#one of the superior looks in this entire movie

[zayne-li]

Zayne and Siming

First of all, if you’re unfamiliar with the lore of Love and Deepspace, and don’t want to be majorly spoiled for just about everything (mainly Zayne’s lore), then I suggest you skip for now until you learn more. Unless you don’t care about spoilers, then go ahead.

I think that to all of us, so far, other than Sylus(who can blame him, he’s new), Zayne is the most confusing character to the Western audience. Rafayel tells us he’s a mermaid every other sentence, and Xavier has more than a few clues pointing to the fact that he’s a time traveler from another planet and possibly immortal?

Zayne’s main thing that seems to be talked about frequently in his cards and events are more so things related to Gods, fate, and fortune telling. And for me, for a while, this didn’t make a ton of sense to me, because I felt like I didn’t really have anything super specific to compare it to, but clearly he’s not just based off of anything random, you’re meant to recognize him as some specific God of Fate/reader of fate. And then Infold released this video when they released Master of Fates, and I realized that in Chinese, the myth was called Da Siming, which is a real Chinese god. So I got to work. Welcome to my Ted Talk on why Zayne’s entire story, mainly focusing on his main story counterpart, is still Siming in modern day Linkon City. 

Disclaimer: I am no Chinese mythology expert, this is simply what I’ve learned from Google and what that video Infold released tells us.

Who is Siming?

Siming is a Chinese deity or deified functionary of that title(meaning this title can pass from person to person) who makes fine adjustments to human fate (meaning you can pray to him for things as small as a chest cold etc)

He is referred to in Chinese as almost a secretary, his job in allocating human lifespans is almost a bureaucratic one. Think a guy in an insurance office.

Siming's main duty/power is the balancing of yin and yang, specifically in regards to human health/lifespans. He has the power to either shorten or lengthen life essentially as he sees fit (as long as it doesn't fuck things up too badly).

There can be more than one Siming at a time, who take on slightly different roles. Such as Da Siming(Greater Siming) acting as a Priest of Death, and a Shao Siming(Lesser Siming) acting as a Priest of Birth (this is just an example taken from a movie)

other titles (aside from Master of Fate) include Director of Allotted Life Spans, and Director of Destinies

While the 'job' of Siming can be passed down to multiple different people, the length of time they end up serving as Siming can result in different qualifying titles being added to them. 'Da Siming' (which is the one Infold told the story of when they released Shifu in that video apparently no one watched) would be more revered. "Da" means big, or greater, meaning he held that title for a great period of time. Bitch was tenured.

The 3 deathbringers

Essentially 3 spirits who take residence in the 3 energy centers of the human body. (head, chest, abdomen. probably only the chest would be relevant to us, given that Zayne is a cardiac surgeon)

these spirits enter the human body at birth, and seek to hasten the death of their hosts. 

Siming controls the process of these deathbringers killing their hosts, he may or may not permit it. 

to regulate this process, Siming relies on reports given to him by the deathbringers, which are brought to him on specific dates. Based on what he learns he may or may not use that information (and possibly other information) to decide whether or not to shorten or lengthen that specific persons lifespan. 

This bitch is not making sweeping decisions, he's looking at every individual person.

humans are believed to have various things available to alter the judgment of Siming regarding their fates, such as interfering with the reporting process, praying to Siming or his superiors, or following treatment from a doctor to improve the yin-yang balance, and thus extend their lifespan.

Other things:

There's a story about an ancient man who finds a skull on the ground, and mourns the fact that this person never had a proper burial. He lays down on the skull and uses it as a pillow, then has a dream where the skull comes to him and tells him about the tranquility and happiness found in death. The man tells the skull that he could petition Siming to bring him back to life, and then he would be able to return to his family. The skull denies he would want that, asking rhetorically to the man, 'why would anyone in such a peaceful and happy place as death ever want to return to the suffering of living?'

Where do we see these elements pop up in Zayne’s story?

Now, we already know that at the very least Zayne’s Master of Fate myth is heavily based on this deity, and you can see some elements of Siming in Foreseer as well. Foreseer most likely takes place in the far future from Master of Fates given that he resides on Philos, and we know that Philos is the planet humanity started inhabiting only after Earth was destroyed. Philos is also where both Xavier and Sylus are from. This is no Xavier lore post, but if you know anything about his lore, you know that he’s come back in time from the future. There will be a section on Foreseer below, but for now I want to focus on why I believe Zayne is still Siming in present day Linkon City.

The story of the man and the skull immediately brought me back to the World Underneath: Snowy Stairs, where Carter is actively trying to recruit Zayne to Xander Sciences for the purpose of bringing people back from the dead.

Snowy Stairs

First, we see Carter come across (well he’s kind of stalking him actually) Zayne who is consoling a child about the death of their dog, Pilot. The child is asking him to do something to save the dog, and Zayne simply tells him that he’s already dead, while Carter pulls out a Protocore and tells the child that he can bring the dog back to life with it.  

Carter and Zayne then have a mostly one sided conversation about the morals and ethics of using Protocores to bring people and animals back to life. Carter asks Zayne if the natural law is an unshakable moral boundary, or if it’s a comfort people use. 

I see two things here: As Siming, the ability for humans to bring themselves back to life despite the natural law would be a great disruption to the balance of fate, or yin and yang, which would explain why Zayne is so against this process, even though he himself was clearly interested in it at one point for the sole and selfish reason of keeping MC from dying. It seems to me that although Zayne is Siming, MC has some sort of destined death associated with her that is outside of his jurisdiction. Possibly because he has shirked his duties in order to keep her safe in the past (shielding her with umbrellas instead of killing her like he was supposed to as the Master of Fates.)

Carter then tells Zayne of a patient who is on the verge of death and asks him to come take a look and help them at Xander Sciences. Zayne does not appear, and though they seemingly have all the tools to save the man, they still fail. Is it maybe because as Siming, Zayne truly does alone have the power to control life and death? 

Carter then shouts as Zayne gets up to leave: “Our job is to save people. If we can control life and death, why shouldn’t we?!” Which is another clear reference to the job of Siming and the delicate balance he maintains. 

Side note, something else they’re referring to in this part is possibly this procedure of bringing life back has something to do with the creation of Wanderers? Unsure.

Then, Zayne oversees a couple essentially praying to have their son back. Siming controls life and death, and may respond to prayers if he so chooses to. He doesn’t bring the man back to life, but instead cleans the body so that the parents may properly say goodbye to their son. 

In this anecdote what we learn is that Zayne alone is seen as capable of controlling life and death, and it is implied that in whatever research he did on this subject, he found a solution. One that he rejects, possibly because it is a process that can and will result in creating Abominations, as seen in the Dawnbreaker anecdote. Wanderers/Abominations may be like the undead, resulting in these people not finding the proper peace in death. 

Other main story things

Mainly what I’m seeing in main story/event stories is that we are talking about Siming a lot with our present day Zayne, in terms of Gods of fate, and etc(Spceifically I’m thinking about the silk balls event, where that was the main focus of the conversation with him).

