#there's actually a second mistake but that one just twists the wrong way instead of being straight up the wrong type of cable so fuck it lo

[flecks-of-stardust]

fixing cables is annoying. i just spent 30 minutes on five rows : D

[tarjapearce]

Prey Game

Miguel O'Hara x Spider person! reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mild nsfw, research about spiders, sexual tension, needy and reactive Miguel. Wacky behaviors of spiders.

Summary: Miguel discovers what your venom can actually do. The Hard way.

Requested here

Miguel had seen his fair share of Spider agents parading in the HQ. But in all honesty, never on his life thought than an actual Black Widow would be the catalyzer for a new agent to be born. You. Spider Black. Or Widow as some nicknamed you.

The bright red hourglass emblem on your chest, sent a clear message. Danger. At first, Miguel thought that you had been venomized by the overall type of suit you sported. A suit that for some reason was almost leathery-like, made out of an enzyme that melded like a second skin to you, thanks to the scientist in your world.

Your dimension was... Chaos itself.

It made sense for him that a Spiderwoman as equally brutal appeared to contain the spiraling mayhem your city was drowning in. A form of twisted balance. Even Jess had her own concerns when you were first introduced to the Spider Society TF.

You were the last resource to contain anomalies that turned out to be a real challenge even for seasoned Spiders, with the condition of doing it solo.

Not because you thought yourself invincible, no. It was to avoid any potential collateral damaged agents in your wake. You were vicious, just like the young and radioactive black widow that had bit you. Sometimes you couldn't help it, your DNA had been modified to the point of you adopting some qualities proper of the species.

You were a loner, not that you didn't get along with the rest, the constant chatting and bustling inside turned to be quite overwhelming to your senses. Your fingertips, had tiny, almost invissible little pointy slits that served as receptors. You could feel someone's heartbeat with them, along the rush of blood pumping through their bodies.

But the wackiest things you actually had in your repertoire, was your venom, nested in the natural talons you had for nails. Awfully painful and mind shattering.

Miguel had seen you fight, and when your mating season started, he'd noticed you'd stalk your enemies, patiently in the shadows preying on them with hunger and the outcome, was surely not for the squeamish.

Sometimes Jess thought that you were too much.

Had he made a mistake in taking you in? No. Surely no. You were one of the best. A force to be reckoned with.

You just watched him from the shadows. Ever so nimble, quiet and secretive.

------

His senses were thrashed. Hands trembled, trying to hold on the handles of the door. It was painful, but why it felt good?. It fucking felt too good and he didn't like it one bit.

He glared at you through hazed eyes, shivering mouth, panting softly. Fangs prickling his bottom lip, bared at you. The small punctures of your nails in the base of his neck, bleeding softly.

You smirked at his state.

But oh his groin. You licked your lips. Mating season was still on, and for some reason, your ever stoic serious and grumpy Boss, was now on the floor, a mess of raged breaths, some whimpers escaped him as he tried to stand.

"What's wrong?" Your voice soft, sultry and laced with sarcasm and something else. Hunger.

Even though sexual cannibalism wasn't a feat proper of the Latrodectus species, it still could happen in a 2% ratio. But you wouldn't actually eat him, no. Right?

His body reacting so different to everyone else, made him the exception, but not the rule. Your pupils wide blown as he slumped in the wall, talons out, growling in anger.

"Don't" He hissed as you approached him. Slow, deliberate. Prowling over him with a satisfied smile on your pouty lips.

He gasped for air as sweat started to ooze from his forehead, he felt so out of himself. Out of his character and element. He wasn't in control for once, instead he was slumped against one of his office walls, trembling like a rabid dog in need, raging boner between his well sculpted thighs.

"I mean it." He grunted through clenched teeth, trying to put his senses in order. You kneeled next to him, the alpha-latrotoxin, your venom, rushed through his bloodstream, came out as a delicious pheromone to your senses. You licked your lips again and gently ran a hand through his neck. Pulse quickening, just as his heart.

Powerful and rhythmic beats echoed beneath your fingertips. God he was delicious.

"You wanted to see what my venom could do. Why are you complaining?" You'd chuckle and nuzzle his neck. The contact sending a violent shiver down his spine.

"Can't handle it?" You licked the flesh of his neck. So tender and thrumming in gentle spasms.

"Want me to do something about it?"

His Adam's apple bobbed and his fist clenched. Eyes flashing red, but not in anger. Your mouth salivated at the sight of him. Slowly, tortuous seconds stretched too long before you gave a feathery kiss in his neck, right above the jugular. He shuddered.

You bit softly, relishing the texture of his skin between your teeth. To your surprise, he took a hold of your hair and pushed in further. A quiet 'keep going'.

Giggling playfully, you licked and kissed between the base of his neck, teeth sinking in further with a little more force. An involuntary pleased groan escaped his lips, your smirk widened.

Soon, you were biting his neck, leaving marks, marks that he'd surely have to explain later. But for now he didn't care, the new sensations although making a muddle of his senses, were slowly wiring him into a unexplainable urge to be bitten. Devoured.

Cause in reality, some black widow males spiders just wanted to be eaten. Even going to the extent of placing themselves in the maws of the female spiders. He wasn't from your same species, but his reaction had surely made your hunger enhanced and your body receptive.

None would actually believe you if you'd tell them that your venom made Miguel a needy mess.

"I... I fuckinghate.. you." He slurred in between hefty breathings.

"Your body loves it, though. It's quite the feat to see this... side of you, Boss." Your hands trailed down his groin and he shut his eyes tightly. A sharp inhale as you squeezed.

"But don't worry, it only last for a hour." You whispered in his ear, and removed yourself from him. He gulped, hand lingering in the air.

"See ya, Boss" You swayed your way out to your dimension, leaving him there. A jumbled and hard mayhem.

[pretzel-box]

CHAPTER 1 : THE HOUSE WHERE WE LIVE

Tags: Comedy, OC Story, Wall dweller Abuse

Words: 4,6k

Authors Note: This can have many logic errors and some mistakes since it's not proof read! If something seems wrong or weird or I wrote your oc in a stupid way please tell me.

Some OCs have more text than others since I plan to rotate between the chapters!

This is a first try, please leave some feedback, future ideas or inputs!

"Left," Tapu hummed casually, watching as Roxy and Cyrus attempted to lift a stolen couch from one of the many lounge areas. It was a sleek, black piece of furniture, deceptively heavy. Cyrus was clearly struggling more than Roxy, who appeared completely unbothered by the weight. Both of them followed Tapu’s vague instructions, each stepping in a different direction.

"Other left," Tapu called again, not moving from her spot. And, once again, they each pulled the couch toward their other lefts, causing one corner to slam into the wall with a loud thud. A dent formed instantly. Either this couch was secretly made of steel, or the walls in Blackside were made of... well, toothpaste.

“Tapu, I appreciate the help, but 'left' is kinda vague right now,” Cyrus grumbled, his arms trembling as he held up his end, wondering if this was some kind of endurance test. Was it just him, or was the couch getting heavier by the second?

“Cyrus, your right. Roxy’s left,” a calm voice echoed from the hallway. Osiris poked her head out, startling everyone. Despite her soft tone, the group flinched like they’d been caught stealing cookies. This caused Roxy and Cyrus to drop the couch instantly, the heavy piece crashing to the floor like a boulder in a cartoon.

"Not again..." Roxy groaned, glancing at the fresh dent in the floor, which now perfectly matched the one in the wall.

Cyrus rubbed his aching arms, staring down at the couch like it had personally wronged him. "Is this thing cursed or something? Why is it so heavy?"

Roxy shot him a side-eye, unfazed. "Maybe you're just weak."

"Oh, I'm weak? Says the person who dropped it too!"

"I didn’t drop it. I let it go with style."

Before Cyrus could respond with a snarky comment, Tapu chimed in, still lounging on the side like she was watching a mildly entertaining TV show. "Okay, how about we just push it? You know... wheels exist for a reason."

Cyrus blinked. "This couch doesn't have wheels, Tapu."

"Details, details," she waved off his objection, gesturing for them to just get on with it. "You two are strong. You got this."

Roxy looked down at the couch, then back up at Cyrus. "Ready to lift this thing again, noodle arms?"

"Roxy, I swear—"

"Alright, on three!" Tapu interrupted. "One... two..."

Roxy and Cyrus braced themselves, hands back under the couch, lifting slightly in anticipation.

"...Three!" Tapu clapped, but instead of helping or offering any more directions, she grabbed a stand of hair from her shoulder, twirling it on her finger as she watched them struggle.

With an almost synchronized groan, Roxy and Cyrus managed to hoist the couch back into the air. It swayed dangerously to one side as Roxy adjusted her grip. "Stop wiggling, Cyrus!"

"I'm not wiggling, you're wiggling!"

At that moment, Osiris poked her head back out of the hallway, raising an eyebrow. "Why don’t you just... leave the couch?"

The suggestion hung in the air like a revolutionary idea. Roxy and Cyrus exchanged a look.

"Leave it? Just... like that?" Cyrus asked, blinking in disbelief. The fact that they already spend the last 4 hours lifting it was already forgotten and out of their minds.

"Yeah, I mean, it's just a stolen couch. I doubt anyone’s going to actually need it." Osiris shrugged, clearly not understanding why this was an ongoing saga.

Roxy frowned, thinking it over. "But what if someone wants to sit on it?"

Cyrus’ face twisted. "Uh, then they can continue carrying it themself?"

"I'm not leaving it here after we fought for it for the past 4 hours," Roxy hissed, gesturing wildly at the obvious crater they’d left behind.

Osiris sighed, walking over and tapping the wall. "Okay, yeah, the wall looks like it lost a fight. But honestly, do you think anyone is going to care about this enough to chase after you when you don't carry this back?"

Roxy paused, looking uncertain. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Cyrus groaned. “So, are we still moving this thing or—”

Before he could finish, the couch’s leg gave out with a loud snap, startling the people to the point where they let it drop once more, sending it tumbling to the floor again, this time with a dramatic flourish. Tapu watches with a giggle.

“Well, that solves the ‘leaving it’ problem," she snickered, standing up and dusting her hands off. “Great job, team. That couch has officially been defeated."

Roxy and Cyrus stared down at the now slightly broken, dented, and very defeated couch.

"Yeah... let's never speak of this again," Cyrus muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Agreed," Roxy sighed, nudging the couch with her tail.

“Has anyone seen my couch? I usually chill on it in the lounge area!” a voice called out, echoing through the halls. The group collectively froze, their hearts dropping to their stomachs. Eyes slowly shifted toward the very couch they had just mangled, now slightly bent and sitting pitifully on the floor.

“That’s not good,” Cyrus muttered under his breath.

“There are a lot of black couches around here,” he added, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “It’s probably not this one…”

“It’s a black, sleek one. Not in the lounge anymore,” the voice called again, sounding a little closer.

Roxy’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Ohhh no.”

“Welp, time to run,” Tapu suggested cheerfully, already turning on her heel.

The others didn’t need more convincing. Like a well-practiced crime crew, they abandoned the scene without hesitation, leaving the battered couch behind as evidence. Their escape led them to the ‘main hall,’ which wasn’t really a hall at all—it was an old, abandoned submarine dock that Sebastian, Sasha, and Painter had transformed into a sort of DIY community hangout spot.

The dock had everything: cozy furniture (most of it “borrowed” from around the facility), a large pool-like area for their more aquatic friends, and a suspiciously impressive lineup of eight vending machines filled with snacks and drinks. You know, all the essentials for a secret hideout.

Panting slightly from their getaway, Cyrus glanced around, trying to calm his nerves. “Okay, I think we’re safe. No one will think to look for us in here.”

Roxy, still catching her breath, scanned the room. “This place looks like a hoarder’s dream. Are we sure Sasha didn’t just steal the entire facility at this point?”

"Hey, we don't steal. We... redistribute," Tapu corrected, grabbing a snack from one of the vending machines. “Besides, if they didn’t want stuff stolen, they shouldn’t have made it so easy to steal.”

“That’s... not how that works,” Cyrus muttered, but he was too tired to argue.

Just then, Sebastian walked in, sipping on a mug of coffee. “You guys look guilty. What’d you do?”

Roxy, without missing a beat, blurted, “We may have destroyed a couch.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Again? Which couch?”

Cyrus groaned, “Apparently the couch. The black one from the lounge. You know, the one with legs made of concrete or whatever.”

“Oh, that couch.” Sebastian winced. “Yeah, that thing’s a beast. Painter tried to lift it once with his new body, almost short-circuited himself. But wait... it’s missing now?”

“Not just missing,” Tapu smirked, “it’s dented, broken, and abandoned.”

“Well, you’ve officially entered the Couch Criminal Hall of Fame,” Sebastian said with a frown, mocking them. “Don’t worry. The facility’s got, like, thirty of them. You’ll be fine… unless the owner finds out it was you.”

Cyrus slumped onto one of the comfy chairs, his nerves shot. “Great. That’s reassuring. Now I just have to spend the rest of my life hiding in this submarine dock.”

Tapu raised her snack triumphantly. “Welcome to the club, my friend. Snacks are in the vending machines, couches are pre-stolen, and nobody here asks too many questions.”

It was peaceful for a second in the dock, with Hanako and Violet calmly floating in the water, their quiet presence barely noticed as they watched the group’s antics. Hanako occasionally blew soft bubbles while Violet gently paddled beside her, both seemingly content to stay submerged.

That peaceful moment, however, was short-lived. A bag of sour cream chips hit Sebastian square in the face at an alarming speed.

“GIVE IT BACK!” a voice screeched, shattering the calm.

Sasha came barreling through the area like a tornado, sprinting over obstacles, dodging the random furniture, and even bumping into Roxy and Cyrus, who were still recovering from their couch heist. Without missing a beat, Sasha launched herself up the vending machines with the grace of a parkour expert.

“Why is she always climbing things?” Tapu muttered through a mouthful of chips, looking thoroughly entertained.

Right on Sasha's heels was Allo, moving just as swiftly but with a bit more finesse, expertly dodging all the obstacles Sasha had bulldozed through. The two were locked in a high-speed chase, weaving through the chaos of the room.

Violet, now leaning against the edge of the pool, watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. “Do they always do this?” she asked softly, glancing over at Hanako, who nodded serenely.

“Mostly. It’s loud, but… kinda fun to watch,” Hanako said quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She shifted slightly, causing small ripples in the water, while keeping her gaze on the chaos on land.

Sebastian, who was still rubbing his face after being assaulted by the bag of chips, looked unimpressed. “Do they even realize we have, like, ten boxes of these?” he muttered, holding up another bag he’d grabbed from the vending machine as proof.

“Apparently not,” Cyrus deadpanned, watching as Sasha swung herself from the top of the vending machine, nearly crashing into the stack of stolen furniture.

In the water, Violet and Hanako exchanged glances, as if silently deciding that this level of chaos was best observed from a distance—preferably one where they wouldn’t end up with chips or Sasha in the face.

Just as Sasha nearly collided with the stack of stolen furniture, a calm voice cut through the chaos. “You know, if you guys put half the energy you use into chasing each other into something productive, we might actually solve some of our problems.”

Yuri strolled into the room, hands in his pockets, observing the scene with a raised eyebrow. He had that laid-back, almost exasperated look that suggested he’d seen it all before—and was only mildly impressed.

Sebastian, still recovering from the chip assault, waved weakly in Yuri’s direction. “Yeah, like getting more snacks that don’t involve aerial acrobatics.”

Yuri smirked. “Or, hear me out, just use the door. Radical idea, I know.” He pointed casually toward the perfectly functional entry next to the vending machines.

Sasha, now hanging upside down from the top of the machine like a very intense squirrel, blinked at him. “But that’s not fun.”

“You know what else isn’t fun? Falling on your head,” Yuri replied dryly. “But hey, you do you.”

Allo, who was still in hot pursuit, momentarily paused to look at Yuri. “He’s got a point, you know.”

“Et tu, Allo?” Sasha gasped dramatically, flipping herself back upright and finally hopping down, much to Yuri’s relief.

In the water, Violet and Hanako giggled softly, watching the exchange. “Yuri always makes things seem so simple,” Violet whispered to Hanako, who nodded in agreement.

“That’s his thing,” Hanako added, “he’s like... the calm in the storm.”

Meanwhile, Cyrus was still shaking his head at the whole scene. “Can’t we have one normal day without someone climbing something, breaking something, or nearly getting crushed by furniture?”

“Not in this place,” Yuri said, deadpan. “But hey, at least it keeps things interesting. You can only steal so many couches before it gets boring.”

Roxy, still watching from the sidelines, chimed in with a grin. “I don’t know, I think the couch-stealing thing has plenty of mileage left.”

“Of course you do,” Yuri replied, a small chuckle escaping him. “But next time, can you make sure the furniture you steal doesn’t leave craters in the floor? We’re running out of excuses.”

“Noted,” Roxy said, grinning, as she dramatically took out a notepad and pretended to jot down Yuri’s advice.

As the group finally began to settle down, with Sasha off the vending machines and Allo no longer chasing her, Yuri grabbed a snack from the same vending machine. “Alright, fun’s over. Who wants to actually do something useful, like figure out where all these snacks keep mysteriously disappearing from?”

Hanako and Violet exchanged another glance, their smiles widening. Yuri, in his down-to-earth way, always knew how to bring a touch of logic to the madness—even if it was through snacks.

Just as things were beginning to calm down, the door slammed open with an energetic bang, and in burst Casimir, grinning like he’d just discovered the best news of the century. “You guys won’t believe what Garpol and Nick did this time!”

Yuri groaned, “Oh no…”

“Uh-oh,” Tapu muttered, quickly stuffing the last chip into her mouth. Hanako and Violet exchanged a look, sensing the chaos to come, while Roxy perked up, clearly interested.

