#reminder that these are based on the characters ^^

[padawansuggest]

These days it’s shrug and move on, or if it’s really upsetting its block and move on, but I’m not gonna engage directly anymore. The thing is??? No one take in a fandom will be the only take. I have characters that I hate based entirely upon them reminding me of someone, and that means that a character I ADORE could also be someone that reminds you of someone you dislike and you have your own issues there. It makes me think ‘yeah, I would be pretty annoyed if someone talked about that shit on someone I like’ and move on, because it’s truly not worth it.

Fandoms become toxic because of people being unable to accept each others differences, and that’s the damn truth of it.

But. Even still. Vague blog all you want about it. You’re allowed to have grievances. You might think that it’s a truly toxic take that’s very against the source material and just want to defend the character, but it’s really not smart to deal directly with the bad take, because you might just start a fight. Instead, be the influence that character needs to break out of that shell, if you can.

i actually need to know people's thoughts on this because at least in my experience the answer to this has drastically changed since i was on tumblr in the 2010s and its driving me fucking insane

*im talking about fandom takes specifically. not someone being horribly evil about a real-life issue or or blatantly factually incorrect. literally just harmless fandom disagreements or differing interpretations of a text/character/etc.

[superhoeva]

𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 – 𝐜. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | okay lovelies. i remember doing this 2478912 years ago for another character i was once in love with in another life and the idea popped back into my head late last night. this is not the only one i'll be doing because i'm down very badly for so many fictional fucking people lol. next up... pope cody? eneeways, thank you to the beauties @ovaryacted and @stellamarielu for beta-ing this for me last minutes. another thanks to @ozarkthedog for speaking the words "charlie reid" and "pussy spanking" into the universe, as i was too much of a coward too until i saw her delicious blurb (go check it out ��🏾)!! please heed the warning(s) on this one guys, all of them listed below <3

warning(s): some dark content, language, smut, female pronouns used, safe word (mentioned), spanking/pussy spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex (p in v), possessiveness, dirty talk, bodiily fluids, oral sex (f +m receiving), facefucking/throat fucking, breath play (mentioned), mean!charlie (at times), dark(ish)!charlie, sex toys (mentioned), degradation, public sex, exhibitionism, crying, desk sex, charlie calls the reader names: “slut” + “whore” + “cum rag”, creampies (mention), charlie’s version of aftercare; w/c is 1.8k

✩ To start off, this guy’s a growler. It wouldn’t make sense to deny it, not with how often his vocal cords tighten and razor out the rough sound. It’s usually in the form of your name or a curse, Charlie strains to keep his eyes from rolling at how wet you feel wrapped around his cock. You just take his cock so god damn perfectly… stretched out all pretty and taking every inch he stuffs inside you.

He can’t help the way the noises seep from the back of his throat. Raw and feral Charlie sounds, fucking you the same way with an untamed pace and hands grabbing you with such a heat, you wouldn’t be surprised if his palms were to sear a scar in the shape of his grip. Forever marking you with a him-shaped grope and a pussy full of his seed.

✩ Charlie also never fails to remind you that you are his. He’s a possessive person, remarkably so when it comes to you. No one else makes him feel the way you do–light-headed and running hot and damn near drunk–and makes most of the other things throughout the world insignificant. Not much else is good enough for you except him, and he doesn’t want much to do with anything except you. ‘You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine, baby, you got that?’ he mumbles while he’s buried inside you, exhales mixing with yours. Partially for you, mostly for himself, Charlie builds himself up around the mantra. Wholly convinced of the fact and you belong to him and ensures that it stays hidden from the many evils of the world that you and all of your sweet have him wrapped tight around your finger.

✩ Two words: pussy spanking. Charlie might be a little obsessed with it but no more than he’s obsessed with you. How you whine and jerk when the flat of his fingers pat a sharp smack against your center. He always makes sure to follow it with slow, sopping kisses against the stinging skin, lapping his tongue around your to soothe away the ache before spanking you again, pupils tinting black a soul-sucking abyss at the way you clench around nothing. Crying as you stare back at him, your slit oozes out a slick of warm arousal. “Blubber all you want, doll. Pussy’s leaking out more tears than those eyes and you haven’t even thought about saying ‘red’ yet, have you?” A sick grin splits Charlie’s lips when you arch and shake your head. That’s my girl.

✩ Another one of his addictions is fucking your throat. You’ve got the most gorgeous lips and he’ll never get enough of how they looked stretched wide at the base of his cock while you choke at the way his tip nudges your throat. Charlie likes it messy. He likes you teary-eyed and drooling, and gagging all over him while he holds your face with two hands and a belly full of grunts. The man had to train you up to it but now you’re completely in tune to how he wants you–a complete and utter mess for him to unsoil once it’s over.

After he’s held your nose and busted a load down your throat, he’ll pull out and gather all the spit from your chin and face on his fingers, sliding them into your mouth for you to finish. Sometimes Charlie can’t help himself, forcing his thick digits back until they’re sliding at the back of your tongue, another wet gag jerking your body as he gazes at you, biting at his lip to stifle his groan. Mmhm the man hums, cock twitching with fast-returning life and a rush of heat… all for you.

✩ One of Charlie’s hands is usually what acts as a dampener for the moans you release when he’s fucking you in public. It’s sublime, the way you spill out his name through choked gasps and thick pants. So much so that Charlie purposefully sees how loud he can get you. Whether it’s behind the locked door and closed shades of his office or in the backseat of his cruiser, he makes sure his cock brushes at the angle he’s certain will tear the most gruttal sounds from you possible.

You try so, so hard to keep them in, keep them hidden. You want to feel good, you wanna fall apart in places where that isn’t allowed but don’t wany anyone to know just how willing you are to let him make that happen. It’s a dichotomy that only drives Charlie to extensive, piercing strokes that yank an uproar of wails that he is just barely able to engulf with his cupped palm. “You don’t get to take my cock and not scream for me, baby. That just ain’t happenin’. Let em go or I’ll pull the fuck out, drive you home, and tie you to that vibe you think you’ve managed to hide from me…”

✩ You’ve come to expect it regularly these days–the sound of your panties snapping in half or being ripped to make room for the fat of his cock to stick through and fuck you like he so badly desires. Charlie’s forearms and biceps bulge as he tears the fabric with little to no regard, barely flicking his eyes from the sight of your pussy that’s finally revealed by his ravaging of your hole. Ignoring your gasps, Charlie just smirks while rubbing a palm along your ass and squeezing.

Your underwear, they just… they just always manage to get in the way. He doesn’t even know why you bother with them most of the time, as he has zero patience when it comes to watching you slip them off and fold them all pretty before putting them to the side. If he’s feeling nice, sometimes Charlie will just slide them over to gain access to you. Other days, all he’ll do is tear them and strike a smack to one of your cheeks with a growl. Hush. You already know he’s gonna buy you more.

✩ Charlie is a verbal lover in the sense that he makes you say what’s feeling good… what you want him to do. Speak it into existence for him, and he’ll give you the entire world. Has it been a bitch of a day and you need his cock in your mouth so you can stop thinking? Say it. Your hole is achy and dripping and empty without his fingers packed inside you? Say it. You want him to fuck you into the matress until you forget your name and only know his? Say that shit.

S’not hard, baby, and you look so pretty doing it. Charlie knew your true self the moment he met you. He could sense just how much you not only wanted but needed someone like him–only him–to ruin you the way you want. Smelled it from a mile away. But he’s only gonna give it to you if you tell him, no matter how cute you are when you act like you can’t speak.

✩ When he’s done fucking you, the two of you aren’t really done. Not until you suck your spend off his cock and he kisses you until you can’t breathe. Charlie will usually let you work on your own, a hand on the back of your head guiding you more gently than usual. He stares you down, eyes following every swirl of your tongue across the head and veins, and you lick all the way down to his balls before letting them pop out with a sleepy smile. He’s pulling you up to him right after, hands palming your ass as he slips his tongue inside your mouth, mumbling something like that’s how he likes his girl. All cock drunk and sweet for him.

✩ Charlie grinds his cock deep inside you while you’re atop his desk at least once a week, sometimes three. It’ll have been after you bring him lunch with the prettiest smile or bring something he’d purposefully left behind. He’ll spend a few minutes listening to how your day has been so far–only half-way listening to the words you’re rambling because you’re just so damn distracting. Looking at him like that. Smiling at him like that. Just asking for trouble, so he gives it to you.

It’s noisy but Charlie doesn’t care. Pens rattle and the screen of his computer shakes, yet the thought of them falling is secondary to the way you’re creaming the length  of his dick. “Didn’t even ask ‘f you were good for me today… should I even be fuckin’ you like this? You done anything to earn me givin’ it to you this good? Hm?”  You try to answer but a loud groan slips out instead. Your chest is pressed into the desk and you’re holding the wood for dear life.

Charlie’s hands fist at the hem of your shirt, bunching it up to hold and force you back onto him until he can’t push any further. So full and tispy his cock is making you, head pulsing as it crams its way inside your hole. “You’ll take it either way won’t you? So greedy. Happy to take all my cum and walk out with it dripping down your thighs, aren’t you? My pretty girl… my slut…”

✩ “Look at you, takin’ it all… pussy stuffed all full’a my cock. You like that, doll? Hm? ‘Course you do. Love it when I fuck you stupid. ‘Til you’re drooling for it like a good little whore. You gonna be a proper hole and keep taking it? Lemme fill you up, flip you over, fill you up again? Or maybe I’ll paint this face. Turn you into the prettiest cum rag anyone’ll ever see…”

In other words: degradation.

