#im not reading it but good for you or sorry that happened

[appleblueberry-pie]

I love yall, and I know I haven't been writing on here...but like what happened to being descriptive in our writing? I feel the effects of communism reaching the fingertips of the only group of writers who still (gladly) bother to give energy into this website. I barely do much, and I barellyyy give anything at all nowadays but without the explanations of anything going on, how are people new to this supposed to understand where ur coming from? I wanna feel the emotion in your story. I want you to tell your tale and i wanna feel what all those characters feel.

Im being given like literal scraps right now. All I see are what could pass as a description of what a book is about and then yall call it a day like whatttt that's not what we're here for. At all. I wanna feel what your brain felt when u wrote that one sentence. Description isn't just meant for smut, its meant for all forms of writing.

The best example I could give is with what I do best, yandere stories(sorry). Jujutsu kaisen(sorry to other Fandoms but what I'm saying does apply to everyone).

Yandere Gojo kidnapped you after you found out he was stalking you for over a week now. You don't even know him like that. He's just your coworker for crying out loud. But now you're trapped in his home for his to have, to take care of. And you can't do anything about it.

.........................okay??? Where's the rest? Why did he kidnap you? What drove him to take you in the first place? He had enough? Did he NOT have enough and just took you entirely out of sad guilty pleasure? Is he a loser that depends on you without realizing it? How does the reader feel about it?? Why isn't there anything about how the reader feels about any part of this?

What about buildup to the kidnapping? The mental work-up to that big moment? Where's the intention behind the language he speaks to you, the love he gives in every move he makes directed towards you, where's the devotion and care he shows in every touch he gives to you? Where's the absolute opposite of that care when he's around anyone that's not you?

Where is this character that you're proposing to us?

It's just hard for me to read anything when no one's....idk it just feels like no one enjoys their own writing anymore. I get everyone's busy, and they still post every now and then. And that's me. Im so fucking busy. But it's just like, somethings off. I wish I could find good writing again.

[smoothriverrocksrock]

TF ONE SPOILERS! :D

I really enjoyed it!

My god the references made, had me wanting to point at the screen and go “Oh! oh! I know what that means!!” Yes, they reference The Touch, it’s vague but it’s there. But no song cameo so boooo /lh

Two end credits scenes! First one with Bumblebee (haha funny scene) and second one with the Decepticons (ooo fun cool scene)

Jazz fans Im so sorry. He keeps getting jangled in front of the camera but never explored as a character and I’m sure it’s torture for all of you

Like on one hand it’s cool you can look at any crowd and play Recognize That Guy, but on the other hand it has you craving an actual moment with them. Obviously they can’t introduce a billion different characters and have them all explain their deal, because then there wouldn’t be any time left for plot, but OUCH. JUST GIVE ME AN IRONHIDE MOMENT PLEASE ITS BEEN YEARS

Bumblebee is the obligatory comedic relief, but he was actually given serious moments! He didn’t make crazy tone changes when it was a genuinely important scene! There was a moment where everyone was contemplating Sentinal’s betrayal, and I totally expected B to do a “well THAT just happened” thing, but he didn’t! He actually expressed how he felt! And he could actually be kinda funny! Had people laughing at his jokes in the theater, so that’s nice

STARSCREAM WAS GETTING HIS AFT BEAT BY MEGATRON??? AND BASICALLY SAID “KEEP GOING I CAN TAKE IT” AND??? UHHHHH????? LIKE IT WAS FRAMED AS A “UR WEAK LMAO” TYPE OF SCENE BUT GET FREAKY WITH IT IG. WAS LITERALLY GETTING CHOKED SO HARD DURING IT HIS VOICE BOX CRACKED

(also the fight SS and Megatron has was short but really good)

Honestly all the fights were peak. Had fun each time

Soundwave and Shockwave <3333 Soundwave gets to read minds one (1) time, and never again but at least it’s established he can do that <333 Sorry Shockwave fans he was kinda a punk here, someone get that man a lab so he can *really* shine. No cassettes tho :/ can’t win them all

