learn and grow. It was their own.

This apartment is a box for him to stay at. Nothing here is in any way personal. But how do you make something your own when you don’t even know who you really are? When all you remember are times long gone or times you want to forget.

He snatches the sheets and pillow off the floor and throws them on his bed. He might not be able to get any more furniture in time for (Y/N) to arrive but he sure as hell doesn’t need to let her know that his nightmares don’t allow him to sleep in his own damn bed.

A knock sounds from the front door and for a second, Bucky’s blood turns cold as ice. No one ever talks about how scary it is to let people in. Would it matter to her and their friendship that his apartment is just as empty as he feels inside?

As soon as he opens the door, a fluffy bundle of white and brown fur rushes past him and runs a lap around his living room before settling by his feet, tail wagging and tongue hanging from his mouth.

“ Oh god, sorry. She’s just so excited to meet new people. “

Giving the dog a few pets, Bucky turns back to (Y/N), who gives him one of her signature sunshine smiles as she holds out a paper bag to him. The smell of delicious food reaches Bucky’s nose as he takes the bag from her and ushers her inside.

“ So, Spaghetti? “

“ Yup. And meatballs. “

Bucky nods his head in approval, “ Sounds good to me. “

She smiles at him again but there’s a kind of sadness surrounding her that he wishes he could take away. Whoever that Russell guy is, he’s a damn fool for not showing up.

“ Food’s still warm so if you tell me where your plates are … “ (Y/N) trails off as she really takes in the state of his apartment for the first time since she’s stepped inside. He can basically see the thoughts running through her head, one after the other, none sticking around long enough to form a coherent string of words to express what she’s thinking. He knows she wants to comment, can see it in her eyes. But something is holding her back and he can’t blame her. Their friendship isn’t that deep yet. You don’t ask someone you’ve just gotten friendly with why their apartment is so fucking empty. It’s sad and there are implications there that run deeper than one can see.

So to spare her any more awkward silence, Bucky speaks up again.

“ I uh — I just moved in. Haven’t gotten around to getting much furniture. We can sit by the kitchen counter or you can take the armchair and I’ll take the floor. “

“ That’s fine, we’ll make it work, “ she replies, before turning towards the kitchen cupboards, “ now … plates ?”

“ This is delicious “ Bucky exclaims as he stuffs yet another fork of Spaghetti into his mouth.

Lady, (Y/N)'s Cocker Spaniel, casually lounges on his armchair, eyes always trained on the dishes of pasta, while Bucky and (Y/N) sit on the floor, backs against the wall.

“ Right? I love Meatballs. Last time I was at Joe’s Pizzeria, I was there with Russell and he got real pretentious about not ordering Spaghetti and Meatballs from an Italian restaurant because it wasn’t authentic Italian cuisine. As if I care. It tastes good, that’s all that matters.”

“ Well, he really does sound better with every new thing you tell me about him.”

(Y/N) shrugs and avoids eye contact with him. It’s strange, Bucky thinks, to see her this way. All of her bubbly personality and contagious energy are suddenly drained from her. Like someone squeezed her too tightly and pushed all the joy out.

“ Yeah he’s an asshole, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess whatever we had going on just felt familiar and sometimes going back to something you know, even though it’s bad for you, is easier than opening yourself to something new. “

“ Wow, my therapist would love you. That sounded so smart.”

“ It did, didn’t it?,” (Y/N) says and lets out a little chuckle. It’s nice to hear her laugh even though it doesn’t hold the radiance, the pure happiness it usually does.

“She gave me some homework.”

(Y/N) looks at Bucky between bites, raising an eyebrow in intrigue. “ She did? “

“ Mmmh. I told her about you and our friendship and she thought that, because you know a lot about me, I should learn some things about you. “

(Y/N) quickly swallows the pasta before placing both her hands over her heart and staring at Bucky with an expression he can’t entirely read. There’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes but there’s more, he just needs to figure out what exactly it is.

“ You talk to your therapist about me? Awww. That’s how you know a friendship is worthwhile. When they mention you to their therapist, that’s when you know it’s real. “

“ Aw man, now you’re just making fun of me. I take it all back. “

“ No! No, Bucky. I think that’s very sweet and it makes me feel important,” there’s a sincerity in her eyes that makes him feel a little weird. Not a bad weird. Just — different. He didn’t think this was gonna be such a big deal to her. And while he still feels extremely self-conscious about it all, he’s a little glad that he mentioned her to Dr. Reynor. Maybe it would do both of them some good, him and (Y/N).

“ It’s nice that our new friendship matters enough for you to mention it to her. Getting stood up by Russell felt like a punch in the guts. It made me feel incredibly inadequate and like I wasn’t worth enough for him to text me let alone show up. Knowing that there’s someone who thinks about me every once in a while, that’s a nice feeling. Least my friends think I’m worth it. "

Hearing those words fall from her lips sends a wave of anger and disbelief through Bucky. (Y/N) is the first person in a long while that makes him feel like he can figure out who he is and who he was and not feel guilty about it. To think she feels inadequate or like she's not good enough is just unbelievable to him.

"Just forget about that guy, he's clearly an idiot. You deserve someone who shows up. When it matters and even when it doesn't. "

"He didn't even get to try my cookies. I worked so hard on them."

"What? Oh my god, okay see - he's a damn fool. Those cookies were - so sweet. His loss, really."

(Y/N)'s laughter echoes through the halls of his empty apartment and Bucky thinks that maybe that was one of the things missing from this place to really make it a home. Emotions. Laughter and joy. Something other than fear and regret. Something other than pain.

“ Bucky, you’re so nice but you don’t have to lie. I know the cookies weren’t all that great. “

“ No! They were good, they were just — very sweet. And you know what? You deserve a guy who eats them anyway.”

She doesn’t give him a reply to that comment and maybe it doesn’t ask for one either. Some statements don’t need answers, they just are.

“ Hey, do you want my last meatball? “ he asks, and at her smile and enthusiastic nod, he rolls it from his plate onto hers.

“ Now what movie did you bring? “

“ Oh boy, “ (Y/N) proclaims and looks at Bucky with an unwavering excitement “ you’re in for a wild ride. Tonight we’re doing a double feature.”

“ Bringing the big guns, huh? “

“ You have no idea. Tonight we’re watching Grease 1 and 2. “

Two couples stare back at Bucky from the bubblegum-colored DVD case (Y/N) pulls from her purse. Something about the bright colors and the over-the-top hairstyles makes Bucky think that these movies won’t be the absolute pinnacle of sophisticated filmmaking.

“ What’s the lesson this time?“

“ Eh, “ (Y/N) says and shrugs “ when I was younger I thought it was meant to teach you that if you want to be with someone you can overcome any obstacle. No matter how different you seem or what other people might think. Now that I’m an adult I think it’s just about the 50s aesthetic and the killer musical number. “

“ Musical numbers? “

“ Mmmh. And well, the second one is pure garbage but it’s so bad it’s good. It also helps that Michelle Pfeiffer and Maxwell Caulfield look absolutely gorgeous in this film. “

“ So this isn’t gonna help me with my romance skills then? “

(Y/N) regards him for a second, purses her lips, and taps the side of her face as she thinks about her answer. “ I mean, the second movie is basically about how cool men who ride motorcycles are. Do you ride a motorcycle? “

“ I do actually. “

“ What? Oh, you just got 10 times cooler. One could say you’re a — cool rider.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrow in confusion.

“ Don’t worry, Grumpy. You’ll get the reference later.”

“ If I’m Grumpy, which of the 7 dwarves are you? “

“ Sleepy? “

“ Dopey? “

“ No. How about Happy ?”

It’s meant to be silly, just a joke really, but Bucky can’t help but think that it fits her. Even when she’s sad, there’s an infinite positivity in her eyes, an aura of joy and happiness and being around her is just so easy.

“ You know what? I think that’s the one. “

“ I like it. Now — let me introduce you to the students of Rydell High.”

“ What in the world did you just make me watch? “ Bucky asks as the end credits to Grease 2 roll across the tv screen. Lady is snuggled up in his lap and his right hand lazily combs through her soft fur.

“ Two absolute masterpieces. “

“ In the first one they flew away in a car. And that second one, I don’t even know what to say.”

“ Because it was so good? “

“ Mmmmh no. That's not why. “

"Oh please, you can admit you l-" a big yawn interrupts her words and Bucky notices just how tired she looks right then.

"You're tired." It's not a question, more an observation.

"Mmmh Lady and I should probably head out."

He doesn't want her to leave. Disappointment, it's a feeling he knows very well, it's familiar and almost comfortable. Usually, though, that disappointment is directed towards himself. A lovely dose of self-deprecation. This time it's different. This time he's disappointed about the situation. About the prospect of being alone again. Alone in his empty box of an apartment.

The anxiety of letting someone in is slowly being overshadowed by his fear of being alone again. With his thoughts and his failures and the images of all the faces that have ever looked at him in fear.

"You can stay"

"Bucky … you don't have a couch. Where would I sleep?"

"Bed," he says as if it's the most obvious of all answers ever given.

"Grumpy, I'm not taking your bed."

"I'm not sleeping there anyway."

"Why?"