✩ (BONUS) Charlie knows he goes hard. Hell, everything about the man is 99% right angles of either glacial frost or blazing heat… until he’s with his girl. The usual impenetrable nonchalant demeanor is pierced by you easily  as he wipes you down with a towel, placing long kisses to your thighs in between each soft rub. His hands are the opposite of the hard spanks you received before… now, they caress you and squeeze gently, voice low and rumbling as he blinks through his own haze to praise you and wipe away the tears. “No more’a this now, okay? Did real good for me. Real good, ‘m very proud, baby. Now we’re gonna go pee, then you’re gonna drink and eat somethin–hey. No, no sleeping ‘til you eat a little and get some water down, alright? Pee, water, eat, then I’ll call your work so you sleep the next two days ‘f you really want…”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

doesn't take a genius

you're stuck in a time loop and the only thing that keeps changing is ratio and his actions....3.1k w.count

a/n: full disclaimer, this is entirely based on a dream i had about ratio soooo i'm pretty much 103% certain this may end up feeling a bit ooc for our silly yet stoic dr. that and i have NOT sat down to do a good character study for him hnng ;n; regardless, i had to try and put it into words bc the images in my head wouldn't let me rest until i did orz

[no warnings to mention! just fluff (●'◡'●) also g.neutral reader!]

You sit outside the museum on a nearby bench. There's a crowd of people holding excitedly onto brochures, leaflets, and flyers all broadcasting the newly opening exhibition featuring a full model replica of a certain doctor-professor combo you know- although about 3 times his actual size. 

Despite the buzzing atmosphere of excitement- with a touch of giddy from those who find said scholar a nice piece of eye candy- you did not feel the same. Not anymore- anyway. 

Sitting with your back hunched over so your elbows rest on your legs, your hands cup your cheeks, and you stare out into the road of passing cars and pedestrians alike- all of which you recognize. 

Although this section of the museum is brand-new, and ‘never before seen’, so says one flyer, you have in fact already seen it. So many times. Not that anyone else knew. 

In fact, this is about the 84th time you’ve seen it. 

You’re stuck in this town that seems so mundane only filled with puzzled irritation on why the hell you’ve been stuck on the same day 84 damn times. You watch the little boy running ahead of his parents' trip on a brick not completely settled in the sidewalk- you stopped trying to catch him around loop 15. You listen to the echoes of an alley-cat fight that lasts approximately 20 seconds; you stopped attempting to separate or prevent that one after loop 4. 

The cyclist throwing a newspapers at a parked car- loop 24. The worker coming out of a nearby bakery to flip the closed sign to open only to get clipped in the shoulder by a reckless jogger- loop 32. The baby stroller left shamefully unattended long enough that starts rolling down the pavement towards you-

-you stick your leg out to stop the stroller and baby from getting too far. You probably won't stop doing that one- despite it being the 84th time of lecturing the guardian when they come to collect the stroller with its passenger. 

The same things happen as usual every loop and you huff as you wait for the very second on the clock when the staff member of the museum opens the door. Slipping outside to announce the opening of the new exhibit inside with clear instructions on how to get there and a firm reminder to mind your manners and remember that everyone in attendance is here to view it. 

As the crowd starts shuffling in, you let out another sigh before pushing yourself to your feet. Placing yourself among your fellow museum goers, you get ever closer to the entrance before you dig out your admission ticket you had purchased when you had the chance. With the familiar scan of the ticket and same professional greeting from the ticket window operator, you're on your way. 

You’ve been in every inch of this museum by now. Some loops you didn’t even go into the new section you had originally planned this whole excursion for. Instead, you made your way to the less populated and quieter sections you hadn’t been before.

Now though?

Well, it has been 84 times you’ve been inside. You could walk around blind if someone asked you to. 

Having nothing better to do, you stroll inside and siply follow the masses. Overhearing the same conversations and complains about the crowds- and seriously? It’s the debut of a new place with new things. What else would someone expect? An attendance of none other than them? Please. 

As you glance bored along the walls of new paintings and art pieces, you wonder if you should try turning around and wandering someone else again. But then, why would you? It would still all be the same no matter where you go. 

You’ve tried leaving the museum entirely before since nothing is quiet interesting anymore- but for some reason you just can’t bring yourself to. You can get as far as the exit, but something in you makes you stop and hesitate everytime only to bring you back in as if anything could be different. 

It never is. 

Well, maybe that isn’t the whole truth. 

There is one thing that changes almost every single loop. One variable that is never the same. 

That variable's name is Veritas Ratio. 

Being the special guest for the entire event, it isn’t a surprise that he’s present. In fact, his presence is the key factor in why you even decided to show up yourself. Ratio is someone you can look up to and admire- in more ways than one. With his intellect, he’s willing to teach and (although rare) learn pretty much any and everything he can. That coupled with his hobby of sculpting and consuming different arts, he really had no reason to turn down the entire event. 

He is your constant change in every loop. 

The way that Doctor Veritas Ratio interacts with you is the only change you get from your ever-nonchanging weekday. 

The first loop, it felt normal. He greets those he must, including you. Finding you in the crowd as you congratulate him on his contributions and praising him for going through with showing up. He speaks with your mundanely and when the sculpture is unveiled, he’s ushered away by camera flashes and notepads with waiting pens to document any and everything he says. He doesn’t see you again after that on the first loop. 

The second loop, you go through the motions of your day with intense deja-vu and find solace in his difference in approach. Finding you earlier in the day and striking conversation with your first, conveying his appreciation for coming- which you feel flush at since his praise is usually something you have to strive for. When you tell him about how you feel like you’ve lived today once before, he simply begins delving into the background of deja-vu and the subconscious. 

It’s interesting to listen to and entertaining to see him in scholar mode. 

By the 10th loop, you seek him out first freaking out- justifying of course. You’ve lived the same day to the letter 10 times! Locating him, you practically yank his arm out of place as you find a secluded place to tell him about your plight hoping he doesn’t drag you to a hospital to get your brain examined. He doesn’t. But he also tells you to calm yourself down and that it must be a coincidence. You don’t buy it as you frown and whine that he clearly doesn’t take you seriously. 

What kind of coincidence happens 10 times in a row? 

By loop 27, you try telling him about it again. By now you’d started losing your sense of reality and felt like you really were going crazy. On this loop, Ratio finds you first. Seeing your distress upon meeting you, he guided you swiftly away from the crowds and into a private room set up for him as a VIP where you once again expressed your woes and anxiety. This time he wasn’t quick to dismiss you but instead listened diligently. You don’t actually remember if he offered you any advice then or not. But it was 57 loops ago and they tend to blur together. 

Since then, it was all sorts of different occurrences. Meeting you first. Seeking him out. Having full conversations and advice. Telling stupid jokes he rebuttals with lazy flicks of his wrist. Seclusion from others. Surrounded by the crowds. Theres even times he hardly says anything, just occupies your space. And you still have no idea why he’s the outlier. 

You still don’t even know why you’re looping at all! 

As you venture further into the museum, you slip away from the crowd and go directly to the area in which the statue of Ratio himself rests until a large, pure white sheet. Hiding its stone carved glory until the hour to unveil it arrives. 

Technically, no one is supposed to be in this vicinity quite yet, but you know your way around the security by now. And it wasn’t like you were here to vandalize. 

Slipping past all the blind spots and guards posted on corners to keep the event going smooth, you make it to the exhibition’s main event area. The massive, covered statue stands in front of you. Raised on a podium about as wide as a dining table and as high as your shoulders.

It truly is a marvel at how big this thing actually is. 

Looking up at the white sheet, you sigh before you plant yourself on a bench across from it. Reading the plaque with the name of the sculpture in your head, you reread it out loud to yourself next. Not loud enough for anyone to catch wind that you’re in here, but enough to fill the silence for a single moment. 

“Mold of Idolatry.” You scan the words beneath it briefly. Just your average ‘about this piece’ spiels and how long it took to sculpt. You feel a tad guilty that you don’t really care about all the little details at this point. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there just staring at white sheets, golden plaques, and pristine floors. But it was long enough that when you zone back in, there’s a distant murmur or noise.

Of a crowd. 

“Ah damn,” you hiss. Getting up, you stretch before looking for a way to slip out and mold back into the crowd like you’ve been there the whole time and totally not technically trespassing without permission in a closed off area. 

A door to your right slams open and you screech. 

Slamming your hands over your mouth, you whip around and see none other than the man of the hour himself. Veritas Ratio. 

Dropping your hands harshly back down to your sides with a bit of an attitude, you twist around fully to look at him across the room. Maybe it was because your heart was in your throat, but you didn’t really notice the different look in his eyes this loop. 

“You scared the hell out of me!” You whisper aggressively in his direction. Ratio only squares his shoulders and marches towards you without a word. Feeling sweat gather on your nape, you take a step back and think about bolting. Before you can though, his long strides close the distance between you both in a blink. His momentum never stopping. 

Grabbing onto your arm, he starts pulling you along beside him. His grip around you wasn’t tough, or aggressive. It was firm but telling. 

“Come with me.” He leads, as he continues pulling you. Before you can ask where he’s taking you, he walks around his overly large, hidden duplicate of polished stone and stops behind it. With the large pedestal in which the statue stands, it casts a perfect shadow behind that can easily conceal two bodies. 

Ratio pushes your back against the raised piece and holds your shoulders to keep you in place. Even though his actions every loop have been different, this one felt exceptionally so. He hasn’t been this bold or unexpected with his actions before. 

“Ratio, what-” 

His hands from your shoulders slide up to rest delicately on either side of your neck. His thumbs brush along your jaw and threaten to pull down on your lip and open your mouth. His face comes closer; his nose barely touches yours. You squeal as he invades your space. 