Foreseer/Master of Fates

Like I said, I don’t want to go into too much detail on Foreseer, but the fact that he has the power to see into Fate, and has superiors (Astra) tells me that he at least has some of the same powers as he did when he was the Master of Fates. Master of Fates seems to be a more peaceful era of his life as Siming, where I am assuming that all of the slips and scrolls MC is helping him record are indeed related to his ‘reporting’ as Siming, going back to the idea that Siming is more or less a sort of secretary, a record keeper. I believe he fell out of favor with the Gods when he chose to protect MC instead of killing her as he was told by either one of his deathbringers, or one of his superiors(I’m inclined to think it’s the latter).

I believe that after the moment when he chooses to protect MC rather than kill her as he said he would, he went on the run. We later find him as Dr. Zayne, and something happens in the story(we don't know yet) which results in him becoming the Foreseer. 

Foreseer was supposed to let her die as well, or possibly never even meet her, but he instead chooses to finally accept the consequences of his actions as Master of Fates and possibly Dr. Zayne and instead sacrifices himself so that she can live as a sort of. Equal exchange. 

That's uh… that's all I got right now! Will possibly add more to this post later we shall see. Basically I feel like I’m just seeing a lot of parallels between all of Zayne’s major character beats/themes and this specific Chinese deity, and by the Rafayel Precedent(telling us he’s a mermaid and then turning out to be a mermaid), I would not be surprised at all if Dr. Zayne in the main story ends up just being Siming.

[uservillanelle]

JODIE COMER as WOMAN THE END WE START FROM (2023/24) dir. Mahalia Belo

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

actor! bakugo and actress! yn who are secretly dating but have to play enemies in one of those movies that'll make them famous... and viewers notice that his gaze seems to linger a little longer on her, or how his stance is more relaxed when she is near him instead of being tense or him absent-mindedly smiling in her general direction.

so they started to blow up every social media platform with screenshots and memes and big red circles on bakugo's face. they're commenting on his body language, how his feet are pointing to you even when he's not speaking to you, and how his eyes have little hearts in them when he's looking at you.

and then appeared the fanarts and edits. your entire fyp was filled with edits of you and bakugo, every scene of you together, every scene where you'd taunt each other, that special scene where he scoffed and blew up his desk when he realised you were the one behind his problems.

your fans are making stories, rewriting the plot to make it a happy ending, an ending where, instead of bakugo settling down with his girl best friend, he's marrying you.

it comes to the point where you make a video and read some of the "spicy stuff" one of your fans had written, with your face all red as you comment on their exceptional grammar.

"i'm not gonna lie guys, you're making me feel like a blushing teen again."

and you're cackling at the comments after posting it.

"they cast the wrong people to be enemies. istg they should've been lovers instead" "the producers did a terrible job at character selection🙄CLEARLY yn and katsuki were the superior match" "did you guys SEE the way he looked at her? i want a man to look at me like that someday😭"

and the list goes on.

pt 2 here

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[rileyslibrary]

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, rubbing his temples, “You set fire to your tent while trying to make what?”

Heat rises to your face as you avoid meeting his eyes. You fidget with your fingers, feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of your superior. Your breathing is so loud and ragged in the silence of his tent, and you try to steady yourself before speaking.

You murmur an inaudible answer while shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“Louder, soldier,” he commands, “and look at me when I address you.”

You take a deep breath and hold it in. You lift your head and meet his eyes. His balaclava is crooked and messy as if he put it on in a hurry when the entire camp went into chaos. You can see a few stray hairs poking out from underneath it. His eyes are bloodshot, and his voice is hoarse; the poor guy has had enough.

“Popcorn, sir.” You whisper and instinctively kick a rock on the ground, wishing it was you.

“Popcorn.” He repeats, amazed.

You nod and divert your gaze to your left, where his bed is. You blush and immediately swing your head in the other direction.

“What were you thinking?” He asks, leaning on his field desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I guess I, um, I guess I was hungry, sir.” You stammer. You shift your weight to the balls of your feet, then place them back on the ground.

“You guess you were hungry?” He asks dumbfounded, “And you decided that popcorn was the right snacking choice?”

You shrug, and he shakes his head.

“Tell me, soldier,” he says, “do you know what popcorn does?”

“What does it do?” You ask naively.

“Come on, work with me,” he says, gesticulating with his hands, “it’s a compound word; corn that...”

“… pops?”

“Repeatedly”, he nods, “and do you know what repeated ‘pops’ might be interpreted with? In a field exercise? With a bunch of soldiers on high alert?”

“Gunshots?”

“Repeated gunshots,” he corrects you.

You shut your eyes and hunch over. “I’m really sorry, sir,” you finally mutter, “it was an accident.”

“Oh!” He exclaims and throws his hands up, “Thank you for clearing that out, soldier; see, I was worried you were intentionally committing arson!”

“No, sir, I promise you that wasn’t my intention,” you cry, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upsetting me is not the problem here, Y/N, and if you can’t see that, we have a bigger issue to deal with.”

You furrow your eyebrows and look at him, confused. He takes a while to assess your expression and widens his eyes, ready to lecture you for good now.

“You could have gotten hurt, you idiot!” He shouts, hitting his palm with the outer edge of his hand. “You could have burned yourself, or someone could have shot straight in your direction with all these...” he gestures with his hands, imitating fireworks, “...pops that you were making!”

You raise your eyebrows as you connect the dots. “You’re right, sir,” you nod, “I will try to be wiser and not make any stupid mistakes in the future.”

“Mistakes happen daily, and you are wise, soldier.” He reassures you, “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be on my team.” He walks behind his desk to sit on the folding chair. “It’s your inability to assess the danger that scares me.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says gently, “and I worry that there might not always be someone there to help you.”

“I can assure you that the team is always-”

“I know the team is great and always has your back, but I mean me; I won’t always be there to save you from harm,” he says and shoos you away. “You’re dismissed,” he orders, and starts filling paperwork.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” You ask.

He shuts his eyes and rubs his forehead. “I just extinguished one hell of a fire,” he replies. “Unless what I just experienced was a scene from a movie, I highly doubt I’d be able to sleep in peace.”

“I’m really sorry.” You apologise, and he waves his hand again for you to leave.

“Soldier?” He asks, and you turn to look at him one last time.

“I hope you didn’t bring any movies to accompany you with that popcorn.” He states in a stern voice.

You vigorously shake your head. “No, sir,” you reply, “no movies, just popcorn.”

He lets out a relieved exhale. “Just remember; next time you get hungry, it’s better to stick to the rations.”

You shrug and look at the ground. “I’ve run out of my allocated rations, sir.”

He lets out another exhale, this time deeper, and tilts his head to the side.

“Is that the reason you decided to cook for yourself?” He asks, “Because you ate all your meals?”

You slowly nod. His eyes have softened, and he looks more compassionate than before. Almost forgiving; human.