Her eyes are so soft and gentle as the question tumbles from her lips. So full of concern. For him. Concern and care, for him. It's not like he deserves it but it's a nice feeling either way.

"It's too soft."

It's painfully obvious that she knows there's more to it, that his words hold more gravity and weight than just that simple fact.

She doesn’t push it though and for that Bucky is eternally grateful. Sure, talking to her is easy and it helps him in some way or another. But this, his nightmares and his trauma and the faces that won't leave his thoughts, that haunt him as soon as he falls asleep, that's a can of worms he's not ready to open yet.

"Where do you sleep?"

"Floor."

"Oh, Grumpy. Hey uh - how about we both stay on the floor? You're in luck too because I also have a live version of Grease the musical we can watch."

He doesn't necessarily want to watch another movie where they sing pretty much every two minutes but if it means she'll stay, he'll do it. 

" Okay then."

"Okay."

That night, Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this time there's a friend with him just a few meters away , close enough but not suffocating, and a dog resting on his chest, softly breathing gentle breaths.

That night Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this night, there are no nightmares.

Taglist // If you want to be added or taken off just message me //:

@zaynzierulez - @je-like-you - @dracoxxyoflam​ - @jackiehollanderr​ - @majo240820 - @kay-gilles - @booksb4looksstuff - @jckie94 - 

[wannabe-fic-writer]

WandaNat x Reader : In Their Arms

Summary: You feel safer in their arms than you do in your own home.

Warning: Domestic Abuse, Language, Homophobia

Word Count: 1,602

* * * * * *

'Can’t make movie night. Dinner with Jack. Srry.’

“Uggggghhhhh!”

Natasha’s brows raise at the long groan coming from her girlfriend,“ what’s wrong?”

Wanda’s eyes roll and she throws her phone back on the bed and trudges to the bathroom. 

Now frowning, Natasha picks up the phone, eyes scanning the message Y/n had just sent. And she completely understands her girlfriend’s frustrations. 

This had to be the hundredth time you’d canceled on them for your boyfriend. No matter what it was lately you’d always find some reason to cancel on them to be with Jack.

Both women were upset over it for a number of reasons. The more obvious one being that they don’t think Jack is good enough for you, or right for you in any way. It’s clear as day that the man is a power hungry misogynistic homophobic asshole.

They had noticed it the first night they met him at dinner with the both of you. 

Everything you said was countered with him seemingly one upping you: Wanda and Natasha asked about work and you began to reply only for him to cut you down with his opinion of your work and how his job(as an accountant) was a real career compared to yours(as a photographer).

When he left to the bathroom you profusely apologized and claimed he wasn’t always like that, something about a long day at work leaving him cranky. But the women knew that wasn’t it. And even if it was it wasn’t a valid excuse. 

It all became too much at dinner another night when he implied that Natasha and Wanda’s relationship wasn’t “real” because they were two women. That was the first time they saw you stand up to him, in defense of your best friends, but he quickly shut you down. 

They hated seeing it. They know how strong and incredible you are and couldn’t understand why you were with someone who didn’t even see you as an equal, who didn’t treat you like the queen you are. 

Both women would love nothing more than to be the ones showing you what you deserved but they had never gotten any indication that you one: were into women and two: into them. And then you got with Jack. So they silently loved you, making sure to remind you of your worth since they knew your self-esteem was taking hits in your relationship.

Natasha’s pulled from her thoughts when her girlfriend emerges from the bathroom. Green eyes scan over Wanda’s form and a subconscious smile tugs at her lips. 

“As much as I would love for Y/n to be here, she’s made her decision and we should respect it.” The redhead says, pulling Wanda in by her waist.

The younger woman’s fingers slip into red tresses,“ but it was a dumb decision,” she groans again,“ and I miss her. It’s been weeks Nat.” 

God did she know it. She hated not seeing you as much as she use to it. And silently vowed to never take your presence for granted again. That is whenever she can bask in it again.

“I know and I miss her too but we can’t force her to spend time with us.” Natasha says, watching as her girlfriend crawls on to the bed and curls into herself. 

She grumbles something that Natasha doesn’t hear. So the ex-assassin wraps herself around Wanda, pulling her close and resting her chin on the woman’s shoulder,“ speak up lyubov.” 

“Since when is spending time with us forced?” 

Your relationship with the women was a strong one. Having met years ago when Pepper and Tony hired you to photograph their wedding(post Tony’s snap). 

The women were taken with the simplicity of your life and were amazed with the work you did. Just as much as you were taken with the complexity of theirs and equally amazed at their work.

It was on a whim that you contacted them to hang out, a simple lunch “date” as you’d said. And your friendship with them grew from there. To the point where you spent almost every free night you all had, together. Eventually they became the two people you could tell anything to and you trusted them with your life and vice versa, except their feelings branched past friendly. 

Still they never imposed that on you. In fact you had no idea.

Before either woman can could continue their phones buzzed. Another notification from you. 

Excitedly Wanda opens it, hoping it’s you saying you’ll come over anyway. That excitement quickly switches to dread.

The audio message plays, your cries and screams blaring in the quiet of their bedroom. Accompanied by the horrid thuds and obvious slapping sounds.

Neither woman had moved so fast in their lives. Springing from the bed(Natasha equipping her Widow’s Bites) and leaving their home. They take the familiar route to your house and waste no time going inside, as quietly as possible so as not to enrage your attacker. 

“-me for them? As if they could give you something I haven’t!” The gruff shouts of a familiar voice makes Wanda freeze in her position pressed against the kitchen wall.

Your followed cries shatters her heart. 

“Please stop. Please.” 

“You disgust me.” He spits.“ I knew there was something was wrong with you but being gay-”

Whatever he says next is distorted and cut off by the volts now running through his body. 

Still in a state of fear, you flinch away from Natasha when the woman reaches you. And seeing how fragile and beaten you were angered and hurt her beyond belief. 

She shoots another Widow’s Bite at the man before kneeling beside you. 

“Y/n, hey,” her voice is softer than it’s ever been,“ milaya I need you to come with us. I’m not going to hurt you, ever.” 

E/c, tear filled eyes, look into green and you’re washed with a sense of security. In her eyes you’re reminded of the greatest love you’ve ever felt. It’s always been there but it matters now more than ever. 

With a nod from you, Natasha helps you up and passes you over to Wanda. You miss whatever it is they say, just overly aware of the pain from your forming bruises. 

Wanda eases you into the backseat, scooting in herself, and pulling you into her arms. Sobs wrack your body that make tears well in Wanda’s eyes. She does her best to calm you, whispered assurances of your safety and worth breaking through your cries. 

Getting from your house to their home is a blur. You feel as if you’re flowing in and out of consciousness even though you aren’t.

The severity of what happened weighs on you, making each blink feel like days of darkness, making your body feel empty despite your broken spirit inside it. 

You think and over think the situation. You blame yourself, feeling stupid for not recognizing that this is the kind of man he is. You hate yourself for sticking with him, having thought he’d return to the charming man he was when you’d first met.

His verbal abuse was one thing, not acceptable but not physical. You shouldn’t have stuck around for that and honestly had you left him when it began you never would’ve been in this position. 

How could I have been so stupid? So weak?

Natasha’s eyes snap to yours at the mumbled words.

Words you apparently thought out loud. 

The red head kneels in front of you in an instant and her hands gently squeeze the unbruised parts of your arms.

“You are far from weak and stupid.” Her words are stern, the hate in them directed to the man that made you feel that way, and the assurance in them for you.“ He is the weak one. He is the stupid one. Do not blame yourself for this Y/n.” 

Seeing tears roll down the flawless cheeks of the ex-assassin stirs something in you. Feelings that you’d just recently begun to understand. And the returning presence of the woman’s girlfriend makes them all the more prevalent.

Fingers wringing together, you tell them what had happened,“ I was breaking up with him.” Both sets of green eyes widen.“ I told him that I had developed feelings outside of our relationship, feelings for my best friends, and he lost it.” Your fingers clench around each other,“ he told me my feelings were wrong, that it was disgusting-”

You don’t have to continue because they know. 

What they heard going into your house makes sense now. He was shouting about them. 

You have feelings for them.

The warmth of the arms that surround you make more tears splash down to your hands. Hands that are pulled apart and encased in the warmth of Natasha’s hands. 

She shares a look with the younger girl behind you, who’s arms hold you close.

Both of them dreamt of this moment. Dreamt of you confessing your feelings to them but they hate that it came about this way. And while there is nothing they can do about what has already happened, they can ensure that it never does again. At their hands or anyone else’s.

“You’re safe with us,” Wanda whispers into your ear, body hugging you closer as her chin rests on your shoulder,“ we love you.” 

“And we will never, ever hurt you.” Natasha adds, moving to sit at your side to wrap her arms around you and Wanda. 

Despite the events of a mere few hours ago, you feel safe, you feel at home, all because you’re in their arms. 

* * * * * *

taglist: @trikruismybitch

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

Ekphrasis in The Danton Case, Thermidor, and their adaptations

Ekphrasis is invoking a piece of visual media into a literary piece. It can be done for a variety of reasons, from entirely pragmatic (mostly grounding the literature in reality - if the invoked piece is a real piece of art, one you could find in a museum, for example) or more poetic (drawing some symbolic meaning between the piece of art and the idea behind the text).