“Quiet.” He tells you, making eye contact you can’t bring yourself to break. You feel your skin heating up and you wonder if he can feel it under his hands despite the gloves he wears over his palms. “I need to think.” 

“Think?” You barely get the word out from how quiet you say it, obeying his command easily. 

“Yes. Think.” He speaks in clipped words. Like he isn’t interested in carrying conversation right now. As if he’s pressed for time for a deadline only he knows about. 

“About what?” You still whisper, but your words aren’t nearly as broken this time. You catch him almost roll his eyes. You wonder if his thumb is close enough to your mouth after all so you can bite him. 

“What actions I need to take this time.” 

“What does that-” 

“I suspect, after all this trial and error, the direct approach is all I have left. From a certain point of view, it might seem a bit abrasive, but you’ll simply have to understand. Pardon me.” 

You want so desperately to utter another confused ‘what?’ as if he’s answered any of them so far in a way that didn’t make you more confused. You can’t though. Since his apparent abrasive approach was in the form of covering your mouth with his. 

Your breath halts and you wonder if you're breathing at all as his lips slot over yours. His eyes remain open, as do yours as he stares into you like an art piece. Examining your eyes and everything they have in them until your certain he can see right into your soul. 

His lips are warm. Smooth. Not at all chapped and you can smell a very faint hint of mint- like he put on chapstick not too long ago. Or maybe lip oil? Chapstick isn’t usually this glossy feeling. Or maybe… sticky is a better word. Whatever it was, it wasn’t unpleasant. 

You think maybe you got lost in your own head, because it’s like you blink and he wasn’t kissing you anymore. Instead, he was back away from your mouth, nose to nose with you, and tapping your neck with his fingertips. His blunt nails gently tapping against your skin in short and long patterns. 

.-.. --- ...- .

Your eyes blink like a camera shutter before your mouth moves again. 

“Uh-” you unconsciously lick your lips and taste the mint that was on his mouth. Definitely glossy. Much less chappy.

Ratio’s eye twitches. “Don’t do that.” 

“Huh?” Your brain isn’t fully caught up yet it seems. One of his hands moves from your neck to cover your mouth with his palm. The fabric of his glove and the warmth of his hand under it permeate your skin. With this other, he lifts a finger to his lips, hushing you as if you had a chance to speak at all this whole interaction. 

“If we leave, we’ll be seen.” You nod. “I wish to avoid that.” You half expect him to step away and abscond. Maybe even drag you out with him before the crowd comes in with all their hustle and bustle. He doesn’t do either.

Doctor Veritas Ratio keeps exceeding your assumptions. Stepping half a stride closer, his feet between yours, knees pressing against your body and his hand that had shushed you before moves once again. His arm supports his body on the area behind you that’s behind used to hold you up since your legs feel like they may have gone numb some time ago. He’s invading your space so intimately, you place your hands on his arm and chest to try to both steady yourself and also gauge where to put them at all. 

The hand on his chest quickly gets repositioned by the man himself, sliding it up to his neck until he's cupping his hand over yours, so your touch feels his racing pulse beneath his skin. Theres not a shiver or rack of gooseflesh on his body. But his blood is racing and despite the shadows, you wonder if the skin of his ears looks pinker than usual. 

“Ratio?” You call softly. He hums short. “What was that? This?” You look away from his eyes just for a second to look down to his toes then back up again as a means of gesturing to all of him. 

“The direct approach.” 

“Yeah,” you smile, breathing out a humoring air through your nose, “that doesn’t answer anything.” 

“Do you know morse code?” 

“You know I don’t.” 

“I’ll teach you.” He taps over your hand he keeps pushed against his pulse point in the same rhythms as before on your neck. 

.-.. --- ...- .

“Was that morse?” 

“Indeed.” 

“What does it spell?” 

“Would you like to guess?” 

“Will my answer be for a grade?” You’re proud of yourself for a moment for cracking a joke despite feeling lightheaded. His forehead drops onto yours and he takes a calming breath. His hair is soft and fluffy against your skin. His ears are pink. 

“It will not.” 

“Then, I’m not guessing.” 

“Stubborn.” He smiles though. Before he kisses you again. Veritas Ratio continues indulging in your lips despite the doors opening into the room and the crowd of event goers all compiling in. But he knows the two of you won’t be seen here.

He’s investigated this blind spot thoroughly. 

The sounds and actions of Ratio’s direct approach is drowned out, even as the sheet comes off his overly large stone copy. Even as the creator drones on about how the doctor himself could not be here due to last minute appointments he simply could not overbook. And it is where the two of you remain even after the crowd thins. 

“I think this loop is going to stick with me for a while,” you mutter to yourself, knowing he wouldn’t know what you mean. His thumb swipes under your lips, past the corner of your mouth and up to the apple of your cheek to hold it gently. “Number 85 is going to be a doozy,” you lament. Knowing that when you wake up in tomorrow's today, you’ll be a mess. 

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow.” He says. You just nod, thinking that he’s trying to once again reassure you like he has in previous loops. But you're too far jaded to the looping that’s haunted you to care for his words. You don’t deny or accept them, just let them wash over you. 

You close your eyes to take in the moment, not seeing the point in having a proper conversation about whatever this is since he’ll forget it when the day resets. 

Ratio soothes you. Rubbing your shoulders and spreading his warmth to you while he pulls you into his chest as he rests his chin against your crown. 

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow,” he promises once more. He slips out with you that evening, taking you home personally. You almost convince yourself to stay awake and watch as the clock hits midnight only to tick back to the same day instead of proceeding.

But it doesn't. The next day comes. You get to wake up the next morning.

Turns out, it doesn’t take a genius to confess one's admiration to another. 

Just a borrowed curio, a mundanite, and 83 loops of botched practice. 

a/n pt.2: imagine being such a loser you have to borrow a curio from your part-colleague doll lady's space station just to confess smdh

[conclaveyaoi]

The Ashtray — Queer-coding and Intimacy Subtext between Aldo Bellini and Giulio Sabbadin

an analysis of the ashtray in Bellini's suite, the chess match in progress, shot compositions and adding my interpretation that Robert Harris uses queer-coded phrasing to imply an intimate connection between them beyond what we see on the surface.

Grab your tinfoil zucchetti. But not really. Jokes aside, I don’t want to “prove” anything, just to point out the potential significance of this and how it relates to the two characters in question. This is based on Robert Harris' phrasings in his book, classic queer-coding in literature, the long-lasting history of gay men in the Catholic church and shot composition analysis. My credentials are a summer course on film at NYU, former member of the chess club at school and being gay with an autistic brain.

This post was what made me notice the ashtray, credit to OP for pointing it out. I thought it was a cool detail. When editing a random clip, I noticed how the ashtray is then revealed to us in this scene. This is the first shot from the angle where we see Bellini sitting next to the chessboard and you can see Thomas is covering the rest of the table:

It is only when Thomas moves that we see the ashtray:

[this covering/uncovering technique is also seen when they all turn to look at Agnes in the cafeteria and Tedesco is blocking Benítez sitting in the back until he walks and we can see him]

We then get another angle of Bellini and the table and this shot includes the chair on the other side of the table that we also couldn’t see in the first shot:

Talking to my tiktok pal @tomwambsgansdarkglasses about this, I took a closer look at the chessboard and wondered: Did Bellini memorise and preserve the last chess match against his friend the late pope, keeping it there as a reminder? Has Bellini been playing chess against himself during the conclave? Why is the ashtray there and what does it represent? Does the chessboard represent the late pope/the papacy/Bellini’s inner turmoil? The table features quite a lot in this sequence (covered, uncovered, stared at by Bellini at one point, next to him in the wider shot and blurred in the end). Here’s a clip:

I. The chess match

I returned to the first scene where we see the last match against the late pope and I don’t think this is the same match preserved. There’s enough to assume this is a different match. Different pieces have been taken. Not to mention how impractical it would be to preserve the last match and take it with him for the conclave. Considering what Bellini says to Lawrence in the beginning, we can also assume the late pope was winning, playing with the white pieces and Bellini playing with the black pieces.

II. Is Bellini playing against himself?

It’s not uncommon for chess aficionados to play against themselves so that was my first assumption. Of course the ashtray may be just a meaningless addition by the set design, same as the extra chair and he was playing both sides. But if we assume the ashtray was put there for a reason, taking into account the table features in nearly every shot of the entire sequence, there’s a chance the implication is that he isn’t playing against himself. Another thing my pal pointed out was: Why would he be placing the pieces taken differently, some organised, the others dropped? And more, wouldn’t it be more practical to be placing the taken pieces on the side so he doesn’t have to reach for the other side of the table? Wouldn’t it be easier to remove the ashtray to get more space? The chessboard has already been introduced to us as an accessory associated with Bellini’s chess interest/his grief/friendship with the late pope/papacy. The chessboard could be on the table by itself and it would make no difference. There’s no need for the chair on the other side too. We can see this is a suite and a bigger room than Lawrence’s through other elements in this sequence. Why the ashtray?

III. The ashtray

Around 10 minutes before this scene takes place, we see Bellini, Lawrence and Sabbadin in the stairwells, where we see Sabbadin smoking. This is his fourth scene (auditorium, bus, breakfast, stairwells) and the first in which he’s smoking. So far we’d seen Bellini and Sabbadin often side by side and surrounded by others but never in an intimate setting just the two of them. To me this can be interpreted as a glimpse into all that we haven’t seen, those two characters being closer than what we had previously seen. There’s an ongoing match happening, perhaps started when the conclave began, perhaps because Bellini relaxes through playing. Where did they go after the auditorium? Where were they before knocking on Lawrence’s door before the stairwells? If they’ve been playing chess since the conclave began, they might have been in each other’s company, just the two of them, every night in Bellini’s suite. There’s intimacy in that. While we see it’s common for the cardinals to be visiting each other in their rooms for canvassing or socialising, this is a level beyond that once you consider Bellini’s queer-coding and the subtle implication of intimacy this brings, using their dynamic in the book as foundation. In a story about the Catholic church, widely known for having a gay subculture and being a common destination for gay men, it seems like an oversight not to make a single nod to homosexuality and queer-coding, in my view. This piece of visual subtext seems to mirror the queer-coded phrasing chosen by Robert Harris in the book to describe their dynamic and the characters, which we’ll revisit soon.