Edit (putting more thoughts here):

D-16 said “This is the last time I show mercy” and ohhhhh boy did he mean it. Ironic as fuck that it’s in regards to sparing Starscream tho, like good luck with that one buddy

[firefly--bright]

september coffee

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; september feels alot like the start of the year. jean brings you pastries while you make coffee, and september feels less daunting than january. warnings ; none! a/n ; im sorry for the last atrocity. please enjoy this domestic slice of life and forget i ever wrote the last one. thanku. also this is just me revealing my mocha recipie. enjoy :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿

middle tile art creds ; @ppushable !

september feels a lot like the start of the year. more than january, a better fit. maybe it's the air, maybe its the cool breeze, maybe its the fact that your hair falls a little better, maybe its the fact that your coffee tastes like how you know how to make it, or that your music fits the occasion of the leaves falling on the ground. orange, a little soft still, littering the entrance of your apartment building.

or maybe it's none of those. maybe you're reading too much into it. the wind holds your face with its coolness and you think it's okay to breathe a little better. you think it's better to forget you were ever fourteen. its okay if your bedside table is lined with coffee cups, a dark band running on the inside of them, indicating that it has been used well enough to know it isn't forgotten. youre barely there but its okay because the year is just starting - nine months in.

or maybe it's him. his hands in his pockets, waiting outside your door with a brown bag holding croissants and some cheese. the good one, he says, holding a grudge against everything that doesn't meet his taste. his coffee is black and made by you, just how he likes it, sitting on your kitchen counter patiently, cooling down.

maybe he just happens to breathe life into the september's stillness to make it a little fuller. which is an important title to give to someone, akin to god, being the one your risky and dangerous hopes are pinned on, an unknown specter.

he balances his coffee on his laptop, carrying the both of them - dangerous, risky, hopeful. places both on top of the kitchen counter in front of your quarter-made coffee. it's barely starting, the brew of your present concoction being only planned out and the mug is empty when he peers into it, curious.

"what's it gonna be this time?" he asks, taking a sip from his cup with gentle breaths, knowing just how hot the coffee is going to be. this is not hope. no, its the fullness that comes with being with him. being with him is to feel september around you, semi-crunchy leaves on the ground being forgotten by everyone else but you even if you're in your home making an iced mocha.

"you'll see." you say, speaking about hope. he'll see. you'll wait.

he nods, slowly, twice, uncalculated movements that you have somehow counted and known since you'd met him. "show me." he says. this is also not hope, and you dare not to mix the two - his voice isn't a command but its a plea. not a hope, because he knows you enough to know you'd comply. its certainty. not risky, not dangerous. safe and sound in your home, cup of quarter-made coffee, marbled floors, september air, his voice. safe. easy.

you've been too focused on stringing hope together. beady rocks of what people describe as a glimmer. you'd describe it as something more of a small weight. beads. something that required effort to be collected together once they scattered away. hope came with the dangerous of risk and its own existence, a mapped road that you had been down to several times, hoping against hope. but this was good. the little shine in his eyes, looking at you without expectance.

"two spoons of coffee." you start, taking your shitty pack of instant coffee, crumbled at its zigzagged edges, cut unevenly. jean's face scrunches up at your choice, something you cant show you agree with. "why this one?" he grumbles, and you spare him a glance from the corner of your eye.

"its backup coffee." you say, shrugging. the plastic crinkles under your fingers as you slip a spoon inside it.

"backup coffee?" he asks, pushing the cup closer to your spoon - things that dont go unnoticed by you. its not about actions being added up in the end, you think, because you were always taught that it was the sum of all your actions that determined if you were good or bad, but its not. in this moment, you decide that everything - little or big - that he did made your heart feel like it actually mattered. every thing had its own consequence.