He opens the drawer of his field desk and grabs an energy bar and a pack of dried figs. He pushes them towards you.

“Please, come see me next time,” he advises you. “I much rather wake up to you asking for food than to a blitzkrieg of kernels popping.”

[sexlapis]

actor! toji fushiguro thoughts 💭

actor toji would be one of those hot dilf actors that women would always be drooling over, edits of him always popping up on your fyp, the most outta pocket comments underneath all of his insta posts, he would be the number 1 dilf for all the old man fuckers.

toji rarely posts on social media. he’s at that age where he just does not care to post his whole life online, but that only attracts people to him more because he is so mysterious. he would have like 10 million followers and only follow 12 people (including you)

toji would probably be one of those actors that have no variety in their roles, but everybody would still eat it up anyways. toji as an actor would typically play a villain/antagonist or an anti-hero, typically in an action movie/series and he plays them well. toji can embody an intimidating, frightening, intelligent villain very well. he could be cast as one of the most horrendous, horrible villains and be a menace towards the main cast but because he looks like that, he is forgiven.

but there are those rare times toji is casted as a father or father figure and his character would do anything for their daughter and everyone just loses it. he plays the father role well, almost too well. he is so caring, protective and sweet towards the actress playing as his daughter, even behind the scene clips with one another, he is just so gentle and dreamy. the fans cannot handle it!

during interviews, toji can be charming. he cracks jokes and he answers questions honestly, even if they make him look unprofessional. he really does not give a fuck about that, which only makes him even more attractive. he’s a little sleazy sometimes, but that just adds to his lazy effortless appeal.

he just has such a dominant personality and not in a bad way either. like if an interviewer asked a question that made a cast member uncomfortable, he would smoothly change the subject and the mood, making everyone forget about it entirely. also, his stare is really intense…like when the interviewer or a fellow cast member is speaking, he makes sure to look at them and listen really closely, not even realising how intimidating that could be 😭

despite his unprofessional personality and wealthy background, people who work with toji cannot say anything bad about him. he is a great actor with great work ethic and is always respectful to his cast members. and most of all, he is humble. due to his background and accomplishments, other actors on set expect him to be all flashy and all head in the clouds, but toji isn’t like that. toji is very aware and down to earth and he doesn’t see himself as superior because of his wealth. he sees what that power does to some people (his family) and he wants nothing not do with it.

overall, for the most part, toji is a respected actor, with a loyal (albeit crazy) fanbase, he actually enjoys his job and lives a relatively private and quiet life. people barely know anything despite his wealth and fame and prefers to keep it that way.

a/n: this was inspired by jeffrey dean morgan lmao. also i’m thinking of maybe doing a mini one shot with actress reader x actor toji in the form of one of those youtube videos like “(reader) & toji fushiguro being a couple for 10 minutes straight” i think that would be fun 🤭🤭

edit: toji & reader being a couple for 10 minutes straight is here <3

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiiii❤️ I idk if this is a Drabble or a headcaon but here I go anyways😅 . Hear some context So you don’t think I’m some weirdo. So in the 2017 movie called the babysitter and this character Allison got shot in the b00b and she “omg he shot me in the b00b what kind of dçk shots a girl in the b00bs” (funny scene) so basically fem!reader with platonic!taskforce141. And there on a mission and suddenly they hear the same line on their coms and they’re like 😳

(feel free to ignore)

A/N: LMAO - I had to look up the scene for this as a reference. Just picturing Price's paternal disappointment when he realizes his team acts like a bunch of children. Sorry, this is rlly short!

Summary: Your attempt at comedic relief sets off a chain reaction of immaturity.

Warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical mild injury, suggestive language, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 554

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver. | PART TWO

No Filter // 141 Drabble

Compared to some of the other operations you’d done with them, this was a piece of cake. A simple infiltrate and exfil mission where you’d be clearing house in one of Hassan’s safehouses—a mere breadcrumb leading to the man himself.

Price thought it would go smoothest if everyone split up, but to keep within shouting distance. It was only a small facility, after all.

Being ambushed? Shot? That was not something you saw in the cards for today.

Luckily, you got a bullet in him before he had a chance to do worse. But here you were, slumped against the wall with all the air knocked out of your lungs.

“Heard the shots, Sergeant. You broken?”

Captain Price’s voice crackled through near instantly, the second he had pulled the trigger on you. Though it took a few seconds, you managed to recuperate, and asses the room in front of you. The man who shot you K.I.A, and you very fortunate.

You peered down at your chest; indeed not broken, but injured. The vest had absorbed the shot, causing a relieved sigh to escape your lips. Obviously, if you really had a bullet in your chest, you wouldn’t just be sitting there—but the adrenaline of escaping death eliminated any rationality.

You unbuttoned the first few buttons on your shirt, seeing a welt on your breast as if the man had his gaze set on them when he pulled the trigger. Still, with your hand on the button of your radio, you finally gave some sort of answer.

“Bastard shot me in the boobs.” It was a mumble, but there was no way in hell they didn’t hear that.

As you winced, you seemed to forget that the entire team was on the other line—probably way more concerned with your life than the health of your tits. “What kind of dick shoots a girl in the boobs?” You asked rhetorically, despite the astonished silence on the other line.

“You were shot in your…?” Gaz was the first to speak up, his tone practically painting the picture of his signature squint.

Before the next voice chimed in, you could swear you heard whoever it was stifling a laugh. “Thanks for that.” Soap chimed in, accent crackling against the static. His smirk was visible even if his words; the natural flirt in him coming out no matter what.

Ghost had remained silent, probably muting his comms so he didn’t have to listen to this. And Price? Oh, Price… He’s got his head in his hands with pure disappointment. How did this status update turn so unprofessional, so quickly?

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soap comes in again, a smug sneer on his face. “He shot you on the—”

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Price blurts, interrupting the immature banter daring to be further set in motion. He was fighting every urge to crack a smile at the pure ridiculousness, but his poker face and stern tone prevented it.

“Tactical or not, John, it’s a tough break.” Laswell comes in, your only saving grace against Price’s father-like disappointment. She was the last superior of yours you’d expected to find it humorous, but she did, nonetheless.

This would definitely be the source material for the next HR meeting, you could see it now.

[random-thought-depository]

Opposition to attempts to confine minors to a carefully curated bubble where things conservatives don't like to talk about aren't talked about should be centered on advocating for the freedom of minors to experience pleasure on their own terms and learn on their own terms, not on a binmenist opposition to "coddling."