Sasha, still shaking off her near fall, straightened up. “What did they do this time?”

Casimir waltzed in, dragging Sasha and Allo toward him with an infectious energy, pulling them both into his orbit as if they had no choice. “Garpol and Nick found a wall dweller. And they adopted it. Together. They’re underwater right now!”

“What?!” Allo exclaimed, her eyes wide. “A wall dweller? They plan to keep it?”

“Oh, they do,” Casimir said, with a wink, “and they’ve already named it. Dewey. It’s apparently very fond of walls, as you might expect. They’re giving it swimming lessons as we speak.”

Sasha snorted, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding. Swimming lessons? For a creature that… lives in walls?!”

“I know, right?!” Casimir chuckled. “Garpol’s convinced Dewey’s going to be the next big thing. Says he’s going to train him for underwater exploration.”

Allo blinked. “I’m sorry, but... aren’t wall dwellers not our enemies?”

“Exactly why Garpol’s plan is so foolproof,” Casimir said, throwing his arms wide. “Nick’s down there too, trying to coax Dewey out of the walls. I’m guessing it’s going about as well as you’d expect.”

Violet, gently paddling in the water, giggled quietly. “I’d like to see a wall dweller trying to swim…”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Casimir insisted. “They’ve got Dewey floating around like some kind of confused balloon right now. If we head down there, we might catch the show.”

Yuri sighed, looking equal parts amused and exasperated. “So let me get this straight… Garpol and Nick adopted a wall dweller, brought it underwater, and are teaching it to swim. That’s… the least surprising thing I’ve heard today.”

Casimir’s eyes lit up. “Yup! And I figured you guys would want to be part of the chaos. Think of it: Garpol, Nick, Dewey—the perfect dysfunctional team.”

Without missing a beat, Casimir grabbed Sasha and Allo’s arms, already pulling them toward the exit. “C’mon! Who’s coming with me? We’ve got front-row seats to the most bizarre swimming lesson you’ll ever see!”

Sasha and Allo, now fully caught up in Casimir’s enthusiasm, were laughing as they were pulled along, already ready for whatever madness awaited.

“I’ll bring snacks!” Tapu shouted, tossing the empty chip bag aside and jogging after them.

Cyrus stood frozen for a moment, then sighed, “Alright, might as well see this disaster unfold.”

As the group began to file out, Hanako and Violet stayed floating quietly in the water, watching the madness continue.

“I’m kind of curious about the wall dweller,” Violet admitted softly.

“Same,” Hanako added. “But… I think it’s safer to watch from here.”

Yuri stayed behind too, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “Every time I think it can’t get any weirder, Casimir shows up. How does he do it?”

“Simple,” Violet said with a smile. “He is the chaos.”

The group had made their way to the water viewing area—a large glass panel that separated the dry portion of the dock from the underwater section, there was still a large hole in the ground, leading to different underwater parts. Casimir, with his boundless energy, had pulled everyone along, buzzing with excitement as they gathered to watch Garpol, Nick, and their newly adopted wall dweller, Dewey, attempt some version of "swimming lessons."

Sasha, leaning on the railing, squinted at the water. “So… where’s the wall dweller?”

“There! That tiny blob thing hugging the wall like it owes it money!” Casimir pointed with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Look at Dewey go!”

In the water, Garpol and Nick were floundering around, trying to coax Dewey into actually moving. The small creature was, as promised, clinging to the wall like it was its sole purpose in life, not showing the slightest interest in the water surrounding it. Garpol was gesturing wildly, as if explaining some great aquatic theory, while Nick swam nearby, trying to look supportive but mostly just confused.

“Do they… know what they’re doing?” Security asked, raising an eyebrow. She stood beside Cheshire, who was watching the scene with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Cheshire tilted his head, his usual calm demeanor making it hard to tell if he was entertained or mildly horrified. “I don’t think anyone’s really sure what they’re doing at this point.”

From behind, Cordelia strolled in, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “This is the kind of disaster you don’t see every day. What exactly is the end goal here? Teach the thing to swim or give it an existential crisis?”

“Both, probably,” Sasha muttered, clearly fascinated by the chaos unfolding before them.

Roxy, who had been silently observing, chuckled. “Garpol looks way too confident. I’m betting five credits Dewey freaks out and latches onto Nick next.”

Cyrus shook his head. “You’re on.”

Down in the water, Garpol was still making grand gestures, now holding what appeared to be a treat in her hand. She waved it enticingly in front of Dewey, who finally seemed to respond. Slowly, and with great hesitation, Dewey peeled itself from the wall. It floated, a little blob-like, resembling an awkward balloon more than anything. The wall dweller bobbed closer, and the crowd of onlookers above leaned in.

“This is it,” Casimir whispered dramatically. “The moment of truth.”

Just as Dewey made a tentative move toward Garpol, the wall dweller's little body twitched, and without warning, it lunged—straight at Nick.

“Ahh!” Nick yelped, flailing as Dewey latched onto him like a life preserver, its little limbs wrapping tightly around him. His muffled protests were drowned out by the water as he tried to pry Dewey off, but the creature had no intention of letting go.

Roxy snorted. “And I win.”

Cyrus groaned, handing over the credits. “I hate that you called that.”

“I love that I called that,” Roxy replied smugly.

In the water, Garpol was still trying to coach Dewey through the ordeal, but it was clear the wall dweller had no plans of leaving its new favorite “wall” anytime soon. Nick, now burdened with his new clingy friend, gave Garpol a look that screamed, “Help me,” but Garpol seemed unfazed.

“Just let him adjust! He’s bonding with you,” Garpol shouted through the water, clearly too invested in his aquatic ambitions to notice Nick’s growing panic.

Cordelia, shaking her head, turned to the group. “So… anyone wants to take bets on how long it’ll take before Nick just becomes Dewey’s new permanent home?”

“I give it five minutes,” Cheshire chimed in, crossing his arms with a small smile.

“Three,” Security added confidently, together with René next to her who let's out a confirming sound.

Casimir leaned forward, watching the scene with gleaming eyes. “I give it twenty seconds before Nick tries to escape.”

Sure enough, within moments, Nick attempted to swim away, but Dewey clung even tighter. The crowd burst into laughter as Nick struggled, his arms flailing, while Garpol offered encouraging shouts from behind. It was less of a swimming lesson now and more of an underwater wrestling match.

Suddenly, Violet appeared beside them, having drifted over from the water area where she and Hanako had been peacefully observing. Her eyes widened at the sight of Dewey latching onto Nick like a second skin. “Oh… that doesn’t look ideal.”

“It’s not,” Sasha said, stifling her laughter.

Security blinked, then shrugged. “Well, Dewey seems… persistent.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Asterion muttered, walking in and watching as Nick finally gave up and floated aimlessly in the water, now resigned to his fate as Dewey’s new best friend.

Casimir clapped his hands, grinning. “This might be the best swimming lesson I’ve ever seen. Garpol and Nick are gonna go down in history for this.”

Cordelia chuckled. “History for what? Losing a battle to a blob?”

“An adorable blob,” Casimir corrected, flashing a thumbs up.

Cheshire, ever the voice of quiet reason, sighed. “Well, if they ever want Dewey to actually swim, they might have to rethink their entire strategy.”

“Or,” Asterion added, “they could just accept that Dewey’s a land creature and move on.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Casimir replied, grinning.

Pearl giggled softly, still watching the ridiculousness below. “At least everyone seems… enthusiastic.”

In the water, Nick finally managed to pry Dewey off and hand the stubborn creature back to Garpol, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Nick, panting and exhausted, shot Garpol a glare that could melt steel.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call it,” Cyrus said with a sigh. “This swimming lesson is officially a bust.”

“Not if Garpol has anything to say about it,” Casimir said, a mischievous grin on his face. “But I think Dewey’s already won this round.”

As the group gathered by the edge of the pool, they watched in both awe and disbelief as Garpol and Nick valiantly attempted to teach Dewey, the wall dweller, how to swim. Dewey, for his part, was clearly less enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, floating awkwardly in the water like a very unimpressed balloon.

Casimir, still grinning from ear to ear, clapped his hands in excitement. “Look at him go! Dewey’s gonna be an Olympic swimmer in no time.”

Roxy folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, if by ‘Olympic swimmer’ you mean ‘confused and terrified.’”

Cheshire leaned forward, tilting her head curiously. “Is… is he supposed to be that color? He looks kinda pale.”

Cordelia stifled a giggle. “I think that’s just fear.”

René glanced over to Asterion, nudging him to step in, leading to it that Asterion leaned over toward Nick and shouted, “Hey Nick, maybe you should start with the basics! Like… not drowning?”

Nick, wading in the water beside Dewey, shot René a glare. “I’m trying, okay? It’s not like there’s a guidebook for teaching a wall dweller how to swim!”

Garpol, who was proudly holding Dewey like some kind of aquatic instructor, called out with a determined grin, “Dewey’s doing great! He’s just gotta believe in himself. Right, buddy?”

Dewey, for his part, gurgled weakly, clearly not sharing Garpol’s enthusiasm.

Just as the group was beginning to settle into the absurdity of the scene, a stern voice suddenly cut through the air like a knife. “What on Earth is going on here?”

Everyone froze. Slowly, heads turned toward the entrance of the pool area, where Angela swam in the water with Amilia in her arms, her expression a mixture of disappointment and exasperation. She looked like a mother who had just walked into her kitchen to find her kids had somehow set fire to the toaster… again.

“Oh no,” René muttered under his breath. “It’s Angela.”

“And Amilia!”

Angela swam over to the edge of the hole to the group, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Dewey, who was still flailing awkwardly in the water. Then she put Amilia down. “Garpol. Nick. What in the world are you doing with that poor creature?”

Garpol, who suddenly looked like a kid caught red-handed with a frog in his pocket, stammered, “W-We’re teaching Dewey how to swim!”

Angela’s eyebrows shot up, speaking in a softly scolding tone. “Teaching a wall dweller to swim? Are you out of your mind? He’s not a fish! He lives in walls for a reason!”

Nick, now looking thoroughly embarrassed, tried to explain, “But we thought it’d be a good idea to—”

Angela held up a hand, silencing him instantly. “No. No more excuses. I don’t know whose bright idea this was, but this poor thing is terrified. Get him out of the water right now.”

With a defeated sigh, Garpol and Nick helped Dewey wobble out of the pool. The poor creature clung to the wall, immediately trying to blend in with it, clearly relieved to be out of the water.

Angela turned her attention to the rest of the group, her eyes narrowing. “And the rest of you. What are you even doing here, watching this ridiculous chaos unfold? Did it ever occur to you that maybe—just maybe—this isn’t a good idea?”

Casimir raised a hand sheepishly. “In my defense, I didn’t think it’d get this chaotic. I just… encouraged it.”

“Of course you did,” Angela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

Cheshire, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, piped up. “To be fair, it was pretty entertaining.”

Angela shot her a withering look. “Entertaining? That wall dweller was two seconds away from having a panic attack, and you’re calling it entertaining?”

Security blinked innocently. “Well… kinda?”

Angela groaned, looking as though she was rapidly losing patience. “You’re all lucky that nothing worse happened. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how you all manage to function without me.”

Roxy, who was trying and failing to stifle a laugh, whispered to Casimir, “She’s like our group mom.”

Casimir grinned. “Yeah, but in a ‘disappointed but still loves you’ kind of way.”

Angela clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention, making Amilia flinch. “Alright, enough of this nonsense. Garpol, Nick, take Dewey back to his wall where he belongs. And no more swimming lessons for him—ever.”

Garpol and Nick nodded sheepishly, ushering Dewey back toward the wall, where the little creature promptly disappeared into a crack, clearly done with the day’s shenanigans.

“And the rest of you,” Angela continued, eyeing the group sternly. “Try to think before encouraging more chaos. If I catch you pulling another stunt like this, there will be consequences. Understood?”

A chorus of reluctant nods followed, and Angela, satisfied that her point had been made, gave a final stern glance before turning to leave. “I swear,” she muttered under her breath, “it’s like babysitting a bunch of overgrown children.”

As she walked away, Casimir leaned over to Roxy and whispered with a grin, “I’m totally gonna encourage more chaos.”

Roxy smirked. “Obviously.”

[david-talks-sw]

Luke Skywalker in 'The Last Jedi' (2/2)

OK, so in Part 1/2 of this post, we explored why Luke's TLJ characterization isn't really inconsistent with what had previously been established in Star Wars lore. It tracks. Dare I say: it works.

And yet... something still feels off, right?

Well, the reason for this is because Luke's character development is impacted by the film's structure, which in turn is impacted by - of all things - Poe's lack of development in Episode VII! Just hear me out!

The intention: Making the audience feel the same emotions as the protagonist, deuteragonists and antagonist.

This is what most movies strive for. Unless the film is trying to go for some dramatic irony, you want your audience to be on the same page with your protagonist, emotionally-speaking.

And y'know what? Rian Johnson does this very well.

Overall, he displays a very good grasp of making us, the audience, feel the same emotions as a film’s protagonist (generally, the main character, whose POV we follow) or deuteragonist (the ‘secondary main character’).

Rey was expecting to meet the Luke from the Original Trilogy, the Luke from Legends... and instead was disappointed to meet an old jaded hermit. Just like many of the fans were.

Finn is fooled by DJ, mistaking him for an archetypal "misfit with a heart of gold". Just like the fans were.

Poe is increasingly frustrated with Holdo, just like we were.

Call it "meta", call it "subversive", the bottom line is that some of the narrative choices that a lot of fans criticize the film for are intentionally placed there to put you in the same mental state as the characters you're following, even during the film's twists.

But as a result, if a character isn’t the protagonist (Rey), or the deuteragonists (Poe or Finn), or even the antagonist (Kylo)... they'll barely get any development.

They might get one or two scenes for themselves tops, but overall secondary characters like Luke, or Holdo, or DJ will mostly be shown through the filter of Rey or Poe’s or Finn's POV.

The Problem: Luke isn't a protagonist or deuteragonist, so he isn't developed to the audience's satisfaction.

Don't get me wrong: Luke has the second-most screen time in the whole film, but that's because Rey is the one with the most screen time, and he's primarily a character in her storyline.

To be fair, he does have his own subplot, he's the spiritual center of the whole film. But concretely, he’s one step above support characters like Holdo, Leia, Rose and DJ. We're barely shown his own POV and mainly view him through Rey's lens.

Like, there's a reason why in this scene...

... we don't see what Luke witnessed in Ben’s mind, simply his reaction to it: Rey didn’t see it either.

All three "Rashomon" flashbacks are what Rey is picturing in her mind when she’s being told three different versions of the story. She doesn't see what Luke witnessed, so we don't see it either.

And you know what? On paper... this is also not really an issue. It's actually quite standard. I mean, Yoda doesn't get much backstory or an arc in Empire Strikes Back. He's just the mentor figure, and we see him through Luke's POV.

There's no arguing that Luke in TLJ receives much more development than Yoda does in ESB.

But y’know what?

Yoda was also never the protagonist of a whole other trilogy.

So if you're gonna tell an audience that "the protagonist of the previous trilogy strayed from the path and is now a completely different person" - even if they eventually make their way back with a character arc - I don’t think it’s out of order for audience members to expect more development than a regular mentor archetype.

Context is expected, and when it isn't delivered, that'll kill the suspension of disbelief, for many fans. They're not just disappointed in Luke like Rey is, they're not immersed in the movie anymore.

So how do you go for what Rian was going while also trying to keep about half the fans from jumping ship?

The Solution (?) Delving deeper into Luke.

So let’s suppose Luke was treated like a deuteragonist. Suppose we see his own POV more, rather than just seeing him through Rey’s eyes. Would that help? And what would that look like?

Firstly, we keep that deleted scene of him mourning Han’s loss.

Or we show it like in the comic adaptation of TLJ, with Luke getting angry at his decision to cut himself off from the Force, unintentionally levitating objects until Chewie consoles him.

WHAT IT DOES: Either version humanizes Luke, shows who he is beneath the jaded mask he's putting on, gives audience a chance to mourn Han with him.

We keep that deleted scene of him explaining to Rey why he thinks the Jedi were flawed, also known as the “3rd lesson scene”.

WHAT IT DOES: Spells out Luke's rationalization that the Jedi Order needs to end. Marks the beginning of Luke's wake up call.

We add one or two additional short flashbacks of Ben gradually becoming darker and unhinged. Maybe he harms one of his fellow students in a fit of rage.

WHAT IT DOES: Clarifies that Ben was going through a dark period and that's why Luke went to confront him in his hut. He didn't just saunter into Ben's hut, sabers blazing.

Maybe halfway through the film, we see Luke pack his bag as he prepares to rescue his friends with Rey, only to find her communicating with Kyloe.

After all, the novelization shows that, upon opening himself to the Force and sensing Leia, he immediately decides to get back in the game. So if that’s not just something Jason Fry added to embellish stuff, let’s see that.

WHAT IT DOES: Drives home the fact that Luke realizes his mistake. (Although, it might also take away from the subsequent scene with Yoda).

Finally, let’s actually see what Luke saw in Ben’s mind: him killing Lor San Tekka, killing Han, killing Leia, murdering Chewie and countless more innocents all with a smile on his face.

WHAT IT DOES: Provides context for Luke's extreme reaction.

Most of these things are already technically canon, the only difference is that it would be shown on screen. And if all these elements are added, then Luke’s reasons for staying away and his reaction in Ben’s hut are already more understandable.

So where’s the flaws in this solution?

Solution Flaw #1: Plot twist would be ruined.

Talking about this one:

Again, we're seeing Luke THROUGH Rey's POV, for the most part. Our reaction is - intentionally - the same reaction as Rey.

The whole point of the twist is that

we, with Rey, believe Kylo can be redeemed, because

we, like Rey, remember Luke redeemed Vader.