"my actual coffee's finished. this is the one i use when i have to wait for the next grocery run to buy the good stuff." you answer, and he hums, his hands folding themselves over his chest, nodding, attentive, certain. You turn your attention to another cabinet – the one containing the sugar and cinnamon – and jean’s attention rests on you. the music sounds different, you think, clearer. another thing about September stillness. Another thing about the normalcy of hopelessness. Despite how big and scary the word sounds; hopelessness isn’t a curse. It doesn’t have to be, not when jean’s eyes are on your hands and the way you turn the cap of the sugar jar, careful, certain. Hopelessness is certain. It’s a favour. it’s the lack of hope, the lack of the blood-curdling risk that comes with it. It’s the lack of the expectation for something to be perfect, you keep thinking, take one spoonful and dumping it on the coffee powder in your less-empty mug.

Another spoon. Your mind shifts - you're going to add chocolate syrup in this, that’s going to have sugar too - you shake some sugar off the spoon and back into it’s jar, grains falling in-between the space of the jar and the mug, spilling on the counter. Hopeless. Jean snickers. “shut up,” you say with a smile of your own, capping the lid back on before moving on to the next step.

“cinnamon?” he asks, tilting his head. You nod, flipping the lid open to the part with tinier holes than the other side and sprinkling some in. “how do you know how much?”

You shrug, but your moves are decisive. “just eyeball it.”

he rolls his eyes, hopeless. “I need measurements.” He says. you scoff. “and you’re going to actually make this?” “yes.” He says as if its obvious, “for when you want it but cant make it.”

Little things. You were always taught about adding things up to make them count more, but this counted just as much. You pause, taking a breath to take in the fact that he admitted to the act of loving you. admitted to the fact that he’d love you into routine.

September air breathes a little more into life.

“just… trust your gut.” You say, a little hopeful, you think, because your heart’s beating a little bit faster. Risky, dangerous. pearls of hope are scattering away from you. in the silence where you don’t speak, jean seems to have made up his mind, giving you a deadpan expression when your eyes meet his. “don’t give me that bullshit.”

“what? I trust your gut. Why cant you trust your gut?” you challenge, closing the lid, placing the bottle on the marbled counter, turning your face towards his. He runs one hand through his hair, shaking his head. “my gut cant even digest lactose.” “and yet you eat blocks of – what is it you got?” “gouda-“ “gouda with wine.” “yeah that’s because…that’s my duty.” You laugh in affectionate disbelief. “then its my duty to drink how much ever cinnamon you put in my coffee.”  

The same silence spreads across the room again. Contemplative, comfortable; an unsaid recognition of your own version of a confession, just as his was. And jean thinks about how you claim you don’t know how to talk about things in a way that make sense and have shape, but then you do. You always somehow find a way to make everything into a prayer, into a sentence that hopes to be something more than itself. And then he thinks about how comforting it is. The fact that he’s the only one that can decode your false bait into its much more real, much scarier reality. Each phrase hoping to be an “I love you” that only jean can hold, seeing it to be something akin to a scripture rather than three countable words.

A duty to make coffee for his beloved; a penance, an act, a confession. And then the duty to drink the coffee if it turns out worse than promised; a recognition, an act, a confession.

You move to get the milk from the fridge. Its half empty, half full, and you pour just enough for the milk to cover the powdery mix in your mug, filling up around one-third of the glass.

“hmm. Milk. Right after you made fun of my disability.” He says. you laugh. It’s a ritual. “being lactose intolerant is a curse, not a disability.” He waves his hand around in dismissal. “whatever,” he says, just as you place your mug in the microwave. The action catches his attention more than the rest of your actions do.

“microwave?” he asks, tilting his head again, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Your hand reaches forward, brushing it back, your fingers tangling in his hair. His eyes flutter, cheeks tainting a watery red.

“helps the sugar melt faster.” You say. You watch his adam’s apple bob, his eyes opening to meet yours, your hand still in his hair. He hums, and you're almost afraid he’s going to fall asleep – standing up, leaning against the marbled kitchen counter, with your hand where its supposed to be, soft strands against your fingertips, just where he’s supposed to be, the slope of his shoulders relaxed, calm, only moving with his breath.