Moreover, if he’s been playing against Sabbadin, he’s playing with the white pieces and winning. Sabbadin, sitting on the side of the ashtray, is playing with the black pieces (emo “undertaker” core). Bellini’s taken pieces are all organised on his side. The few white pieces taken aren’t equally organised, some are dropped near the ashtray.

If the chessboard represents Bellini’s inner turmoil, the late pope, the papacy, the grief, wanting and not wanting, the ashtray represents Sabbadin and his intimate connection to the man himself and the papacy, since he has an interest in becoming Secretary of State in a potential Bellini papacy. The chessboard and the ashtray, side by side. The potential relationship between the two as an added factor in understanding both characters. When Bellini looks at the table, frustrated and not knowing what to do about the simony discovery and what this will mean for the election, he looks at the chessboard and the ashtray. Sabbadin’s point of view is one he has been taking into account throughout the entire narrative and stands next to his inner turmoil and his grief. We had seen that proximity but here we see a potential glimpse into exactly how close their relationship has been through some visual subtext of queerness and intimacy. Watching the film after having read the book, it seems like a visual way of adapting dialogue and descriptions from the book that didn’t make into the movie.

— Further queer-coding in the book (or why I interpret them as being together, in the book at least and don’t think that’s any reach)

I had pointed out before the moments between them in the book are more personal than professional. I like this one where Bellini snaps and brings up his father + first name:

And my favourite being the line that shows not only that Sabbadin has been to Bellini’s suite but also that he chooses to point this out to Lomeli when there was no reason to do so and he could have simply said “I have a suite” or “some of us have suites”:

The book also brings the information Bellini had been Archbishop of Milan before him and of course Sabbadin is introduced in the book as Bellini’s praetorian guard, which, again, is very unique wording:

And Harris doubles down on the description by making Lomeli say in the next page:

In conclusion, I just find this all very interesting and my intention is to explore this visual detail in the cinematography with my interpretation of the queer-coding of Bellini/Sabbadin as a couple in Harris’ book. Thanks to OP for pointing out the ashtray in the first place, thanks to @ tomwambsgansdarkglasses for going through this with me at 1am last night.

PS: If you think my tinfoil zucchetto is too big already, just wait till you find out that I went to sleep trying to discover what that blue led display in the right corner of the shot/on the other table in his suite is. A minibar/electric kettle/coffee maker that each cardinal has in their suites? I’ve checked the tutorial of Tremblay’s coffee machine and that one seems only his own. I’m trying to find the exact match. This is my idea of fun.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Outtakes: Germination

summary: you see joaquin in different light for the first time. based on this brilliant ask i got from the lovely ips anon <3

pairing: joaquin torres x ex!winter soldier!f!reader

contents: mentions of canon typical manipulation/abuse/sexual abuse & coercion, reader experiences arousal of her own volition for the first time, joaquin is PERFECT, kissing, consensual sexual tension

wc: 1,675

an: the next part of fault lines is here and while it’s a little out of order, I couldn’t stop thinking about this part and i love it so bad that i had to post it. i hope yall enjoy!!!

fault lines masterlist | danny ramirez characters masterlist

You round the corner, and go completely still. Joaquin is standing in his bedroom— our bedroom he continues to tell you when you call it his— with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

You’ve seen men shirtless before, seen men completely naked before. In the field, in training, in fights. When skin was pressed against skin during assignments you try not to think about. None of it ever meant anything, none of it was ever real. It was just mission, function, survival— sex served purpose. Bodies weren’t real back then; not theirs…not yours.

But this?

Joaquin isn’t trying to provoke. He’s not performing. He’s not trying to seduce you, control you, break you. He’s just existing.

And your body—unguarded and startled—flares hot in a way it never has before.

Your breath catches.

Because Joaquin is beautiful. Not just his body, though that alone would be enough—the soft strength of his chest, the stretch of his shoulders, the way the low light traces over his skin—but because he’s safe. And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

You snap your gaze away, guilt sinking in. The twist in your stomach, the flicker between your thighs—it scares you. You’ve never wanted like this before. Never wanted ever, not truly. It was all constructed by a command, it had no consequences.

But now? Now this is yours.

And that makes it worse.

He trusts you. He cares about you. He isn’t expecting anything.

And here you are, trembling like you’ve crossed some invisible line, like you’ve seen something you weren’t meant to see and let it touch you.

You close your fists tight, trying to breathe past it.

It’s not just the wanting. It’s the fear.

Because if you let yourself feel this, if you let yourself have it, what happens when it all goes wrong? What happens when he finally sees how ruined you really are?

“Baby?”

You blink. “Hmm?”

“Que pasó? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I— nothing.”

“You can tell me anything,” he reminds you softly, running a hand through his damp hair. It’s not meant to be sexual or seductive but you take a ragged breath, your palms growing slicker.

The truth slips out without you meaning it to. That keeps happening with him, not being able to keep your guard up, not being able to lie.

“I’ve never wanted something— someone before,” you tilt your head like you're observing not only him, but yourself. “Not on my own. It’s never been my choice, someone’s always told me. Seeing you like this, I don’t…I don’t know everything I’m feeling. It’s s-scaring me a little.”

Joaquin stays quiet, his movements slowing down. His eyes start to track yours, how your gaze roams him naively, gently.

He swallows roughly, his mouth going dry at the idea of you seeing him that way. He hasn’t touched you since he brought you home, not like that. There’s been moments of softness, cuddling and holding you, bathing you even when you have a really rough day. But you haven’t even kissed again because he wants you to take the lead. He wasn’t sure you would ever get there and he’s been coming to terms with that.

You wanting him? It comes out of left field and it winds him.

“You mean me?” he asks, wanting to be sure he’s reading the situation correctly.

You read the shock in his voice all wrong. “Is that weird?”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant— I just, I want to make sure we do this right. That I’m doing this right, doing right by you. I didn’t want to assume something and possibly hurt you. I didn’t know you wanted me like that…yet.”

“I didn’t know I could want you like that at all. I hoped that I could but I didn’t know what it would mean or how it would look and now…” you get a little distracted by a drop of water that rolls down his neck, his chest—

With you being honest with him, Joaquin sees how he’s affecting you and his cheeks burn. He shifts his weight, gripping the towel around his waist tighter, like he’s just realizing it’s all he’s wearing.

“Why don’t you sit for me and I’ll get dressed? So we can talk some more, querida.”

“Ok,” you breathe so softly it’s a whisper.

Joaquin dips into the closet and you take a seat on the bed— on your bed that you share with him. You’re acutely aware of all the times you’ve laid side by side, of how it feels to have his chest pressed to your back with his arms around you.

When he comes out, he’s in shorts and a t-shirt. He hesitates in the doorway. “Can I come closer?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you nod.

He approaches carefully, like you’re something sacred—like this moment is—and sits down on the edge of the bed beside you. He smells warm, like clove and salt, and his hair is still damp. It isn’t helping so you stare forward, your hands clamped together.

“I know this is the first time you’re thinking about this, about me this way. It’s not weird, it’s not unhealthy or unusual. It’s new to you, but it’s not wrong or something for you to be ashamed of.”

“No?”

“No,” he murmurs firmly, reaching for one of your hands and lacing your fingers together. “I think about you, about us like that.”

“Often?”

He squeezes your hand, his cheeks going red again. There’s a laugh in his voice as he says, “Hey, I’m not a complete horndog.”

It lightens whatever’s happening between you and you can’t help but laugh too.

“I think about it and I will think about but I’m not pushing you. I’m not rushing this, we have our entire lives to figure out how we want to be together. I figured you’d let me know when you’re ready— if that time comes.”

Our entire lives. You note the finality of that, the security of it and tuck it away to examine later. In this moment, it makes your heart settle.

“And now that you know I can feel that way?”

He raises your hand to his mouth, kissing it delicately. And when your eyes meet again, there’s something in them that’s just as tender as there is scorching. His voice is lower, sending something warm through your blood. “Now I wait for you to tell me what you need and when you need it. Until then…I stay and take care of you, just like I have been.”

Your hand stays in his. You don’t let go.

And he doesn’t rush you—doesn’t move an inch closer. Just stays beside you, steady and warm, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

That small touch sends a quiet shiver through you.

You shift, turning slightly toward him. His eyes catch yours again, soft and open, and something in your chest pulls taut. That same fear stirs—the one that says you’re too much, you’re not enough, you shouldn’t want this—but this time, you don’t let it win.

You lean in, slow and tentative, but sure enough that he feels it. His eyes widen just slightly, not with surprise, but something almost awe like. And when you press your mouth to his, you feel the way he exhales into it—like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

It’s not delicate. It’s not fumbling, either.

It’s still new, still careful—but it’s deeper than the last time. Your lips part a little, your hand drifting up to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the heartbeat there. His hands stay where they are, gripping the edge of the bed like he’s anchoring himself, letting you lead. So you reach out for one, guide it to the slope of your jaw to see what it means for him to touch like this.

The warmth inside you grows.

You tilt your head, kiss him again—more pressure this time, more heat. Your teeth graze his lower lip and his breath stutters, but he doesn’t take over, doesn’t change the rhythm.