So when she realizes “oh shit, Luke was right, he’s too far gone”... we react that way too.

But if we had seen Ben’s turn as well, if we had seen how he was during his training, if we had seen what Luke’s saw in Ben’s mind, we would all collectively agree with Luke and think that Rey is making a mistake in trying to redeem Kylo.

So when Rey walks away from Luke, rather than hoping she succeeds, we’d just be waiting for her to inevitably fail. We'd be thinking:

"Rey, you moron, you're walking into a trap and Kylo isn't gonna turn!"

Emotionally-speaking, we would be detached from the protagonist.

Solution Flaw #2: Increase in the runtime at the cost of other scenes.

The Last Jedi is already the longest film in the franchise. Adding just three of the above-suggestions would increase that runtime, which wouldn’t work. So you’d need to take something out.

But Finn and Poe’s storylines are already stripped down to their bare bones as it is. Hell, so was the Rey/Luke storyline, for that matter.

Actually, wait... why do we have three storylines, in the first place?

After all, if we look at The Empire Strikes Back, they only have two storylines, right?

The protagonist, Luke, goes to Dagobah.

The deuteragonists, Han and Leia, evade the Empire.

Main plot & subplot. Great.

Wouldn't it be better to just have Poe and Finn do the Canto Bight storyline together? That would give us sme remaining time to focus on Luke’s past, right? Where’s the issue?

Well, Rian Johnson put it this way:

Bottom line, in The Force Awakens, Poe is a clear-cut character. Simple as that. He’s charismatic and fun, but there isn’t much room for him to grow.

A lot of people compare his character to Han, but there's an issue with that comparison (besides the obvious fact that Finn is Han and Poe is Leia)...

In ANH, Han has an arc. He's the philosophical antagonist of the film, he's only out for himself which conflicts with Luke's attempts to help others. Han goes from being a selfish irresponsible gun-slinger to taking responsibility and becoming a selfless rebel, a part of something bigger. Arc concluded.

(Hell, this very reason is why Harrison Ford didn’t wanna keep playing him and lobbied to kill him off.)

So in ESB, Leia is the one who has the arc. Han is just being himself. Leia is the one who must slowly come to terms with the fact that she does love him, despite him being a total nerf-herder. So she and Han bicker, there’s conflict there, but there’s also an underlying affection.

As such, when Poe doesn’t have an arc in TFA, and is already on great terms with Finn, then there’s no conflict if you put them together in a subplot.

And conflict is crucial, in storytelling. If it's absent, then the story becomes boring.

As a result, Rian Johnson had to create conflict and growth for Poe.

Which means that, now, a third storyline is thrown in the mix... and the pacing and development of the other two are affected by this. Some really good scenes need to be cut, some stuff needs to get shuffled around.

For example, remember this deleted scene, from further up?

In the commentary, Rian explained that the reason it wasn’t in the film is because it didn’t intercut well with the other two storylines. *Three and a half, if you wanna count Kylo's personal scenes.

As such, there’s no space to add more scenes to develop Luke's perspective.

And if Rian made more space, well, that wouldn't work either. Because while Luke is the spiritual core of the film... this isn't his movie. He's not the protagonist anymore. But he used to be, and if you show him too much (not as Rey's mentor figure, that is, but as a protagonist or deuteragonist), he'll take the spotlight off the new cast with the snap of a finger.

When Michael Arndt was working on the Sequels with George Lucas in 2012, he encountered this same issue:

“Early on I tried to write versions of the story where [Rey] is at home, her home is destroyed, and then she goes on the road and meets Luke. And then she goes and kicks the bad guy’s ass. It just never worked and I struggled with this. This was back in 2012. It just felt like every time Luke came in and entered the movie, he just took it over. Suddenly you didn’t care about your main character anymore because, ‘Oh f*ck, Luke Skywalker's here. I want to see what he’s going to do’.” - Michael Arndt, Entertainment Weekly, 2015

And I'm guessing this is a problem that JJ had to deal with too, hence why Luke was pushed to the end of Episode VII: so as to give the new characters a chance to be developed a bit more, first.

“In a very general sense, the original idea for Episode VII started midway through what we now know as Episode VIII...” - Pablo Hidalgo, Twitter, 2016

There's finally the fact that, while most of those ideas can make Luke's fall more understandable... his story isn't about "how he fell".

It's about how he got back up. The whole point of the film is that even when you've reached your lowest point you can still inspire and be inspired by hope.

So while adding any of the above scenes would only reinforce what was already shown in the movie, be it explicit or subtextual... they wouldn't ADD anything to the theme of learning from failure and getting back in the saddle.

Do I care about Luke’s characterization in TLJ...?

In spite of what the length and intricacy of these two posts might indicate... I don’t, really 😅

Like, sure, I wish more had been done with the character, but Luke was never really my childhood hero, Obi-Wan was.

So Luke in TLJ isn’t a gaping wound in my chest. I didn't whine about it in 2017, nor did I shed tears of joy and said “he’s finally back” when we saw him in The Mandalorian, for example.

Like, it was an awesome scene, but in my mind Luke never left.

Also I’m the type of Star Wars fan who’ll tolerate any addition to the canon by virtue of it being new Star Wars content.

So even if that addition is something I didn’t enjoy during the viewing, I still focus on the positive and roll with it, I come up with a headcanon that'll make it work.

Because you get to do that, with a transmedia franchise!

If you don’t like how it went down in the movie? There's always a comic around the corner that'll retcon it and/or retroactively make it better... that's how it was for the Prequels.

But for the Sequels, it's difficult. There's a scarcity of transmedia content, when it comes to stuff set around the Sequels era.

I mean, can you think of any

Luke-centric work

that serves as a meaningful addendum to what's seen of him in the Sequels?

A novel, a comic issue and a distantly-relevant manga.

That's it.

(The Mandalorian and Book of Boba Fett are too soon after ROTJ to have any meaningful impact on Luke's journey in the Sequels. Some people see Luke's behavior in those shows as "the beginning of his failure", but I covered why I don't think this is really the case, here.)

Instead of just three items, how about a comic mini-series focusing on the year Luke spent training Leia, or on his adventures across the galaxy as he tries to rebuild the Jedi Order? Maybe he meets Cal Kestis, or Quinlan Vos? Maybe he needs to face against an Oppo Rancisis who was consumed by the darkness, post-Order 66?

Or better yet, how about a video game centered on Luke, in the style of Fallen Order or Jedi Academy?

Get Mark Hamill to motion cap it, he's done it before.

This would also allow the fans who grew up with the powerhouse that is Legends Grandmaster Luke Skywaker to have some fun!

Many fans wanted to see Luke in action, in TLJ, and instead got a pretend-samurai fight. Which is nice, powerful and symbolic, he goes out like a true Jedi, it makes the Force more than a superpower... but it's not a lightsaber duel. In a game, though? Players can go to town.

I dunno... any additional content would've smoothed the blow for many people who didn't like what was done with Luke in TLJ. Sure, you'd always have people who just hated the whole thing, but if transmedia content helped reduce the hate for the Prequels, it could've done the same with Luke.

I'm not sure why that route wasn't taken.

[unrepentantgeek]

So we all agree Wish is awful and the original concept would've been leagues better. There are probably dozens of posts and video essays talking about it from every aspect about the things wrong with the writing, AI graphics, & music. All probably from a proper, professional &/or academic viewpoint. But here's my two cents on what's wrong from a viewer's perspective of the story.

A large part of it is pacing. Right from he beginning whoever decided to nix the original concept got that wrong.

First, it went straight from the opening song to the talk with the Asha's friends before her interview. No proper introduction to the city/island, no showcasing of Asha's ambitions or their origins. No hinting or foreshadowing that something was wrong. During said talk, the lack of focus or comparison- not even with a flashback- made the bit about how the friend who's turned 18 changed fall flat. Heck, as far as I can see they tried to play it off for laughs as if they wanted him as comic relief.

Jumping a little here. First, they could've been more clear about why Asha was so shocked her family wasn't on her side and why they have more faith in their king than her. Then there's the musical number "you're a star" and its scene don't fit in at all. They match the tone the goat sets once it starts talking but it's so out of phase with the rest of the movie it's like a fever dream that just doesn't fit and tries and fails to be a proper Disney style musical number.

Then after that once Magnifico has realized something is up. He was pretty close to going from 0-180, or flat out did. They fail to really portray why he's the way he is, why he's so angry, why the star is such a threat to him. They didn't even really show or say why the citizens would continue to believe in him or why they might believe Asha or at least take Magnifico's side of the story with a grain of salt. Also there's no evidence showing that Asha is right, and the first real sign Magnifico really is a villain is his use of the dark magic book and stealing people's wishes for power.

For the final pacing issue, making Asha heck fairy godmother was kinda out of the blue even looking at the scene in the forest for her ruse. And I'm not sure it made sense.

But the most problematic, damning pacing issue of all is actually the second one- the interview and wish granting ceremony. You can't make Magnifico the male lead for a platonic "At All Cost" scene/musical number, two seconds later make him seem unclear and petty in his reasoning for not granting Asha's grandfather's wish and failing to emphasize where the problem or lack of problem lies in granting wishes. Then make him petty and passive aggressively full on secret villain in the wish granting ceremony scene and have Asha desperately basically straight after. (My solution? Either be slower and more clear in showing Asha Magnifico is a villain, or make him the opposite of her expectations right from the start.) Honestly making Magnifico the male lead for the At All Cost number at all is a mistake unless he's not a villain at all; a 'slow reveal beyond the audience being in on it' villain, or a twist villain you spend at least half the movie trusting.

On a similar note, there are inconsistencies which could have been solved by choosing solidly between making Magnifico a twist villain or making him an obvious flat out villain. The latter can be done while still having shock at the display of the villain's true colors, but instead it kinda seems like they tried to make Magnifico both kind of villains at once.

None of this is helped by how ever since the bigwigs killed the 2D animation department after Treasure Planet and Atlantis Disney has had a habit of mocking or flat out insulting nearly everything that used to give Disney movies their magic.

All in all, I'd say there's three versions of this story. There's what we *did* get, a soulless cash grab. There's the story I bet Disney *meant* to tell, which could have been compelling with better pacing and writing. (I give some insight and hintson how this could've been done in my views on the pacing) Then there's the original concept, which I bet could've truly been a tribute to what made Disney movies great.

[diodellet]

unremarkable (belphegor x gn!reader)

i think im Going Through It. i wanted to write messy makeouts and heavy petting in your boyfie's lap but jokes on me🥴🥴theyre not even tgt and theyre not even sitting down. please make sure to read the content warnings before continuing. content warnings: -reader is gender-neutral but described as flat-chested (no mention of any genitalia) -self-image issues and self-hatred (in both the reader's dialogue and internal thoughts) -mild degradation (from belphie) -dubcon (reader says stop multiple times but belphie doesn't immediately stop) -codependency (whatever relationship is being shown here may be tender, but its not healthy) ++ gratuitous foreplay, frottage, crying, reader as an unreliable narrator, 0.5 seconds of belphegor's gentle side. mildly unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. word count: 3.3k words minors do not interact

"You seem like you're doing well."

"Jesus!" You jump at the sound of Belphegor's voice, almost knocking the back of your head against the cabinet door.

"Wrong name."

Somewhere from the mess of blankets, pillows, and the comforter on your bed, the seventh-born's voice brings you out of your quiet daze. He sits up, clutching his favorite pillow to his chest.

You plaster a scowl on your face. "Why are you in my bed?"

"It's comfier than that thing you call a sofa. Why wouldn't I be in a bed?" He doesn't seem well-rested either.  His hair was messy and unkempt, the startings of dark circles lined the underside of his eyes. Nice to know that you weren’t the only one who’s been having a shit time.

"No! I mean, why not be in your bed, with the rest of—actually, forget that. Nevermind.” Your hands pull the hem of the fresh t-shirt over your head, straighten out the edges and sleeves before shutting the cabinet closed.

More importantly, for how long has he been there? You’re sure you don’t recall hearing the door creak open or the rattle of the window’s screen. But when a demon invites themself over to your actual living space, they could choose not to arrive in a flash of brimstone and sulfur. They didn’t need the flourish of summoning sigils, nor the light of the moon in a specific alignment with the planets. If you cast a shadow or owned a mirror—simple things like that, then it was already enough of an invitation to let them in.

And for Belphegor, finding his way to your home was as simple as slipping into a dream. Or so he said.

“Oh? Do you want to hear about how the rest of us are doing at the House of Lamentation? We’re doing just fine, thanks for asking by the way.”

It’s not his words that make you flinch. It’s the accusatory tone underneath his words that cuts into you, the ‘without you’ that goes unsaid.

“I said nevermind,” you grumble. It’s been a while since you’ve been in the presence of an otherworldly being, your nerves buzz with the need to stand up and move around, or at least to clean the mess that was starting to accumulate in your room.

Or maybe the unease stems from the plain fact that it’s been a while since you’ve had someone in your company. And it had to be Belphegor, who liked inserting himself into whatever you were doing. Especially when you wanted some peace and quiet, especially when you wanted to be alone.

(Why did it feel…nice to suddenly see a familiar face?)

“Did you just come by to give me shit or did Lucifer ask you to pass a message?” Your irritation builds when you can't twist an old plastic wrapper into a neat knot. Couldn’t steady your hands to pass the end through the knot, instead throwing it in the direction of the wastebin and missing. Ugh. You go to pick up the other scattered trash instead.

“He wasn’t happy when he found out you got rid of your D.D.D.” Belphegor stands up, throwing the wrapper you discarded and bringing the wastebin to you. “What’ll you do if he visits?”

“There’s no way he would.” Lucifer’s loyalty was always to his family. You were just an outsider. You take the wastebin from Belphegor, brushing past him to continue picking up litter on the other side of your bed. The old receipts that started yellowing and the plastic pouches that your online shopping orders arrived in and everything in between.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You hate the way Belphegor says your name, laced with slow sarcastic condescension.

Instead you swallow down the heat of annoyance building in your throat. Let it build and build and pinch at your brow. “What do you mean?”

“I might’ve overheard him talking to Mammon. And to Lord Diavolo.” He only meets your gaze with a shrug, rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Just saying.”

It doesn’t take long for you to piece together the barebones message. The fact that he was here without securing much permission meant that he was expected to bring you back.

Just saying, my ass. In the end, you didn’t have a choice.

You set the wastebin just outside of your bedroom, end up setting it down with too much force. “...How long did they give you?” Bite your inner cheek, control yourself, keep your voice even.

“Dunno.” Belphegor sighs, blowing away the tuft of hair falling over his eye. “I already left when they said I could go.”

“Why.” Your voice pitches high, a note just short of hysteric. “Do you—are you hoping to get locked up again? Why did you come here, Belphegor?”

“...Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?”

Then what was that earlier part of the conversation about? Was he just stringing you along? To see your reaction? The building anger inside of you skids to a stop.

Your voice turns icy. “You and I both know that no one in their right mind would waste the time to look at me.” 

“What are you saying?” The expression on Belphegor’s face mirrors your own. Why were you saying this all of a sudden? Was it because you have been carrying these unwelcome thoughts throughout your time alone? No, it was simply because—

“Because it’s true.”

You were no longer the remarkable exchange student.

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Belphegor says your name sharply, making you flinch.

In the moment, you just wanted to make a point. You wanted to be right for once, so your damn brain would stop buzzing. With echoes of your worst insecurities. With too much pent-up energy morphing into excitement. But no matter how much you chastised yourself for it, you were being dragged along by those feelings.

You lift your shirt up, giving Belphegor an unobstructed view of your bare torso. No more pact marks, no more blemishes from the little accidents during your stay. 

“There’s nothing remarkable about this.” Not anymore. 

At this point your mind catches up with your words and actions.

Cheeks heating up from embarrassment, you inject a mix of nonchalance and slight annoyance into your voice. Furrow your brows and play off the shame you felt towards yourself your body as irritation. "There, see. Nothing of note." 

Utterly human. Plain, nondescript, unremarkable.

You're not prepared for the warmth of his hands settling at the base of your ribcage. Rough thumbs tracing the shallow curve of your chest, just shy of making contact with your nipples. The touch to your skin alone sends a shiver through your frame.

"I don't think there's nothing of note here though." And he has the audacity to mimic the deriding cadence you used for the word.

You let go of your shirt’s hem, let it fall down to obscure his hands which stubbornly remain in place. (Never mind the fact that the sight—one palm large enough to engulf one half of your chest—stirs an all too familiar heat in your lower stomach.)

On second thought, maybe you weren’t able to play it off as easily as you thought.

“That’s because you suddenly touched me.” You muster a disinterested expression and meet his eyes. “Mind letting off?”

"Oh, really?” The way Belphegor draws out your name sends you further along your arousal, making you gloss over the fact that he ignored your request. The subtle change in his expression—an upwards quirk of his lips, his eyes narrowing and appraising you—makes you take a step backwards.

Now your back’s against the wall. How were you just making one mistake after another? Maybe your body’s impulses were taking the lead now and dragging your unwilling consciousness along for the ride. Leaving you as a helpless recipient to the stimulation.

“How about you let me touch you a bit more then I’ll back off?”

Fuck no. The answer should be easy, but then again, this was you. 

Lonely and isolated, starved of touch, craving to be desired. And when you were being propositioned by the only “person” who seemed willing to put up with you, well.

You tentatively wet your lips. The pressure settling on your chest doesn't let up (and it’s sending your brain into a fog). Belphegor's hands are lightly stroking up and down your sides. It’s as if the heat radiating from his skin was consuming you. You want to run away from it, but at the same time, the simple gesture was almost enough to make your knees buckle.

You tsk, “fine. Do what you want.” 