School library book bans and V-chips and the like aren't about making the experience of being a minor more congruent with the preferences of actually existing minors. You can tell by looking at how minors react to them (see, e.g., every teenager who's ever lied about their age to access a porn site) and how the adults pushing them in turn react to those reactions (with punishment, increased attempts at control, and more-or-less zero receptivity to feedback from actual minors). They're about trying to use selective exposure to information to shape the personality of minors to values-align them with conservatism; they're petty tyranny, not coddling, and insofar as this adult-directed control-centered personality-shaping project involves some "coddling" that's one of the least bad things about it. Opposition to this form of petty tyranny should be centered on advocacy for minors, not attempts to values-align minors with a different adult-centered political project; it should center solidarity with the actual minors who resent and resist this form of petty tyranny, not catering to adults who think reading Maus at 12 or sneaking into an R-rated movie at 13 builds character.

Note: this also means the proper reaction to things like "I'm a minor and I think I need to be protected from seeing somebody's Wincest Omegaverse fanfiction" is one that centers "you don't get to give up important rights on behalf of your entire demographic group and you also don't get to take away my important rights," not "I must defend my adult rights and superior older generation culture from those awful puriteens!"

[partycatty]

older!johnny cage > overheard

you're caught in the act of swooning over your boss

notes: i'm not even fuckin playing i just woke up from my nap in a cold sweat with this idea haunting my mind so here i am. i truly honestly genuinely cannot stop thinking about dilf johnny and his thick fucking arms and how much i want him to [REDACTED]

[ masterlist ]

• during your break from training, you managed to squeeze in a meal break with one of your closest friends. it was just the two of you, laughing and for once breaking the stoicism implanted into your demeanors from training ruthlessly.

• "jesus, commander cage really kicked our asses today," your friend whined, rolling her shoulder. "i get we're fighting against demons and elementals, but did we really need to run twenty miles?"

• "it wasn't all bad," you shrug, poking at your food. "we've done worse, i feel."

• "oh hush, you had the time of your life," your friend groaned, lightly pushing into your shoulder with a smirk. "you and johnny cage got to run beside each other in formation." your friend was sure to say his name in an announcer voice, wiggling her fingers as she pretended to read a large sign.

• you huff, planting a fist on the table as you try to conceal your embarrassment with faux anger. "oh my god shut up..."

• your mind wanders to earlier in the day. johnny decided to wear only a tank top instead of a long sleeve with a vest, giving you a delicious view of his arms as they pumped during the run. while you two didn't talk, he shared panting encouragements by your side, telling you you were doing so good and how much further you had left. it made running feel almost impossible as each word and grunt knocked the wind from you.

• "jesus, look at you," your friend laughs at your dreamy expression as you replay the memory. "you're down bad, girl, anyone and their mother could tell."

• "is it that obvious?" you murmur, burying your face with your hands. "i'm doomed."

• "nah, you might have a shot," she insists, pulling your hands from your face. "he might be into younger women, most celebrities are."

• "but he's not just a celebrity, he's our superior," you whine, rolling your head back. "i just watch his movies and pretend i'm the love interest."

• "oh, it's bad bad," she laughs, looking past you for a moment. her smile falters.

• "can you blame me? ugh," you rake a hand through your hair. "he's all muscle, he could just pick me up and snap me like a twig! normally i'd settle for height alone but holy fuck he's built like a brick fucking wall!"

• your friend falls silent.

• "and don't even get me started on his age," you point an accusatory finger. "he is 50 something and so fucking fine i can't even bring myself to focus on literally anything ever. i watched some of his old movies, and he literally aged like the finest fucking wine any vineyard has ever even dreamed of making! thank god his daughter is the commander because if he stood around and told me what to do i'd behave so much like a dog it would embarrass me. he is the god damn devil in disguise and i sure a shit don't have a single chance of him even looking in my direction with any more than a smile because at the end of the day i'm just a sad little recruit crushing on a guy who probably has a massive di—"

• "i'm fifty-nine," you hear a low, horrifyingly familiar voice in your ear. you can't even bring yourself to turn around, smile dropping and eyes widening. the only thing you can bring yourself to do is stare across the table at your friend, who's as equally still. maybe if you were still enough, he wouldn't see you. like a dinosaur.

• "lieutenant," you breathe out after a long silence, drunk on the smell of his cologne. "we were just... t-talking about you."

• "oh yeah?" his voice is rumbly, a teasing inflection making you want to burst out in tears. you had a faint suspicion he was behind you the entire time, something he confirmed before you could muster the strength to speak. "sounded more like it was just you."

• "well," you wonder if you can outrun him, stammering as you try to talk yourself out of this. "you know..."

• you finally get the courage to spin in your chair, turning around to face him. he's towering over your sitting form, a shit-eating smirk on his lips.

• "i'm sorry, sir, i'll... i'll do extra push-ups, i'll go overtime on training, scrub the toilets, anything to—"

• he holds a hand up, waving it away as he shakes his head slowly.

• "don't stress it," he stands up straight, crossing his arms. oh my god his arms. "but, uh... just a word, in my office, when you have the chance." you almost miss the wink he sends at you, but you caught it just as he spun on his heel and walked out, a cocky sway to his hips.

• you spin back around, slack jawed at your friend, who's red from holding in her scream of excitement.

• "he's totally gonna bang you on his desk," she finally spits out, covering her mouth immediately after. you just lower your head, hitting it against the table in defeat.

• who knows what he's gonna do to you in his office?

[alottiegoingon]

peanuts

lottie matthews x gn!reader

summary: the one where you bring pb&j sandwiches for lottie everyday since you were 9.

warnings: so much fluffiness i might throw up, short silly fic, lottie and reader are childhood friends and secretly in love, no crash, lottie has a bad relationship with her parents, cute little unexpected ending i guess?, english mistakes, not proofread

you and lottie were friends since you were nine years old.

you remember being inside the car with your parents when you moved to new jersey. the roads were bumpy before you could make it to the city of wiskayok. still, you insisted on carrying a book with you during the entire trip, knowing that you would feel nauseous in no time. your parents warned you but, as the quiet and moody kid that didn't want to move, you ignored their advice.

trying to focus on anything else besides your upset stomach, you place the book titled "matilda" by roald dahl, in perfect condition, by your side and decide to enjoy the view outside as the car moves along from the backseat. it wasn't a lifesaver but it was better than feeling your head heavy as you read the tiny words in the paper.

the houses were all the same. boring, lifeless and with a few flowers or bushes outside just to bring some color. what a lame city, you thought. no colorful houses, fun playgrounds or a nice park in sight. but that changed at the exact same moment as you saw lottie's house. a perfect planned garden in the front and impeccably painted walls capable of telling anyone that the house was pretty, yes, but the people living inside of it were superior. liking or not, the house was pretty but not as far pretty as her.

lottie was upstairs in the window of her bedroom when you saw her, you couldn't decide if she was staring outside like she was waiting for something or just watching people go by as if she was trapped inside. either way, she waved at you and, hesitantly, you waved back.

the following years consisted in sleepovers, movie nights and little discussions in the book club you two invented. safe to say that you became best friends almost too immediately.