He just lets you have it. Lets you have him.

When you finally pull back, your chest rises and falls a little faster. He’s flushed, lips pink, but his eyes are on you—steady, asking.

“I wanted to see what that felt like,” you whisper.

His voice is rough, but quiet. “And?”

Your eyes flutter closed for a second to let his question sink it. How did it feel? You feel yourself growing shy as you try to formulate an answer. “Um—good. Real. I wanted it.”

“I know,” he says, reverent. “I could feel it.”

His voice is rougher now, like her kiss left something raw in him, and his breathing isn’t steady—he draws in a slow breath through his nose like he’s trying to ground himself. Joaquín watches you closely, sees the way your gaze dips and your cheeks flush. You’re not just shy—you’re flustered. Not because you’re uncertain, but because something about his voice—strained and wanting—did something to you.

That flicker of response doesn’t go unnoticed. It sparks something in him, tender and protective all at once. But he doesn’t push. He just shifts slightly closer, enough for the warmth between you to deepen.

You don’t have the words for it—not really—but your stomach twists and your thighs press together slightly, instinctive and warm. You’ve never let yourself want something just because. Never felt desire stir in response to someone else’s need. But hearing him like this—because of you—makes heat coil low in your belly.

You look away, cheeks flushing, the weight of it too much all at once. It’s overwhelming, but not bad. Just new. Just real.

And this time, when he leans in—not to kiss you, just to rest his forehead against yours—you let your eyes flutter shut and breathe in the scent of him, warm and clean and real.

You chose this. Chose him.

It’s doesn't feel as terrifying as it felt the day you left him, or the day you returned.

It feels good.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl

[aventurineswife]

Imagine jiaoqiu with a sweet and soft wife whos also blind and she teaches himlike howt to like navigate around and gives him tips n stuff

A Heart That Sees Beyond Sight

Summary: Jiaoqiu has lost his sight due to a sacrifice made on the battlefield. Struggling with the emotional weight of war and his own blindness, he is gently guided by his wife, a soft-spoken and compassionate woman who is also blind. As she helps him navigate the world around him, she teaches him not just how to see the path, but also how to heal his heart. Together, they find solace in each other’s presence, learning that healing goes beyond the body and into the soul.

Tags: Jiaoqiu x Female!Reader, Comfort, Blindness, Healing, Romance, Slow Burn, Emotional Healing, Soft!Reader, Soft!Jiaoqiu, Touch Therapy.

Warnings: Mentions of war and trauma, Emotional struggles with loss, Blindness (for both characters), Mild angst.

The scent of herbs filled the air, a familiar, soothing fragrance that brought comfort to Jiaoqiu’s heart. He sat at the wooden table, fingers tracing the delicate patterns etched into the surface, his thoughts drifting like the soft breeze outside the window. He had always been a healer, a man who had spent countless hours tending to the wounds of others, but now, as he sat in the quiet of his study, his heart carried its own invisible scars.

He had lost so much, not just in body but in spirit, and the burden was heavier with each passing day. He had once been known for his gentle hands, guiding others back to health through alchemy and food-based medicine, but now… his hands trembled more often, his mind clouded with the weight of endless war. And though his eyes had grown blind from a sacrifice made in battle, it wasn’t just his sight that had faded—it was his belief in the world’s goodness.

It was during this time of sorrow that he had met you.

Soft-spoken, yet infinitely kind, you had come into his life at a time when his world was shrouded in darkness. You, too, were blind, a rare and beautiful soul who had endured your own share of trials. Yet, instead of turning inward, you had turned outward, offering the light that burned within you to others, including him. And he… well, he had never known anyone like you before.

The door to the study creaked open, and the sound of your soft footsteps approached. You always moved with such grace, so attuned to the world around you, even in the absence of sight. Your voice, gentle and filled with warmth, broke the silence.

“Jiaoqiu?” you called, the tender note in your voice pulling him from his thoughts.

He smiled, a small, bittersweet thing. He had never known peace like this—peace in your presence. The world, so dark and uncertain, felt a little bit lighter when you were near.

“I’m here, my love,” he replied, the calmness of his voice belying the turmoil that sometimes roiled inside him. “What is it?”

You leaned down beside him, your fingers brushing his hand gently. His pulse quickened, the sensation of your touch always bringing a sense of comfort, even in moments of confusion. Your hand was warm, a reminder that there was still warmth in the world, even in his own shadowed existence.

“I thought we could practice again,” you suggested. “The path through the garden… I’ve been working on something to help you.”

He frowned slightly, feeling the familiar flicker of guilt rise in his chest. You were always so patient, always so caring, yet the idea of relying on you… He wasn’t sure if he deserved that kind of tenderness.

“I don’t want to burden you,” he murmured.

“You’re not a burden,” you assured him, your voice filled with the unshakable certainty that always grounded him. “You’ve taught me so much in our time together. Let me teach you now.”

His eyes, dull and unfocused, seemed to sharpen in the direction of your voice, a flicker of hope behind his once-empty gaze. Though his world remained silent and still, your presence was a beacon in the darkness. He knew he was lucky, perhaps more than he deserved, to have someone like you by his side.

He took your offered hand, allowing you to guide him as you had so many times before. The path to the garden was well-worn, but navigating it still felt like a foreign dance to him. His steps were hesitant at first, uncertain of the way, but your voice came to him like a soft breeze.

“Step forward… just a little… yes, that’s it.” Your encouragement was as gentle as the touch of your fingers, guiding him with a precision that surprised him every time.

“Turn slightly to your left,” you continued, your hand still in his, leading him with a care that he could feel even in his bones. “Can you feel the edge of the stone bench?”

He nodded slowly, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the stone, the sensation grounding him. It was amazing how much you could teach him with so little. Though he couldn’t see, he could feel your movements, your presence—the subtle shifts in your body language, the rise and fall of your breath. It was as if you were teaching him a language all his own, one he hadn’t yet mastered but longed to understand.

“Let’s pause here for a moment,” you said, guiding him to sit beside the bench. The sound of your voice, soft and encouraging, made his chest tighten in a way that was both comforting and painful. You didn’t see the flaws in him, the wounds he carried, the scars that marred his soul. To you, he was simply Jiaoqiu, the man you loved.

He closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be whole again,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The battlefield, the poison… It feels like I’ve lost more than just my sight.”

You were silent for a moment, your hand resting gently over his as if to reassure him. “Healing isn’t just about mending what’s broken,” you said softly. “Sometimes, it’s about learning to accept the cracks and finding new ways to see the world, even without sight.”

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if you were speaking about his blindness or his soul. Maybe both.

“How do you do it?” he asked, voice trembling slightly. “How do you find peace in all the chaos?”

You smiled, and though he couldn’t see it, he could hear it in the warmth of your voice. “I don’t know if I’ve found peace,” you admitted. “But I know that every day, you help me find it, just by being you.”

Jiaoqiu’s heart ached, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a glimmer of light. It was faint, fragile, but it was there.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“No,” you corrected gently. “You deserve more than you’ll ever know. And I’ll spend my life helping you find it.”

With that, you stood, helping him rise to his feet. Together, you walked through the garden, your hand never leaving his, guiding him forward. Even though his world was still wrapped in shadows, he found himself walking toward something brighter—not with sight, but with you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[chubbylesbianwitch]

Can I request Spider-verse Au, where Jinx and Reader have feelings for one another like Miles and Gwen but reader had lost her Jinx (Alternate Universe Powder) so it’s hard for her to get close to Jinx.

Hesitant Feelings

Pairings : spiderverse au! Jinx x F!reader

Word count : 1.1k

A/N : my first time getting back to writing after a LONG ass time, so i apologize if its BAD but i hope you enjoy reading even if its so off 🫶 reqs are open so feel free to drop one!

I feel like i should start with some head canons on certain topics for characters to warm up my writing skills but whatever

AND IM SORRY ITS SO RUSHED AT THE END, ITS LIKE 12 AM RN 😭😭 AND I WANTED TO GET IT DONE BEFORE I GO TO SLEEP

It has been a few months since you were recruited to Spider HQ, and you just finished your missions from Miguel for the day so you were just walking around the base, just wanting to find something else to do to cure your boredom. You kept wandering around the headquarters as you have yet to explore all the millions and millions of different rooms in this never-ending building. You were in your own headspace until you felt something connect to your foot and then skipped a small amount across the busy floor.

You stopped for a brief second before going a bit closer to observe what you had just kicked, and it looked like a small round gadget with a clip with painted shapes on it. You picked the object up and held it in your hands, studying all the different little neon shapes that form a face on it. But before you can think, it started ticking and then exploded…

Covering you from head to toe in pink and blue glitter, and some settled on the floor in a circle with you in the middle of it.

You tried to wipe the glitter to get out of a spot in your mask that you used to see, but you stopped when you heard a high pitched, cackle laugh.

“Boy, you sure are covered in glitter,” the voice of where the laugh came from spoke. “Do ya know it's a terrible idea to hold a ticking bomb?”

You stopped as the voice sounded familiar to you... almost exactly like her voice. You shook your head to get those ideas out and grumbled as you took off your mask, so you could see without the glitter interfering with your vision.

“It didn’t look like a bomb, I mean who puts smiley faces on bombs?” You grumbled as you tried once again to shake off the glitter, and scrap it off from your mask with no luck.

“Aw, not a fan of glitter?” The person as they approached you.

As they approached you were able to see that they had extremely long blue hair… the same shade of blue that she used to have…

“What's wrong, toots?” The voice questioned, bringing you back from going down a steep spiral of missing Powder. “Don’t worry, the glitter will wash out.. I think.”