You fight to keep your expression neutral as Belphegor leans closer to you. Fight against the twisted sense of satisfaction seeing him pleased by your reluctant obedience.

You don’t expect his expression to morph into a small pout. “Don’t give me that look. It’ll feel good for you in the end, won’t it?” One of his palms gives your chest a light squeeze.

Your lips press together in a thin line as you consider your next words. “Do your worst then.”

And maybe it’d feel good for a bit, even if it’ll hurt once the wave of pleasure has run its course because Belphegor liked touching you as your nerves screamed for relief. And then you’ll hate yourself afterwards. You’ll spend the night curled up in bed hating yourself for feeling good and only feeling good for that brief moment.

(The aftermath was always the worst part. With clarity filling your mind and vision, making you hate the remnants of your arousal. With exhaustion settling into your nerves but never letting you slip into unconsciousness.)

Belphegor’s features darken, irritation swirling in his violet irises. There, that was a more familiar sight. One that suited his character more. Behind the sleepy and affectionate demeanor as the youngest lay a demon who was just as crafty and manipulative as—scratch that, maybe more than—the other high-ranking officials of the Devildom.

Yet at the same time, he was the youngest. You can’t help yourself from wanting to annoy him a little bit.

The satisfaction is short-lived however. Belphegor pinches the nubs in between the tips of his fingers, teasing them erect. A choked gasp falls from your lips, your eyes squeeze shut and the back of your head lightly knocks against the wall.

“Ha, please. I don’t even have to do much of anything,” he remarks in a low voice. Something along the lines of amusement colors his tone. “You’ll rub yourself against me at the slightest. Touch.” He gives a harsh tug to emphasize those two words, tearing a pained whimper from you.

“Well that’s because a demon like you could yank ’em off if you weren’t careful—” Your retort dies in your throat as he thumbs over the tips of your nipples. An agonizingly slow but pleasurable back-and-forth stimulus that makes your frame relax. As if you were some nervous thing to be tamed.

“What was that? Hm?” This fucking asshole.

You can’t muster a reply, too focused instead on keeping your mouth clamped shut. On keeping yourself still and trying not to arch into the traitorous heat of Belphegor’s palms.

“That’s what I thought.” And you can hear the deriding smirk forming on his lips. “You’ll just take anything I give because you’ll like it.”

It’s those words that send you further down your body’s sensations. Annoyance, humiliation, arousal—in spite of your pride, no that was wrong, in spite of your disgust towards yourself—all mix together into this ugly heat that makes your thighs press together, makes your core throb with need and desire and you want.

More.

You’re not prepared for the feeling of his tongue against your chest. Not prepared for the feeling of his lips sealing around your nipple and sucking gently.

“Hnnh…” Your knees tremble from the exertion of holding yourself up.

That doesn’t stop him from palming at the other unattended bud, rolling it between the fingers of his free hand. The light scrape of his nails against your skin, the way his thumb grazes against your areola while tracing the underside of your chest pulls a shaky sigh from you.

Belphegor continues to press into your space. He releases the nipple with a pop, leaving it red and shiny with spit. And when he toys with the damp numb using his fingers, a soft moan leaves your lips. “F-fuck…nnh…” Your fingers twitch, almost reflexively reaching for him.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling it just from this.” He turns his attention to your other nipple, laving it with the flat of his tongue and a generous amount of saliva. 

“...It’s—hah—just…been a while…” you grit out. “I—”

“Whatever you say,” Belphegor drawls before suckling at the bud. Gently mouthing at it before nipping lightly with his teeth.

When the pleasure starts tipping into overstimulation, your resolve and facade crack. Your hands clench into fists, feebly attempting to ground yourself. Little moans of pain escape from you with each graze of Belphegor’s fingers against the nubs. With each swipe of his tongue against the small, unremarkable, but worst of all, sensitive buds betraying your body—betraying the fact that, if you were in better circumstances, you would have completely enjoyed this.

Your reprieve arrives the moment it becomes unbearable. Belphegor’s digits withdraw to settle just above the waistband of your shorts, stretching out the elastic and revealing the skin of your hips.

“Heh, you seemed to enjoy that.” One of his hands grips your chin and pulls your gaze downwards to look at the mix of sweat and arousal staining your underwear. “Look at the mess you made.” You don’t have anything for a rebuttal. You can only stare with burning cheeks. Stare at your skin and his other hand dipping into your shorts. And you notice how close he was standing to you, a scant few inches in between your hips and his. And—god why was the slightest touch ghosting down your navel, the slick sounds of his fingers stroking you—sending your nerves into a frenzy?!

"Hnn…fuck—” A weak keening sound leaves your throat. “Wait…I don’t wanna cum,” you protest, the sounds coming from you drowned out whatever words Belphegor was saying, your face feels too hot. “Stop, stop…" 

His pace quickens, you start meeting the movement of his wrist. His fingers curl into a tight fist. You might come like this. You just might come undone completely. And you don't want that. Your breathing hitches. "Belphie, stop!”

He stills, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. Slowly releases you—clear, viscous strings of your arousal cling to his digits. The motion elicits a disgusted full-body shiver from your frame.

You hate yourself. God, you hate yourself so much.

You belatedly register the tears sliding down your cheeks. A sob nearly escapes before you clench your jaw shut. Your hands furiously wipe at your eyes and cheeks but the tears. Just wouldn't. Stop.

“...you’re…” he speaks up, voice soft. Almost hesitant to complete that thought. Crying? Yes. Unsightly? Yes.

“Of fucking course I am, asshole! You weren’t—” Ah, but he wasn’t under a pact anymore, why would he listen to you? “You just kept—” And whose hips were rutting to meet each slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers? You had nothing to say that was worth listening to. 

(You’re not sure if you’re shaking because you started crying, or if your body was still anticipating, teetering at the edge of a climax.)

"I'm sorry I—god, I hate myself."  If you were going to burn up, you wanted every part of yourself to be consumed without leaving a single trace. You hate the complete, utter silence of the room. You’d rather take Belphegor’s rough treatment and his cutting words. Take any kind of pain over this, over the burning in the corners of your eyes.

Belphegor's clean hand comes up to cup your cheek. "Close your eyes," he murmurs as he leans in. You only get a brief glimpse of his expression—soft and torn—before you obey and feel the press of his lips against your own. Slightly chapped but nonetheless gentle against the salt and shame that stain your cheeks.

He doesn't completely pull away when the kiss ends. His breath fans against your lips, warm. "Don't say that."

"...but it's true,” you counter. Though the thickness in your voice does little to emphasize the bite of your words.

Belphegor frowns.

You especially hate the expression he is wearing on his face, that small unreadable frown. Or rather, you hate that you can't parse the specific emotion behind it. Can't tell if he was disgusted or just, outright bored with you because of your outburst. "I'm sorry," you repeat. How badly your body wanted to lean into the touch of his palms. Let the guilt pour soundlessly with your demeanor, and hope it would suffice for an apology.

(A part of you desperately hopes his silence is from the part of him that understands. That being spun empty words of comfort was more painful.)

Strange, isn’t it? Your tears have stopped flowing after a few beats of silence have passed. The worst of the emotions have run their course, yet in their wake, you only feel empty. Still resentful towards yourself.

"...there, you had your little touch. Will—" A hiccup escapes you. You don't like the weight of Belphegor's gaze on you. Your head turns away, shoulders curve inwards, arms rise to discreetly cover your chest."—will you let me go now? O-or are you going to…" Use me?

No matter how much his outward apathy colored his interactions, Belphegor was a curious being. And to stand in front of him unsightly as you are, to have him discard the blotchiness of your face and the little hiccups shaking your frame…

To have him regard you as the sole recipient of his curiosity, well.

It stirs an inkling of…something warm inside you despite your warring thoughts.

“...I don’t think I’ll let go of you just yet.” His knee slots itself between your legs. “Didn’t I tell you that it’d feel good for you in the end?”

“I don’t care about that anymore, it won’t even feel good for you…!” The heat in your voice dissipates with each nudge against your neglected arousal.

Belphegor shushes you, hands coming back up to touch your chest, thumbs stroking your neglected nipples. Just start feeling good already. Combined with the slow deliberate grind of his knee against your core (or were you the one desperately rutting against his leg?), the sensations are enough to pull a shaky whine from your lips.

“Belphie, it f-feels weird…”

“Hurts?"

You're past the point of distinguishing pain from pleasure. You just feel.

"Does it hurt?" He repeats his question, hands slowing.

You shake your head, fisting your hands into his shirt. “N-no…” It’s a feeble attempt to pull him closer to you.

You’re sure you’re making a mess of his pants with each sloppy cant of your hips. Even the guilt mere thought of that sends more warmth rushing through you. Building and building until you’re cumming with a choked cry. A fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks.

With the strength sapped from your legs, Belphegor’s the only thing holding you up. Keeping you grounded.

Through the haze of your vision, you’re not sure what expression he’s wearing. “Can you give me one more?”

“...I…don’t know if I can…”

In the end though, you’ll give in to his demands. You’ll give in because your lonely self wanted something good—no matter how small or shallow it would be in hindsight.

You just hope that he would still be there with you when you were hating yourself for it.

A/N: yeah i think i just have one or two more drafts to work at.... and then... intense planning for my next major uploads (wcidfy ch 3 included).... unless my brain swerves and starts writing alt scenes/essayifying my current uploads.

[opinated-user]

big rant incoming, but i got pulled into this rabbit hole out of nowhere when youtube suddenly started recommending me videos about all the crap surrounding lily. i haven't followed her for a couple years now, but i did for quite a few at one point, and it's been... definitely a trip to see everything. a lot of processing happening, and i wanted to put my experience somewhere, in case anyone else can relate, and hopefully find comfort in solidarity.

i don't remember exactly when i found lily, but i was in my late teens-early 20s when i did. at the time i found her content, i was very freshly grappling with the realization that i'd been abused numerous times throughout my childhood by various people. and, as a result, i had a lot of anger, resentment, and other super complicated emotions and reactions to deal with.

at first, finding lily's content at that pivotal time, was really comforting and vindicating. because she was affirming all the negative stuff i was feeling was okay to feel... normal even. and feeling that way in response to abuse didn't make me a bad person. it just... made me a person who was reacting to abuse.

there were also a lot of opinions i agreed with her on. one of which being that the normalization of the q word, as a person who grew up in the southern us and has had it violently used against me numerous times, makes me super uncomfortable. so, her video about it was... again, validating. gratifying. vindicating. etc. (though i would like to clarify that i have zero issue with people who use it for themselves. they have every right to. i just can't handle having it used on me, directly or indirectly with group usage)

i commented on the video to express that. i don't even remember what i said exactly. i know i mentioned my identities within the lgbt community, and that her video made me feel valid for being so viscerally uncomfy with people calling me the q word, instead of the words i openly identity with. and she... deleted the comment. twice.

still no idea why to this day. as far as i remember, i completely agreed with her, and validated her points. but, still, twice. my comment got deleted. and i know it was deleted specifically because it was posted when i sent it, and then i went to check if she'd ever replied to it or seen it, and couldn't find it again.

it really fucking hurt, honestly. and, like i said, still to this day i can't think of even a convoluted reason why she'd delete my comment fully supporting her. i thought it was a mistake at first, but the second time it happened, it was clear she was deleting it herself. and, after that, i realized i felt the exact same invalidation and rejection i did from my abusers. i felt that exact same sinking "oh god, what did i do?!" panic i did from my abusers. i felt the exact same spiraling confusion because my logic brain knew i didn't actually do anything wrong at all. all of that shit.

and then, i realized that honestly, her content itself sorta made me feel that way, too. there were numerous times when i was still an avid watcher of her content that i had to stop watching because it started to get triggering. it made me feel like i was being yelled at. and it was especially triggering when that happened during a section i disagreed with. or when i felt like whatever she was talking about wasn't the huge deal she was making it out to be.

it's kinda wild i got put down this rabbit hole now, honestly. i've been dealing with people exactly fucking like her in my personal life all year. nasty, selfish cowards with superiority complexes the size of jupiter, and victim complexes the size of the whole damn universe.

something always felt off to me about somehow SO many people from her past had the same experiences with her that painted her in a negative light. and, her only response to it was twisting the narrative to be like 'no, actually, THEY suck'. and just refusing to ever take accountability for even something as minor as not crediting artists she steals from for images in her videos, up to full on abuse and grooming allegations. when i was too young to understand the red flags those were, i brushed it off. but, now, after dealing with so many people like her... i feel bad i ever believed that crap for a second.

she reminds me of the people i've dealt with recently, too. they all pulled that same shit on me. they beat me to a bloody pulp during the worst, darkest year of my life, and then had the gall to accuse me of being the one with a victim complex, who makes everything about me, and demands everyone grovel at my feet when all i ever expected from them was bare minimum decency and compassion during a very traumatizing, and dark time in my life.

it's truly sickening to see someone like that with such a significant audience. especially when she has done so many horrible, horrible things. and, has the gall to be someone with a victim complex that turns her audience on anyone who dares to call her out. even with evidence. she always has an excuse to dodge blame, but never any reason to take accountability.

i never actively engaged with her directly outside of that comment, so i obviously am not a direct victim of her, but even as a very surface level consumer of her content on youtube and on here, she definitely contributed to completely fucking with my head for a number of years.

i apologize to all of her victims for ever believing her crap at face value. and, i hope you are all doing well. those of you that run these blogs as well, please take good care of yourselves. i know firsthand how exhausting it is to have to be a log keeper for your abuser's misdeeds, but you are truly doing a huge service to people by making who she truly is known. you've helped make all this processing a lot easier for me, and i'm sure have prevented numerous others from becoming her victims, or being further victimized by her. thank you for that.

i wish i could say i hope she learns from her mistakes and gets a grip, but if my run-ins with people like her are any indication... even if she had the rudest awakening with every single ounce of karma she's stacked up for herself, if she hasn't learned by now... it's cause she's aware and doesn't care, or straight up is so far up her own ass she'll never see it.

i at least hope the rise of people critical of her on here and youtube helps the narrative shift. especially with the addition of courtney's testimonies against her. y'all deserve that narrative shifted peace of mind.

.

[sage-nebula]

if you could change ONE thing about sonic canon, what would it be and why?

Just one? Just one??? Hhhhhhh . . .

My first instinct is to say "fix how badly Tails was treated between Adventure 2 and Frontiers", because god, Ian Flynn was not lying when he said Tails was done dirty for the past twenty years. Yeah, he got to show up in a lot of games—but that doesn't mean a whole lot when his appearances in those games aren't good! But Frontiers makes it clear that Sega is at least aware of the problem and they seem open to letting Ian fix it. So while it has been so fucking suffering to be a Tails fan for the past two decades, I'm going to take comfort in the fact that he's treated really well in the IDW comics and hope that the games moving forward actually move forward, instead of backward. You never know with Sega, but I will cross my fingers on this one. If they let Ian write future games, then I have faith it'll be done well.

So since that isn't my answer, I'm going to say . . . take romance off the table for Sonic, period, forever, in every capacity, both in terms of "he has feelings for [character]" and "[character] has feelings for him."

First, Sonic being aroace is really important to me, as you already know. So taking romance off the table for him fixes that because he stands as aroace rep if he's not in any romances.

Second, I don't think these games gain anything by having romance subplots in them. These games are about adventure, friendship, and environmentalism. We don't need romance in there, too. It adds nothing, and if anything it just causes needless ship wank in the fandom.

Third, I think that the romance thing has only ever hurt Amy's character. Before anyone gets it twisted, there's nothing wrong with a female character having a romance story. It's straw feminism to say that female characters shouldn't get to have romances. But in this specific case I think that Amy having a crush on Sonic has only ever been detrimental to her character, for the following reasons:

— Amy was created because Sonic Team wanted Sonic to have a love interest. However, they also knew that it would be antithetical to his character to be in a committed relationship. Therefore, they created Amy to have a crush on him that wouldn't be reciprocated, which to be honest just feels mean-spirited. Like, first of all, it's not great to create a character of any gender solely to be a love interest. But also, to create a character to be a love interest but then they can never actually be that because the object of their affection doesn't return those feelings? Dude. It just feels mean! I know it's not that deep on their end, but still. It just makes you feel bad for her.

— The way Amy's crush was written in the late 90s / aughts was just . . . yikes. It sucks, because Amy had a lot of otherwise great moments in games like Adventure, Adventure 2, and Heroes. Make no mistake: had Amy not talked to Shadow on the ARK, he would not have helped and the world would have been doomed. Amy Rose saved the world. But that's overshadowed in the minds of many (especially casual players) by the way she harasses Sonic and tries to pressure him / force him to return her feelings. I know you and I disagree on this, but in my opinion it doesn't matter if he has celebrity status or that he's a little older—that kind of behavior is still wrong, because celebrities and older kids are still people, too. If Amy was my 12yo little sister, I'd tell her (kindly!) that she needed to knock it off. Glomping Sonic when he doesn't want to be glomped, basically telling him in Heroes that he's got no choice but to marry her if she beats him in a fight . . . again, she has PLENTY of other great moments in those games, but that gets overshadowed by how awfully her crush on Sonic was portrayed in them. It sucks.

(It especially sucks because I have a feeling it was written that way because "teehee girls can't actually be threatening :)" as happened in a LOT of anime that came around that time. Which, no, I don't think anything she did caused Sonic any lasting harm and she never would actually hurt him on purpose, slapstick humor aside—but still, "girls are so silly they can't be threatening :)" is still sexism just under a different brand and I hate it.)