lottie was a loner when she was home with no one to watch her except for a old lady that worked for the matthew's as a housekeeper or a nanny. you never knew and she was scary. playing pranks on her was almost a daily occurrence and an invention of lottie. like dyeing her clothes pink or switching salt and sugar and watching the distorted face of pure horror and agony in lottie's parents faces during dinner, when they invited you over. you and lottie had to cover your mouth or look down to not laugh but couldn't ever not exchange glances across the table.

her parents knew, of course. "your parents must be waiting for you. it's late isn't it?" was lottie's moms way of telling you to leave. you would say goodbye to lottie and hold her hand extra tight, knowing that the second the door closed behind you, you would hear her parents scolding her. you could see a curious mix between fear and excitement in her eyes when you were about to leave and you thought that that would be the last time she would prank that poor lady, but no. she would always come up with something new. deep down you knew that she was just craving attention from her parents and she would be glad to accept some mean words from them if it meant that they would talk to her instead of disappearing in work.

every day after the pranks were the same. the next morning, you showed up at school with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. one for you and the other one for lottie, of course. maybe it was your way of supporting her as you could. as a nine year old, peanut butter sandwiches were your favorite and you would always eat them if you were feeling sad. you never knew why she would eat it entirely and as fast as she could, kiss your cheek and run away, telling you she was late. it was lunch time and she was nine. what could she possibly be late for?

but the smile on her face exposing her teeth shaped like little fangs every single time she saw you with a simple extra sandwich on hands made just for her, became your new favorite thing in the world.

during your teenage years, nothing changed. almost nothing. lottie was still a loner at home but was kind of a popular girl at school. not like your other friend jackie, but still popular. you and lottie tried for the wiskayok high yellowjackets; a girl's soccer team. you both made it to the team and quickly made some new friendships but nothing as close as what you two had. you were popular as well, sure, but you didn't care about that. it took you a few weeks to realize that jackie was popular because of her personality. you, lottie and other girls were popular because you were on the team.

regardless, after every unsuccessful exam, every bad moment with lottie's parents, every failed practice day, you were right by her side holding a sandwich with silly drawings made out of peanut butter and jelly. despite being best friends, you were both changing. different hair, different ways of dressing, different ways to look at each other. the only thing that never truly changed was the smile on lottie's lips and it was exactly like how you remember from when you were nine.

there was that one day when lottie had an awful day at practice after a fight with her parents last night and she was sitting on the aluminun bench in the locker room. she had her head down and her dark curls styled in low pigtails.

"hi." you sit by her side. she looks up and you notice her red eyes. "hi." she whispers. lottie would never let people see her in vulnerable moments but near you, she wouldn't hide a thing.

"should i go to your house in the middle of the night and dye your parents clothes pink like when we were kids?" your voice was playful but you knew that if the answer was yes, you would happily do it.

you feel your heart beating faster as you hear lottie's breathy laugh and feel proud of yourself for making her happy now. then, in a few seconds, the weak smile faded and the locker room fell into silence.

"do you think i'm a freak?" her words make your heart shatter. lottie would tell you everything, except from that one big secret thing that she was forbidden to talk about by her parents. you never mentioned it after noticing how she would get uncomfortable. or after noticing how her parents would always change the conversation to something else if she was blabbing too much. or when you saw a small orange bottle with pills inside with a label that said "charlotte matthews".

you take a moment to think of something to say until you realize that there was no right thing. lottie just wanted support. she needed your support. "i think you are strong." you say. you knew that she didn't have a choice, she had to be strong. but yet, it was something you admired in her.

"lott, i don't know what is happening and i won't ever force you to tell me. but i know you for years now and i know what you are." she remains quiet but at least she's still looking at you.

"you are so smart. brilliant, actually. you are great at soccer, you have an amazing fashion sense" you joke "a heart of gold."

"and you are beatiful."

lottie says nothing but you can see a subtle spark of relief in her eyes. instead, she hops closer to you and rest her head on your shoulder. you do the same, gently laying your head on top of hers. you were staring at that same old boring blue locker in front of you when you feel lottie's hand grabbing yours. you feel nothing but euphoria when she intertwined your fingers together as your hands were placed between you two.

your smile was so wide that you were actually happy that lottie couldn't see you. and you couldn't see her face as well but something was telling you that she was also smiling while her thumb was Involuntarily caressing your hand. you weren't sure if that was something that best friends did, at least not in such an intimate way. but you were hoping that it meant something more.

you hear steps getting louder and realize that practice was over and the girls were coming to change clothes. unanimously, you two distance yourselves from each other just in time and, taking a quick glance at lottie, you see her face entirely red.

"are you okay, lottie? we were worried. jackie said that she can dismiss you tomorrow." shauna gets closer to you two, touching lottie's shoulder and squeezing it softly in reassurance.

"it's okay. i'm all good." she looks up and smiles at her friend.

you stand up and grab your backpack, pulling out a small paper bag with something unmistakable inside. lottie and shauna look at you and still feeling a bit shaky, you handle it to lottie with a shy smirk and lots of mumble.

"peanut butter sandwich. to make you feel better, you know the drill, right?" you laugh awkwardly and lottie's cheeks that were just going back to its original color, got pinkish again. the same old smile was also there.

"thank you. movie night tonight?" she asks full of hope.

"absolutely. can't wait to watch drew barrymore in scream." you nod excitedly. later that night you would find out that she would only appear in the screen for ten minutes and lottie would make fun of you for that.

after you left, shauna tapped lottie's shoulder to catch her attention. she looked at shauna but her hands were carefully holding the paper bag against her body as if she was taking care of something precious.

"i thought you were allergic to peanuts?" shauna furrows her brows.

"yeah. but it's their favorite."

[lightwing-s]

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒

pairing: wally west x gn! reader

requested: yes summary: when sending a picture goes wrong, the last thing you expect is your coworker at you doorstep looking for cuddles

word count: 1,4k warnings: other than swearing, none

a/n: i unlearned how to write short blurbs today and everything is turning into an imagine. also, two posts in a day. don't get used to it.

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

⌜masterlist⌟ ⌜requests⌟

Being single during winter sucks, because you want to get warm cuddling somebody but you don’t have anyone to cuddle with and you end up cuddling your cat. So, there you were now, laid on your sofa, the snow falling down on your window, and many scratches in your arms because your cat didn’t want to cuddle you after all.

Fuck being single. 

Bored out of your ass with the movie you got on tv, you picked up your phone and took a picture of you on the sofa, all covered in blankets, and an evil cat on your feet. Pressing the share button, you looked for your best friend’s contant when a notification popped on your phone but you bluntly ignored it and sent the picture to your friend with a message “no one to cuddle, not even Mr McFluffler”.

However, you didn’t send it to your friend. You sent it on your work group chat. 

In one of your dumbest moves, you mixed the chats together and sent it by mistake to all of your work mates. The notification, a message from your colleague Wally, had propped the group chat further up on your chats list and you clicked on it accidentally. 

You sent them a picture of you, on your pajamas, crying because you were fucking single. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuuuck.

Luckily, you had fast fingers, deleting the picture faster than the Flash could make it to England. 