In Przybyszewska's plays ekphrasis is nonexistent, at least on the foreground. I don't recall any clearly established visual, given to the readers by the original author. It's not weird in any way - how many pieces of medai do you recall which refrain from its sophisticated and additional piece of subtext and iformation? Hundreds, probably. The only other artistic thing that she has weaved into her plays is La Marseillaise, which is invoked twice in The Danton Case. There are also three book references to Othello, Orlando furioso and this one book Robespierre summarizes to Saint-Just when he's talking about hatred (but of which I have no idea if it's a real one - it probably is - or not). Other than that - nothing, plus the books count only a little, forekpfrasis should be, as I said, visual in nature.

Of course, the historical aspect of her works is what grounds them in our reality, and so cleverly, too (seeing as they're not really historical plays in any way or form, but manage to fool most anybody). And thanks to her extensive stage directions, we have no need of any additional element helping us visualize the scenes, for she does it perfectly enough on her own.

However, seein as these are plays calls for a mirror ekpfrastic effect and thus theatrical and cinematographical adapations are born. And they, on the other hand, have a potential to be filled to the brim with visual refernces. Here I would like to have a look at a few, which are taken from one of the most well known staging and the famous Wajda movie (plus some). In no particular order, there goes:

This is the very first scene of a controversial theatre adaptation of The Danton Case. Instead on portraying Robespierre as a firm leader, who only in the very end collapsed temporarily under the huge responsibility he now had to bear, the director decided to portray him as someone physically weak, not in the sense Danton meant when he called him a weakling, but in the sense of somebody who already bears so much responsibility, pain, physical ailments, doubts and whatnot. Just: everything, everythin a human could possible deal with, he deals with, and has to do so in a way that doesn't make people suspiscious about his "shortcomings". There is a interesting parallel between him and Saint-Just, whose upright and unbreakeable character is symbolised by a neck braces, something which people wear after a spine endangering accidents - and incidentally, wasn't it Saint-Just who accused Robespierre of "breaking his spine"? But not in this adaptation, oh no - here their very last scene is cut extremely short and they recite the last few sentences along with some Thermidor lines as two floating heads, a vision into the future which awaits them.

Enough about Saint-Just, though, let's focus on Robespierre and Marat. I must admit I know next to nothing about him, only what some passage here and there in this or that historical study might tell me, but I know, as does everybody, that he was known as L'ami du Peuple, which is why of the reasons, I think, why the director took this image and transposed it onto Robespierre: to make him even more likeable, to show for the umpteenth time that it is Robespierre whom we should cheer on and whom we should feel sorry for. This might also be a parallel between their both's tarnished health, their premature deaths and - last but not least - the role of an icon of the Rvolution both of them play in nowadays' audience's minds. You don't have to study history to knowwho Robespierre was, you don't have to study art to know this painting. Even if you don't agree with some more in-depth explanation of linking this person to this painting, it is a good opening image. It captures our attention in a good way.

I had mention Saint-Just and there he is, in the background of the picture, symbolically assisting Danton and his clique in their last moments. Instead of shwoign them in torn shirts, the director went into another direction altogether and enshrouded them in white sheets from heads to toes, making them all look like very stereotypical ghosts, whom they will all become in just a couple of moments.

In Polish culture, the first thing that comes to mind when talking about ghosts is Dziady, an old slavic tradition that is now replaced with the Catholic All Souls Eve. Dziady is no longer, apart from perhaps some small minorities who still practice old pagan faiths, but as a ritual, they are immortalised in a play by Adam Mickiewicz, undoubtedly the greatest Polish poet ever. Everybody know this play, some scens - by heart, and they were and are being staged pretty much constantly from one point on. Needless to say, they inspire a lot of art, and I decided to show this very fmous poster by the most famous Polish poster designer, Franciszek Starowieyski…

…who is important in this case, because he played David in Wajda's movie.

Not many people know - because his other carreer overshadowed by a lot his first one - that Wajda was a painter. Who actually hated his art, some of his pieces are in the national museum of contemporary art in Łódź alongside stars such as Władysław Strzemiński (the hero of Wajda's very last movie), which is a fact he absolutely detested. I dont know, nor do I care, why was that, because what matters is his previous education as an artist at the very least helped him not only to envision the visuals of the movie, but also acquainted him with great works of art. On which he could model this or that setup. I think it's a nice little detail he catsed Starowieyski as David, a real painter acting as another real painter, it adds a layer of reality onto the movie, and presumably makes for a more natural acting in the few scenes he was in his studio (I also think they look alike).

Speaking of David's studio, I once stumbled upon a lecture which drew parallels between some scenes in the movie and some paitings, which was mostly focused on character and costume design, and truth be told didn't contribute much to the overall watching experience of Danton. However, I must admit the lecturer had a very good eye in this one particular case, in which he pointed out that this quick shot in David's studio pretty obviously invokes the Fussli's The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins. I don't think it's a coincidence (or at the very least, would be funny if it were) this shot is shown during the scene where Robespierre starts to grasp at desperate measures to save the country/save his own face in the trial. It is an artist's despair, only artist of a different kind. And it is a despair when being faced with a (possible) ruin of something great, even if its greatness is not yet formed, as opposed to the greatness passed.

The very last example I was able to think of was this photo I found of The Danton Case from 1975. It is one of those old, very classical (I presume) adaptations, which are mostly filled to the brim with riddiculosly attractive people and very often deliberately drew from other sources of artistry, like the one pictured above. No matter what the real relationship between Louise Danton and her husband was, in the play it is portrayed as something atrocious, and I cringe whenever directors try to make it something else without good reasons for doing so, so I am very glad in the past at least they stuck with classicaly depicted acts of violation against women, not because it is a violation, but because in the classical stories (like the myth of Persephone shown in the sculpture above) the woman will usually get her revenge. Just like Przybyszewska's Louison did.

Thank you for bearing with me until the end, and if you have any other examples of this come to your mind, I compel you to share them with me!

List of pieces of art in the order of their appearance:

Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat

Franciszek Starowieyski, Dziady

Jacques-Louis David, Self-portrait

Heinrich Fussli, The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins

Gianlorenzo Bernini, The Rape Of Persephone

[cinnamon-bebe]

Chemtrails (Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader)

Chemtrails (Pedro Pascal X Fem!Reader)

Summary: "If you died today, would you be happy with the life you've lived?" What happens when you've sacrificed your love for fame and fortune? Despite the glitz and glamour, the Reader is all Pedro can think about. The stars have never been on your side but can you rewrite the plans they have for you?

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Occasional Cursing

Inspired by the song Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey

"I'm on the run with you, my sweet love

There's nothing wrong contemplating God

Under the chemtrails over the country club"

"Baby what's your sign?"

"You're in the wind, I'm in the water

Nobody's son, nobody's daughter

Watching the chemtrails over the country club"

Pedro's POV

The chatter of a hundred people and yet I still only hear your voice. Memories of your words, from years past.

You asked me what my sign was, I told you I was an Aries. You laughed and told me we shouldn't be friends, the stars say so. The stars say we're incompatible, we'd be at each other's throats. I'm a fire sign and you didn't need any more drama. I kissed you for the first time and told you I'd prove you wrong, you simply smiled and looked off to the chemtrails that flew over us.  

Memories from years past.

I didn't have much to offer you but I told you that you could take my word. At that time, it was worth more than anything I could have given you.

"You want me to defy the stars?" You raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing your face.

"The stars can go fuck themselves." I told you and kissed you again.

We were so young. We were nobodies. Running through the concrete jungle, with your hand in mine. Sun dress and kisses at midnight convenience stores, splitting a hot dog on a summer day because we needed money for the show at 7.

We used to contemplate the meaning of life over a bottle on our little balcony. I asked you if you were happy and you smiled but did not reply.

"If you died today, would you be happy with the life you've lived?" You asked me instead.

"No." I told you. "There's so much more I want to do. I want to be somebody."

I didn't know it then but that was the moment I started to lose you.

Memories from years past.

I find myself sitting at a restaurant now, with more money to line my pockets, pats on the back from strangers. People know my name and it comes out in whispers, as they stare over their expensive plate, getting cold just to catch a glimpse of me.

A beautiful woman sits across from me. As if a movie star isn't a big enough draw, a woman like her only invites more gazes. She looks like she'd just stepped off a screen herself. She gives me all her attention, so much so that she does not register the envious stares from the others around her.

Her lips are moving, perhaps a funny anecdote came to mind or is she telling me about her sister's wedding again that she mentioned before?  I cannot tell you, for my mind is elsewhere, with someone else.

"So would you like to come?" She smiles brightly at me, her perfect teeth sitting between her lips, painted in a dusty pink.  

"Huh?" I snap out of my daze, embarrassed that I was clearly not paying attention.

"Jule's wedding, did you...want to be my date for the day?" She blushes, hopeful.

"Oh. I...uh. I don't know Kate. I have a pretty packed schedule coming up, I don't know if I'll have time." I try to make up an excuse.

"It's too early isn't?" She bites her lip sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I know we've only been dating for a few weeks, I shouldn't have sprung this up on you so fast."