“I hope so,”

“Well, you owe me some glitter,” the voice spoke up. “Make sure to mail it to Jinx.”

“Jinx?” You questioned.

Hearing that reminded you of when she would always call herself a jinx when she was having an off day, calling herself that as she had lost her family and was convinced at times that it was because of her, her family was gone.

“I-.. I’ll see you around.. Jinx,” You spoke under your breath as you quickly walked away.

You were going back to your universe so you can go spend time with her resting place and deliver a few crafts you had made to her and her family.

Over the next few months, you noticed that Jinx would be hanging around you and your spiderman friend group and each time, she would remind you of her when she did anything. How she would laugh, how she made her crafts, and everything that Jinx did, would always remind you of her, your late lover. It was driving you crazy because of how similar they were. But you tried to convince yourself that they were two different people with VERY similar traits and personality, and it worked for the most part, and you were able to become friends with Jinx without being reminded of Powder after some time.

With more missions meant being partnered with Jinx more often, and it made you happy each and every time now, even though you would never admit that to anyone. She felt safe to you, even with her chaotic nature and chaos that she spreads wherever she goes, and you felt like you two were getting closer with every passing day.

You sighed as you sat down on top of a building after being tired from defeating some villains, just staring at the sun that was setting in the distance. A figure moved in the corner of your eye and you turned your head to find Jinx sitting down next to you.

“Whew, it is hot!” Jinx exclaimed as she tried to fan her face with her hands even though she had her mask on.

“I don't think fanning yourself would work with your mask on,” You noted.

“You’re right,” Jinx replied, flinging off her mask… revealing her face for the first time.

Your eyes widened as you watched her careless act of throwing her mask away in complete utter shock. You stared at her, just completely stunned and frozen in place.

“What? Got something on my face?” She questioned, her fingers touching her face with a small laugh.

“Powder..,” you mumbled and she looked shocked after you said that name.

“How do you know that name?” She asked a bit on edge, her smile dropping.

You stayed silent as you just got up from sitting and turned to leave, but before you could even take a couple of steps, you felt your hand being grabbed and pulled back.

“Where are you going?!” Jinx countered, her face looking as if she was freaking out. “You can't just say that and leave!”

You tried to wriggle your hand out of your hold, to succeed for a split second before getting your wrist trapped in her hold, not too tight to hurt but tight enough that you can wiggle out of it.

“How do you know that name?!” Jinx asked again.

You got sad when you thought of your late lover, Powder, and Jinx noticed the change in your facial expression. She led you to sit back down on the floor and you gave a not detailed answer about how in your universe, you had a lover who looked and had similar traits like Jinx and you lost her because she was your canon event, and that's why you were acting weird around Jinx. Jinx, the whole time, just looked at you with a saddened expression.

“Is that why you were avoiding me sometimes?” She asked softly and you just nodded. “And I thought it was because you had a little something special for me.”

“Are you trying to make me laugh?” You asked with a small smile.

“Is it working?” She asked.

“Maybe..,”

Then there was a comfortable silence between you two, just sitting on top of the building, enjoying the last sunshine as the sun sets.

“Well, you should know, I have a little thing for you,” she spoke softly. “I thought it was pretty obvious with how I was always trying to be near you.”

You just looked at her with a small smile.

“We can go slow… if you also have.. ya know, mushy gooey feelings for me,” she teased, earning a small shove from you.

“I would like that,”

[robo-milky]

Execution Suit Reference

“Even in something like this, Vil still manages to at least look decent in it.”

“You mean ‘Vil Schoenheit’. Either say the whole subject name or their code.”

For the character outfit sheet, I was debating whether I wanted to do Vil or Idia— given they had the most roles in the comic. I ended up choosing Vil since he was the one with the first whole outfit reveal, and I gave him a different hairstyle. I hadn’t thought too hard of which of the 21 would have different hairstyles, could be all of them, but at the same time… I want the element of recognizability. The whole premise is for them to be dressed up for murder (hypothetically), and the outfits are all based on a simulation of if they were to kill.

Beta Design:

If you like this, I’m sorry. Personally, I really liked this design too but then the solid colour bodysuit reminded me too much of Squid Game 💀💀 I did consider keeping their school uniforms and just popping in the collar, but I AM NOT DRAWING ALL THAT IF I’M DOING THIS ALL BY MYSELF 💥💥 Also, yes, that’s Idia hehe- It was fitting since he’d recognize what a killing game is 💀

The vibe with the current Execution Suit design is a mix of asylum chic and fisherman. There isn’t an official “femme” version but if one’s dedicated enough, they could either use magic to alter the suit slightly or rip the pants to make a skirt 💀. Personally, I prefer a more uniform look to add into the dehumanization/deindivualization aspect of it all (ofc there will always be characters who alter if they can and get away with it jfjfjfjfj).

Backed by: @apieceoffoliage, @waitlexist, @anonymousplant, @boopshoops, @driftaway27, @agaygothicmushroom

[demonslayedher]

Was gushing with a sibling about KnY today and discussing the merits and demerits of the writing (additional arc centered on five-senses kids, yes please) and how Ufotable takes usually makes improvements based on fleshing things out instead of changing the order of events (though there have been cases of this). I brought up usual examples of how, if I were Ufotable, I would have introduced Zenitsu punching Corp members and Inosuke being intrigued by the pinky promise song at the chronological point these could have occurred until waiting until flashbacks. We also griped together about the timing of Iguro's flashback chapter. I started to bring up an idea I had once for how that could be moved to Hashira Training, but Sibling had a much better idea.

The Nakime fight.

First off, there is no perfect placement for a history as out-of-the-ordinary as Iguro's. When I first read it, I was following the right against Muzan on a week-to-week basis and was not in the headspace to care about a Hashira who I previously had not been giving much reason to care about. Even trying to cram it into a lower stakes time like Hashira Training comes with the issue of a total tonal shift. It's going to stick out wherever it is placed, unless it's, like, something somehow directly related to Iguro's past.

Seeing as his surviving cousin never makes an appearance, there is no moment to confront riches gained by collusion with a demon, and there are no snake demons, there is not much to guide us into Iguro's thoughts and reflections on his past. The best we got in canon was Iguro telling Mitsuri to leave the fight and then going on to achieve the greatest heights of his Hashira career and abilities (which, admittedly, everyone was doing in that fight with all the Red Blades and such).

Switching it to the battle against Nakime looses the drama of the reveal of his face and the build-up to how Iguro would triumphantly unleashed a Red Blade with his own grip and go one to fight alongside Tanjiro, with their cooperation being all that kept Muzan within reach long enough for others to slowly rejoin.

However, the advantages would be: --better pacing for the Muzan battle --a chance to bond with Iguro a little sooner, to let his impact steep around in viewers' minds and hearts before you hurt him more --a chance to build into it in a way that builds Nakime up more as a formidable threat instead of just a troublesome one, both because this is Iguro's first time facing an Upper Moon and he would have reason to find it a struggle, and because Iguro already has a big problem with female demons. You could even build more impact for Nakime by having her say something dismissive that reminds Iguro of women in his past. (To be fair, you could increase her impact by having her say anything at all to her foes.) --Since you can adjust the timing to give more screentime to this battle, that means you can give Iguro's past more of a chance to shine without being crowded out by how many other characters are fighting in that scene

--You can build up more Obamitsu. YOU CAN BUILD UP MORE OBAMITSU. You can have him reflect on how he wants to protect Mitsuri by not marrying her, WHILE HE IS ACTIVELY PROTECTING HER as they fight alongside each other. We've always known she thinks he is super awesome and cool and nice, but this would be a chance to explore his feelings for her WHILE THEY ARE TOGETHER IN THE SPOT LIGHT

--If you have been given reason to be invested into both Mitsuri and Iguro in a series that delivers on providing backstories for just about everybody, baddies and goodies alike, it makes Muzan's "they're already dead" statement more shocking and believable

--You COULD have Iguro's face wrapping slip undone in the Nakime fight. As long as he gets a chance to swipe them back into place, it would be fine. You could even just give a glimpse so that the full reveal comes later.

--Okay, but instead of the happy fantasy of "I promise to marry you in the next life" as she is horrifically injured and he is running off to near certain death, that will BE CUTER if he can be thinking that in a simple, "You okay?" "Yes!! Thank you, Iguro-san!" exchange that is the norm for them, and it will make people HOLD MORE HOPE that maybe when all this is over, he will have a chance to get over his past and make that a reality in this life, so IT WILL ALL HURT MORE WHEN THAT HOPE IS THOROUGHLY DASHED

[dressed-to-the-rk900s]

 ｡𖦹°‧the outsiders—character analyses and hcs in modern day

best viewed in dark modeᝰ.ᐟ

rundown: just general character analyses of the greasers and maybe the socs. the hcs will be modern day and in the 1960s. hcs a mix of movie, book, and both—each one will be categorized for it.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ — book

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 — movie

𐙚⋆°. — both/general

☆  — modern day

★ — 1960s/whenever the book was set in

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛⠀⠀⠀⠀

tldr: the top base and indicators at the first of the symbol will be combined. if there is no indicator, it is an applicable to anytime headcanon.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ dally sneaks, not really, the door’s always open there, into the curtis household to use their mom’s hair curler for his hair. speaking of his hair, i’m pretty sure it’s to the equivalent of deep fried. he bleaches it regularly but misses his roots so it sticks out. 𐙚⋆°. he also used to call ponyboy “little curtis” when he was younger.  ★ 𐙚⋆°. ponyboy still has trauma from being drowned in the fountain. he doesn’t go anywhere near water anymore. not like he knew how to swim in the first place. he likes the countryside more after that. well, not really. it reminds him of the church. two deaths, two places.  𐙚⋆°. ponyboy has never fully healed from his concussion. he still runs into things, forgets a lot, and struggles with his basic motor skills. it’s gotten slightly better over the years with the help around him. but it remains there. he has a bunch of scars from his fuck ups. ☆𐙚⋆°. cherry it would 100% listen to lana del ray. she is THE nyc girlie. she’d be addicted to pinterest too. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. rip dallas winston, you would’ve loved blasting eminem in your headphones and even more pissing people off when they try to ask you something and you ignore it multiple times to then finally respond with “huh?”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ i’m sorry, but cherry would kind of hate two bit. two bit’s an alcoholic, just like bob, but also a sweet person, just like bob. two bit’s alcoholism doesn’t affect him the same way bob does. still, cherry wouldn’t like him. she’d tolerate two bit. but she’d continue to hold her hate against the vice. 