No one saw it, Yn. Relax. You were fast, faster than the Flash. Nobody noticed. And if they did, so what, it was just a silly picture. It could be worse, you could’ve sent them nudes. You tried calming yourself up, trying to assure yourself everything was going to be fine, and like clockwork, your superior answered Wally’s message as if yours was never sent.

A couple minutes had passed and you’d already sent a message to your friend, you two laughing over the whole situation, when you heard your doorbell ring. Weird, you hadn’t ordered food nor were you waiting for any visitors.

Jumping up from the sofa, you ran to the window, looking to see who the hell was knocking at your door at this hour, on this day, and in this godforsaken weather.

“Wally?” you asked, rushing to your door. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

It didn’t make sense. You’d barely speak at work, exchanging a few words every day, but that was it. Wally was fun, joked with everybody and never made you feel uncomfortable, you just weren’t close. 

He did, indeed, make you a feel a bit nervous though, but that was silly, a silly little work crush that would never go anywhere because he he made you so nervous you were never being able to come up with a good comeback to keep the conversation going, usually just smiling like a dumbass and avoiding him for the rest of the day.

Yay!

“I tracked your phone.” he simply stated, as if it was nothing. Brushing you off, he took off his winter jacket and walked past you inside your home, your eyes wide open and questioning his entire demeanor. “You want a cuddle right?”

What?!

“What?!” you nearly screamed, feeling the burn growing on your cheeks, almost running back inside and hiding away in your bedroom.

“You sent a picture, sugar.” he explained nonchalantly. “You wanted to cuddle, because your cat wouldn’t?”

This can be real, you thought, just can’t be. “It was a mistake, I was supposed to send it to my friend and we were just joking.” you tried to explain, the words jumping out of your mouth before you really could process them, too overwhelmed by the sudden situation you found yourself in.

“So you don’t wanna cuddle?” he asked, stopping in his tracks, almost at your living room.

“I-I mean, I would like to cuddle, it’s just…”

“So let’s cuddle then.” he said, disappearing into your house and leaving you frozen at the door. You didn’t understand what made him come all the way to your house, and how fast he had done it. Why would he do that? Why? It was just, so confusing. It didn’t make sense. Your mind was doing turns and turns trying to think, trying to react, trying to process everything that was happening. “You really gonna stay outside in the cold?”

His scream broke you from your thoughts and you closed the door behind you as you headed to the living room to meet him. There, to your surprise once again, Wally had his long ass legs covered with one of the blankets, your cat, that treacherous bitch,  purring on his lap as he caressed his orange fur, an unexpected match with his hair, with one of his hands while the other rested over the couch.

“I’m really confused.” you said, eyebrows crushed together. “Why are you here, West?”

“You ask too many questions, you know that?” he said, completely entertained by the cat on his lap. “You sent a picture complaining you didn’t have anyone to cuddle with. It’s cold, I also don’t have anyone to cuddle with, so I’m offering myself to fulfill your needs. And mine.”

“We’re not even friends…”

“Yn… We’re just gonna cuddle. Or are you thinking of something els…”

“No!”

“Then come here.” he grabbed you by the arm and onto the sofa, slamming against his chest as you fell down with him. He covered you with the same blanket he had over his legs and pulled you close, too uncomfortably close, and put his arm over your shoulder.

You had to be honest, you felt very comfortable cuddling Wally West, his warmth emanating from his body and embracing yours, making it all just… perfect. You dared to put your hand over his waist, but your cat bit it before you could do so.

Son of a bitch, you told him mentally. Wally’s chuckle stole your attention away, though, as he petted the devil, er, the animal that stretched on his lap. “You can hug me now, Yn. He won’t bother you anymore.”

Blushing, you were reluctant to do so, but Wally’s hand pulled yours to wrap them around his torso. “See, this is fine.”

You rested your head on his shoulder as you felt the hours passing, his own head resting atop yours. You watched two or three movies, cozied up to each other in what was a position you could get more and more used to.

It was then that a loud rumble had you lifting from your position and facing your coworker. “Are you hungry?” you asked, smiling at the awkwardly funny face he was making.

“Can we order pizza?” he asked back, and as you nodded, he stood up from the sofa, typing in a phone number faster than humanly possible and placing his phone on his ear.

“I never asked, but,” you started, following him into your kitchen. “How did you get here so fast?”

Wally’s eyes grew wide as he tried to avoid looking at you, the words missing from his mind as he tried to find an excuse. “I was close by.”

“Oh!” you simply replied.

Fuck it, Wally, he thought. Could’ve been a bit more subtle.

“I was walking by, you know. Just looking for something to do when I saw your message and like, thought it was a great opportunity I couldn’t let pass.”

“An opportunity to cuddle?” you asked shyly.

“To cuddle you, why would I pass on it?” His words made you blush redder than a tomato, looking down at your nails to avoid his eyes. “It was really a great opportunity.”

“Was it worth taking?” you asked again, looking at him innocently.

“Totally.” he stated. “You?”

“Totally.”

You listened as the pizza place finally answered the call and he ordered four (!!!) pizzas for the two of you. Fast metabolism, he mouthed and you laughed. “C’mon, let’s go back to cuddling”

Pulling you by the hand, he jumped on the sofa again, this time laying on it and leaving enough space to have you by his side.

“Don’t you think you’re getting too comfortable?” you joked.

“You make me comfortable, Yn. You should get used to it.”

“Used to it?” you questioned, pulling you to lay down on the sofa with him.

“Yeah, used to it.” he repeated. 

Lying down now, you fixed your head placement on his shoulder, a perfect fit once more. A hand placed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through your palm, you felt his arm pushing you closer till your forehead met his lips.

“If you’re interested, we could do this more often.” he suggested.

“Yeah, I’d be interested.” you said, not hiding the smile spreading on your lips.

“And we could, you know, go out on a date somewhere.”

“Yeah, I’d be interested in that too.”

[sandwichboy625]

I have two Roman Empires. They surround Reuben and Gantu. (Third one is in the reblogs!)

My Roman Empire is how Reuben literally stopped being rude to everybody when Lilo gave him a name. A NAME. From the 65 episodes, all those insults he spewed out… that snarky attitude he gave everybody… all the hurt feelings he caused ended at this moment. You never see him being mean to Lilo, Gantu or Stitch ever again. He literally considers something as simple as being given a name affection.

He went the entire show without a name, just being called 625. Meanwhile, if not all, most of the other experiments had a name. Pretty sure it made Reuben feel that he was irrelevant, forgotten and most of all: failed. Perhaps that's ONE of the reasons he STAYED so rude throughout the show and like for half the Leroy and Stitch movie; the time he was simply a number?

My second Roman Empire is about how Gantu… this intimidating, strict, ruthless guy

...did not like being evil. He was seeking emotional validation.

"Am I good enough?" I can only imagine him asking himself that after hearing Hamsterviel, Reuben or his father's negative voice in his head. I don’t care if Reuben was “struggling too”, he still didn’t have to project so much.