— While the writing re: Amy's crush has gotten a LOT better over time (it's handled really well in IDW for example, where it's clear she still has a huge crush on him but also has ZERO desire to tie him down and is happy just to be his friend), in the games it's clear that Sega still thinks of her as just "Girl With Crush On Sonic" and as such they don't really know what to do with her. Granted, she's not the only character they don't know what to do with (again, Tails has suffered so much), but because Amy's entire conception was "Girl Who Has Crush On Sonic" it's pretty evident that Sonic Team doesn't really have any ideas of what else to do with her. But if that element was removed, they'd have to figure it out—which I mean, they should be able to do anyway, but it's clear they can't. Thank goodness the writers over at IDW can, sheesh. (And I do think that Ian did the best with what he was given in Frontiers, but compare how focused Tails' and Knuckles' goals are, versus Amy's. It makes sense that Amy wants to just go around helping people find love, but at the same time it's such a broad and unfocused goal that it's like . . . yeah, Sonic Team was like "girl = love lol" and called it a day.)

I could probably go on but this is an essay in and of itself, lol. Again, for anyone who skimmed, there's nothing wrong with a female character having a romance subplot and I do think that Amy's crush has been handled a LOT better since the aughts. IDW Issue 2, where she had her, "that's just what I love about you, I can't change you, I don't WANT to change you!" moment with Sonic was wonderful, and they've had many other great moments in the comics, too. But overall I think that Amy has been done a great disservice largely in part because Sega just sees her as Sonic's Love Interest™ (whose feelings he now reciprocates but won't act on), and I just think she would be better off if I could build a time machine and go back in time so that by the time Adventure rolls around she was able to stand on her own two feet as just another friend, rather than someone who is tied to a romance subplot that's never going to go anywhere anyway.

[nocek]

Ok I know it's a little bit late but turns out my big Okoye rant just has to be written down or it will keep bothering me. So here we go. Screaming into the void.

The thing is I like Okoye and I think she had nice thing going on in Wakanda Forever. That is up until the point that her plot threads were axed midway and rest of it was given to Nakia of all people? Which sucks for both of them. So in this essay....

The first Black Panther movie build her up nicely as Lawful Neutral character. Which is rare and for me makes really interesting character. She dutifully followed the law when Killmonger took the throne and then just as dutifully was about to kill her husband when it was revealed the throne taking wasn't so lawful after all. Both of those choices were incredibly emotionally hard for her and actually quite rare storytelling wise. Which I loved. What is even better: on top of all that she wasn't punished by the narrative for being lawful instead of going after her heart.

Great! I really, really loved it. Especially when in the new movie they started to nicely build up on that to give her own little plot and character growth.

Well. Up to a point.

But lets focus on what they were clearly building up to.

Okoye loves Wakanda. It's her character virtue since she is Lawful Neutral. But at the same time loving it too much and too blindly is her character flaw.

Wakanda is the best and thus doesn't need to change.

First we saw it in Infinity War with a little side joke about opening Wakanda to the world meant maybe Starbucks and not, well... war.

In Wakanda Forever in one of the first scenes she tells Aneka to give back the daggers since spears are traditional weapon. Which, by virtue of being traditional, are better and it's not going to change on her watch.

For that, the obvious plot resolution would be that Okoye needs to open up to new things (particularly technology). Unfortunately, the thing is, they sort of did that in the movie but in the worst way possible (and I don't just mean that Midnight Angel armor is ugly, you are right sister. It's ugly af) but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Wakanda is the best and thus I'm the best.

Okoye is a bit full of herself, or to be more precise thinks others are not as good since they are not Wakandan. She assumes she can deal with Americans and duh, she is right. She can actually deal with them like nbd. So does it really count as being blinded by her own/ Wakandan awesomeness?

Yes. Yes it does. I love that she is confident in her skills and she has all the right to be but she also knew there is new unknown threat. It was overconfidence on her part to think she can deal with Talokans too.

And she got her ass handled to her in fair fight.

And she broke her promise to queen Ramonda and lost Shuri.

Consequences as plot resolution? It's more likely than you think.

Because yeah. That's where clearly her further plot was axed and given to Nakia (which could be whole other big rant but just so you know: she was done dirty here too). Because let's be real it would fit perfectly.

Classic plot. Hero gets overconfident. Fucks up. As consequence hero loses their privileges/status/whatever. So they go on a quest not to regain their privileges or prove themselves but to right their wrongs.

Often they initially want to prove themselves, but then they learn they need to fix their mistakes because it's a right thing to do. Just after that the narrative can reward them with actually-you-just-have-proven-yourself-plot-twist - here are your privileges back and then some.

In Okoye's sake we can even cut on the second part of that plot. She just goes on a quest to right her wrongs and to save the princess.

Rewrite of a rewritten plot?

So her first overall wrong was dismissal of new technology. Could be righted easily by going to Griot to ask it to help her locate Shuri. It's even still in the movie but instead it's Ramonda who talks with Griot. It shows Griot can locate Shuri, they just added little scene with Nakia doing spy stuff and talking to people because it's her forte.

It would even fit the underwater cave rescue scene better. Because the forceful solution of going in guns blazing would fit more Okoye's desperation. Nakia is a spy. She would be more level headed and just sneak in and out unnoticed. Moreover, since she is more caring people person she wouldn't just leave that one girl to die.

But hey. If they didn't do that they wouldn't have the excuse for war and to have whole second part of the movie and "big" action scene at the end. Which is sadly mandatory in Marvel movies.

But going back to Okoye before I get sidetracked too much.

Just a rewrite... please.

With that the last plot thread for her to resolve would be redo of the fight with Attuma.

And it could and SHOULD follow the classic plot of like Rocky and countless others:

Hero loses a fight

Hero trains some more/ learns new things

Hero wins second fight fair and square

but nooooooo

Instead of mixing it with with opening to new technologies plot - as in asking Griot to help her find weak spots of Talokans. Or even just upgrading her spear to be better in fight with another vibranium spear if you really need to go this way (and clearly don't have time for training montage in this bloated movie)...

nope. Instead we go sorry Okoye you are just too weak. Here, have an armor. Which ok ties to the same new technologies plot thread but at the same time is so damn insulting to Okoye and her skills.

Like really fucking insulting.

It's like going to Cap or Black Widow and saying you are cool with all the fancy kicks and all but lets be real here. You are to week to fight real super powered villains - here have an armor.

Would anyone do that? No. Because it's insulting and goes against what those characters are at their core. Even if they are "too weak" they still would win by their skill, their smarts, their cunning nature or just by their sheer stubbornness.

Because those are their cove virtues.

Because that's how storytelling works.

And just FYI I'm not shitting on characters actually using armors. Oh no. Tony or Riri would win by learning and then building smarter armor. Rhodey would win because he is a solider and for him the armor is just tool of the trade - it's just a tank he happens to wear. But for Okoye or Cap or Natasha or any other hand to hand badass fighter it would go against the very idea their character was built on. It would be plot breaking Deus Ex Machina solution. Everyone would be bitching that writers written themselves into a corner and found very unsatisfying plot resolution that doesn't work.

But since Okoye is a side character and this movie has way too much going on in general, it's just left as it is.

And I'm very salty about that.

[juiceinpanties]

10 Things You Hate About Eddie Munson, pt 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/afab!reader

Rating(s): Chapter: E; Fic: E

Tags: eventual smut, penetrative sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), fingering, subbie!Eddie, masturbation (m and f), fake dating, van sex, secret relationship, antagonistic relationship to friendship to lovers, casual sex, not-so-casual sex, phone sex, drunk reader

Summary: Your best friend, Nancy Wheeler, is absolutely dying to date Steve Harrington, but her parents have the weirdest rule: Nancy can't date until her friends (e.g., you) do. Nancy begs you to date someone, anyone, and eventually you agree. Meanwhile Steve offers to pay Eddie "the freak" Munson to ask you out. What could possibly go wrong??

Notes: This is, quite obviously, a 10 Things I Hate About You au, with a slight twist. Throw in some fake dating, a 90s setting, and here we are. Thanks to @tonybourdain​ for dragging me in and continuing to enable me. She helped me entirely rewrite the pone scene because it WAS NOT WORKING as it was.

Please note the tags. Smut ahoy!!

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated and PLEASE reblog! Completely blank blogs that just like will be blocked because I'm gonna assume you're a bot. I've been here a long time.

In case you wanna read on Ao3 instead

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

You can’t stop thinking about Eddie.

It’s nearly 10pm. Homework is done, dinner is eaten, excuse is made to parents about why you left school after lunch. And you can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson and his wide cow eyes and his soft, yummy lips and his big, gentle hands.

It’s like freshman year all over again. At least this time you’re not scribbling his name in your notebook with little hearts everywhere.

You change into your usual sleep uniform of panties and a t shirt and fall back into bed. Maybe you can read for a while, get him off your mind so that you can sleep.

That lasts about 20 minutes. Ugh. This is exactly why you don’t date! You’re far too busy to worry about dumb boys! You toss your book aside and run downstairs for a snack.

You’re on your way back to your room, granola bar in one hand and glass of milk in the other, when you head your private line ringing. You mutter a curse and run to catch it.

“Hello!” you say, breathlessly.

“Hello, did I interrupt something?” It’s Eddie.

You roll your eyes. “Me, running away from you.”

“Haha. Geez you’re so mean.”

“Uh huh. Hang on.” You put the phone down and shut your bedroom door, then climb back into bed and grab the phone again. “Okay, hi. What’s up?”

He grins and plops down on his bed. “I wanted to ask about tomorrow.”

“Hm?” You unwrap your granola bar, but then realize you can’t eat it while talking to him, so you set it aside and sip your milk instead.

“Tutoring? Did you forget?”

“Of course not. I’m just wondering what questions you have.”

He fiddles with the blanket. Maybe this was a mistake. He doesn’t actually have any questions about tomorrow; he just couldn’t stop thinking about you and wanted to hear your voice.

“Uhhh oh! What should I bring?”

You make a face. “Your chem book. Pens and paper. Your brain.”

“Cool, glad you mentioned the last one. Probably woulda forgot.”

You giggle just a little. “Blood flow issues again?”

“Ha,” he says on a breath. “Not right this second, but it’s definitely possible.” He pauses and drums his fingers against his thigh. “So, uh. How’s your evening been?”

“Fine,” you say. “My parents got a call from the school, but I think I calmed them down.”

“Oh shit that’s good. Can’t believe you ruined your perfect attendance record for me.”

“Uh huh, I’m turning into a juvenile delinquent. Cutting class to make out with Eddie Munson in the back of his van.”

"Hey, I just invited you for fries! You kissed me first."

"So I did," you say. "I guess I'm a sucker for pouty lips and big brown eyes."

"My lips are not pouty!"

"Mhmm, sure they are."

"Hmmph," he snorts. "If mine are yours are too. Big, soft, pretty lips. Big, bright eyes." He lets out a long breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you, pretty girl.”

You blush and shift in your seat. Pull the sheet up over your bare legs. His voice is a little low and rougher than usual and it makes you go warm all over. “I was—struggling with something similar,” you admit.

“Oh yeah?” He glances down as a bulge starts to grow in his boxers. Oh geez. Just your voice is doing this! He’s in trouble. He gives it the tiniest stroke with his fingertips.

"Eddie? What was that?" you say as he makes a soft, breathy noise.

"Huh? Oh, uh, nothing." Shit. He's gotta be more careful.

"Hmm." Your bed creaks as you finish off your milk and set the glass aside.

"What was that?" he says with a grin.

"Nothing! I was putting my empty glass on the nightstand."

"Ohhh, I see. Just being a good girl, all tucked in to your bed with your little snack," he says, his voice going rough as he talks. The image is Too Much. He bites off a groan as he rubs his bulge again.

"You okay?" you say. You maybe sort of suspect what that noise was, but surely you're wrong.

"Yeah, yup. I'm good. You?"

You lick your lips. “I want—to kiss you again,” you say. "I mean, if you—would like that. You seemed to like it."

“I’d love that,” he murmurs. “I’d love to be kissing you right now.”

You muffle another giggle. “You could sneak in. You were so good at it last time.”

"That's true! Sneak up to your room, crawl in your bed with you, and...study for chem!"

You laugh and grab your favorite bear from the pile by your bed. Rub your cheek against its soft fur. "Study, huh? What a responsible young man!"

"That's me! Eddie Munson, responsible—young—man." His voice stutters a little as he grips his erection and squeezes.

"Eddie Munson, clearly up to something. What are you doing?"

"I'm—shit. You're suspicious, huh?"

"Mhmm." You run your hand over your chest, across your pebbled nipples. The cotton of your shirt rubs the sensitive skin and you let out a tiny breath.

"Havin' another drink?" he says with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up."

He laughs and pulls his shorts down enough to free his cock. He grips the shaft and runs his thumb over the swollen head. This time he openly lets out a rough breath. "I'll just be quiet," he mumbles. "Just listen to you talk."

"Uh huh," you say. You tug one of your nipples, and then shove your shirt up with an impatient little growl. "As you do what?"

"Nothing. Why, what're you doing?"

"Nothing." You bite your lip around a breath as you continue to play with your extra-sensitive nipples. "What are you working on in chem right now?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mmmm." He rubs his thumb up and down against the vein on the underside of his cock. Presses against the spot where the head meets the shaft and circles. "Covalent bonds," he manages.

"Oh good." You give up and press a hand between your thighs. You can feel how wet you are through your cotton panties. "I'm fantastic at covalent bonds."

"Uh huh. I just bet you are." He grinds his palm against the tip of his cock and grips it again to stroke the entire length. "What else are you good at, princess?"

You shiver at his tone, the roughness of it. "Lots of things," you breathe.

"God I bet you are."

You give the tiniest moan and shove your panties aside. You run your fingers up and down your dripping slit, over your slick labia. Then you push your fingers into your mouth and suck the taste of yourself off of them.

"What's in your mouth, baby?" he murmurs. "Don't lie."

"My fingers," you whisper.

"Oh? They get all sticky? Something nice and sweet on them?"

"Uh huh!" You feel drunk, dizzy, and if you don't come soon you're going to lose your mind.

He licks his hand and grips his cock again. Gives it several rough tugs before settling in for a slow, easy stroke. "I'd love to taste something sticky and sweet," he says. "Something soft and pink."

He smirks at the sound of your little whimper. Fuckin A he wants you. "Bet you have somethin' like that," he murmurs. "Bet it's just for me."

"Uh huh. A nice yummy snack." You circle your fingers around your clit and bite hard on your lip. "You have anything for me?"

"Oh yeah," he breathes. He strokes faster. "God do I have somethin' for you."

"Good," you say as you wiggle your hips and thrust two fingers into your cunt. "I want it, Eddie. Want to���want—to help you with your—bonds."

"Yeah," he grunts. "Molecules and shit."

"Periodic table!" you gasp as you fuck yourself. You squeeze the phone between your shoulder and chin so you can use your other hand on your clit.

"Gonna study so hard," he says. He's bucking his hips, fucking up into his hand, squeezing his shaft and stroking over the head in desperation. "So fuckin' hard, princess."

"Good! That's so good, so good, Eddie! Love it when you study hard, love it when you're such a good student for me!" You can't hold back a whine as you circle your clit. You're close, so fucking close.

"Gonna ace that test just for you. Make a big fat A just for my pretty little tutor." He's gonna explode any second. "Gonna—fuck—you're so fuckin' good!"

"Eddie! Love that, so proud, so good!!" You come hard, nearly drop the phone, moaning and whimpering with shaking thighs and throbbing cunt.

"Fuck!" he gasps and can't hold back another second. He makes a mess, painting his tummy with hot, thick come and whimpering your name over and over.

You're both quiet except for your rough panting. You lick your fingers clean and clear your throat. He grabs a towel and dabs at his stomach.

"So," you finally say. "See you at school tomorrow?"

"Yep. You want a ride?"

"No, Nancy'll take me. But if I could get a ride to your place?"

"Sure, no prob. Then I'll run you home in time for dinner. After the tutoring."

"Such a nice boy. Goodnight, Eddie."

"Night, princess. Sweet dreams."

"You too," you say, then hang up. You fall back against your pillows with a soft groan. Okay well THAT was a thing. An incredibly hot, delicious, amazing thing. You get up to grab fresh panties and head to the bathroom. You think maybe now you'll be able to sleep like a baby.

You only see Eddie in passing until school's over the next day. You're standing outside talking to Nancy when he cruises up. He stubs out his cigarette and grins. "Hey, Nancy. Hey, you ready to go?" he says to you.

"Yep. Got your chem book?"

He pulls his book bag around and pats it. "Plus a notebook and THREE pens. I'm as prepared as a goddamn Boy Scout!"

You can't help but giggle. "Come on, Foz. Let's see how much covalent bond info we can shove into that brain of yours before the clock strikes 6:30." You wave at Nancy, who's grinning like the cat who ate the canary, and follow Eddie to his van.

He opens the door for you, as always, then hurries around to his side and jumps in. "I picked up some Diet Coke," he says. "I know that's your drink."

"Yeah, it is. Thanks."

"Sure. I also, uh. Cleaned up a little. Wayne and I aren't the neatest pair."

He seems nervous. You reach over and give his skinny thigh a little squeeze. "It's okay, Grove. I'm sure you did great. I'll be there to tutor you, not critique your interior decor."

"Right!" he says. He gives you a quick grin. "And I really do need to pass this test."

"You will," you say. You pat his leg and pull your hand back. "It's next week, right? We can study today and maybe sometime over the weekend. I know you've got Hellfire tomorrow."

"You know I wasn't bullshitting when I asked you to join. You can, if you want. We'd love another member."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Your mouth quirks. "Do I get a shirt?"

"I've got one at my place I can give you. It's clean and everything!"

"Oooo, you spoil me!" You grin at each other before his eyes flick back to the road. "Sure, I'll come check it out," you say. "I play a high elf healer. Rhiannon. After the Fleetwood Mac song."

You wait for some judgmental or snide comment, but he just nods. "Pretty good band," he finally says.

"Wow. How much did that cost you?"