"No no, please don't be silly. I love weddings!" I try to laugh it off. "It's just that, with the new movie coming up, I need to start preparing before we go into production."

"I understand." She nods with a smile, "Comes with the territory when you're dating a big movie star I guess." She looks at me, I'm not sure if she's anticipating a response but I reciprocate with a grin and wave at the waiter for another drink.

Soon enough, she excuses herself from the table to go to the ladies room and I'm left sitting alone at our spot. I grow tiresome of the incessant chattering from the tables around me and I massage the temples of head, wishing I was at home in the comfort of my bed with just the company of my television.

I see glances from a small table to the side of me, a group of young women clearly too shy to ask for a photograph, egging each other on to make the first move over to me. Their hopes quickly dashed as I feel a firm hand on my shoulder, turning me around.

"Pedro?" A familiar voice calls my name.

"Anthony! Fancy seeing you here!" My eyes widen as I pull an old friend down for a hug.

"It's my anniversary with Charlize, we're just celebrating! God I haven't seen you for so long!" He shakes his head, slowly looking me up and down, examining my so-called transformation. I've aged so much since we last we saw each.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

"A couple of hours, I actually saw you before but I..uh...I didn't want to interrupt your date."

Date? I swallow the word whole.

"You lucky man. She's very pretty." He comments.

"Yeah, she is."

"You could seem a bit more interested though but those are Charlize's words, not mine." He raises his hands up, letting his wife take the blame.

"I must seem like an ass, don't I?" Poor Kate, how spoilt am I to show a woman like her so little interest. "I haven't dated for so long, it's just hard getting back into the scene that's all."

Anthony let's out an inaudible "oh" and I know he's thinking the same thing, I can practically hear the name sitting on his tongue, desperately wanting to come out. 

"How is Y/N?" I break the ice, allowing the elephant in the room an escape before he suffocates along with me.

"She's good, very good actually. She's a documentary film maker now. Her work is amazing, you'd love it." Anthony couldn't help his excitement when speaking about you and I feel an intense pang of sadness and jealousy seeing his eyes light up. To see you, celebrate you. I wonder if you've aged like me or do you still look the same as how I remember. Do you still crinkle your nose every time you hear a bad joke? Do your eyes still get red and glassy when you look at the sky because you're wondering if anyone's looking down on you? I wish I knew.

"Listen, I have to go." Anthony looks back at his wife who gives me a polite wave from a distance.

"It was really good seeing you Anthony, I'm sorry we haven't spoken all these years. It's just with work..." I recycle that old excuse again.

"Don't worry about it...you made it! I know you worked really hard to get where you are now. I know you had to make a lot of sacrifices..." The last sentence, spoken so softly, it was almost drowned out. "I'm genuinely happy for you."

I nod, giving my friend one last hug before I ready for him to turn and leave, instead he hesitates and looks at me.  

"Hey Pedro?"

"Yeah?"

"She still lives in the neighbourhood." He looks down at the scarf in his hand before patting me on my arm. "Just so you know."

With that, he waves me goodbye. Walking back to his wife, who he wraps his arm around. The way she naturally rests into him and slips her hand into his coat pocket as they exit the restaurant, I wonder if I'd ever have that level of intimacy with Kate.  

__________________________________________________

I sent her home in a taxi. "I have an early morning and need to prep for some meetings", my excuse for her this time. Kate's disappointed expression, as I gave her a kiss on the cheek is the last thing on my mind.

Scuffing the cap of my leather shoes, I kick at the pavement. The world moves past me as I hide myself in the bubble of my thoughts. I have no sense of direction, my legs taking me to no intended destination, only letting the neon lights around guide me to where it desires.

Anthony's words were still ringing in my ears.

Would you want to see me?

My mind reminds me of the last time we were together.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, if I don't leave the city now, I may never get my chanc-"

"Get your chance to do what? Be a star?" You were sat deep in the corner of the sofa, far from me. Your voice calm and monotonous as you watched me pace up and down our tiny apartment. I couldn't decipher your expression, it was as if you knew what I was going to say.

"I want to make something out of my life! I want to prove to everyone and myself that I can make it Y/N. I don't want to waste my life away." I moved towards you, our presence separated by the little vintage coffee table I hated but still bought home because you loved it so much.

"Well then go, I don't want to hold you back from chasing your dreams."

"Y/N-"

"No. It's okay Pedro. I understand...I really do. I don't want to stop you from pursuing what you love." You got up from your spot, you seemed so small to me as you closed the gap between us. Your hand felt so light against my face, like you were disappearing before me. "Don't live in regret because of me."

"Y/N come wi-" I tried to hold you, hold you before you evaporated.

"No. My place is here." You took your hand away, moved back, the space between us grew more and more distant. "I don't have big dreams like you do. I like normality. I like living my life however I want it, do whatever I want, whenever I want. You asked me if I was happy...and I am."

"Would you still be happy without me?"

I stared at you. My gut sank because I already knew this was the end. You didn't have to tell me.

"I don't know..." You managed to smile, even through the gentle tears that formed in your eyes. "But I know you would be without me."

"That's not true." I tried to reach for you but you pulled away.

"We're very different people Pedro...I told you, we're incompatible. It's time we listened to the stars."

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted as I feel a hand rest softly on the small of my back.

"Hello sir, would you like to buy a rose?" An elderly woman smiles up at me. A child stands obediently nearby, holding a bouquet of individually wrapped stems, clearly past his bedtime but still helping Grandma late at night. The child looks tired, sad. Judging by the number of roses still in his hands, they must have had an unlucky day.

"How much for one?" I return her kind smile, taking out my wallet.

"$2. Thank you, thank you so much sir." The old woman sighs in relief calling the child over to bring the flowers for me to pick. Each stem had a handwritten tag with various cheesy sentiments adorned.

....A kiss in exchange for a rose...

...You're more beautiful than any flower but here's one to show you my love anyway...

....Would you be my Valentine?...

....Please forgive me, I was an idiot.

I chuckle at the last one before picking a rose at random.

I take out $100 and watch the old lady's eyes panic as she reaches in her purse to find change. Taking her hand firmly in mine, I assure her it wasn't necessary.

"I'll take one rose for the $100. You keep the rest of the flowers and have a good night okay?"

The woman looks at the child with her mouth agape and then back at me, clearly taken aback by the gesture.

"Sir, are you sure?"

"Yes, take the kid home and get some rest. This one rose itself is worth every dollar." I pat her hand which trembles in mine.

"Thank you! Thank you! Bless you and the woman who receives your rose!"

Taking the child's hand they quickly walk away, whispering to each other and disappearing into the night.

I stare at the flower in my hand and bring it closer to my face, studying the message on the tag.

...Let's defy the stars and write our own destiny.

I stand in the dark of night, illuminated only by the cafe lights ready to turn off for the day. My hand grips the stem as if it weighed a hundred tons yet afraid it would float away like a feather. The frantic honking of the traffic seems to taunt me, the laughter from the bars nearby seem to be mocking this idiot of a man standing in the middle of the streets, holding a flower he paid $100 for.

"Just do it!" I hear a young boy shout at his friend attempting a skateboard trick up the block.

Just do it. I repeat to myself. Just fucking do it.

"Taxi!"

 _________________________________________________

I remember these steps, we used to sit here with the neighbours' kids. Charlie, I think that was his name? I remember little Charlie proposing to you with a plastic ring and threatening to get his kindergarten buddies on me, simply for existing. I can't help but laugh at that memory.

Everyone was in love with you, the young, the old. They couldn't help but fall for your charms, your kindness, the way you'd smile at them even if you've never spoken a word to each other. Everyone was under your spell, including me.

You told me you loved me on these steps.

I had gotten back from a bad audition and couldn't bear to go home to you. I sat here for hours until you saw me from the balcony and came down. You didn't ask me anything. You just sat with me as we watched the kids run up and down the block, racing each other, teasing each other. I looked at you and you gave me a kiss on the nose.

"I love you."

You said it so quietly at first that I pretended I didn't I understand.

You rolled your eyes and pulled my face into yours, telling me you loved me over and over again as you smothered me with your kisses.

That was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Walking past our faded figures, I enter the building and see that nothing has changed.

The walls were the same duck egg green. The bulletin board covered in layers of flyers and advertisement, some new, with plenty dated months back. I wouldn't be surprised if the audition ads I tried out for from years ago were still there.

The smell of various cuisines mingle together to form its own unique indecipherable aroma.

A comforting aroma.

I look to the elevator, still out of order. Obviously.

We only lived on the third floor, the stairs will be fine.

I prepare myself for the incline when a voice calls out to me.

"Where are you going?"

I turn around and see our old building superintendent, decked out in his uniform. Stanley.

"Stan! It's me Pedro! Wow, you're still here!" I walk to him.

"Who?" He looks me up and down, completely confused as to who the hell I am.

"Pedro from 3B upstairs? I used to live with Y/N...maybe you don't remember me because of the moustache." I rub the bottom of my nose sheepishly.

"No...I don't remember you."

Old Stanley, perhaps age is catching up to him.

"I'm just going to see Y/N." I try to resume my journey but he stops me once more.

"No entry into the building if you're not a resident!" He points to the sign on the wall.

"Since when was that a rule?" I throw my hand in the air.