When Gantu got vulnerable with Reuben in episode 28, he talked about how his father was very authoritarian and strict. He also talked about how his peers looked down on him. Can't imagine how bad he wanted to prove his daddy and peers wrong. He truly did try. It's awful because he even talks about how his life would have been better if he would have stuck with his girlfriend. Deep down, being the captain isn't what he wanted. He wanted to live a normal childhood. Sacrificed it, though, all for his dad.

His first attempt at being what his father pushed him to be was under the Grand Councilwoman. However, after the chaos he and stitch had, she fired him. This is why he had such a hate for stitch throughout the entire show. Not because of selfishness, not because he was evil, but because stitch ruined the pathway that gave him that sense of superiority and validation.

Throughout the show, no thanks to plot armor and gags and jokes, he is constantly failing to capture experiments AND is being ridiculed. It's by everybody- Lilo, Stitch, Reuben, random people. Sometimes it's physical, sometimes it's verbal. It definitely has an effect. Might as well be physical and verbal abuse because of how often and harsh it is.

It’s not normal to call yourself a failure because you don’t know where a street is.

There’s this episode where he prefers to be a guy named “Uncle Chester”. While he’s Chester, he doesn’t have to worry about Hamsterviel’s ruthlessness and doesn’t have to be bullied every single episode. He was delusional as Chester but at least he was happy. He pointed out how he was unhappier as Gantu.

But

There is nobody that affects him as much as Hamsterviel does.

I've ALWAYS been asking myself, "why doesn't he just squish Hamsterviel? Hamsterviel is all bark no bite!" Hamsterviel is the most demanding, controlling, manipulating, obnoxious, and most of all- DEGRADING boss that Gantu has had. However…

Could it be that he resorts to Hamsterviel and never hurts him because it's another chance to prove himself to a figure like his father?

He sees toxicity as another chance to prove himself. Doesn’t matter all the suffering he does.

As long as the job gets done, right?

But I mean, hey.

Gantu is hot.

[respectthepetty]

Dangerous Romance is peak comedy

I got 99 problems, but Dangerous Romance ain't one. It feels like a Thai version of Another Gay Movie because it is squeezing in all the tropes yet taking none of them seriously, which is not a problem in my book.

Not a Problem #1 - Nava & Guy making everything into a competition including turning on the faucet. They got that Love Mechanics color-coded lighting treatment, and that's all I care about.

Not a Problem #2 - The Poor Boys treating the Rich Kids like the dogs they are by threatening punishment if they act up and dropping "good boy" casually into the conversation when they do good deeds, then rewarding them. It's puppy play meets praise kink, and I approve of it.

Not a Problem #3 - How Sailom's friends, especially Guy, thought Kanghan was trying to poison them, yet still drank with Nava because if he was going to die, he was going to die the champion.

Not a Problem #4 - Kanghan not knowing how to express what he is feeling when Sailom questions him after the kiss and expecting the kiss to speak for itself. He thought he was speaking Sailom's love language, but Sailom is clearly an "acts of service" type, while Kanghan is a "words of affirmation" guy.

Not a Problem #5 - Characters using the bathroom! Every episode, someone goes to the bathroom or uses it as an excuse to escape a dinner where they cannot make eye contact with the boy who kissed him in the bathroom because the kiss was a C- at best and he doesn't know how to tell him that without making him cry since he has a praise kink, and I appreciate it.

Not a Problem #6 - Kanghan saying that he sucks.

Not a Problem #7 - Kanghan stating he has to keep trying because practice makes perfect.

Not a Problem #8 - The tiny smile Kanghan gave when he realized he could go through the bathroom door instead of the front door to get to Sailom. And no, this is NOT an euphemism.

Not a Problem #9 - How Kanghan stood in the light because he finally figured out his feelings and he wanted to be open and honest about them while Sailom still hid in the dark blue afraid of the way he already loves this unhinged Blue Boy.

Not a Problem #10 - The pinky promise to be queer

Not a Problem #11 - The way Kanghan naturally went into Sugar Daddy mode.

Not a Problem #12 - The dumb looks these two kept giving each other in front of Sailom's friends and God as if no one else existed but each other.

Not a Problem #13 - Sailom singing JLo's 2001 hit "My Love Don't Cost a Thing" only for Auto to bring that Golden Era Madonna Energy and tell Kanghan that "We are living in a material world, and he is a material girl"

Not a Problem #14 - Kanghan liking the way Sailom smells. Kanghan wearing Sailom's clothes. Kanghan responding "no-no" when asked if he is a psycho like a cute little puppy. Kanghan's entire existence, and Sailom's annoyance of how much he loves this guy.

Not a Problem #15 - Kanghan being a WEAKASS! My family will give outsiders hot shit without any warning, just to watch them take a bite and cry, so I get a deep pleasure watching people suffer their way through eating spicy foods to save face. Like, just take the L my man, so everyone can know Sailom is superior to you in every way! Hence why I love Eddie from Kiseki: Dear to Me and Palm from Never Let Me Go. They like it spicy.

Not a Problem #16 - Sailom being horny on main when Kanghan took the blame to save Auto.

Not a Problem #17 - Auto being so tiny compared to the group. Auto getting White Girl Wasted. Auto dancing. Auto refusing to snitch on the group. Auto saying his mom is gonna be soooo upset at him like he is a (queer-coded) killer in the original Scream. Auto saying "NEVER FORGET! NEVER FORGIVE!"

Not a Problem #18 - Sailom being a gold-star gay when that girl was trying to dance with him, only for Kanghan to come in with a steel chair and demand she leave his gay boyfriend alone.

Not a Problem #19 - Sailom finally realizing just how crazy Kanghan is when Kanghan wanted to ballroom dance in the bar as a way of declaring to the whole world that they are in love, then Sailom realizing he is VERY into Kanghan's brand of crazy. *see #16*

Not a Problem #20 - Those handmade cheerleader outfits being so camp (read: fugly), that it brought the queer out of my (hidden) girl couple.

Not a Problem #21 - Sailom screaming "TROY!" again for the Wildcats in the audience who are "all in this together"

Not a Problem #22 - Guy not kink-shaming Sailom for his puppy play relationship with Kanghan since he's probably taking mental notes, so he can tame Nava using similar methods.

Not a Problem #23 - Kanghan hugging Sailom so tightly and THANKING HIM after Sailom said yes to being his boyfriend. See what a good dom can do for a brat through affirmation play? "Good boy" *pat his head*

Not a Problem #24 - Kanghan's (Perth's) smile. Sailom's (Chimon's) wavy hair. The boys cuddling up in Sailom's bed because Kanghan now needs constant positive reinforcement for his good behavior and he likes the way his boyfriend smells. Kink is really classical conditioning. Smell of boyfriend + Hugs from boyfriend = Who's a good boy? Who's the best boy? Who's my very good boy? *rubs his belly*

Not a Problem #25 - Saifah being A WHOLE FUCKING PROBLEM all episode! My wild ass theory lives!