He lets out a rusty breath. "A lot, babe. Not gonna lie. That one was hard. Though it coulda been worse."

You giggle and settle back in your seat. "I'm proud of you."

You chat casually the rest of the ride, almost like friends. Neither of you mentions last night. It's like it never happened. Part of you wonders if he regrets it, but you decide that no, he's just waiting for you to bring it up first. He doesn't want to pressure you since you made "no touching, no kissing, no bullshit" your very clear rule for this thing you two have going.

Last night definitely counts as "bullshit."

You get to his place and he grabs a can of root beer and a can of Diet Coke from the fridge before leading you back to his room. You take a moment to study his posters (it's only fair; he's seen yours) and notice the fact that there are clean sheets on his bed. Wow, he really did clean up.

"Have a seat," he says. "Sorry I don't have a desk or anything."

"It's okay," you say and drop down onto his bed. "I think I can handle it." You kick off your shoes and scoot back, dragging your backpack with you.

He hesitates a moment before climbing up next to you so that you're sitting side by side against the headboard. "Okay, um. Chapter 3," he says as he pulls out his textbook.

You grab your book and notebook and flip open to the relevant chemistry notes. "Okay, first you explain to me what covalent bonds are."

His forehead creases and he haltingly explains the concept. He actually has it down pretty well.

You get through bonds quickly and move on to other topics on the test, and before you know it two hours have passed.

"Shit," he says with a glance at his watch. He scrubs his face with both hands. "My brain hurts."

You pat his head, grinning. "Poor brain. Needs a break, I think."

"Uh huh. Want a snack? I can make some popcorn."

"Yeah, that'd be good. We can quit for the day, if you want. Put a movie on for our last few hours. There's a point of diminishing returns with all this."

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. "You were readin' my mind, princess. Movies are stored under there," he says, pointing. "Pick one out while I go make the popcorn."

He hops up and you crawl off the bed to check out his movie collection. Slashers and porn. Porn and slashers. Hm. Nothing super surprising, except maybe The Never-Ending Story. But that's a classic.

Since it's only a few weeks away, you decide on Halloween and push the tape into the VCR. You pause it and put your books away before settling back on his bed.

He comes back with a huge bowl of popcorn and two fresh sodas. "Hey," he says. "What'd you pick?"

"Debbie Does Dallas," you say, straight-faced.

"What? That's not even—" He scowls as he catches on. "Very funny. Jerk."

"That's a lot of porn, Munson."

He shrugs and plops down beside you. "I'm a growing boy. I have needs."

"Uh huh. For tits and serial killers, apparently."

"Nothin' wrong with tits. And serial killers are built into the fabric of American society. Did you know there's something like 50 serial killers active in the US at any given time?"

You look at him, wide-eyed. "Are you serious?"

"Yep. And, I mean, Hawkins is...well."

"Weird," you say.

"To put it mildly. Anyway, the horror movies are kind of an escape. They're so ridiculous." He hits play on the remote. "Take this one, for instance," he says, recognizing the opening credits. "How many different ways does Michael Myers die in just this one movie? But he always comes back."

You reach for some popcorn and munch on it thoughtfully. "The futility of fighting against the inevitable existential pull of 20th-century ennui?" you say.

"Yeah, that, and also you can't trust in institutions. The cops are rarely helpful in slasher movies. The government or anyone like that never is."

"Adults aren't usually at all. Kids and teenagers have to fight the monster."

"Exactly. Kids at summer camp, kids having nightmares, kids babysitting. At the end of the day you can only trust your friends to have your back, and even then they might get stabbed," he says. His expression is intense, his eyes big and bright, and you realize you could sit here and talk movies with him all afternoon.

You lean over, grab his shirt, and pull him in for a kiss. He sits back in surprise. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. Continue."

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "I lost my train of thought."

"Oh," you say. You take the bowl of popcorn and set it aside. "Oops." You crawl into his lap and push him back against the headboard with one hand and grip his hair with the other. He stares up at you, astounded, and his big eyes flutter closed as you lean down to kiss him again.

"So," you murmur between kisses. "Do anything fun last night?"

His hands run up and down your back and he nips at your lips with his. "Chatted on the phone with this hot girl I know."

"Lucky girl." You pull his chin up and kiss him hungrily, your tongue sliding into his mouth. He moans and moves his to meet it. His hands go still as he hangs onto you and you slowly start to rock against him.

"Don't get hard," you breathe against his mouth.

He lets out a stuttering laugh. "I'm only human, babe. You doing—that—is gonna lead to a hard dick every time."

"Mmmm I should stop, then. We have a movie to watch."

He bites your lower lip. Tugs. "Whatever you want, princess. I am at your service."

Oh. You like that. "Hm," you say as you slide off his lap. "Maybe if you're a good boy I'll suck your cock during the movie."

He sits up. "I'll be good! I swear! So good! The best!"

You giggle and kiss his cheek. "Watch the movie, sweet boy. I guarantee you'll enjoy it."

[kraekat29]

Beautiful Mistakes- Chapter Nineteen

The minutes ticked by, they still weren't back and Ruby was actually starting to worry, what if something had actually gone wrong? God the guilt was eating her alive.

But as soon as JJ pulled her against his side her thoughts went silent, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as John B and Sage finally came back.

He looked disappointed but he still had that gleam in his eyes, telling her that this may have failed but it wasn't over.

She sighed as she listened to him piece everything together out loud, sounding more and more like their dad with each word he spoke, everyone else seemed intrigued while Ruby felt sick.

She sauntered into the kitchen, deciding to cook to clear her mind so she didn't have to think about the treasure hunt.

JJ hugged her from behind, making a slight smile form on her lips, she knew things were complicated but she was grateful for the affection and took it every chance she could get.

The others still didn't know about them, they hadn't found the right time with everything going on and it was driving Ruby crazy, she just wanted to be with her boyfriend instead of keeping it a secret.

The two of them hid in the kitchen, laughing between stolen kisses as they tried to keep watch for the others, jumping apart as John B came in, raising his eyebrow but not questioning them.

" we're looking in dads office" John B said and held up the key, " we'll uh we'll be there in a minute" Ruby said, trying to calm her racing heart. 

She sighed in relief as he walked away, looking up at JJ as they broke out into a fit of laughter before he pulled her into one final kiss.

With a smile she allowed him to take her by the hand, leading her to everyone else, she'd follow him anywhere.

And with the answering smile she got? She knew he felt the same way.

They went in and Ruby watched as John B went over the family tree, pointing out each person who had the compass, only he didn't get very far before they heard a truck pulling up.

A twisting feeling clawed in her stomach, immediately recognizing the two men, she could barely hear the conversation going on in front of her, too focused on watching the men's every move, only snapping out of it as she felt JJ move away from her. 

She caught his wrist, shaking her head no but he held up his finger, signaling he'd only be gone for a second, but one second could change everything, she could lose him.

He pulled away from her, walking out and going to get the gun all while her anxiety thrummed, she didn't take her eyes away from the door, sighing in relief once he came back. 

She flinched as she heard things being thrown throughout the chateau, quickly running over and cutting the paint away from the windowsill before popping it open and running out and into the chicken coop.

She did a count, sighing in relief as everyone was able to get out, flinching as the rooster began to crow, " shhh.. shhh.." she whispered and grabbed the rooster, cringing as it crowed again. 

With shaky hands Ruby began to pet the rooster, squeezing her eyes shut as one of the guys came over, she could feel bile climbing up her throat from fear.

She sighed in relief as he walked away, slumping back against JJ as her body jittered from anxiety.

This needed to end.

[imkattymae]

Delusion.

People avoid you when they did you dirty because they’re trying to create a delusion to not feel so terrible for how they treated you when they know you didn’t deserve it. Just think about it for a second, how guilty would you feel about purposely hurting a person who’s done nothing but try to love you the best they can, you wouldn’t be able to live with that.

But if you were this big bad villain that did nothing but hurt their feelings and abuse them well its a lot easier to not care all that much about how you treated them that’s why they discredit you and forget about every good thing you’ve done for them and they only focus on a magnified version of every mistake you’ve ever made.

They turned you into the bad guy because you don’t have to feel bad about hurting the bad guy. That’s how insanely immature these people are. They think if they just tell themselves some twisted story about who you actually are and how you treated them that’s just going to automatically absolve them from any accountability, and to keep it altogether they’ll block you. They starve you of any opportunity to prove their delusion wrong cus deep down they know you will prove it wrong. They know none of it’s true and you know the craziest part is they actually think by putting in all of that effort to hiding from you and avoiding accountability and convincing themselves of this delusion, they think they’re winning.

They think that makes them powerful but again instead they chose to burn that bridge.

They’ll stay in this toxic cycle to spend decades running from the pain and destruction they’ve cause to everyone good in their life, they’ll constantly be depressed and anxious because their subconscious is tormented from everything they’ve done.

Until one day, they won’t be able to run from it anymore. But by then it’ll be way to late to fix any of it.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Repeaters (2010)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Repeaters had potential. There’s no rule dictating the Groundhog Day motif must be used for comedic stories. Or maybe there should be, considering what we got here instead.

Kyle (Dustin Milligan), Sonia (Amanda Crew), and Michael (Richard de Klerk) are recovering drug addicts at a rehab facility. The next step in their journey is to apologize to those they have hurt. After failing to do so, the trio wakes up the next morning and realize it’s the same day as yesterday. What’s causing this, and how can they leave this time loop?

For the first bit, “Repeaters” proceeds as you would expect. The characters test the limits of the time loop, explore every bit of their "prison" and figure out how to best enjoy it. They take it a little far by taking revenge upon people who have wronged them in what you’d describe as needlessly petty and cruel, but these movies are always about characters changing as “time” passes, so that’s fine. Then, Michael starts taking it to a supervillain level. He’s going around murdering people and raping teenagers. Resetting time loop or not, it feels wrong. You brand him as an irredeemeable monster right away. So the story will be about Kyle and Sonia finding a way to stop him, right? If it wasn't, this would be a dreadful experience... right?

Repeaters has a massive hurdle to overcome because you don’t like the characters. They’re not good people and worse, they’re dumb. It’s another movie where the people in it have never seen any movies because anyone with half a brain would handle this situation better than Kyle does. He makes amateur mistakes over and over, and it takes him FOREVER to smarten up. At least he’s given something to do. Sonia is ultimately useless. She’s just there to be threatened and while she has her own story arc, it’s unconvincing, and lame.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Repeaters pulls a fast one on you. The picture’s final act comes out of nowhere and you don't believe that sequence of events for a second. Your face is wracked in an expression of disbelief, wondering if writer Arne Olsen and director Carl Bessai really expect us to swallow this preposterous turn of events. Then the film mercilessly ends. "Well, it was bad but at least it’s over." Oh but then it isn’t. Five seconds before the end credits, it throws us yet another curveball, a twist which makes absolutely no sense, undoes much of what happened previously and leaves you with a worse taste in your mouth than the one you had before.

Repeaters is a total write-off. While some ideas might be extracted from it to make a better movie, they’re buried under too much garbage to make the effort worth it. This picture gets worse the longer you watch. (April 19, 2019)

[diodellet]

3 sets of unfinished twst headcanons

hahaha im doing a little bit of spring cleaning for my wips, i kinda wanted any of these to be my first proper twisted wonderland fanfiction, but well, the simping rot 🐍 was just stronger. it was nice looking back on these braindumps though cw: supernatural horror for the first bit be careful if ur sensitive to that stuff, unbeta'd all mistakes are mine.

Sadako is that u? oh it was actually jamil -

Where Yuu and Grim manage to chase out the ghosts of Ramshackle, but in return, a more malevolent presence haunts the dorm.

I couldn't decide if this would focus on the 1st Year Squad or on the VDC people because of the dorming situation.

Lmao either way, Ace would be pissing himself over staying over again. (Deuce would've laughed at Ace for a bit, until he gets spooked by the ghost*)

But either way, it would've worked, I just imagine that the NRC cast would be waaay more susceptible to the hauntings (if being a mage requires good visualization and stuff, then i imagine they'd be prone to the symptoms of a haunting.)

I don't know if this is just a thing in the Philippines, but people who can see ghosts and mythical creatures are referred to "having a third eye" (do not look up Philippine ghost stories on your own)

To list a few of the haunting shenanigans I had in mind (some taken from IRL accounts and others from horror movies): sleep paralysis episodes, doppelgangers, seeing faces in the second floor window, losing things and finding them in a completely different place, knocking and scratching at the walls, sleepwalking, pets showing sudden unwarranted aggression at empty air, hearing something call out your name while using someone else's voice, apparitions in phone pics, random bruises/scratch marks, and so on.

I kinda imagine that beastmen and fae (read: Jack and Sebek) would just be filled with a sense of wrong while even at a distance from the Ramshackle Dormitory. The only close encounter would be seeing Yuu's "doppelganger" and knowing that it isn't them, but not knowing how to confront "Yuu"

Deuce would definitely get locked into a room/closet. After escaping, he refuses to spend a second alone in Ramshackle.

Epel isn't all that scared compared to the rest of the cast. He's used to urban legends and spooky noises, the things that come with living in a small farming town. Until the spirit proves that it can cause harm to the living.

While I'm all for Rook spooking the spirit instead, I think he would have close encounters along the lines of only seeing brief glimpses of it before something bad happens in the Ramshackle dorm. I think it would freak him out more if you ended up sleepwalking/getting possessed by the ghost.

In line with Vil's fixation on beauty, he definitely gets those moments of seeing another person in the mirror's reflection, only to turn around to see nothing. Or he gets the clump of hair in the bathroom sink/foot of the bed.

I was thinking of having a fakeout ghost sighting with Jamil. He has the hair and rbf for it lmao.

On a more serious note, while Jamil's good at putting on a brave/unbothered face, internally, he'd be thrumming with adrenaline and end up jumping at the slightest sound (Kalim's worrying sets off his hypervigilance and he lowkey suffers a mini heart attack every time 😔++he's the one to suggest sharing a room with Kalim for the night. For his peace of mind - I mean, so Kalim shuts up about the damn ghost*, whoops typo)

For Kalim, I wasn't sure if he'd be scared in the first place. Because in his mind, the darkness that humans are capable of is more terrifying than a haggard ghost. But also, I think he'd be prone to sleep paralysis episodes while sleeping at Ramshackle.

Grim gets the worst of the haunting, oh, the amount of times he's curled up to sleep with Yuu, only to wake up in the middle of the night to see that it wasn't Yuu.

The Great NRC Beach Volleyball Tourney

based off of a fandom dream where i was playing as setter for vil. i don't have strong mental visuals, but i just knew that i was staring in awe at vil every time he'd spike. aside from being torn on how i'd segment this, also writing in-chara trash talk is not my strong suit. ah,,, it was nice to think about this fic idea though....

funny story, the file was initially named: he doesnt sweat he Glistens

Beach volleyball is played by 2 people, everyone draws straws for their partner. Reader's partner is Vil Schoenheit. (cue a speedthrough of the 5 stages of grief)

The prize: First dibs for the barbecue that the NRC staff are preparing and bragging rights, or sumn I didn't think that far ahead.

Vil's "Remaining on the stage until the very end" but make it volleyball (I'm sorry I'm a Haikyuu-natic, that ailment sticks for life I'm afraid.)

Reader has 0 trust in their own skills (except for defense), but in beach volleyball, it's only you two, so that means making do and taking turns. (aka I used to play libero, holy shit dont make me spike.)

It also means being treated close-ups to the Vil's glorious visage, seriously how does he make athletic exertion look effortless and cool?

Vil reminding you to touch up on your sunscreen during time outs

Collapsing onto the sand after an intense rally, but Vil just pulls you back up onto your feet because there's still one more set before the match ends

Every time you make a mistake, like setting the ball too far, I imagine he would grip the top of your head while scolding you. Like how Kageyama does lmao

I realized that imagining playstyles for the rest of the NRC cast was not feasible, but I have some thoughts for a few.

He's ok, has a height or prior ball/team sports advantage that gives a bit of challenge, but probably loses from too many reckless errors/losing steam throughout the match: Ace Trappola (but he sucks at communicating with his teammate though*), Deuce Spade, Floyd Leech (kinda)

*Source: I mean my only reference is my highschool intramurals games, while the bball varsity players have the strength and reflexes, they were also lowkey annoying with how they dont call the ball. actually, from my observation, badminton varsity students were the only people who could seamlessly transition to playing volleyball (it sucks because it doesn't work the other way around. i cannot for my life play badminton)

Says he doesn't have much experience in playing, but for some reason rallies tend to last for a long while, and why do you feel like you're being watched and targeted during your opponent's plays: Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt (mfer is bantering with Vil during your match), Sebek Zigvolt, Ruggie Bucchi, Lilia Vanrouge (until he gets a migraine or sumn)

Tries their damndest, but they're just not that experienced. Still annoying to play against them because of their sheer tenacity: Epel Felmier, Kalim al-Asim (and he's doing it all with a smile on his face, so annoying), Silver (darn narcolepsy, his biggest opponent is himself fr fr), Ortho Shroud (he wanted Idia to try with him but oh well), Riddle Rosehearts

Not that into it, ngl, but it was fun to try: Cater Diamond, Trey Clover (was kinda difficult to play against because he had height++some observational skills, but eh it's tiring), Jade Leech, (and to some extent Floyd when the novelty wears off), Malleus Draconia (i mean...guy's a loner, he'd probably ditch in the middle of the match to explore the tide pools or something)

Isn't playing, but probably refereeing the matches: Idia Shroud, Azul Ashengrotto, (kinda thought of putting Riddle here too)

Final opponents would probably be Leona and Jack because fate likes to meddle in these lighthearted affairs. They're literal brains and brawn, also they kinda foil yours++Vil's partnership.