"Since today. We have too many unsavoury men try to come into the building, how do I know if you really know Miss Y/L/N? I'm not letting any potential predators or burglars into the building."

"But Stan she-"

Pointing to the sign on the wall again, he raises an angry brow. Not wishing a full body beat down by ol' Stan, I take myself back out the building like a bad dog.  

I sit on the steps, sighing in defeat. I try to convince myself that coming here is a mistake.

"Defy the stars...pfft! You've been in way too many movies Pedro." I mumble to myself, as I dig my thumb nail into the stem of the rose.

Perhaps we're only given the choice to rewrite our destiny but it doesn't mean destiny would just sit idly by and let you do whatever you want. It's probably for the best. What would I say anyway?

Running my hand through my hair, I get up to leave. The adrenaline from earlier had drained so quickly out of me, that its left me a fatigued mess. Move on Pedro, it's time to go home.

"Hey movie star." A voice calls from above. "You looking for me?"

Your hair falls past your face as you lean over the balcony and in that moment I feel my heart break into a million pieces.

There you are.

Standing before me, even more beautiful than when you left, if that is even possible.

You're wearing a simple white vest and grey shorts, one leg rubbing softly against the other. Your skin bears the warm orange glow reflected from the lights inside your apartment.

You look so raw, so delicate.

Every pulse in my body aches seeing you again.

"Wow." I breathe. "You look..."

You hide your laugh and I can see you blushing from behind your hand.

"Thanks. You look great too. I'm like the...um..." You rub under your nose with your finger.

"Thank you, I grew it out for a role but now people tell me I look like their grandma without it." I shrug, much to your amusement.

"What are you doing here?" You speak, more softly, more seriously.

How do I even respond to this question? I was out on a date with another woman but I bumped into our old friend who told me I should find you? Or should I go with I met an old woman and her kid, who I'm pretty sure were cupid's little minions, sent down to earth to give me a rose and to fuck with me?

"I was just in the neighbourhood. I wanted to see if you wanted to um...go out for a coffee?" I lie.

You look at me incredulously, clearly seeing through my bullshit.

"Everything is shut by now." You simply respond.

"Oh...well maybe we can just talk then?"

You tap the metal rails, where you lay your arms. Are you contemplating whether to come down or throw a bucket of water over me? I guess I'll have to wait and see.

Without saying a word, you disappear out of sight. The lights in your apartment switches off.

What does this mean? Are you off to bed?

Before I could ruminate any more, the doors open from behind me and you slip through.

God, you look even better up close.

My hands instinctively reach out to touch you but I withdraw quickly before you could see. You had wrapped yourself in a fleecy blanket, the threads a deep purple.

Without saying a word, you sit down on the step and I can only follow suit, my mind can no longer make decisions for itself it seems.

You smell the same, that same soft floral scent I used to love. The one I used to breathe in when I'd hold you close to me in bed because I didn't want you to leave for work.

Our knees are so close, they almost touch.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

For a minute I don't know how to respond, I just don't want to stop looking at you.

"I was...I was wondering if you were thinking about me?"

You laugh, I laugh too. Of course you weren't.

"I think about you all the time." You tell me so casually, it catches me off guard.

"You do?" I whisper in disbelief.

"It's hard not to when you're on every other billboard in the city."

Oh.

"I think about you all the time too Y/N."

You smile and look up at the sky. The night is aligned with many stars tonight and they all call for your attention but mine. I feel greedy staring at you but I'm simply making up for all the nights that I was alone without you, all those kisses I've shared with women that weren't you.

"What do you think the stars are telling us tonight?" I ask.

You grin and without looking back at me, you say "I think the stars are laughing at us."

"Do you think the stars have changed their mind about us?"

You finally turn to me, your eyes drop. "I don't think that's how it works Pedro."

"If this is the life the stars have planned for me, a life without you, then I don't want it Y/N."

"Pedro-"

"I thought if I made a name for myself, if people knew who I was, then I'd be sure of who I am...but who I'm meant to be, who I want to be...is to be with you." Your eyes meet mine, coloured with emotions you are scared to express. "I look for you everywhere I go Y/N, in every women I meet but you are always a world away."

"We don't even know each other anymore Pedro."

"You are the only one who has always known who I am, even before me Y/N. I'm still as strange and as wild as I have always been. I'm still as messy and as clumsy as I was before. I still love cheap corner store liquor and dancing terribly in public. I still look at chemtrails whenever they past me...because they remind me of you."

"Chemtrails are bad for you, they say they're chemicals."  You tell me, your voice low and expressionless.

"If I die with you as my last thought, it won't be so bad."

I finally find the courage to reach for you and you don't recoil from me, you let me gently run my finger against the hair that falls down past your face. You close your eyes and I selfishly take you, pulling you towards me.

I rest my forehead against yours and I savour this moment where I can be close to you and not let it be a memory.

"What if I've changed?" You whisper.

"Well then I'll spend the rest of my life getting to know you again."

"If I told you to run away with me tonight, would you?" You open your eyes to see me, your expression as serious as ever.

"You're my home Y/N. I'll go wherever you go. Even if it's to another galaxy, we'll drive a little red Corvette into space together and leave this all behind."

You smile and tug on the bottom of your lip. "You think the stars would still allow us to go to space?"

"Fuck the stars." I say as I take your lips.

Oh, how I've missed the sweetness of your taste; in this moment you are spoiling me rotten. You wrap your arms around me and allow the blanket to drop from your shoulders. The only stars that mattered now are those in our eyes. They're telling me the future and it's you. It's always been you.

The sirens of the city and the plane overhead may be loud but I hear nothing over the sound of your heart beat.

You pull away and we both laugh.

In this moment, we are perfect. I am no longer the famous celebrity that belonged to everyone. I am not a son and you are no one's daughter.

We only belong to each other.

I see you shiver and look towards the door.

"Let's go inside." You get up and take my hand, guiding me back to our home. The one I've longed for ever since I left.

The building is quiet, everyone asleep by this hour but old Stan at his desk. I try to shuffle past as inconspicuously as I could, my hand entwine with yours.

"Welcome back Mr Pascal." Stanley greets us as clear as day, his head not even looking up from above his phone.

"Wha- so you do remember me!"

Sly old dog.

Stanley doesn't respond and concentrates on his screen instead.

You shake your head and pull me up the steps but not before I set down my lucky rose on the desk.

"Good night Stan."

I call out before I chase my love up the stairs, both of us ready to write our next chapter together. I don't know what it will entail but I know if you're in it, it will be the greatest adventure I'll ever take.

"Kids these days." Stan sighs, closing the article on his phone and clicking on a familiar app. Putting his feet up, he relaxes with a smile on his face as the Mandalorian theme song begins to play.

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 1

-no hate (this is merely my humble opinion) but i strongly dislike tom hughes as tom riddle, and here’s why-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

Just personally, this fancast induces a lot of cognitive dissonance for me, but this is the first time I’ve been able to sit down and articulate properly why it always throws me for a loop.

Now, does he fit the visual/aesthetic archetype?

Yes. I understand completely why people like this fancast. We know that he is studious, intellectual, and (at the time people generally fancast him for) involved in the criminal underground, and he more-or-less fits the physical description.

And, to be clear, it’s not that I don’t think Tom Hughes could play Tom Riddle, it’s that I don’t think the character he plays in the fancasts is a close enough approximation of Tom Riddle.

For me, herein lies the issue.

Tom Riddle’s character is all about the emotions bubbling under the surface. He’s a disaster waiting to happen -- he’s angry, he’s lonely, he wants revenge, he feels empty and hopeless and desperate, he’s irrational...

Not sure what movie/show the Tom Hughes clips come from, but the character he plays isn’t that at all. the character he plays is very self-possessed, poised, self-aware. Reflective. Remorseful (there are clips of him crying when/after he shoots someone). Introspective. 

That, to me, is not Tom Riddle at all. 

Yes, he does deal with moral conflict, but it’s never at the forefront of his mind. It’s not something he’s constantly grappling with. He doesn’t really... brood in this Hamlet-esque way.

Tom doesn’t think. Sure, he plans, he ruminates, he rationalizes a posteriori. But he’s very unaware of himself (in fact, it’s one of his fatal flaws). It’s not that he doesn’t have emotions; just that his internal state is a mystery most of the time.

He doesn’t connect with his own emotions; he is completely estranged from them. Tom cannot tell you whether he is happy or sad (not just because of his pride). He keeps his emotions and moral compass (which are highly uncomfortable things), in a locked little box, swallows the key, and disregards them. And yet, this character connects so deeply with his emotions that even the audience can see exactly what he’s going through. 

(There’s an openness -- an ease of vulnerability -- that Tom Riddle doesn’t have)

The thing about Tom, is that he hates himself just as much as he hates everyone around him. Creating Horcruxes to save himself from death is not an act of self-love, or even narcissism to the extreme; instead, forcibly ripping your own soul seven times is the most literally and metaphorically self-destructive thing a person could possibly do.

"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction —"

If we go all the way back to Book 1, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, you’ll remember that the eponymous material (first described in the Epic of Gilgamesh) is capable of producing the Elixir of Life, a magical substance that makes its drinker immortal, as long as you have a steady supply. Not only that, but according to the beliefs of historical alchemists (such as Nicholas Flamel), it was capable of curing any disease. In the alchemical tradition, it symbolized perfection, enlightenment, and heavenly bliss.