God, I fucking love this show.

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

I was blown away by this post and need to talk about it, or I will never sleep lol. I wish I could show you our entire conversation but the OP deleted all my comments so I couldn't screenshot anything.

https://whereserpentswalk.tumblr.com/post/747399887511060481/the-nazis-that-you-see-in-movies-are-as-much-a

"Nazis weren’t atheists or pagans. They were deeply Christian and Christianity was part of their ideology just like it is for modern conservatives. They spoke at lengths about defending their Christian nation from godless leftism. The ones who hated the catholic church hated it for protestant reasons."

The nazis, including Hitler, were absolutely not supporters of Christianity, you don't even need to be a Christian to see why this is so problematic. The main idea of Christianity is that Jesus is the Messiah, the one and only Son who loved the world so much he sacrificed his life to pay the debt of our sins.

Jesus isn't just not Aryan, or not white. He is a Jew. Christians literally worship him, seeing him as both fully human and fully divine.

Hitler taught that Jews were inferior, the scum of the Earth, deserving of inhumane treatment and death. Why would he support a religion that worships a Jewish man as the Messiah?

Furthermore, the gospel teaches that ALL people, regardless of sex, race, ethnicity, etc. We're made equal in the eyes of God, and that we all came from the same two people.

Hitler taught that the Aryans were the superior race, and preached the inferiority of anyone else. Why would he support a religion that so blatantly contradicts his teachings?

But wait- if Hitler and the Nazis were against Christianity, why did they employ Christian rhetoric in speeches? Why did they negotiate a treaty with the Vatican?

If you are a psychopath vying for support and leadership in an overwhelmingly Christian nation, are you really going to talk about how useless you see Christianity, or how it is a threat to your rule? Of course not. Hitler was a demagogue. He wanted to appeal to the common 1930s German citizen, which meant he would need to appeal to Christians.

It wasn't until he had secured power that he could finally show his true colors, breaking his promise to the Vatican to not interfere with the rights of the church. Among the many groups persecuted in the holocaust were Christians, especially Roman Catholics. Clergy in Germany and other territories were closely supervised to make sure they didn't contradict the Nazi teachings, Catholic organizations were shut down, and many prominent Christians were sent to camps for forced labor and execution.

I pointed out some of these the the OP, to which they responded

How stating that the Nazis weren't supporters of Christians and that Christianity cannot coexist with Nazism makes me a holocaust denier, I don't know. I'm not the one denying that a certain group was persecuted by the Nazis (the OP stated in a comment of theirs that the Christians put into camps were only attacked for their ethnicity, not their religion) and trying to make it look like the Nazis actually loved and cared about that group.

I also don't understand how Christianity is inherently antisemitic. I asked the OP what about it was antisemitic, so after deleting all my comments, they blocked me. If you have the answer, let me know, I am genuinely curious.

It makes me sad to see that people actually believe this kind of propaganda. Also, if you're going to make a post about the evils of Nazism, you probably shouldn't use misinformation to villianize and scapegoat a group, or censor people who speak out against said misinformation. Just saying.

[kiddbegins]

I Can’t Lose You. - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek

Requested: yes

Word count: 810

Warnings: arguing but it ends happy so 🤸🏻✨

A/n: I couldn’t get the linking a gif to work but this is @winchesterszvonecek ‘s gif from this post.. actually i got it (thank you laptop) but bff this is still for you

Masterlist

“I can’t lose you.”

You and Otis didn’t fight a lot. In fact it was super rare and usually not even a fight. Just an argument . The difference being the arguments were always silly. What flavor skittle was the best (the green one.), your favorite Star Wars movie (Revenge of the Sith), which kind of soda was superior (Dr. Pepper.)

But this was a fight. Like actual yelling, crying and all. Your obliviousness was your achilles heel. You weren’t used to, well, people most of the time. Growing up you didn’t have many friends, you didn’t go out places most of college.

The only examples of the social life had been since you started seeing Brian a couple years ago and he basically swallowed you into his friend group who were truthfully always together.

Not that you complained because you loved them but still, everything was new to you. How were you supposed to know the guy that came up to you at the bar was flirting? “Bri, you know I don’t pick up on stuff like that!”

He wanted to believe you, but his own insecurities in himself more than anything picked at his rational, shoving it out the door. “You picked up on it when I was the one doing the flirting. When I was the one passing you drinks ‘on the house’ which you knew meant I was buying for you.”

“Yeah because I liked you! I wanted you to be flirting with me. I didn’t pick up on it, I just gave you my own googly eyes back.” You ran a hand down your face. “Look I’m not arguing with you over this, Brian. Either you believe me or you don’t. Pick.”

Your eyes darted over his, the anger and honestly, the fear, fighting against one another inside of you. You weren’t a liar. And you wanted to yell that at him. Force him to believe you. Because you hated this. All of this. But the other part of you was worried if you pushed him too much he just wouldn’t forgive you at all.

Otis wasn’t like that but truthfully this was also your first real fight. How did you actually know what he was like in them if you never got into one before? “Please believe me.” You couldn’t bear it in yourself to keep up the shield of anger. Not when the one thing you hated most was not being believed.

Instead, your previous emotion was fully replaced with fear. Undoubtful fear. “Please believe me because I can not lose you.” By now there were tears actively sliding down your face. You loved him. God did you love him. Every little molecule that made him had you swooning, always.

He had your attention the second you ran into one another at a cafe, literally. Your coffee down the front of his work shirt and everything. One of the most stereotypical meetcutes you could ever have but with how sweet he was when it happened? How could you not agree to hang out more?

Were you meant to turn him down? “You swear you didn’t notice?” Otis asked, his voice softer than before, the anger seeping out when he saw how your face twisted with sadness. You were his soft spot just as much as he was yours.

“I swear, Bri. I love you. Nobody else could even get me to pull my eyes away from you.” Hesitantly you stepped closer to him, grabbing his hands in yours. “You’re the love of my life, okay? If that guy was flirting, I didn’t realize because I didn’t care enough to. I care about you. Only ever you.”

Your words admittedly brought tears to the man’s eyes, nobody had ever been as sweet and caring as you were with him. Most of the time he was the second, even third choice. Half of him expected you to drop your attention from him to one of the ‘more attractive’ first responders the first night he brought you to Molly’s.

But you didn’t. Your body was glued to the edge of the bar, talking to him for the entire night. You were his before he even knew it. “Alright,” He let out a sigh, pulling you into a big bear hug. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to some guy.”

“You won’t lose me. Ever. I’m here for the long run.” You took a pause, “And I’m hoping that you’ll figure that out soon enough and get moving.” Otis pulled away with a look of confusion on his face.

With a soft laugh you lifted your left hand, wiggling the fingers on it. “By the end of the year I’m really hoping this finger won’t be bare anymore.” You teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek, just happy that that crisis was easily averted.

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