This is just a shot-in-the-dark headcanon, but I feel like while Jack can do jump serves, I think Leona would hit sky balls (super high underhand serves) to be extra mean. Also, they know to target you since you're the defensive core of the team (which pisses Vil off because he's not that bad of a player himself.)

The sun is beating down on the top of your head and the back of your neck. The heat of the early afternoon rays are sapping your strength away and all you want to do at this point is to run into the glorious glittering blue sea, away from the match in front of you. Like your partner would let you ditch, you think to yourself bitterly. Maybe the heat is getting to you. The whistle sounds and you drop your hips, waiting for the telltale slap of the ball from your opponents' side. The ball soars over the net and you shift to receive it, passing it to Vil. You wince at the sting against your skin. Your forearms are red and raw, your thighs are burning from running back and forth across your team's side of the court, but you push through the exertion, wait for Vil's set to spike at an unguarded area of your opponent's side. Thwack! Blocked - you curse, falling backwards from your jump, a fist outstretched to try and keep the ball in the air. It's futile, your arm is a mere centimeter apart from the ball - "I got it!" Ugh, Vil's been picking up after your mistakes for the past few rallies now. That was embarrassing. You'll slam this one into the ground. Scrambling to your feet, you run up to the net and swing.

Spoiler: the point goes to Jack and Leona. Their tactic to wear at your stamina, then Vil's is going heavily in their favor.

the ramshackle prefect is a plantito

I had a brief Strange Horticulture phase (dont me i love papers please-style games)++there was a time during the pandemic when my parents and relatives got into raising a shitton of plants. the front of the houses were just covered in so much green. it was wild lmao. sadly im not plant literate, so this was just a pleasant idea to think about.

Wherein everyone gifts the prefect a plant for Ramshackle, like Little Shop of Horrors without Audrey going rogue*

Jack is way too happy to gift you your first plant. Also, he thinks he's being slick, but it's obvious how happy your attempts at a green thumb make him with how much more often he visits Ramshackle during his morning runs.

Epel is also a lifesaver when it comes to saving your plants from amateur neglect. Though you can see Vil's mannerisms rubbing off on him with how he lectures you.

In addition to decorative plants, you also grow a meager vegetable garden which Azul tries to negotiate some kind of deal for the Mostro Lounge (You're both friends, aren't you? Wouldn't you let him take a portion of whatever you manage to harvest? What if he also took care to supply you with potent homemade plant growth supplies? No, he's not trying to cut down on costs from importing veggies he'll offer you a 30% cut of the profits - and so on)

While I think Jade would also be happy with this sprucing up of Ramshackle, he kinda gets pretentious about what plant species are good to house close to each other. I think he'd also nag you about the surrounding ecosystem and stuff (while at the same time finding a secluded spot to grow his own shrooms, the piece of shit 😤)

In my mind, Riddle and Vil would offer a high-maintenance plant species while going on some spiel about how hard work produces the most beautiful plant/fruit/flower whatever.

Kalim almost ends up gifting you a critically-endangered Scalding Sands plant but he decides against it (with lots of exasperated advising from Jamil) and is instead willing to help you with whatever you need, an extra hand with gardening, money for supplies and tools, anything really! (With your guilty conscience and a pre-emptive lecture from Jamil, you politely decline Kalim's offers.)

Ruggie gives the Twisted Wonderland equivalent of pechay/Chinese cabbage. It's easy to raise, and he gets a free snack in a week, win-win!

Lowkey think that Ace and Deuce would gift a fake plant. Their contribution gets housed on the windowsill of your bedroom.

You'd think that Leona would also skip classes at Ramshackle once the gardening pops off, but he's a creature of habit. He prefers the vibes of the temperate zone of the Botanical Gardens lmao.

Actually I think Silver would end up becoming another frequent visitor, accidentally napping nd stuff.

*Instead of a plant going rogue, the conflict is the beginning part of Book 6 when Styx busts in to (unintentionally wreak havoc on your dorm) apprehend the overblotters.

Buuut, I already have an Idia-centric post-Book 6 angst fic in the works so...haha

[missmeinyourbones]

DON’T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND

tags: post timeskip!megumi, best friends to lovers, fake dating, wedding AU, drinking & mentions of alcohol, lots of pining and yearning, me writing this and including a lot of megumi dialogue bc writers on here love to make him mute and indifferent >:( he is very passionate to me >:( | wc: 5.4k+

He’s made a mistake.

Oh, Megumi has made a huge mistake. 

He knew he should’ve listened to that tiny, pessimistic voice in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to attend a wedding with you.

Granted, it’s not a terribly strange ask of you—you are best friends, after all. But Megumi should’ve denied your advance the second he discovered the twist to it.

He wasn't there to be just any old regular wedding plus one. He was there to be your date, your faux boyfriend for the night. To put on a show so your relatives could get off your case for being single. 

With hesitance, he agrees. He can’t not agree to helping you out. Not when you’re his best friend, not when he feels his heart skip a beat every time you so much as sigh in mild disappointment or irritation. 

But, god, was he wrong when he thought he could handle this.

He spends the week leading up to the wedding panicking over the unknown. What color would you be wearing? Would he have to dance with you? What’s the proper etiquette of a fake-boyfriend? Is there proper etiquette for such a role? Does he hug you? Hold your hand? Does he kiss you? The logical part of him is in complete shambles, leaving his idiotic instincts on autopilot.  

I mean, you’d barely given him any information other than two main points: one, your relatives are snobby rich assholes, and two, all he had to do was “sit there and look pretty” (which made the tips of his ears instantly burn with a warmth only you can seem to provide these days). 

Regardless of the way the passing comment made him feel, his sleepless nights and your lack of detail were enough to prove his inner conscience correct when it said that this was a mistake. 

Megumi pulls his black SUV into your driveway with a swift turn of the steering wheel. The overplayed pop tune lowly vibrating his speakers further irritates his already overstimulated thoughts. With a brash turn of the dial and muting of the radio, Megumi doesn’t think twice before sending you a text that simply reads:

“Here.”

Before he can even make an internal comment about how big of a douchebag move it was to text you instead of going up to your door, the buzz of his phone demands his attention.

“Be out in a few mins. Running a little late, sorry! :)”

He takes a deep breath. Okay, that’s good. You don’t think he was an asshole for texting you that he was here.

Actually, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe you would’ve thought he was weird for going up to your door. He’s never done that when picking you up before. And this is a fake date, right? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to commit to the bit too early and—

The shaking of his car door handle jolts him from his thoughts. You stand outside, a smile on your face as you patiently await for him to unlock the door. He does so, wordlessly.

You didn’t even get out and open the door, the agitating voice returns. A real boyfriend would’ve done that.

You get into the car with a quick and hectic greeting, paired with an apology for making him wait a few minutes for your final touches. 

Though a pair of scrappy heels clinks together in your left hand, and a water bottle (filled with a splash of liquid courage) balances in your right, Megumi can’t take his eyes off of you. He spares a glance to your dress—navy blue. He doesn’t know why the color makes him instantly sweat.

He doesn’t return your hello, or even appease your worry of keeping him waiting in the car. Instead, like a fool, he chokes on his own words.

“You—”

Nothing follows his stuttered response as you turn your attention towards him. Blushing furiously, he looks down towards his empty lap.

Composing himself, he manages to get out a shaky breath, “You look beautiful.”

He looks up just in time to see how your smile meets your eyes with a crinkle at his genuine compliment.

“Thanks, Megumi,” he swears he sees you blush, “you look really nice, too.”

The voice in his head asks him if the fake-relationship talk has started yet. Did you really think he looked nice? Or were you just practicing for later tonight, when you say it in front of your relatives?

He places an arm behind your headrest as he backs out of your driveway. The GPS reads an ETA of 45 minutes. Megumi’s not sure if he’ll survive the ride. 

“So,” he attempts to begin casually, though his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel says otherwise, “what’s the story?”

Your voice elevates with genuine confusion, “The story?”

Megumi looks a bit embarrassed as he sheepishly shrugs, eyes remaining on the road. “Y’know, like if people ask us questions, or something.”

“Oh, right,” you’d forgotten the scenario at hand. “Well, I guess we could just be honest.” It’s a statement, but your voice fluctuates in pitch towards the end, making it sound more like an uneasy question. 

Megumi releases the first of many nervous chuckles of the evening, “Honest, like ‘we aren’t actually dating, I’m just doing this to appease your snobby extended family’ honest?”

A giggle of your own escapes, not as nervous as his, but still riddled with a bit of unease. “No, god no, not like that.” 

Sliding your heels on, you fiddle with the strap by your ankle. 

“Honest, like ‘we met at school, hit it off instantly, became best friends’ honest,” you nonchalantly offer, before quickly elaborating, “except, we just say that we fell in love throughout the process.”

Easy for you to say, the voice echoes in Megumi’s brain. Because that is honest, he thinks bitterly, at least to him it is. 

He releases another quick sigh before nodding his head in agreement and turning up the radio to avoid any further conversation. Another trashy pop tune fills his ears, but he ultimately decides that it’s better than discussing the night’s possibilities. 

At first, Megumi was under the impression that he’d be lying like a sinner in church for the next few hours, but something tells him that this role might involve a lot more honesty than he initially intended. 

...

The country club is nice, Megumi notes as the valet plucks his car keys from his hands with a smile.

Alright, it’s more than nice. It’s insanely posh. Megumi almost feels like he’s imposing just by walking up the stone stairs of the entryway. His shoes aren’t expensive enough for this. 

Since the bride was an extended cousin of yours, you were lucky enough to skip out on the actual ceremony. Besides, with the stakes at hand, the reception was more than enough. 

The two of you float around cocktail hour, kindly smiling at a few strangers but making no moves to insert yourself into any conversations. You sip on the drink of the night—some lavender drink with tequila and lemonade, an ode to the couple’s first meeting (according to the embroidered napkins that you don’t care enough to read about). Megumi more so plays around with the ice in his cup, making a face of distaste every now and then he sips. 

The conversation is in whispers, consisting of hushed explanations of those around you. An older man with a red bowtie passes the pair of you, and you utter something about him being the father of the bride. You casually note that the woman standing behind you is your mother’s cousin’s godmother, but when Megumi turns his head to get a look at her, you pull his collar with a sharp “don’t stare!”

So far so good, is what Megumi finds himself thinking. This is easy enough. No one’s cornered you for conversation yet, he hasn’t had to introduce himself as your romantic counterpart, the faint feeling of your fingertips skimming his throat when you grabbed his collar still burns brightly. This is nice. 

Or it was nice, until he jinxed himself. 

You hear her before you see her, and the piercing sound of her voice is enough for you to identify a migraine forming.

“My darling! You look...” your aunt seemingly trails off as she scurries over to you, catching herself before fumbling over her syllables, “well.”

“Thank you,” you naturally reply with a nod of your head, ignoring how her voice wavers around the backhanded compliment, “it’s nice to see you again.”

Her eyes, almost predatory, squint with a cunning smile before seamlessly gliding over to where Megumi stands beside you. 

“And this must be the boyfriend,” she gestures to him with a tight-lipped grin. 

His heart nearly beats out of his chest at her simple words, ones he’s only dreamed of hearing in reference to you.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he awkwardly offers her a sweaty hand to shake, “the boyfriend.”

Your aunt accepts it eagerly with a look that he—although just meeting her—can immediately identify as judgment hidden behind an artificial smile. It’s in this moment that Megumi declares her as being similar to a vulture—hunched shoulders, sharp features, and glossy eyes reminiscent to those of a hunter. 

Quick greetings are exchanged. Routine small talk weaves its way in, out, and around your conversation. Your aunt asks you about work and you lie about a past promotion, which somehow segues into her own personal problems. She beckons her husband over from where he leans against the doorframe, while mentioning something about how the two of them haven’t been resting much between vacations and purchases and grandchildren. 

Your uncle doesn’t address Megumi—which you’d warned him of prior, as your snobby rich relatives don’t like to treat people they haven’t heard of with basic respect—and instead points an accusatory finger in his direction while addressing you.

“Is he good to you?” your uncle grumbles behind a glass containing a light-colored alcohol, as if Megumi isn’t there, standing right beside you with a similar drink in hand. 

“Of course,” you quickly stir with conviction, “he’s great, really.” 

You turn your head to look at your boyfriend beside you, only to find him already looking back at you. With a soft smile, for him and not your uncle’s accusation, you beam, “He’s my best friend.”

Not a lie in the slightest, but not quite the full truth, the words feel heavy on your tongue. Megumi is your best friend, but there’s an overlap—an overlap of some not-so-friendly feelings for your closest companion.

Your aunt’s shrill voice breaks the silence of the moment, and for once, you’re grateful for it. 

“I remember that honeymoon phase, being young and in love,” she coos at the two of you with a blushing grin. Megumi feels his hand hovering the small of your back twitch at her next comment.

“Doesn’t last forever,” she half-teases, “so don’t take it for granted.”

His hand tightens around his glass. 

It’s a joke, Megumi has enough personality to realize that she’s just poking fun at the differences married life can bring to a couple. But still, something inside of him churns at her light-hearted words. 

“I think it’ll always be like this,” Megumi is quick to blabber out.

Her eyes widen a bit at his abrupt reply. “Like this?” she searches for clarification. 

Megumi panics. He doesn’t dare turn his head to see your expression, though he can see your wide eyes gawking at him in his peripheral vision. 

Your aunt expectedly awaits his elaboration as your uncle shoots him an even dirtier look than before—which Megumi didn't even think was possible. 

He loosens his grip on his glass as he takes a deep breath, “Y’know, this…right.”

He hears a nervous laugh from his side, and when he quickly turns to face you, he swears that blush lingering on the apples of your cheeks wasn’t there before. 

Your uncle, face still incredibly sour, lets out an affirming hmph. Your aunt’s fabricated smile returns to her face once more. “That’s the spirit,” she mewls.

As the conversation wraps up, Megumi can’t help but feel like he’d just barely skimmed death itself. 

...

Cocktail hour ends without any more causalities, and Megumi finds his shoulders relaxing a bit as the two of you find your assigned table in the reception hall.

Luckily, it’s one you won’t have to share with an obnoxious aunt or intimidating uncle.

Taking a quick glance at the others in their seats, they all appear to be younger couples resembling Megumi and yourself. Megumi asks you if you recognize any of them, but aside from a possible distant cousin once-removed, you assume they’re all just friends of the bride and groom. 

Megumi scrunches his nose at the realization that you’ve been placed at the randoms table. The relatives who surprisingly brought a plus one. The leftovers. Surveying the crowd around him, he bitterly wonders if anyone else here is playing fake partner. 

Eventually, the DJ gathers the attention of the partygoers. 

With an obnoxious microphone horn and terrible dance music, the bridal party members are slowly introduced—the whole process is agonizingly slow. Each individual gets a brief introduction, including their relationship to the couple along with a fun and quirky fact. Megumi uses all of his willpower to refrain his eyes from rolling back into his head as he fights off visibly cringing. 

After what feels like hours, the head-turning moment arrives.

The bride and groom are announced, though Megumi can’t hear much of their introductions over the whooping and hollering of the audience. 

It’s cute, he supposes. They seem excited—to be officially married to one another, to have a room of people cheering them on, maybe even to get this wedding over with. Whatever their reasoning may be, the glow on their faces is evident through their smiles. 

An unwelcome thought enters his wandering mind. 

He imagines you in a gown, something white and delicate, maybe. He doesn’t really care for the details. He’s sure whatever it is would look godsend on you. He imagines himself by your side, permanently glued to your hip with an uncharacteristically wide smile as you cut the cake or listen to a loved one’s toast. He imagines Gojo taking the stand, giving a speech that embarrasses the living daylights out of him. He imagines Nobara and Yuuji jokingly complaining about the food and teasing him for the way he almost trips over your dress when the two of you have your first dance. He imagines simple rings decorating both of your left hand ring fingers.

He imagines marrying you, spending the rest of his life with you. He’s positive that he could do it, that it’d be a lifetime worth living.

Suddenly very aware of the weight of his heart in his chest, he shakes that thought from his head just as quickly as it arrived.

Your light tone pulls his conscience out of his daydream.

“They make a nice couple,” you nod sincerely towards the pair of lovers, who are now taking their seats at the front of the room. 

Megumi hums in agreement, and though he doesn't know these people, he trusts your judgement. They do make a nice couple. 

“Alright,” you sigh, returning to your seat and shaking out your palms from clapping. You turn to him once more, that look in your eye just as bright as he remembers.

You breathe, “You hungry?”

Megumi doesn’t think his stomach is strong enough to keep any food down—but if he’s going to survive the night, what he does need is another drink.

...

Dinner wraps up just fine, mostly because the two of you keep to yourselves.

Megumi lets you try a bite of his salmon entrée, chuckling as you scrunch your nose at the lemon baste that marinates the fish. You don’t finish your side salad, so he finishes it for you—picked out olives and all. You ask him if you need to fix your lipstick once you’ve finished eating, he thinks you look incredible as is. You wipe the corner of his mouth with a satin napkin when he has leftover crumbs hanging by his lips. Your thumb brushes against his skin.

The casual domesticity of all of it, the way it feels natural to dote and be doted on by you, leaves his head spinning where he sits. The air suddenly feels too thick, too heavy for his lungs to inhale and digest. 

With a quick comment about getting himself another drink and asking you if you need anything (boyfriend points, he mentally pats himself on the back), he manages to sneak away to the bar for a breath of fresh air. 

He takes a moment for himself—the first one he’s gotten of the night—as he slumps against the barstool and earnestly flags over the bartender.

He needs something strong, something that will make the hairs on the back of his neck stick up and distract him from the lingering feeling of your fingers by his lips. Not being much of a drinker, he orders something he’s heard of in movies (and from Gojo’s stories), a glass of bourbon. 