If all Tom Riddle was concerned about was prolonging his life, this is the obvious (and better) option.

Here’s the alchemical symbol of the Philosopher’s Stone. Looks kind of like the Deathly Hallows symbol, right? It represents the interplay of the (at the time, believed) four elements of matter -- a sort of periodic table, if you will.

The mature Philosopher’s Stone was believed to be a red stone (for making gold), and the immature one a white stone (for making silver). Rubeus Hagrid and Albus Dumbledore, anyone??

"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?"

And Dumbledore responds:

"But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.”

"While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable...”

And while, yes, he did try to steal it rather than make it, I am sure that in the time it took Tom to make all of his Horcruxes, he could have learned enough alchemy to produce it for himself (or wheedled the information out of Nicholas Flamel). While Dumbledore hypothesizes that it’s because Tom hates feeling dependent, this must be irony, because he spends the first book as a literal parasite, the next three as a virtually helpless creature, and the remainder still reliant on his Horcruxes.

"Well, you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

But, like me, Dumbledore is making guesses at Tom Riddle’s internal state, and in this case, I think, he’s made an oversight. Horcruxes make him equally as dependent as the Philosopher’s Stone would have. It’s been established in canon that you cannot make yourself immortal without help; either you rely on the continued existence of your Horcruxes or your supply of the Elixir.

And while the Elixir represents the positive aspects of eternal life, like renewal, rebirth, and the cyclical nature of the universe (see above the ouroboros of Cleopatra the Alchemist, one of the four women who knew how to make the philosopher's stone), a Horcrux is antithetical to life. It represents disorder, and once the creator of Horcruxes dies, they are unable to move on from Limbo -- shut out of the cycle. Harry describes Tom’s mangled soul as looking like a flayed and mutilated baby -- permanently immature and stagnant.

This theme of destruction is furthered by the Golden Trio’s discussion on how to reverse the process:

Ron: "Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?"

Hermione: "Yes, but it would be excruciatingly painful."

Harry: "Why? How do you do it?"

Hermione: "Remorse. You've got to really feel what you've done. There’s a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can’t see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

With this in mind, we can surmise that Tom is either (a) impatient, which we know he is not (b) there was some deeper reason for favouring Horcruxes -- so, yes, I believe that either metaphorically or literally, this was self-harming behaviour.

He takes on the name of Lord Voldemort because he hates himself, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He hates the Muggle part of himself so much that he’s willing to tear apart his entire being. 

"Voldemort, is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter..."

If that isn’t renouncement of himself, I don’t know what is. He was clearly not born Voldemort.

While of course, this does NOT excuse ANY of his actions, I find it vastly implausible that the likes of Malfoy, Mulciber, Carrow, etc... would have been welcoming in any way, shape or form to an assumed ‘Mudblood’ in scruffy secondhand robes from a London orphanage, and as such, indoctrinated him into his fanatic belief in blood-purity via antagonizing him. 

(Imagine Hermione, but poor and without parents, in the 1930s/40s. She would not have been treated well in Slytherin, either.)

Children are more vicious than you think. And while Tom probably gave as good as he got at Wool’s Orphanage (and was possibly an active aggressor himself), Hogwarts wouldn’t have been a level playing-field. (I’ll talk a bit about this and the significance of the Gaunt Ring in Part 2).

In other terms, I think Tom was bullied for having dubious origins. That’s often the swiftest way to radicalize someone, and would have left Tom with a crippling sense of self-hatred that I don’t think he would have even picked up from the orphanage.

(And it’s possibly this early experience with relational aggression that results in his constant need to be on the offensive/defensive, distrust of others, and fear of vulnerability. To me, this is an archetypal response of someone who was a past victim of bullying.)

Why else would an extremely powerful half-blood subscribe so strongly to those beliefs? (Rather than discriminating via amount of raw power or something -- because what Tom is immensely proud of when Dumbledore meets him is his ability, not his parentage). But I digress.

Now, Tom Riddle is never, ever quietly menacing like this. The mask is either completely on or completely off. We never see this character angry. Tom Riddle, when the mask slips off, is fury incarnate. Anger is the one emotion he doesn’t find weak; the one emotion he’s completely and utterly honest with.

Besides, that brings me to my next point. Tom’s not quite so austere. In fact, he’s quite witty, and often quite pleased with himself.

Just look at the difference in their body language. Tom has much more fluidity (he’s circling Harry, the head-tilt, the eyebrows move and he smiles a bit) than the other character, who has so much tension. Yes, they’re both menacing, but in completely different ways. Tom is comfortable with his actions, no matter how shitty they are. This other guy doesn’t like doing what he’s doing, but he’s going to do it, anyway.

Contrasted with the above, Tom’s unawareness of himself is such that we end up with a character who has a bizarre mix of extreme self-hatred and high self-esteem -- he always believes he is in the right -- in this case, doing Salazar Slytherin’s noble work -- while going to extreme, self-destructive lengths, such as tearing himself in half at the mere age of sixteen.

So, sorry... I kind of get the appeal, but... I don’t like the fancast. 

(More unpopular opinions coming at 5:30 PM EDT tomorrow!)

[musclesandhammering]

Loki (2021) Positivity from an Anti

Ok so all of my mutuals know I’m extremely anti-Loki (2021), anti-sylki, and anti-sylvie. But at a certain point, even we antis get tired of all the negativity. So! Here’s some Loki series commentary in the opposite direction! This is a list of all the things about the show that I loved :)

Also adding a disclaimer that all of this is just my opinion and some of my fellow antis (or even people who liked the show) might disagree, and that’s fine! I’ve been planning this post for awhile. I always say in my other posts that I don’t entirely hate the show and I wanted to be a little more specific about what I think are its good aspects. Feel free to leave your thoughts!

• Mobius is a gem (Owen Wilson owns my whole heart) and his relationship with Loki is so so great. He’s not one-dimensional at all, he has conflicted loyalty and is morally complex, and he has the tragic backstory- which makes him a perfect choice for eventually becoming Loki’s first genuine friend.

• The casting was really really great. Lots of women and people of color. Most of the female actresses (as well as the males) are over 30, which isn’t very common and is fantastic!

• Superb acting all around. I can’t think of a single scene where the actors under or oversold it.

• Beautiful set design, incredible cgi, and gorgeous cinematography overall. It looked more like a movie than a tv show, which is really good.

• Kang being the big bad was a huge plus for me. Johnathan Majors was perfect in the role, his vibes were immaculate, and I was honestly pretty worried that the man behind the curtain would end up being another Loki variant, which imo would’ve been boring and predictable and counter-productive, so it was a big relief when that didn’t happen.

• I like that it sets up a bunch of future marvel movies, rather than being contained to its own little world. It gives it more importance and (hopefully) will encourage writers to not just toss Loki’s character aside in future projects.

• All the Loki variants were delightful. All of them except Sylvie. Kid Loki has my heart. Boastful Loki is a fashion icon. Alligator Loki is a savage. President Loki is the superior variant. Classic Loki became my fav character in less than half an episode.

• It showed some more variety in Loki’s magic. A lot of his powers we’ve seen before, but it feels like they were portrayed a bit more blatantly in the show. The energy blasts, the telekinesis, the teleportation… Outstanding.

• It also implied that Loki has the potential to be waaaay more powerful than he knows he is right now, which? Yes.

• Some of the quotes- and the themes behind them- are just profound as hell. Such as:

“I think we’re stronger than we realise.”

“It’s never too late to change.”

“You can be whoever you wanna be, even someone good.”

“We’re Lokis. We survive. It’s what we do.”

“Loki, God of Outcasts.”

“The universe wants to break free, that’s why it manifests chaos.”

• Technically Loki was Marvel’s first canon lgbt (bi) character, which is a win. His genderfluidity is also technically canon, even if it wasn’t really acknowledged on-screen.

• There were a lot of throwback references to Thor 1, Avengers, and Thor The Dark World. Which I loved.

• Sylvie’s so pretty. Her hair and makeup and costume were all perfect.

• Big fan of Loki finally getting Laevateinn.

• Sufficiently slutty imagery, courtesy of a female director (Loki in a collar, kneeling to Sif, President Loki looking down into the bunker, the hair flips)

• The music was Excellent Wonderful and Superb.

• I love that Loki being a good singer is now canon.

• I love that Asgardians having their own language is now canon (even if it’s basically just Icelandic).

• I also love that they disproved all of those “Loki was a shy nerdy wallflower pre-canon” theories in Episode 3. The drinking/eating/singing scene was fun, if a bit wacky.

• There’s a million different reasons why Loki does what he does, especially in regards to the New York attack (I’m literally writing a huge meta on them), but somehow I never considered that Loki being desperate for control was one of them. It makes a lot of sense, and I always love getting new insights into his motivations.

• I love that Loki finally outright acknowledged that he doesn’t enjoy hurting people. We Been Knew™️ but it’s still nice to hear it out loud from his own mouth.