The microwave dings. Once, twice, and you open it before it reaches it’s last beep. Another ritual. The song changes, playing another soft tune, and jean’s shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his stupid blush from you even though you’ve already seen it and taken pride in it. You’ll grant him the illusion of having gotten away with it. Just this once.

placing the mug on the counter again, you stir the sugar into the milk and coffee and cinnamon. “how do you know if the sugar’s dissolved?” jean asks. He leans back to his left foot, shifting closer to you. his chest is against your arm, just enough space to let you mix the liquid, it’s warm scent filling the room, taking up space, mixing with your breath. September air lulls – its all just shitty instant coffee and cinnamon now, and the old, burnt-out candle on your coffee table not even three steps away is long forgotten.

“chocolate next.” You say. Jean nods, moving off of the counter to the cabinet beside him, and you try not to focus on his movements too much. It proves to be hard when his forearms flex with little effort and his face lights up subtly when he spots the bottle of the syrup, reaching forward to grab it. Another confession, you think, that you didn’t ask him for this. You didn’t ask him to come to your apartment just to watch you make your coffee, you didn’t ask for him to waste his time while you could ramble about the day you spent without him. He didn’t ask for you to look at him as if he was doing you a favour, but he was. Is it a favour if you didn’t really ask for it? You didn’t ask him to open the bottle for you, you didn’t ask him to squeeze whatever was left at the end ontop of your warm coffee. And you mumble out a “thanks” anyway, because what else can you do?

“I kinda… stab the cup? With the spoon? To feel the bottom…if there are any grains left, id feel it though the spoon.” You say, demonstrating exactly what you were saying. Your spoon hits the bottom of the mug, and you feel a crystal of sugar through the tip of your spoon. “complicated,” jean whispers from beside you and you try to stifle a laugh.

“not really. Youre stupid.” “im not.” “sure.” “im not.”

Pearls of dangerous hope string themselves together without your say in the matter. You breathe out and watch as the remaining ribbon of smoke from the heat of the coffee distorts around your exhale. Jean’s hand rubs the flesh of your arm, the un-asked for warmth leaving it’s traces on your skin. You didn’t ask for this. His hand is on your shoulder now, and you cant help but enjoy it. You stir the chocolate into your concoction, and jean leans forward to place a small kiss near your collarbone without prior notice. But you don’t flinch from surprise, relaxing under his lips. He pulls away before you can start wondering again, and your mind lulls.

“I just followed some video at first and then I hated it. And then I just fucked around and found out. my first coffee was with my cousin sister when the lights went off. We all went to the grocery store because that was the only place with the a/c still on, and she got a can of cold coffee and I had a sip and now my only goal in life is to make coffee that was exactly like the shitty can of coffee we had then.” You said, overexplaining while the ice in your now full mug of coffee melted slowly. Jean took a sip of it, nodding to your story. His brows lift in little surprise after taking a sip, shaking his head in appreciation. “don’t know if this counts as shitty,” “you like it?” you ask with a smile, and jean pretends it doesn’t affect it as much as it does. The coffee settles in his stomach as do the butterflies. He nods.

You love him. there are no favours to ask for. After making sure the chocolate’s dissolved, the colour of the coffee changing from what it was before, small bubbles gathering at the edge of the liquid, you move to the fridge to get some ice. Jean’s eyes follow your figure, glued to your face as you reach into the freezer, prying the ice cubes out, holding them in your hands.

“you could’ve just got the mug near you,” jean says, watching you pour the handful over the coffee. “and I’m the stupid one?”

“shut up.” You tell him with a smile in defeat, unable to come up with a clever response. You wipe your now damp hands on your pants, and jean grabs the milk, pouring it over the ice, knowing just how much you’d like. A couple of the cubes float to the top, just as he stops, and now its your turn to lean on the counter beside him, hands resting on the marble as he stirs the coffee.

“if this were a glass mug-“ you say, and he looks at you with a soft smile you cant quiet place, “-you could see the layers of the coffee and the milk and it looks really pretty,”

he hums in response. “when did you find out you liked it like that?”