He knows he’ll hate it, but that’s alright. If it puts his mind at ease for an hour or so, it’ll be worth a few minutes of bitter burning.

Just as the bartender returns with a stout glass of the dark liquid, a body occupies the stool directly next to Megumi. He senses a figure in his peripheral vision, but his eyes remain on his drink as he swirls it around by the rim of its container.

He hears a familiar rasp croak from his side, “Oh, it’s you. The boyfriend.”

With unimpressed eyes, Megumi turns his head to be met with your uncle, of all people. Trying his best to maintain a good impression while simultaneously trying not to vomit into his drink, he simply concedes. 

“Yup,” he sighs into the condensation of his glass as he admires the irony of the simple statement, “the boyfriend.”

Your uncle bitterly laughs into his own watered down glass before shifting in his stool to face Megumi properly. He silently watches him for a few seconds (which feel like hours) before clearing his throat in a presumptuous way. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” your uncle presses. Megumi knows he will, regardless of however he responds. With that being said, he plays along. 

“Shoot.”

His fingers tap an unfamiliar pattern against the bar, “Does being at a wedding ever make you think of proposing?”

Megumi should be choking on the drink he sips. He should cough and gasp for air as he tries to recollect himself at the sudden ask. His eyes should pop out of his head at the mere hypothetical insinuation of proposing to you. 

Instead, Megumi merely nods once more, certain in his words as he barely swallows. 

“Yes,” he breathes, “it does.”

This is silly, Megumi knows it as he takes another swig of his bourbon. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s dreaming of a marriage with you.

I mean, sure, he’s walked you home from late nights at the bar, wiped away your tears of ex-lovers or silly rom-coms. Hell, he’s even let you brush his hair—on nights when you’re feeling a little down and he’s fresh out of the shower, he lets you quietly twirl patterns into his scalp with a bristled hairbrush. 

That’s not anything worthy of marriage, right?

Your uncle laughs at his blunt response, and Megumi’s not sure how he should feel about his amused reaction. He doesn’t have it in him right now to be offended. 

Your uncle takes a guzzle of his own drink, “The hell’s stoppin’ you, then?” He wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve and Megumi is suddenly reminded of your gentle touch by his lips just a few minutes ago, “Any reservations?”

You could say that, Megumi aches to spew—but he bites his tongue and shrugs, “A few.”

Your uncle downs the rest of his drink in a single swig, before wiping the final remnants of moisture from his mouth with the back of his palm and declaring a frank, “Fuck ‘em.”

Megumi’s eyes widen at the unexpected advice. He wordlessly watches your uncle place his now empty pint onto a coaster before signaling for the bartender to come back around. 

After a moment of staring, the younger man softly chuckles to himself in both entertainment and disbelief. “Sorry?” he stutters. 

“Your reservations,” your uncle clarifies simply, “fuck ‘em.” 

Observing Megumi’s bewildered expression, he elaborates with a knowing smirk. 

“I mean that’s what love is, right? The ultimate jump, the landing that’s not guaranteed. All of that sweet bullshit.”

The liquid of his newly poured drink sloshes around the glass as he waves his hands around in an animated manner. 

Taking a moment to look at the bigger picture, Megumi thinks he might be right. I mean, sure, he’s an asshole who barely gave him the time of day before, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. He’s just as human as he is. Love doesn't discriminate against the wealthy or the poor, the brash or the meek, the boyfriends—fake or palpable. 

“Yeah,” he sincerely acknowledges with a realizing nod, “yeah, guess I never thought about it like that.”

With a simple pat on his back, Megumi finds himself blushing beneath your uncle’s knowing gaze. He’s smug as he insists, “Well, maybe you should start.”

Megumi quickly downs the rest of his drink, immediately signaling for the bartender once more. 

...

Megumi can’t fully feel his feet as they carry him back over to your table. He almost feels like he’s floating.

The room around him is slightly foggy, or maybe it’s just his hazy vision betraying him. Granted, he doesn’t know how long he spent wallowing at the bar next to your uncle—what he does know, is that he’s now tipsy enough to ask you a certain request.

It’s easy to spot him making his way towards you through the crowd of partygoers.

You’re not sure what is it that makes him so noticeable. Maybe it’s the soft smile adorning his pretty face that feels like it’s reserved for you and you only. 

Before you can ask him where he wandered off to for the past fifteen minutes, he manages to extend a wavering hand out to you. 

“Wanna dance?” his words are collected, though his actions are rather giddy. His face is flushed with a childlike rouge. His feet slightly turn in on one another as he sways where he stands. 

You smile earnestly, before remembering the weight of the scenario. Letting your mind get the best of you, you can’t help but ask the question that sits on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you asking me because you want to dance with me, or because you think it’ll look good for the crowd?”

Megumi’s blasé expression remains. “Does it matter?” he lightly challenges. 

Your heart falters a bit, because it shouldn't matter, but it does. 

“Guess not,” you brush off the pit settling in your stomach as you rise and accept his hand. 

He leads the pair of you to the dance floor, weaving you in and out of people’s way as he finds a spot he deems worthy. He eventually stops you, where you stand surrounded by a few other couples but slightly off to the side for some tasteful privacy. It’s the least he’s asking for out of this whole ordeal—just one private moment, one real moment, with you. 

He’s a bit stiff as he waits for you to make the first move, though realistically he knows he should be the one stepping closer to you. After all, he did have to get tipsy enough to light the fire beneath himself. 

You bite the bullet and wrap your arms daintily around the back of his neck. He wishes he could say he softens at your touch, but if anything, he tenses up even more at the feeling of your skin against his.

Slowly but surely, he follows through by placing his hands at a moderate position by your hips. It’s enough for him, it’s more than enough. 

He pulls you a bit closer when you rest your head against where his shoulder meets his chest. You don’t look at him, instead opting for counting the fairy lights on the ceiling as you gently breathe against him. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he hears your faint voice vibrate his core.

He places a hand to the small of your back without realizing, “Doing what?”

His stance feels more sturdy as he sways the two of you. He finds himself leaning into your touch as the seconds melt by without notice.

Your voice turns into what resembles an ashamed whisper, “Coming here and, y’know, pretending.”

Megumi’s heart drops. 

Right, pretending. Because that’s what he’s doing here tonight. 

“Oh,” he shakily swallows, “wasn’t too hard.”

He takes a wobbly finger to your chin, prompting you to look at him. The voice in the back of his mind returns, but this time it’s encouraging, void of it’s usual pessimistic mourning. Now or never, it burns. 

His movements are slow, hesitant, almost as if you’ll dissolve right beneath his fingertips. As he leans closer into your embrace, you feel like he’s moving in slow motion. The moment doesn’t feel real. It feels like you’re watching him through a film screen as he inches closer and closer and closer until—

His lips are on yours.

They’re soft, extremely delicate as they press themselves onto your own. It feels natural, like your lips were made and molded to fit directly against his. It doesn’t feel like a performative kiss with a faux boyfriend, because it’s not. 

In that moment, you know. The way he shakily exhales into your mouth as your tongue barely skims the plush of his lower lip, the way he tenderly holds your chin in place as if you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever touched. 

Somehow you know that without any words exchanged, the moment is real. It’s more than real to the both of you. 

When he pulls away, Megumi looks pale. He doesn't look like how his kiss felt, passionate and light and sure of himself. He doesn’t look like the rom-com protagonist, whose eyes are stars in the reflection of your own. He looks afraid almost, regretful. 

Suddenly finding himself alarmingly sober at the absence of your lips on his, the moment flees from his hands. 

He excuses himself with a incoherent mumble and a hurried departure. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the voice in the back of his head hopes you chase after him. 

...

You find him outside.

It didn’t take you long to follow his exit. After a minute of standing alone in shock, you knew that you’d rather be by Megumi’s side, awkward and all, than be in a room without him. It feels lonely, cold without his heat burning beside you. 

He has another drink in his hand as he anxiously trails in circles around an empty golf course attached to the country club. You wonder when he found the time to grab it; did he make a beeline right for the bar once he’d left you? Did he go to the bathroom, then hit the bar once more before coming outside? Did he steal a drink right from the grip of a guest and—

“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” the crack in his voice catches you off guard. You didn’t know he’d noticed your presence.

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It tells you to fix this, that this is your best friend. That whatever happened can be forgotten as long as it means keeping Megumi as your own. 

You take a hesitant step forward in an attempt to calm his nerves, “Megumi, it’s alright, really, I just—”

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be fake,” he blurts out. 

It feels sharp. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the weight of the situation at hand, but he’s being incredibly brave.

Or maybe he’s not, maybe he’s absolutely petrified of fucking this up. Maybe he can’t go another day without knowing, or rather not knowing. 

He finds himself rambling beneath his breath, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you were supposed to kiss me because you wanted to, not because you had to—”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen like this?” you mimic his prophetic choice of words.

Megumi’s too caught up in his worry to notice—to care—that he’s spiraled, he shakes his head and continues.

“No, it was supposed to be real. Not pretend, and to appease your shitty family,” the words are said harshly, though you recognize their intent as desperate, not malicious. 

A bit disbelieving, your tiny whisper ignites something inside of him, “You’ve thought about our first kiss?”

Megumi’s eyes nearly roll out of his head and onto the concrete pavement by his scuffed and worn-out shoes.

“Of course I have—I’m in love with you!”

His eyes grow comically large, as if he wasn't in control of the phrase that just fell from his lips. He’d surprised himself with his tangent, revealing his cards to you before folding his hand and waving a white flag in defeat.

When you don’t respond, the panic sets in. Now, it’s Megumi’s fight-or-flight kicking in—and boy, does he know how to fly. 

He immediately takes a step away from you, a defense mechanism. “I’m sorry, I should go, I—”

Your three steps forward cancel out his prior retreat, and before he can even manage to inhale, your lips are on his. Palms against the apples of his cheeks, Megumi feels the warmth of your mouth on his for the second time this evening—two more times than he’d ever thought he’d have the privilege of receiving. 

You pull away breathless and Megumi expects you to vanish. To let him down gently, to tell him he’s made a mistake.

Instead, he’s met with your hands cradling his jaw. 

“Did you mean it?”

He blinks a few times, still stunned from whatever the hell just happened, “Huh?”

“You’re in love with me,” you clarify a bit too quickly, “did you mean it?”

Megumi’s blushing expression is barely hidden behind his breathless shrug. “Yeah, surprise,” he attempts to joke around the confession. 

You gurgle out a bubble of laughter out of pure instinct. Megumi doesn't know why you do, but it’s music to his hears. 

You laugh and Megumi can’t stop himself from doing the same. The two of you stand, embraced in one another’s hands and giggles as you lose yourself in the sound of each other’s laughter. How silly. How utterly odd and awkward and ironic and now yours. 

Pulling away ever-so-slightly, just to get a better look at your best friend—your lover, a duality—you squeeze his hand. 

“That first kiss was real to me, by the way,” your smile beams as you whisper into his skin, “just so you know.” 

Megumi bows his shoulders in a way that’s far too nonchalant for having barely survived the longest night he’s ever lived. He smirks, one that’s boyish and dizzy. 

“Good,” he nods, “that makes two of us.”

The two of you stand there for a while, admiring one another and the little whirlwind you’ve managed to create. The muffled sound of the music from inside the banquet hall is background noise compared to the sound of Megumi’s breathing. 

After a few moments, Megumi scratches the back of his neck—a nervous habit you hope he never outgrows. 

“D’you wanna go back inside?” he meekly offers.

Your response is almost immediate, filled with seriousness and a twinge of offense, “Absolutely not.”

Megumi laughs and you want to taste it. So you do, leaning in and pressing your lips against his for the third time tonight. You feel him smile into the caress, teeth and all against your own. 

He mumbles into the kiss, “Now that you have a real boyfriend, you no longer need to impress your snobby family, right?” 

Pulling his leg, you remove your mouth from his with a bewildered expression. 

“Boyfriend?” you remark with a howl, “Take me on a date, first.” 

Megumi’s face drops at your words, and you bite back a grin from how easy he is to read. Grabbing his hand, you pull him towards the direction of the car.

Turning around and seeing his slight pout, you bring your intertwined hands up to your lips and press a warm kiss to his knuckle.

“Megumi,” you coo and it instantly grabs his attention, “I’m kidding,” you smile.

His hand tightens around yours. 

“Thank god.” 

tagging: @izu-fi @levismainbabe @zeninsbitch @134340am @alien-arlert @somelattes  @moonamor @ironically-deadinside @dontasks-posts @bbyju @troiichiimera @asbony

[david-talks-sw]

Anakin knows what he’s doing is wrong...

Whenever I read people using the idea that “from Anakin’s point of view the Jedi are evil” as the ultimate proof that he felt bullied by them, I roll my eyes. Anakin is intelligent enough to know when he’s wrong.

He doesn’t really think the Jedi are evil, he’s lying to himself, he bought his own con.

Anakin was a good kid to begin with, and with the Jedi training he became a great man. If you look at things objectively, Anakin is 90% of a great Jedi. He’s seemingly learned all the rules, and is wise enough to teach them to others:

Be it by telling Ahsoka that she needs to follow the rules, she can’t just go around and do whatever she feels like, it’ll lead to trouble…

… by encouraging his Padawan not to be too hard on herself…

… or be it by encouraging rational thought over hotheadedness.

In that last image, Anakin is Anakin telling Ahsoka and Rex to stop letting their emotions do the thinking and act logically. He’s telling them to be prudent.

Hell, he even believes that patience is a virtue.

Anakin is a trained Jedi Knight. He has the theoretical know-how to get out of his problems, in ROTS.

In fact, a lot of people forget this, but Anakin’s first instinct, upon finding out Palpatine is, in fact, Darth Sidious, is this:

The Jedi are Anakin’s family. If Palpatine is asking Anakin to choose between the Chancellor and the Jedi, he’ll choose the Jedi every damn time (which is why Palpatine makes Anakin choose between the Jedi and Padmé, instead).

So where’s the problem?

That last 10% of what makes a great Jedi. Introspection, self-control.

Despite being wise, clever and thinking rationally - Anakin has trouble applying those lessons to himself.

When it comes to his own personal problems, he's hard on himself, he’s impatient, he breaks the rules and acts out of emotion instead of thinking things through.

As Obi-Wan puts it:

As a result of this flaw, Anakin keeps choosing the wrong path, despite knowing that it’s the wrong path. The Force puts a lot of tests in front of him, and he keeps choosing the easy way out, rather than the more difficult but ultimately satisfying path.

His mother was killed. He can choose to genocide a whole Tusken village, or be the better man and just walk away. He kills the Tuskens.

Dooku is unarmed and helpless. Anakin can either kill him in a rage, out of revenge, or he can capture him, bring him to justice, and potentially discover the identity of the second Sith Lord. He kills Dooku.

Windu is also helpless (his hand was just cut off by Anakin) and Palpatine is killing him. Anakin can either choose to save Windu and arrest Palpatine (who just revealed that he wasn’t “too weak” after all), or he can let Windu die. He lets Windu die.

Padmé tells him that this isn’t what she wants. He can actually listen to her wishes. Or he can go on a maniacal rant about having ultimate power, ignoring her own opinions completely. He goes on a rant, drunk with power. Then chokes her.

Obi-Wan tells him to stop, tries to reason with him: Chancellor Palpatine is evil. Anakin knows this. He can stop lying to himself and accept his mistakes, ending the fight. Or he can give Obi-Wan his two-cent rationalization about the Jedi being evil (which he doesn’t even really believe in), and keep trying to kill Obi-Wan. He keeps trying to kill Obi-Wan.

The more the War goes on, the more it gets easy for Anakin to take the easy path, over and over. But he knows it’s the wrong thing to do.

In the director’s commentary of Revenge of the Sith, George Lucas said this about the following two scenes:

“I like this scene because he's lying to her and he's rationalizing it at the same time by saying he's doing it all for her. He's loyal to the senate and the chancellor and her. But in the end- I mean, he's twisted every fact to his own rationale to make it seem like it's okay, but in the process of lying to her he's actually just lying to himself and rationalizing his behavior. 'Cause he knows he's wrong, but he won't admit it […] he's too far gone- that he could murder a bunch of kids… and then go and rationalize it to her as just doing his job.”

“The tear [on Anakin’s face] says that he knows what he's done, but he has now committed himself to a path that he may not agree with… but he is going to go on anyway. It's the one moment that says he's self-aware that he's rationalizing all his behavior. He's doing terrible things, but in the end he really knows the truth. He knows that he's evil now, and there's nothing he can do about it.”

Anakin tells himself that he’s doing this for Padmé, he’s doing this because the Jedi betrayed him, blabla.

Truth is? He’s just really really scared. And that made him do really bad things.

There’s this incredible moment in Darth Vader: Lord of the Sith #5.

Vader has taken the lightsaber off a Jedi, and now he has to corrupt the saber’s crystal to get his red blade.

The crystal, and by extension, the Force, showed him a vision, a path where he turned to the Light, defeated the Emperor and put an end to his suffering. A path of redemption. This was his reaction:

Vader refuses to take the hard path and chooses the easy path instead, once again. He rejects the Light and hangs on to the pain… because deep down… below the “they betrayed me” bullshit he keeps telling himself… he thinks he deserves it, because he did the wrong thing.

Anakin knows he’s wrong and he’s still goes forward with doing the wrong thing, no matter what test the Force keeps throwing his way.

And that’s why his sacrifice in Return of the Jedi is so impactful. He finally does the right thing, he accepts that it’ll be hard, that he’ll die if he saves Luke… he doesn’t care. Luke loves him, like Padmé did. He failed once. He won’t fail again.

I’m gonna conclude this with one more quote from Lucas:

“It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the Saga is simply Anakin saying: ‘I care about this person, regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I have grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing this because he has faith in me, loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die’.”