• The TVA outfit wasn’t as hideous as some people make it out to be. It could’ve been A Look, even. You know, if he’d just accessorised a little better. And kept the jacket on. And not gotten sweaty. And not gotten dirty. And maybe had at least one other costume change… But it had potential, though!!

• Even though I despise the Obvious One, I did actually like some of the other romance crumbs they tossed us (sifki, Loki x the flight attendant).

• The whole DB Cooper thing was iconic idc idc.

• Loki’s hyper sort of overly excited puppy attitude in episode 2 was actually pretty refreshing and funny (for awhile). And now I can headcanon him as adhd, yeehaw.

• “We’re all villains here.” That quote was iconic, my favourite one in the show. And the entire theme that it summarised was really great as well. When you think about it, every single main character in this series has been the villain at one point or another. I mean, I know all marvel characters do bad things etc, but none of the Heroes are ever narratively categorised as Bad. This show did just that with all of them, though. . Loki was framed as the psychopath that attacked New York. Sylvie was framed as the murderous fugitive. The TVA/Ravonna/Mobius were framed as the murderous fascists. Kang was framed as the crazy totalitarian. It’s made clear that all the Loki variants were the villains of their stories.

However, every single main character in the series is also framed as the Hero at a certain point. Loki is framed as the main protagonist who throws a wrench in the TVA’s dastardly plans. Sylvie is framed as the persevering freedom fighter who wants to take down the fascists. The TVA/Mobius/Ravonna are framed as the ones who maintain order for the greater good. Kang is framed as the weird but ultimately benevolent wise man who’s just trying to prevent something worse from happening. The Loki variants are framed as generous allies who befriend the main character and help him on his journey.

Everyone in this equation is openly acknowledged by the narrative to be morally corrupt, but not entirely morally bankrupt. There are no Straightforward Hero Figures (like the Avengers) in this entire scenario at all, and that makes for a super interesting dynamic that marvel has never done before. So yes: “We’re all villains here.” But also: “No one bad is ever truly bad, and no one good is ever truly good.” I loved that.

• Even if it wasn’t really enough imo, I still treasure the crumbs we got of Loki being competent and capable (him putting the collar on B-15, him figuring out Sylvie’s hiding place, him teaching himself to enchant on the fly while fighting a giant cloud beast of eldritch proportions).

• I love that B-15 was the one who stepped in and saved the day in Episode 4, when we all thought it was gonna be Mobius. What a queen.

• Marvel usually has a bit of a problem with creating compelling and memorable side characters. But aside from Sylvie, I genuinely got attached to every single character in this show. Like Casey, C-20? I was seriously emotionally invested in them and they were only in like 2 episodes. Wtf.

• Introducing the TVA storyline in the Loki series specifically was a really good move. I’m not saying they executed it well, just that it had a ton of potential. A lot of people have wondered why marvel even thought to put those two (the TVA and Loki) together, when they had literally nothing to do with each other, nothing in common, and essentially no connection at all. But when you think about it, it’s a really interesting twist on both of those stories. Forcing the embodiment of destructive chaos and the pillar of rigid order to interact could make for some seriously entertaining and compelling television. And as far as meshing these two completely unrelated entities together goes, I thought they did it pretty well- at least just the bare bones of the story (loki being arrested by the TVA and being one of their most common variants).

So that’s it! If you guys (fellow antis) wanna add stuff you liked, feel free. If anyone wants to discuss (or debate) my list, feel free to do that too!

[ronwae]

childhood au

so i'll try to reconstruct what Ralphies life as a kid was

a few facts from the game that we know:

* is younger than Nicky ( if Nicky is about 28/27 i imagine Ralph to be about 25/24 ) meaning that if Nicky immigrated w his relatives as a young child Ralph was probably already born in the US.( this could be the reason why in ch.1 he talks about being a real newyorker and makes fun of mc about it)

* Was abused (probably for the entirety of his childhood) by his alcoholic mother

* His father left him ( he says :" he went to get a pack pf smokes one day and never came back" this gives me the feeling that he would be at least 5/6+ years when that happened.

* Got into street fights and probably lost since once again he says " beat me up as bad as the boys" meaning that he was THE VICTIM HELLOO??

* there is also a small dialogue in ch.1 where it's mentioned that he always skipped school and probs stopped going there pretty early

* it's obvious that he lived in some gutter idk how to rephrase this

* was always close to nicky from the early childhood " we were the closest"

* one memory that Nicky narrates to us is making paper boats for Ralph and letting them sail on rainy days

* in spite of this we are told that Nicky never showed Ralph much affection, for example when Nicky is being sweet to mc he replies with "i've never seen him act like this"

* and in another line he says " i don't need nobody to stick their neck out for me" so yeah, he's been left alone and neglected for a while

Actual Childhood

i will compare Ralph with Nicky throughout this whole text and make a point about being very different.

1. His relationship with his mother

As long as Nicky had part of a more loving(normal) mom, Ralph clearly was less lucky. Literally being on his own with an alcoholic. Which resulted in him feeling unloved and running from home and getting into gang stuff. By always being belittled and beat by his parent, this usually results with the person later in life having big problems with aggression, this explaining why he likes being a criminal and jokes about others dying( this being a possibility to release all that anger from his childhood).

At the same time another prominent characteristic of his is the thing where he always does what he's told. We see this when he says that "Nicky taught him this and that" and also in that scene where he & Floyd sign documents. And there Ralph was right about not wanting to sign the deed to the speakeasy, but under Floyds pressure he literally breaks in less than a second. I explained this behaviour not by being simply " weak of spirit" or simply a loser, but the desire for approval, recognition and literally being patted on the shoulder for doing good. Since he's never been shown any kind of affection, he desperately tries to subconsciously earn it.

I think i should also add that by Freud( hate on me but this guy made a few good points) a mans relationship with his partner corelates with his relationship with his mother ( vice versa for women), so it makes sense why Nicky - with a loving mom found his soulmate, and Ralph didn't. ( i assume that he never had a long term relationship ). ( this is my personal theory)

2. His relationship with his dad

none🤥🤥🤥🤥🤥🤥🤥

3. His relationship with Nicky

now this one is just a continuation of point 1.

I've always felt some part of jealousy for Nicky. Maybe he got into crime because he always wanted to be like Nicky and even talked about living in Nicky's mansion after he takes his role. Im sure that he love's Nicky and feels bad for betraying him, but i understand why he'd do that. Maybe he tried to subconsciously prove to himself that he can make his own decisions but that turned out... well... bad.

But i imagine them both having a really good relationship, good un their own way.

And that point where they both mentioned that Nicky tried to prevent Ralph from joining the mafia, if i put myself in his shoes i would take that not as a way to keep me safe but a way to keep me from succeeding or always remaining in Nicky's shadow.

okay now for the actual actual childhood headcanons

* I feel like Ralph would be actually a pretty smart child. Besides being curious i feel that he'd say smart,correct and deep thoughts and not even realise that.

* He'd still have problems spelling and understanding basic math:/

* lived admiring rich people on the covers of magazines or in the movies

* was pretty much of a loner as a child and didn't have many friend except Nicky

* while Nicky was the lively, active and charismatic one, Ralphie would be the quiet kid until 12/13 yrs

* that meaning that he would usually be made fun of or beaten by older kids

* i don't think he'd fight back much, not with bare hands at least

* in general i think he'd despise actual fights, more of a gun/knife guy

* disliked Nicky's dog, or any four legged animal ( doesn't hate them but doesn't love either)

* birds on the other hand

* they always gave him hope and the desire to just be free and escape his home and everyone he knew. the same with sailing, loved the idea of just leaving alone into the open ocean

* irrational fear of death

* if there is a living creature that he loves more that birds it would be butterflies

* but no one knows that since he's embarrassed to admit it

* would create many problems as a child

* starting with the basic running from school up to setting someones hair on fire with a lighter

* mentioning the lighter, tried smoking at about 14 but nearly choked to death because of his asthma

* and because of asthma i think there would be multiple times where he almost died

* as a kid probably lived near a garage and spent most of his free time watching men repairing cars

* car obsession phase

* even started drawing them at some point and got pretty good at mechanical drawings

* dreamed of becoming a racer

* once told that to a girl he liked in like grade 4 and almost died of pride when she applauded him for his ambitions

* and his ambitions were always high

* the second he'd see or hear about something grand or fancy he'd add it to his mental list of wishes

* made friends with some local old guy who was very sarcastic and nihilistic and literally based his personality on that

* would have to get around life on his own and by that i mean that he sew his own clothes, made his own food, when he got lost -spent hours walking around new york until he found his street without asking anyone for directions

* at some point picked up smoking because even though at first it was death threatening

* at about 16/17 totally found himself in the "wiseguy" persona and at this point there wasn't a returning point

* had a couple of girlfriends but dated them for a month at best

YES I LIKE PSYCHOLOGY YES I WANT TO BECOME A PSYCHIATRIST AND I LOVE CHARACTER ANALYSIS

[goldeneyedgirl]

Who’s ur favorite and least favorite twilight character and why?

LOL, oh man. Prepare for Discourse, Anon. 

My favourite character is Alice (that might be very obvious). I think she was wasted in Twilight, and that she has so much potential. 