“its good. Sweet,” he remarks. You tilt your head knowingly, “you pretend to like black coffee but I know you’d tear up a frappe,” “I would not-“ “literally last week.” “that was different.” “how?” “I bought that for you!” “and you drank all of it before I even knew you got it for me-“ “I was tempted.” “sure, jean.” You say, laugh laced in your words. Jean pushes the mug towards you as if to prove you wrong.

You take a sip. The song changes again, and jean’s hand finds its way to the small of your back. With your lips still touching the cup, his lips touch your cheeks. His stubble tickles your chin, but you don’t flinch. September air is calm, quiet, there’s little breeze. Jean kisses your cheek. “how was your day?” he asks, ready, quiet, calm.

you breathe a little better, turning your face to his and pecking a kiss to his lips. He unwraps the pastry he bought not too long ago while listening it you, hopped up on the kitchen counter with a cold iced mocha in your hands, jean’s eyes on you. pearls become a necklace, and the string is stronger than before because he’s here. His eyes are on you.

[davepepsisprite]

ok bye

[mamawasatesttube]

it's like, i really do enjoy most of the bats as characters and i really do like a lot of their comics. but also i am sooooo tired of them being hailed as better than literally everyone else. both in fanon but also in comics (modern ones are esp egregious imo, like WHAT was that shit about batman and the joker being the most dangerous men on the planet. hi. have you heard of lanterns? speedsters? supers? actually if i keep listing groups who could kick batman's ass we'd be here all day). they're like kudzu. that shit needs to stay in its native environment (funky little neo-noir detective stories) and stop being an invasive species (putting down everyone else to make them seem cooler). put bruce wayne back into a murder mystery setting that isn't about saving the world but is about saving one person or one family that no one else would've saved right now or so help me god. the whole invasive species cross contamination thing is unhealthy for both him And the other ecosystems he keeps getting transplanted into. please. it's so dark in here

[kagoutiss]

green beetle black beetle

[khannatree]

sing us a song, a song to keep us warm.

read eyeballs to entrails by @lsoer

[harvestmoth]

more rejuv things but its. its just this guy again, im sorry shes all i can draw

[give-grian-rights]

can someone tell me why im being abnormal about a character i've barely touched the content of. like yay yippie i watched like 20 hours of you. there's fucking 80 years of content get me OUT OF HERE?

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[yuridovewing]

if bonefall’s hunch about the erins wanting to snipe all the fanon gay ships is true (which im inclined to believe it is) there reallyyyy is something disgusting about how theyll retcon any interaction that could be read as queer, while simultaneously being like. “creepy age gaps and incest is cute actually hehehe”

[sipsteainanxiety]

mha nation how yall doin

[unopenablebox]

🌸 is so immensely likeable.... do you ever just like someone so much all the time

[measureformeasure]

well my beautiful vision for the end of meg braem’s chrysothemis is that elektra starts digging around in klytemnestra’s corpse, chrysothemis starts yelling about why orestes should look like her and why doesn’t he look like her and did he know, and that soldier admits to a war crime

[bmpmp3]

ive mentioned before my like. fascination and incomprehensible attachment to mysterious ambiguously brown man characters in schlocky fantasy romance media marketed towards women and a lot of it is from like, a like. nearly anthropological standpoint as someone heavily interested in orientalism in narrative media from a visual culture and art historical point of view and a part of it is also from being mixed race and ambiguous IRL LOL BUT there is one other angle i havent really touched on thats on my mind a lot. you know that bit we all go through where someone reads something like mediocre and it sticks in their mind more than something well written? the "I COULD FIX THISSSS" curse..... im like this with ambiguously brown characters. holds loosely (LOOSELY) south asian coded love interest from some romance comic #8997485344534984875943 tenderly in my hands..... my brother i know you weren't written with this depth but i know the truth. i know about your complexities as you navigate this fantasy europe as a racialized man. i know your truth

[atomiclace]

who knew that some agere people would be the worst type of people to exist (talking about you spinny)