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ponyboy once had a dream of an out of body experience where 7th graders were reading his life story. he saw truly what god was until he woke up. he told soda about the dream, he always tells soda about his dreams, and soda just shrugged him off. pony always had wild dreams anyway.

𐙚⋆°. marcia kept waiting for the call from two-bit. she waited for a few days until she heard what had happened w all the greasers. she still waits for the him.

𐙚⋆°. two bit kept looking for the piece of paper with marcia’s phone number. he gave up, because he knew he could ask cherry anyway. he didn’t keep her waiting anymore. 

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ lets be honest, guys, ponyboy definitely has acne. like, he’s fourteen. his genes better be blessed if he doesn’t. run that back, he’d wash his face with dish soap and have clear, perfect skin. i’m pretty sure they didn’t have anything to deal with that kinda skin care back then. i mean, canonically, the curtis brothers are the only ones to be considered attractive in the whole group of greasers. maybe pony’s just a hater. 

☆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ponyboy would get absolutely DEVOURED if he was in modern day school. not to mention how much of a hater he fucking is based on first impressions. he can’t even come up with good comebacks. don’t even use the time period as an excuse. ponyboy watched as two bit dropped the killer line of “then pity the back seat” on the socs. what did pony say when the socs insulted him? “white trash with mustangs and madras.” it’s over for him if he used that on a middle schooler nowadays. he’s getting butchered into minced fucking meat. he’d use youtube insults but get bullied even more. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dallas would go actually crazy with all the modern drugs. lean, coke, ecstasy, green, pot, blunts, meth. he would have his own dealer that he would lowk fall in love with because that’s all he has. the drugs aren’t his salvation. his dealer is. (omfgg waittt fic idea???)

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dally went through the canon event of buzzing his hair off like every other teenage boy. i hc that he had long hair but got a buzz cut then grew it back to his current style. 

𐙚⋆°. at the dx, steve and soda split up the work during their shifts. steve handles cars, soda the register. soda doesn’t know shit about cars, and steve doesn’t know how to even count money.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 steve hates the cars movies because he thinks they’re inaccurate to actual cars. but he still watches them because lightning mcqueen reminds him of soda. two bit once pointed out steve is like mater. he got pissed off as hell. he’s not that ugly.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 steve and soda unironically flirt with each other. like they are the exact type of boys during middle school who slap each others’ asses and say some shit like “good boy” or “good girl.” it’s only excusable whenever soda does it because he’s hot.  don’t get me wrong, they’re straight. but what they do is some of the gayest shit ever. it’s not even zesty. it is and looks genuine. they kiss the homies goodnight.

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dally watches fight club religiously. he likes heathers too - steve showed him it - but he won’t admit it. 

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ dally really wanted to die. he really wanted to commit suicide after johnny’s death. and when he hit the ground, he was glad. ponyboy knew it too. honestly, that was the better outcome compared to the movie. dally would’ve cared as much for pony just as he did for johnny if time gave it to him. but he forgot about that. he was blinded by grief and was put out of his misery. it was better. dally didn’t die seeing what else he could’ve lived for in front of him, even if he did start to genuinely care for pony. and pony didn’t have the knowledge of dally dying before realizing he could still live with him as the reason.

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dally messed up when he died. in his last moments, he saw pony. he saw why he should’ve went on. he saw what he had to live for. johnny was dead. was dying just like him going to fix anything? he knew it wouldn’t. he knew the whole thing was a mistake. in his last moments, he wished he could’ve reverse all he did. he died wishing he was alive. he wished he could’ve said sorry to ponyboy at least for dying. 

𐙚⋆°. it was kind of ironic, wasn’t it? johnny spent his last few moments writing to ponyboy hoping to make dally’s life better. as if he was going to be alive to be able to hear it. it was for the better that johnny died without knowing how much dally truly loved and cared for him, so much to the point his death drove him to insanity.

☆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ pony blasted “like him” by tyler the creator after realizing the resemblance to dally in their hair after bleaching it. he keeps his blonde hair cause it’s one of the only physical things reminding him of dally and johnny.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ steve is the most realistic brother to pony. he doesn’t let him do anything, doesn’t let him tag a long. that’s what a true brother does. pony and steve’s relationship is purely one sided from pony. he only hates him because he isn’t as lenient as his brothers are. take it as this, darry and soda let pony do mostly whatever he wants, which is what they do, because he grows up faster that way. but steve cares for pony in a brotherly way because steve doesn’t want him to end up like his father, and steve doesn’t want to end up like him either. he pushes him away because that’s the way he was taught. he pushes him away because that’s the only way he knows how to show he cares.

𐙚⋆°. johnny’s only jean jacket is steve’s old jacket. 

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 soda would try to get up an onlyfans when he got older to try to get more money to support the family. like brother, like brother or whatever they say. popping it out like his stripper older brother/j

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dallas says he hates kids but somehow they kinda gravitate towards him. he doesn’t actually hate them, he’s just trying to keep up that cover. dallas has the energy of the cool uncle and rodrick heffley but nicer combined. he tolerates, more like protects, them because he reminds him of the childhood he never had.

𐙚⋆°. johnny did track with pony. trust me, that kid can RUN.

𐙚⋆°. two bit quotes/references obscure media around the gang, and he looks around to see if anyone got it before he just laughs it off.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 two bit would watch tawog.

𐙚⋆°. darry wears a necklace that holds his parents’ rings after they died under his shirt that he wears 24/7. that necklace is never off him. it’s his reminder to be the best mother and father he can be to pony and soda. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. ponyboy and johnny had the sickest handshake together. they’d also be the type of mfs you’d see practicing dap ups to get that loud ass sound that reverberating in the school hallways. and sometimes they just randomly dap up and you hear that heavenly clap. pause.

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dally teaches gang signs that he picked up from those sagging fake ass gangsters at school to little kids. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. they all recorded a ‘we listen and we don’t judge” vid and throughout the whole thing, darry would be have his arms crossed and give whoever was talking the NASTIEST side eye. some of the loudest judging w that. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. same concept, they did the same thing with a hmo cake. steve and soda put each other on the cake. two bit had the most down bad hmos, like genuinely peculiar hmos like mama coco, ifyky. dally is the guy just putting conventionally attractive women. ponyboy and johnny weren’t contributing but they were definitely judging hard and gossiping about their weird hmos. 

𐙚⋆°. ponyboy went from liking sunsets to sunrises. sunsets were the last glimpse of gold before it went black, childhood becoming adulthood. he liked them because he was finally growing up, finally leaving his childhood behind. it was easier and for the best to grow up anyway. but after johnny’s death, he liked sunrises a little bit more. sunrises are the dawn, the start of gold. it’s unrealistic. pony knows he can’t stay a kid forever. sunrises are an escape. he still favors sunsets, and he wishes he could really show dally a sunset. he was on the brink of becoming an adult, and maybe a sunset would’ve showed him that last glimpse of gold, of childhood that would keep him going. sunrise or sunset, pony tries to stay golden, no matter what.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚

  "૮₍ •⤙•˶|✉️ ᴮᵉᵉᵖ..! ᵒⁿᵉ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉˎˊ˗

╰┈➤

╭──── · · ୨୧ · · ────╮

damn, this took WAY too long to post. i was going on and off with it. some of it kinda feels ooc, but idgaf. should i make the dally x reader fic or nah??? i honestly wanna write a dally x male reader oneshot,, anywayyyyy might make a part two.

╰──── · · ୨୧ · · ────╯

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊ creds to

@roseraris for the divider

@icons80s for the header

tyyy.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ   

[cushfuddled]

Okay I gotta know, what's your beef with CD Call (formerly Lily Orchard)?

It's a lot of spite at this point. In my mind Lily was like the poster child for paraonid reading/the anti mentality. I watched her videos for a while in college; she approached every story like an OSHA officer first and foremost, assigning artistic merit based on whether/how well a text functioned as a vehicle for moral lessons. Her barometer for "bad" lessons was her discomfort.

It gets old hearing disclaimers like "I hate this thing but you're still allowed to like it I swear please don't hurt me" every five minutes, and in that way I found Lily's content cathartic for a while. There was something empowering to me in the way she refused to baby her audience. She trusted her viewers to know their reality was valid regardless of her personal opinion. That felt like respect at first. But then I watched more of Lily's work and decided she didn't respect her audience at all. If Lily was the arbiter of "good" versus "harmful" art, that made any outside opinions less valid/valuable by default. Lily refused to concede that the art which offended her could ever resonate with another marginalized person enough to justify its (unaltered) existence. She could not accept that "good" art is subjective because experience is subjective.

There's comfort in the belief that purely "good" art exists. It's very scary to know you can create art which comforts and empowers you...only for someone who's been through the same shit to look at your art and feel patronized and hurt. Alternatively, the art that gives me a panic attack can provide catharsis for someone else. It's a messy reality, so I guess I can understand why Lily decided to make her own.