She has no recollection of being human. She is a totally blank slate with a gift that is essentially an extra sense or limb. Like, this girl cannot be ‘okay’. I believe in my heart of hearts that Alice functions differently to other people. I mean, I infer from canon that her visions taught her everything that she needed to know - from how to feed, to how to convince Jasper, to how to join the Cullens. She’s going to get the wrong answer? She’ll change what she says!

And that is utterly fucking terrifying - especially if she was aware and doing it intentionally. But I do not think she is, in that sense. I just don’t think she would have any idea of how to live without her visions showing her what to do next. Alice is a hostage to her own gift, and always has been. 

Even her interactions with Bella and Edward in canon are really uncanny, like she’s playing a role - which is more reflective of SMeyer’s piss-poor writing ability than any sort of intention - but indicative that Alice is Not Okay, and kind of explains a lot about how the Cullen family is portrayed. 

A lot of what I love about Alice, and her relationship with Jasper, are things I’ve absorbed from fan-content - what we can infer from the information we’ve been given. Her conviction about her and Jasper, to me, is beautiful and both terribly childlike, and something someone who has suffered deeply would absolutely cling to as a lifeline. The idea that Jasper isn’t just her husband, but her very best friend and confidant as well, paints such a lovely picture of the symbiosis they have. I think that, whilst it’s normally Poised, Confident Alice to Rescue Struggling Depressed Jasper portrayed in fandom, that there is a distinctive possibility that two individuals who were both fucked over in the gift department and were holding onto reality by a strand found each other and rescued each other might be closer to the truth.

I also LOVE fashion, so I kind of get Alice on that level; and I treat Alice - when I write her - as someone with mental illness (like myself) because I find that very satisfying to write, and to explore. I can PROJECT, which is super fun.

Jasper’s a close second because holy moly, he has so much potential from a fic-writing perspective? This is a man who was not a good person as a human - like, there are Varying Reasons he would join the Confederate Army and be proud of being a Major, but that’s a TOTALLY different piece of discourse so we’ll put a pin in that because statistically, it meant he was a racist fighting for racist ideals. And THEN he is changed into a vampire and joins the Southern Wars, falling further into evil as far as violence, hate, and senseless death goes. 

Like this man was a full monster.

And it was eating him alive.

So he just walked away. Alice did not save him. Peter did not save him. Jasper walked away. Peter gave him the opportunity to do so. Alice offered him goals and a way to improve who he is. There’s nothing he can do about the evil he sowed, the legacy he has created. And he has to live with that every single day for eternity. Has to deal with the burn of his thirst, exacberated by years of gorging on human blood, every single day. There is no solution to/for Jasper. It’s one hell or another. And that is so much fun from a fic-writing perspective. 

Plus his dynamic with Maria is so crazy fun - Mother? Lover? General? What does ‘good terms’ even mean? I assume it’s code for ‘cold war’ or ‘not actively seeking the other’s destruction’, but who knows. I love that. 

Jessamine is also super fun and beloved by me, but that’s because she’s either Jasper-derivitive or my particular portrayal of a separate character, so she doesn’t count. 

As for my least favourite, that honour goes to Edward. Full disclosure, I have not read Midnight Sun, only skimmed parts, because the only thing worse than that would be reading EdBella fic. 

I think he’s an arrogant, misogynistic, controlling little brat, honestly. He’s above the rules and the laws when it suits him - at the cost to everyone - and he condemns Rosalie and Jasper so quickly and thoroughly with very little in-text justification. 

He says that Rosalie is vain - well, Captain Dipshit, maybe after being violently and fatally gang-raped by a group including her fiance Rosalie might deal with a lot of body issues - and copes with them the best way she can. Maybe after being raised with a priority of being beautiful above all else, and then harmed in such a grotesque way because of her beauty, and then becoming more beautiful might fuck with your mental health a little, Eddie.

Edward has a bad habit of classifying women in absolutes like Madonna/Whore, depending on his personal beliefs - which, as a frozen 17 year old from the 1900s, is fairly goddamn dubious. Rosalie and Tanya are both ‘bad’, Esme, Alice, and Bella are all ‘good’. But there are no women that Edward fully ‘trusts’ or allows to ‘win’/direct him. He prizes Bella because of her unreadable mind - she is a puzzle and something to possess. They are never partners. Edward uses Alice, Who Tries Her Very Best, as a weapon against Bella multiple times. I often wonder if it isn’t Edward who encourages Alice, off-page/off-screen, to play dress-ups, to make Bella into what Edward expects in a wife. 

Edward is over-indulged by both Esme and Carlisle; honestly, with his gift, I wouldn’t be surprised if he manipulates the family into their slightly toxic dynamic (it’s hard to tell because of SMeyer’s obvious bias, and the perspective of the novels) because it benefits him so much. It puts him second only to Carlisle - Jasper cannot be trusted despite his comprehensive understanding of vampires, especially when it comes to turf battles, and Emmett’s just a frat boy. Or is this the portrait Edward has painted so he gets to be #1 Son?

Edward is the goddamn architect of every disaster the Cullens face because what he wants is dangerous and illegal. Without Edward’s Volterra Tantrum, Aro never would have challenged the Cullens in Breaking Dawn. Victoria’s attack would have been neutralised before the Cullens even got wind of it. Bella never would have gone cliff-diving or solo-hiking if Edward hadn’t dumped her in the cruelest way possible. 

I honestly, truly believe that Edward shouldn’t have had a mate, let alone a wife and child. 

Also, movie!Edward looked like he needed a fucking shower and a flea dip in nearly every scene. 

Bella’s a close second because I have known girls like Bella and fuck me, they are deeply unpleasant to be friends with. She fucks over EVERYONE in pursuit of Edward. I understand that she doesn’t have the same interests as Alice, but not once just she make a suggestion for an alternative activity or a compromise (and that could be Bad Writing again, because Bella appears to have very few hobbies beyond ‘reading’ but it’s what we’re working with). 

In fact, I would argue that Alice tries her very best to be Bella’s friend, but it’s a futile attempt - Bella tolerates Alice because of Alice’s proximity to Edward. If Alice had been a human student at Forks High, you can bet that Bella would have dumped her as fast as possible. Bella has very few moments where she’s positive about the people around her outside of the Cullens (by association with Edward) or Jacob. Charlie gets mostly pity. Everyone else is looked upon with disapproval and judgement (which, again, reflects toxic writing tropes.) 

And Bella martyrs herself at every opportunity. There’s a lot of discourse where Bella’s neglectful childhood is examined, but Bella fucking lunges into the ‘victim’ role at every possibility. And ultimately, I really don’t see Bella maturing or learning anything at all through the series. It’s always about what she wants, above everything else. She succeeds because she and Edward are incredibly selfish individuals who are enabled by the parental figures around them. 

Second runner-up is Carlisle. 

[notsoinnocentlittleangel]

🍐🍉🍌🍊🍓🥝

Fruity Symbols

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?  

Joanna has decent intelligence in certain areas.  She has good survival instincts when it comes to dealing with other people, although this is tempered somewhat by her tendency to react without thinking things through.  She’s linguistically talented and can pick up languages quickly.  Her grades in school suffered as she turned rebellious and got in trouble in high school, but she usually still did well in English and Spanish.  While she has a certain rough way of speaking that shows she’s not the most educated person, she has a certain way with using words that can be a little surprising.  Overall though, she’s not great at most school subjects.  She has some ability to fix things due to her time working on cars, but it does depend on what it is.  She’s much better at learning things by doing than having them outright taught to her.  

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why?  

Probably spring.  She likes flowers, it’s when a lot of animals come out in greater numbers, the temperature’s usually more comfortable.  But then there are also allergies...

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?

Joanna has a soft spot for young kids and the elderly, and will usually go out of her way to help them.  She’ll also go out of her way to help out anyone she’s close to, out of a sense of loyalty.  She’ll usually help someone she thinks really needs it.  She’ll help other women who’ve run into trouble with either other women or especially men, as she often has been one of the only women around a bunch of men in her life, but it can depend on the situation.  Generally, Joanna hates it when anyone abuses power, no matter who it is.  And it has got her in trouble at times.

  🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes?  

Joanna really wants to get married and have kids one day.  She was married once, soon after high school, and it was not a good marriage.  She doesn’t really think it’s going to happen for her, but is hopeful.  She’s typically been in short relationships since then.  One side of her backstory has her in a longer relationship with another one of my characters, as Joanna started out solely as a girlfriend/ex-girlfriend who got more development because I got interested.  If I was writing them in a book, they’d probably end up together, but that’s not usually the case for RP.  

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them?

Joanna has a reputation as either a wild or a “bad girl” type, caused by sometimes acting reckless, so it’s justified to a point.  People often get a bad impression because she’s not usually shy about her thoughts and often surprises people with how direct and blunt she can be.  

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it?  

Her interest in cars is often seen as unusual since she’s a woman.  Pointing this out to her will result in annoyance, amusement, or having her spouting off at you, depending on her mood and exactly how someone expresses the view.  

For people who know her, Joanna’s interest in romantic stories and movies can often come as a surprise, because Joanna doesn’t give off the vibe of a woman into that kind of thing.  This is perhaps the one aspect of her life she tends to hide-- you have to be very close to her for her to willingly allow you to know this about her, as it’s one of the very few things she’s embarrassed about people finding out.