But yeah. Lily posted a thread of 100 writing tips, which promptly breached containment and spawned a thousand YouTube videos. Fiction absolutely effects reality, but after that list dropped it was like everyone on the internet simultaneously realized Lily believed fiction WAS reality:

I hope my friend doesn't mind if I attach his commentary:

"This person is treating the characters like they're real people with autonomy. Zuko can't have a redemption arc because no matter what he's gone through he still won't observe basic fire safety procedures."

CW for pedophilia mention, but—

Note that this was a tip list for general fiction, with no mention of an age demographic. The insinuation that when confronted with a story like Lolita, adults will forget CSA is bad because it's written from the POV of a child predator (and the author doesn't stop the story every five minutes to remind the reader that's a bad thing)...is as insulting as it is horrifying. This is the opposite of trusting your audience. It's infantilization to the nth degree to assume readers are hapless victims to the fiction they consume. It's baseless (antishipper) fearmongering to equate the human brain to a pure glacial spring, with every exposure to Bad Fiction tainting the well drop by drop until the reader can no longer discern good from evil. Thank god fiction doesn't actually work like that or we'd all be serial killers by now.*

Anyway—I've gotten super off track. I wasn't there for the fallout, but knowing how the internet works, I suspect Lily got harassed to hell and back after this tips list dropped. She obviously didn't deserve that at all, and I do hope she's doing okay in the aftermath. But BOY did her outlook drive me up the wall.

*For some reason this energy is rarely directed at violence in fiction...maybe because people know they'd sound like the WASP moms who think violent video games cause school shootings

[1toreyouapart]

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

16-Noah

The further north they had driven, the more relaxed Lily had become. He had watched the tension slowly drain out of her the further they got from the city. First her shoulders relaxed, then her spine. Followed by the sound of her starting to hum along to the music. With each passing minute she had slowly become his Lily again. The last half of the drive was spent with her holding his hand, always pulling it right back every time he had to let go to do anything.

13 hours of singing along to stupid songs on the radio. Of hard conversations interspersed with ones about mundane life matters. A full day's drive where he learned everything she had been up to in the last five years. Every success. Every disappointment. And now, as he listened to her humming in the shower, he was hit with the realization that she had not only moved on, but that she was better off without him in her life. She had absolutely flourished in the last five years. The Lilith he had known was still there, but she wasn't his anymore. If he was a better man he would let her go. But he was still the same selfish asshole he had always been. He wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.

The sound of the shower shutting off pulled him out of his thoughts, gaze landing on the still uncooked food in front of him. Fuck. He had promised her food would be ready by the time she got out of the shower. Noah shook his head as though to shake out the self destructive thoughts. He was supposed to be fixing what he broke. Not setting himself up to break it even more.

“Whatever will be, will be

The future’s not ours to see

Que sera, sera.”

Lilith’s voice filtered down the hallway as she sang and hummed her favorite song. Noah couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. He was wrong. She was still his Lily. Changed, but still his. That song was always a sign that she was happy. And now it was a reminder of the fact that no matter what he had done to her, he hadn’t completely broken her. God, it had been too long since he had heard her singing it. Singing in general. As much as music was a huge part of his life, it was hers, as well.

It had been far too long since he had listened to her happily sing or hum while he cooked or worked on new music. Too long since she had danced in the kitchen with him, or twirled her way through their home as she went about her business. Life had been so dull since she left and took the music of her with her.

Footsteps behind him as he chopped the vegetables. Dancing. She was dancing through the little cabin he had rented for a few days. The ache that had settled deep in his chest years ago eased a bit, and he finally felt like he could breathe. Like there wasn’t as much of this crushing weight sitting on his chest.

“Need help?” Lily slid up beside him, her arm settling around his waist as she had always done.

“No. It’s fine. I just got a little lost in thought. Sorry.” He tried desperately to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat or two. She was acting like no time had passed. Like none of the past had happened.

“That’s fine. What do you need me to do?”

Noah set the knife down, turning his head to look at her. Her hair sat wrapped up in a towel on her head, those bright eyes of hers he loved so much watching his every move. Studying him, like she was seeing him for the first time all over again. He wanted nothing more than to scrap dinner all together and spend the rest of the night wrapped up in her. Surrounded by her scent, the feel of her skin pressed against his. The sound of her voice. Instead he nodded his head toward the kitchen island.

“See that spot right there? Why don’t you go take a seat, have a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and just sit there and look pretty while I get this thrown together real quick.”

“Noah,” she pouted up at him.

“Go sit. Relax.” An order rather than a suggestion this time.

“Fine,” she relented, rolling her eyes at him.

Noah watched as she reluctantly went to the stool and climbed up on it, crossing one leg over the other. Satisfied he turned back to the task at hand, scooping the vegetables into the pan. He could feel her eyes on his back, still watching his every move. It was mildly unnerving. Like she was expecting him to make a mistake. Or maybe that was just his own fucked up head making him feel like that.

Noah sighed. He couldn’t take it. Being watched like this was going to drive him insane.

“Alright, fine. Grab the pan by the sink and put some water in it.”

“Ha! I knew you would cave!” Lily giggled as her feet hit the floor, triumphant.

“Brat,” he muttered, dumping some diced tomatoes in the pan with the vegetables. She had done it on purpose to win. Stared him down until he gave in to her.

“Whatever, you fuckin’ giraffe.”

Noah dropped what he was doing, turning to face her. There was no way he had heard her right. No way she had just called him a fucking giraffe.

“I’m a what now?” He laughed, unable to hide the grin that now adorned his face.

“You heard me.” She shrugged, bringing the pot of water over to him.

“I don’t know. I might need you to repeat that one, ankle biter.”

Noah doubled over as Lily’s jaw dropped in disbelief, the food simmering on the stove now forgotten. If he paid more attention he would have noticed the way she pulled the pot of water closer to her. How she carefully picked it up, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she did so. And he would have noticed the moment she lifted the pot before throwing it on him, soaking him.

Lily tried to run, but he was too long and too quick. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her snug against his now soaking wet front, her peals of laughter pulling him in. If playing with her like this again was his reward for being a selfish asshole, then he was okay with being selfish.

Tags: @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @mrscevans

[fmab]

So, disclaimer: There’s only three episodes out so far, so maybe some of it is too soon to call dogshit and things will change direction. But I have very mixed opinions on it right now. I also understand that in order to market a show to a wide audience, they have to simplify some of the themes, shuffle plot points, or sensationalize aspects of the story in order to draw and retain viewers who aren’t fans of the books.

Firstly, the positives: I think that the costume design and the casting is pretty great. I think that all of the actors are doing a great job and there are some pretty interesting and funny moments! I think the way they ham up Sanctuary Moon is pretty fun. I really do not have complaints about that at all and I think generally the show is solid enough at a glance.

However…… They are making some changes that honestly have me going what the fuuuuuck at the screen. I can not tell you how many “_ would NOT say that!” moments that we’ve had watching this in VC, especially in this third episode. I really don’t think Dr Mensah would openly admit to Murderbot how she’s stressed and struggling to sleep before they’ve had literally any meaningful time to bond, as she is a private person who struggles with vulnerability (Even Before The Events). I also don’t think that she would tell it to keep its helmet off in order to help remind the crew that its a person -_- Like yeah guys whatever. Just go ahead and write the 1 character who was respectful of Murderbot's boundaries completely doing the opposite.

Also they are majorly fucking with Gurathin’s characterization in a really bad way. Yes, he kind of sucks and is an asshole in the books. But I do not know why they write him purposefully tormenting Murderbot with eye contact? Or having him enter Dr Mensah’s room to smell her pillows when everyone is off the base. Like what the fuckkkkkkk are they doinggggg. Its so uncomfortable. It feels like this is a weird romance conflict that they are setting up for unnecessary drama for the show and its just like………….. This was not needed !!!!!!!!!! There's also so much emphasis on sex and human relationships just in the first 3 episodes alone, even asking Murderbot invasive questions about it. In the books Murderbot is just like “yeah gross” and does not dwell on it. I don’t fucking know. Head in my hands.

While watching this with friends, we all kind of agreed that it felt like the show was not really taking the PresAux team as seriously as it could. I struggle with how to express this, but the books always felt like they were presenting the characters, their professions, their motivations, and Preservation Alliance itself seriously. It was a radical and different thing, and Murderbot happens to think the team is strange because its Murderbot, its used to the Corporation Rim, and because they treat it like a person and they like it. So far, instead of “Murderbot thinks theyre weird for perfectly normal and good things” it feels like the show is framed like the VIEWER is supposed to think they are weird for the wacky hippie society they come from and the wacky ways they act…. Idk I just do not enjoy that!

It feels like they are simultaneously trying to lengthen the story while accidentally shortening and clumsily handling the growth of the characters. I’m trying to cut it some slack and be patient because they may have shuffled around some of the events in order for this to make more sense in a longer form show, and I don’t know what else they have planned! But idk............ I am trying to have hope but these first few episodes are just making me more scared. So. We’ll see !

man the murderbot show is really a little dogshit compared to the books </3

[candyflareart]

Just wanna show my dsmp/mcyt based pony town skins u.u

If you ever see these, feel free to interact ^^

Voidza || Blueza (wip)

Nether Lord! Technoblade || Phantom (oc)

Scarlet Smoke (oc, pony ver.) || Sunsprite Valley/Melody (passerine fic inspired oc)

And my mcyt mlp au!

Thorn Blaze (techno) || Tumble Rays (tommy)

Zephyr (philza) || Willow Note (wil)

[johnnyshrine]

★ 093 // “POV: You Died :("

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh