#utterly passable

[pokesmashorpokepass]

[hastalavistabyebye]

I need to talk about my Krell's Battalion (404th) OCs.

So I'm going to tell you how a grandma would react when first meeting them !!

For Captain Spear ? "What a handsome young man. And such a gentleman too ! Here, have a box of cookies, you need to eat anyway."

For Commander Astral ? "Oh my dear ! We need to take care of your hair. Right this instant. Seat. This helmet is destroying your pretty curls, tsk tsk tsk. You'll look ravishing with braids, you know ? Here, I'll show you how. And then I'm going to call my friends and we'll teach you how to cook. A young and independent lady such as yourself must know how to cook. A stew's easy, we'll start here. And you will be able to do it for your little siblings if you want too."

Ensue an amused Spear munching on a cookie and a slightly lost Astral. But turns out she's a pretty good cook and do love the braids. (She ends up with entire stacks of easy recipes. Her siblings do love her cooking.)

[nocturnowlette]

Hypnotic triggers, just like everything else with the hypnosis community's understanding, is limited and flawed.

In general, when people do not understand how something works, they will imitate those who did it before them and ultimately give importance and distinctions to things that are arbitrary.

A hypnotic trigger, just like any psychological trigger, is an A, a stimulus, that causes B, a recalled stimulus. Neither A nor B need to be reinforced but are useful to do, most especially B.

Triggers are also not stronger than regular suggestion, they are just more convenient and more compressed. You create a concept in someone's head, a Thing, and associate effects, ideas, and feelings with it, so you can then have someone recall all of those effects, ideas, and feelings without needing to completely re-explain it. It is not unlike learning any other concept and its meaning. You are creating a new definition for what some stimulus means.

You could generate the same effects, if not stronger ones, without a trigger, but condensing it all into one moment is inherently useful and can lead to a myriad of possibilities, which can ultimately add up to more than the sum of their parts. Time and timing is important in hypnosis, and triggers save it.

While the "B", the effect, does not need to be conditioned (for any subject a somewhat competent hypnotist has any experience with, you should be able to prime the A and B with a single sentence and have it work at least moderately well), it is much more useful to condition it deeply. Triggers do not really atrophy if someone did an even somewhat passable job of conditioning, but it does need to be refreshed before use via priming and evoking the necessary ideas in the subject's mind.

The more the subject's mind needs to work to interpret something you've said, the more they will be taken out of that state where they're being guided. If the first time you use it in months isn't set up and as such doesn't work as well as it used to because of the need to process it, the subject will be convinced it doesn't work as well, and then it will actually have lessened effects due to the perception.

As for the "A", the trigger phrase, it is hardly necessary to actually have a deeply installed one outside of the effects of expectation and general structure you operate your subjects with. I even have a test to demonstrate exactly this, for experienced subjects only.

Trance itself is a conditioned idea that is then triggered. An experienced subject has the concept of Trance in their head: its effects, its ideas, and its feelings. It is always a limited conception of what trance is, but it is the reference point for what hypnosis is to someone. Most times, when a drop trigger or a fast sink into trance is done in any way, the subject is effectively triggering themselves with a stimulus A to reach the generalized stimulus B of trance itself. Memory recall is what brings someone down, and it does not require a traditional trigger to work.

If you are an experienced subject, I want you to try something for me. This is called the Orange Test. Ready?

Oranges are hypnotic now.

Think of an Orange.

If you have begun to find yourself sinking into a light to moderate trance, you may realize how utterly arbitrary all of this is. Your mind knows what trance feels like, and some magic ritual of the right words is not what is needed to access it.

Oranges are no longer hypnotic, in fact, they wake you up. Think of an orange again.

The thing is, you don't even need to tie it to any concept in particular.

Just remember what trance feels like. Focus on the idea. You might find that you can go into trance all on your own, skipping the line from A to B through initiating memory recall yourself.

This principle of memory recall is generally why I do not use drop triggers or anything a person has pre-installed. These fictional misunderstood boundaries the hypnosis community makes up have a self-perpetuating nature, one where someone being convinced of them creates a "pass or fail" state in their brain.

If you don't follow these correctly, you are doing hypnosis "wrong", and they are taken out of trance. It is why the first thing I do is educate someone, and why the second is to softly take down every barrier they have. Beyond that point, their mind is a fresh canvas, and not one with the lines painted for me by those who believe that canvases just come that way.

Painting by numbers is convenient for hobbyists, but limiting for anyone beyond that.

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!james x reader 2

wc: 1587

cw: nowhere near as horny as the first one (my period ended), still mentions of sexual feelings, swearing

you went back to the pool the next day. was it for james? no. was it not for james? you weren't answering that. but there he was when you and the girls walked in just after lunchtime, sunglasses on to avoid the reflection from the water. you had to admit you were glad he was working, you'd forgotten your book at home and needed something fun to look at when you were tanning.

you were allowed to observe him shamelessly for a minute and a half whilst he was preoccupied explaining something to hilda, one of the old ladies who possibly spent every day of summer at the public pool (she was big on aqua aerobics). it was even better when he did see you all, though, his face breaking out into a boyish grin as he waved. the girls all waved back and you pulled your sunglasses down past your eyes with one hand, raising one eyebrow with a smile. he responded with a silly exaggeration of his heart beating against his chest with his hands, drawing an unwilling giggle out of you. he looked pleased with the reaction.

james left you all alone for a little, actually doing his job while you soaked up the sun, discussing your summer readings with lily. marlene and mary were filling out magazine quizzes next to you, occasionally asking for opinions. about a half hour later james approached you with an excited "ladies! it's good to see you back again!" mary laughed with a polite greeting in return, twisting in her beach chair to face him. you all followed, and you couldn't resist teasing him.

"hope you don't think it's because of you, baywatch." james shook his head sagely.

"i would never dare. i mean, clearly, this is the place to be." he gestured around the facility, obviously referring to the fact that you and your friends were the only people there aged between 15 and 30. lily laughed then, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair to look at him properly.

"is this your way of asking where people actually hang out?" james shrugged. "to be completely honest, most of our age group sleep through the day to do dumb shit at night, it's the best way to escape the heat," she explained.

"the few that are awake usually hang around the arcade," marlene added, "or the village -- that's the shopping centre. usually our group hang out there if it's horrid weather, there's a decent cinema and a music shop, passable food as well." james nodded, looking genuinely interested in what marlene had to say about it.

"maybe you'll all have to show me around it one time," he said cheekily, and you all made entertained noises at his forwardness.

"desperate for our company, are you?" you teased, but james just shrugged easily.

"i told you yesterday, i literally have zero friends here." there was something charming in his openness about being a complete loser, and you could tell the others felt similarly.

"don't be silly, james, we'll be your friends," lily said kindly, using the same tone she did when talking to the kids she tutored.

"yeah," marlene agreed, "you can't be any worse than the other tossers we're friends with." you all laughed at that, thinking of the boys who refused to accompany you to the pool.

"and they've not come with you?" james asked, catching onto the unsaid easier than he probably should as a relative stranger.

"they wouldn't be caught dead. sirius cares about his hair too much to even be around all these germs, and remus tries not to be in the sun if he can avoid it. poor peter refuses to be the only guy hanging out with us, I think we still scare him a little after all these years," mary joked, and james looked utterly delighted to be hearing about your lives.

he excused himself not long after to get back to the job he should've been doing the whole time, and you admired the way his arse looked in the swim shorts as he left.

"he seems nice," you muttered, and the others agreed. lily raised one perfect red eyebrow.

"are we talking about his personality or the body you can't stop staring at?" you gasped, not offended at her statement but more than willing to pretend.

"are you calling me a whore?" you asked with a hand over your chest.

"you said it," marlene quipped and you cried out in protest, lines of mock outrage spilling from your lips.

you got bored of bickering quickly, the heat taking most of the fight out of you. you sat in relative silence for a while until lily declared it time for more water, taking marlene to go buy you all bottles from the corner shop down the street. the ones at the tragic pool bar were never cold and she wanted ones from the fridge. that left you and a sleeping mary on either side of your line of chairs. you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, leaning over to grab the magazine lying on marlene's towel.

you flipped through it lazily, but couldn't stop your eyes from drifting up to where james sat in his lifeguard's chair, wiping sweat from his brow. there was something about him that interested you (aside from the god-like body). he had an easy openness that you scarcely found in guys your age; he wasn't afraid to be lame or honest and didn't seem to be interested in making himself sound any better than he was to a group of four hot girls -- if you did say so yourself. he was refreshing, and not just visually.

as if he could read your mind james started approaching, and you quickly busied yourself in an article you couldn't care less about.

"hi," he said, standing in front of your chair. you looked up, feigning slight surprise, as if you hadn't been listening to his flip-flops grow closer.

"couldn't stay away?" you asked, closing the magazine in a way you hoped didn't look eager.

"you caught me," he sighed, smile making its way onto his face.

"shouldn't you be working?"

"i'm taking my break. thought i'd come keep you company."

"how generous," you mused, "would've thought you'd gotten enough of a view of me during your shift from up on that seat of yours." james had the decency to look mildly embarrassed for a moment, but it passed quickly and he took it in stride, sitting on the edge of your deck chair, careful not to drip water on your belongings.

"i'm only appreciating the natural beauty of this town. besides, someone's gotta do it if your boyfriend won't bother coming here with you, wouldn't want such a nice bikini to go to waste." you felt hot at the compliment and you knew it wasn't just the sun. you tried to play it off.

"are you asking if i'm single?" james paused for a moment, possibly thinking through his options, then nodded, unashamed. "you don't even know my name."

"you won't tell me."

"touché." you let yourself smile a little, loving the way james' eyes crinkled when he returned it. "done anything to earn it yet?" you could see him genuinely thinking and wondered whether he'd make up a miraculous story about an epic save he made just before you arrived at the pool.

"no, guess not." he settled on, disarming you again. the near-constant earnestness in his way of speaking hadn't stopped catching you by surprise yet, and you wouldn't be shocked if it never did.

"and what, no girlfriend up north to scold you for staring at my tits?" you teased as james' eyes flew back up to yours, only relaxing when he saw you weren't upset.

"free as a bird," he confirmed quietly, "though I'm sure it's of no interest to you." the air felt electric between you, had he always been this close? you were face to face, only a few inches between you. you could feel butterflies erupting not just in your stomach.

"obviously," you answered, similarly quiet. the moment felt inappropriately intimate despite the people around you. you were equal parts glad and furious when lily and marlene returned, unsure of what you might have succumbed to right there on the deck chair if you hadn't been interrupted. james looked equally worked up, hazy look in his eyes making him appear already fucked out. he stood with a start, excusing himself to get back to work.

"see you around, baywatch," you said, strategically reapplying some lipgloss. you didn't miss his glance at your lips.

"hope so, dollface." you were glad james was leaving because the nickname made you falter, going straight to your ovaries. you'd done it to yourself yet were no more prepared, staring dumbly after him.

you tried to play it off quickly, picking the magazine up where you left off and flipping through noncommittally. you could feel your friends' eyes on you and pointedly ignored it, eyes trained down at some 'best-dressed' list you'd found.

"just your luck that you get first dibs on the hot new guy," mary complained, but you could tell she wasn't all that bothered.

"you are going to eat him alive," marlene laughed and lily nodded, the two of them already sharing condolences for james. you didn't say anything, but judging from the coil still wound tight in your lower belly, maybe it wasn't james they had to be worried about.

i need him fr

[quasi-normalcy]

TNG's "Justice" is the best example of a passably decent concept ("What if there were a society that ruthlessly enforced one arbitrary law each day to keep its citizens guessing?") that was utterly ruined by Gene Roddenberry's twin obsessions with sex and God.

[natalyarose]

My Journey With Ayanamsa

It feels fitting that my first astrological post be a write up on one of my most profound astrological journeys. I started studying astrology avidly when I was in my teens, and soon discovered the magic of Vedic Astrology & Nakshatras .

Learning of the Nakshatras and the beauty of what they have to offer opened up a world of knowledge and patterns that feel almost criminal to be aware of. I mean, no amount of knowledge or spirituality can be a 'cheat code' to bypass enduring and navigating Earthly life, but it just shocks me the pure transparency of the cosmic patterns found applying Vedic astrology. I mean, Tropical astrology without Nakshatras was already magical to explore, but Nakshatras took the cake haha.

I noticed very early on that Lahiri Ayanamsa didn't seem accurate, but at the time I didn't know about Ayanamsa and was driving myself utterly mad trying to understand why not only my own, but other charts I'd observed seemed to off by at least a couple of degrees.

I am someone who is born at the end of a Nakshatra. The more I delved into Nakshatras, the more it became clear that somehow, I belonged to the latter Lunar Mansion to the one that showed up in many calculations.

Everything about me (and others who had the same dilemma), down to my personality, upbringing, mannerisms, art, outfit choices and even my physical appearance aligned with the prospect of calculations being altered at least a couple of degrees.

A lot of people told me that maybe some people are just anomalies, I even started theorising that maybe some peoples' spirits didn't inhabit their body until a couple of hours after birth (lol), but that was me clutching at straws- also, the ascendant would change too much if were the case & it were a birth time issue.

Eventually I discovered Ayanamsa, and I realised, I wasn't crazy!

I learnt that Lahiri Ayanamsa was the most commonly used Nakshatra only because it was the one selected by the Indian government. They needed one consistent, passable Ayanamsa to settle confusions & standardize dates for various celebrations.

The Ayanamsa was created by a Mathematician with little knowledge of astrology. There was just an urgent need to pick at least one definitive calculation irrespective of whether it was necessarily the most accurate. I mean, I'm sure they would've wanted it to be accurate too, but that wasn't the main goal.

I am quoting renowned Vedic astrologer, Ernst Wilhelm on this- but even NC Lahiri- the creator of Lahiri later admitted his own calculation was flawed, and noted that if he could go back in time he would have altered the Ayanamsa by a few degrees.

Before Lahiri Ayanamsa, the most commonly followed Ayanamsa were Revati based ayanamsas (True Revati, Usha/Shashi, Hipparchus, Sassanian).

Ernst Wilhelm devoted extensive time, observation, testing and intuitive understanding to cleverly creating his own Ayanamsa which ever since I discovered it, makes a world of sense to me. So many things in both my own chart & others' just clicked. There were a lot of inconsistencies I used to explain away by being like 'hmm it must be their d9' or 'huh, I guess their other placements are just stronger than that one'. I found that a lot of these things that didn't quite make sense were naturally rectified by using Ernst's Ayanamsa.

Before finding Ernst Wilhelm's Dhruva Galactic Center (I can thank @makingspiritualityreal for my stumbling across it on tumblr, thankyou for sharing your knowledge lovely!! ♡), I used Raman Ayanamsa. I wasn't certain it was the absolute best one, but it did seem to rectify a lot of the issues I was coming across- however there were many instances where I would for example; see and feel the influence of a transit a little bit before it occurred even using Raman calculations. So, I did suspect the degrees should be a little further forward, and Dhruva Galactic Center perfectly aligns with that.

The intuitive line of thought behind Wilhelm's Ayanamsa is also awesome! The concept that the 'correct' Ayanamsa would be based on the Galactic Center- the heart of our galaxy- which lies in the very middle of Mula, 'the root' 'the truth'... it just makes too much sense!

Since Ernst Wilhelm's Ayanamsa is only accessible through his Kala astrology software, I've been using Usha/Shashi Ayanamsa on Astroseek since it is ever so slightly different, but almost the same in value to Dhruva Galactic Center. EDIT: @bdandelion informed me that there actually is an Astroseek Ayanamsa called 'Galactic Center Mid-Mula' that is essentially the same as Ernst Wilhelm's Ayanamsa! I'm not sure how I missed this, I think I just got confused haha, but how exciting!!

I am and always will keep an open mind when it comes to Ayanamsa and all astrological things; if I closed off my perception because one guy said one thing, I would not know even half of the things I know, but for now, that is my story/journey with Ayanamsa :)

I'm so grateful to know what I know, because I spent a good year of my life (when I should've been focusing in school among other things, lol) frantically trying to understand why the astrology I loved didn't seem to make mathematical sense, why some people and placements weren't fitting. To me, this has been a big test of my faith in my own intuition. I knew something was up, and I did think I was going mad for a while, but I followed that trail and found a wealth of knowledge I am blessed to have.

To be clear, I have no desire to force other people to follow the same calculation- I understand it would also be jarring for people. It would shift quite a lot of things for some people and all, but for what it's worth, I think part of being a good astrologer is keeping that open mind and heart to potential new information. Like with science- keep an open mind, entertain every idea, and don't fully latch onto something until you have sufficient reason to believe it!

Peace and love my guys! ♡

[magicalgirlmindcrank]

I" can't give you nuggies until a billion am but would like some shitty pancakes with two dollops of syrup?"

"we don't have any of the three items that are actually passable rn but would you like the saddest breakfast burrito you ever tried?"

"mcgriddle"

- statements of the utterly deranged

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part VII

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

VII. Everything’s On Fire And It’s Perfectly Fine

You cannot exactly claim the next few weeks go well for you. 

You do a lot of cliché sunset beach walking, heavy sighing, and general wallowing in self pity.

You’re simply miserable, without him, and the feeling does not fade with time. 

Usually you are pretty content with your stupid little existence. Yet now, you feel like something is genuinely missing that you need. There’s a Frank-shaped hole in your heart–and you are bleeding out. 

It’s so bad that your regulars notice the change in your demeanor, when they come in to browse. They ask what’s wrong, and all you can do is shrug and make a lame excuse. It’s just not professional, to tell your customers that you're dying inside.

Anytime you try to coax yourself into just moving on, trying someone else, anything else…the thought dies a bitter death on a sword sharpened to a killing edge on the memory of that hilariously acerbic, utterly singular, wonderful grouch of a man. He hated everything, but for what felt like just a fleeting moment…he’d liked you. It certainly doesn’t help either, that he’s the only man you’ve ever felt comfortable enough with to really connect with on a carnal level. There was no putting on a show for Frank. No possibility of lying to him. He saw through everything, and that man just had your number in a way that you fear you’ll never encounter again. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you didn’t consider driving up to J.D. Power with that boombox. You even looked it up on Google maps. One hour, forty-five minutes, up the coast, if traffic was good. Of course in L.A. traffic was never good.

You would have braved it anyway.

Except, it turns out you are a total coward, and you know that if he rejected you, you really would want to die.

Then, you start to think you’re actually losing your mind, when you keep thinking you see him around. On the beach, a stranger in the distance is his very doppelganger. Then in town, you think you see him around a corner. By the time you rush down the block to look, he’s gone. 

You try to exorcize him by sketching his face from memory instead, at your tablet on the easel by the window that faces the ocean, up in your live-in studio above the store. It soothes you and agitates you all at once. You wonder what he thought, when he realized you slipped your possum shirt in his bag, in the airport when he wasn’t looking.

On a slow day due to rain, you decide to retreat back upstairs to your nest. The gray skies match your mood, and it won’t be the first time you’ve curled up and let the day go by, watching the relentlessly breaking waves.

Of course, just as you get settled in with a soft blanket, you hear the bell above the door downstairs chime. Usually the promise of a new customer fills you with a thrill of excitement, even after all these years, but today…you half regret not turning the OPEN sign in the window.

You check yourself briefly in the mirror, deem yourself half-passable, which is as good as it gets these days. Your hair is wild, and your eyes are sad. At least your clothes are clean, your time-worn ruffled sundress and oversized cardigan against the chill coming off the waves. You make your way down the stairs–and you almost eat shit on a cluster of colorful rocks left right in the middle of the runner. You catch yourself with a few choice words, gripping the bannister white-knuckled.

How the fuck did those get there?

Then you realize they’re similar to the ones you sell in your shop–but not exact.

You examine them, realizing that the one closest to your foot has a word engraved on it in curly slanted script: Fuck.

You look more closely at the other rocks in their now somewhat jumbled order. “I Miss Fuck You?” you read to yourself aloud, puzzled.

“You have got to be the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

Startled, you look up, scanning what you thought was an empty shop. But then you see him attempting to conceal his obscenely tall form behind an art card rack. It’s ridiculous–and your heart does its best imitation of a supernova.

Boom.

“You asshole!”

He frowns, but has no time to deliver a scathing retort, because you have leapt the remaining stairs and bound the short space to throw yourself into his arms–or more truthfully, just at him. An onlooker might have testified assault over ardor, in your frenzied tackle, as you throw your arms around his neck. He catches you with a surprised, “Oomph,” solid as a wall. You take heart in that his grip is just as desperate as yours. He still tries to get in that riposte, but you head him off again with your mouth on his.

You actually feel the tension leave his body, as you kiss him, and he kisses you, practically picking you up with his arms like iron bands around your waist.

“That’s your big gesture?” you finally demand. “Booby trapping my stairs with profane rocks?”

He honest to god growls at you, and it thrills you to your now curling toes. “It was supposed to say Fuck I miss you, but you had to ruin it.”

“Sorry I almost died?”

Then he is smiling down at you with that glitter in his dark eyes, and you are simply overcome with emotion, your fingers curling in the lapels of his jacket. “I fucking missed you too,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from tugging on him for emphasis.

He is breathing through his nose as he looks down at you, his expression somewhere between affection and constipation. It dawns on you that it’s more than a little likely he was terrified up until two seconds ago, and you soften even more for him, reaching up to stroke his beard. He leans into your hand, closing his eyes, and you know this is it for you. You are done for, and there is no further hope for your sanity. 

“Come upstairs,” you say, pulling on his lapels back in the direction from whence you came. You’re not sure how it’s possible for those midnight black eyes to darken more as he looks down at you, but he follows you without a word with his hand in yours. You flip the Open sign on the door as you pass by, turning the deadbolt without breaking stride. 

You have something important to do. 

***

Between kisses he looks around your second-floor apartment, smiling to himself with that judgy amusement in his eyes. It’s an open space, and there’s no hiding anything really, from your brightly clothed bed to the living area with its mismatched seating draped in bright fabrics, to your little studio space by the window to the miniscule nook of the blue-painted kitchen cabinetry.

“What?” you ask, poking him in the ribs, certain he’s going to make fun of you for your hippy-dippy boho decor. 

“Nothing,” he grunts, smiling against your mouth, assisting you in pushing his jacket from his shoulders. You’re tempted to throw it across the room, but you behave yourself and drape it nicely over the back of a chair. 

“Let me guess. ‘It looks like Pier 1 vomited in here.’” 

He snorts with laughter. “You said it, not me.” 

With a feral little growl you push him to sit on your bed. He’s so tall it just puts you eye to eye, and you cannot stop yourself from crawling into his lap. He gathers you closer greedily, his big hands engulfing your backside. God how you missed this man, and the way you fit together.

“Honestly? It’s exactly what I pictured,” he tells you gently, that tenderness in his dark eyes that utterly melts your last brain cells.     

“Does that mean…you’ve been thinking about me?”

He makes that strangled huff of a sound that passes for laughter, steeped with self-deprecation. “Yeah. You could say that.”

For a long few moments you just look at each other, caught up in the unlikely miracle that you’re here, together, once more. 

You really had believed you would never see him again. You’d believed it to the bone, and now this feels more than a little surreal. 

You consider what to do. Do you play the game, and try not to let on how absolutely bat-fuck insane you’ve been, without him? Would it be unseemly, to clamor with all your affection worn proudly on your sleeve, now that this man has dared to give you a second chance? As you look at him now, moved to the bottom of your soul that he swallowed his pride and his fear to appear at your door–you are done with games. You’re not going to hold a piece of yourself back, just in case. If this man breaks your heart again–at least you’ll know you gave it your all. 

“I’ve really missed you,” you tell him again, cupping his bearded cheeks in your hands, holding him lightly. 

He flinches at that, his eyes narrowing as for once, it seems like he is at a loss for a reply. He did good with the rock schtick, but saying it out loud in actual words from his mouth seems to present a problem for him. With his truth stuck on his tongue, he settles for pulling you into his embrace, burying his face in the bend of your neck with his arms wrapped tightly around you, like you might disappear if he lets go. And then his lips are on your neck, and his big hands are dragging down your ribcage to your hips, and you feel the circuits in your brain spark and melt for this man’s touch. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you hadn’t put yourself to sleep more than a few times, thinking about him with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips like a prayer. Straddling his lap now with his warm palms smoothing up your thighs, underneath your skirts to cup your ass–you are a one-woman stick of dynamite ready to explode. The way he squeezes your flesh with a groan from deep in his throat–you are soaked through your panties, your empty pussy clenching to the point of pain. 

Maybe it would be better, in the long run, to sit and talk this out a little bit before jumping into bed. Your libido, however, seems to find this rational suggestion from your higher brain utterly laughable.  

The pure longing this man calls up from within you–it really should be illegal, and you almost wish it only had to do with the fact that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. That would be simpler. Safer, somehow. Less painful, maybe, if and when it all goes to shit. But you know it’s too late to pretend. Where your body goes with this man, your heart follows, skipping blithely off to its doom. 

This is fine, you think, as he lowers you onto your back, his delicious weight pressing you down into your soft bed as he claims your mouth with his. 

Everything’s on fire, and it’s perfectly fine. 

“Y/n…” He sits up on his elbows, looking down at you with that haunted, totally lost expression again. You reach up to run your fingers through the silken waves of his hair. It’s obvious there’s something he wants to say, but the words keep sticking on his tongue. 

“It’s ok, Frank,” you try to assure him. Like allowing him to lay on top of you in your bed isn’t indication enough of your happiness with his presence. 

“I can’t say I didn’t hope this would go this way. But I’m not such a narcissist as to think it’s the only way it should have gone. I absolutely deserve a kick in the balls for the way I treated you.”

You raise an eyebrow to this, trying not to laugh at the mental image. “I hate to tell you,” you inform him, twining your leg with his. The bulge pressing against your center practically makes your mouth water. “But that’s not the plan I have for your balls.”

“Very kind of you. I’m serious though.”

“Me too. Believe it or not…” You brush his hair behind his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You realize this might be a foreign concept to him.

“Y/n…” He closes his eyes momentarily, maybe because you are petting him, and maybe because this is all too much.  “Aren’t you angry at all?”

You think on it. Really think on it, rather than give some off the cuff answer that maybe isn’t exactly true. “No,” you finally answer, and you mean it. “I’m just…relieved. I really thought I’d never see you again, and I was too chicken to go after you. I was afraid you’d say mean things to me and turn me away.” You blink back the moisture that gathers in the corners of your eyes.

“I probably would have,” he admits with a frown, more for himself than you, you’re beginning to realize. His eyes widen as he looks down at you, his long fingers stroking the hair at your temples. “I’m a fucking menace, y/n. I…if we do this, I’m going to hurt you.” The realization at saying it out loud really seems to drive it home for him. He bows his head to rest on your chest, as though ashamed of something he hasn’t even done yet. “Fuck.” 

He shifts as though he means to extricate himself from you, abandon you, again. You thwart him at least for the moment by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him back to you. You know if you have a real wrestling match, this man who is twice your size is so going to win, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen to you for another five seconds. 

“Please don’t leave me over something that hasn’t even happened yet.” You know you sound more than a little pathetic–but you also know if he walks out the door again like this it will destroy you. 

“Y/n…” He growls your name, and the sound does unmentionable things to your insides. “You’re so sweet and pretty and talented, and you deserve good things in your life.” It seems more than a little surreal to you, that this man, who sees the world exactly for what it is and pulls no punches, puts you of all people on a pedestal. That tingling electric feeling is coursing through your limbs again, to your very bones. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in a long while. 

“Excellent,” you inform him brightly. “I’ll start with having you.” 

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me. We’ll take it day by day,” you think out loud, stroking his cheek with the blade of your thumb. “And if you hurt my feelings, you’ll say you’re sorry, and I’ll forgive you. And hopefully you’ll have the same patience for me, because fuck knows I’m no picnic either.”

With a sigh that comes from the depths of his soul Frank rests his head on your chest, finally relaxing a little. 

“You have so much hope,” he grumbles at your breast, like he’s annoyed about it.

“Only as of fifteen minutes ago, I assure you,” you tell him honestly, running your fingers through his hair. You can’t seem to stop yourself.

He makes that animalistic sound in the back of his throat, snarling at all the doubts and contingencies running at breakneck speed through his over-analytical brain. His next words come so quietly you almost miss them. 

“I think I need you.”

A long breath made of pure relief escapes you,  and you keep running your fingers through his hair. “You’ve got me.”

“That easily?”

You snort. “You call this easy?”

“I don’t even know anymore. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t get a chance to make some pithy reply, because suddenly his mouth is on yours again, and your ability to produce coherent thought evaporates into a red cloud of desire. Somehow between kisses and urgent, fumbling fingers you manage to divest each other of your various garments, until the world is right again, with your bare skin against his, and his cock buried deep in your needy little cunt. Frank makes love to you while looking into your very soul, and you know that thing you told him what feels like a lifetime ago was absolutely true:   

What’s it like to fall in love? 

It’s like going insane. 

What you didn’t know to add at the time, is how absolutely wonderful it is. 

***

When you wake from your post-coital snooze you panic a little when you don’t feel him right beside you, shooting up in bed. Did he decide he’d made a mistake after all and flee the scene?

But then you realize he is sitting by the window, in the comfy chair in front of your easel with a blanket wrapped around his otherwise nude form. He is staring at your tablet, where you have sketched his face umpteen times in your miserable longing. You freeze at seeing him sitting there, certain he will make fun of you for being a lovesick little fool. 

Instead, he could have pushed you over with a feather, when he just shoots you a soft smile. “You’re very good,” he says quietly, as though afraid of breaking the sacred hush of the room. You’d be a liar, if you said your best work hasn’t always been fueled by longing of some kind. If you were a happy and content individual, you’re not sure you’d create anything of merit at all. 

“Thank you.” 

Then he smirks at you, picking up a pencil. “I’ll draw you,” he says cheekily, making a show of measuring your angles with the instrument, putting down bold marks. “Voila. My masterpiece.” 

You slide out from the covers to join him in the chair, snuggling into the warm curve of his large body behind you. When you look at what he drew you burst out in laughter, hiding in the dip of his neck. It’s a stick figure…with two emphatically drawn circles in the chest area. “Oh my god. Frank…” 

“You don’t recognize my raw artistic talent?” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head. 

“I see you’re not into the graphic design side of marketing at JD Power.”

He snorts at that. “What do you mean? I’m putting this on our next campaign.” 

You are chuckling so deeply it hurts in your core. This man. This man brings you such joy, and you’ve been withering without him. It’s not good–but it’s true. 

“Great. When they fire you, you can come shack up with me.” 

It’s a relief when he snorts at your joke–you didn’t mean to invite him to move in with you within the first few hours of seeing him again, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He even holds you a little tighter, which plays unfair havoc with your insides.

“Frank?”

“Present.” From the angle of his head, you’re guessing he’s looking out the window, at the ocean. It’s a pretty killer view–if you hadn’t inherited this place from a great aunt, you never could have afforded it. You nearly die of a heart attack every year when the property tax bill comes. 

“What…made you change your mind?”

He grumbles behind you. You feel it more than hear it, with his chest pressed to your back. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up just yet, but god. You need to know, as a matter of keeping your sanity.

“I realized…that every time I walked through the lobby of my office building, I was hoping to see you there, ready to terrorize us all with Peter Gabriel playing at ear-splitting volumes.”

“Oh Frank…” 

“Then for a week or so I resented you for not being there, for not coming after me even though I pushed you away in no uncertain terms.” 

You listen to him speak, quietly tucked under his chin. You would never guess from the level of his tone, but you can feel the thundering of his heart against your back, feel it in the slight way his grip tightens on you. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but your eyes blur with tears, that wonderfully uncomfortable electric feeling coursing all the way to your fingertips. 

“Then I realized that was pretty fucked up, to be mad at you for respecting my wishes, even though it clearly hurt you to do so. So…here I am. I am…a goddamn mess, y/n. I’m a grouchy old man, and I still don’t understand why you seem to like me, but if you do…?”

You think on how those three little words, here I am, actually involved this no-nonsense man remembering that ridiculous little conversation you’d had ages ago, dreaming up the scheme with the rocks, hunting them down or ordering them custom engraved online, and driving all this way in the rain having no idea if you would actually be happy to see him or if you would tell him to go to hell. 

You don’t think it’s just blind optimism, that makes you think he’s not half as broken as he thinks he is. You’re smart enough not to call him sensitive to his face, but he has just been kicked one too many times by people near him who go through life with a lot less thought about how their actions affect those around them. He’s hardened himself as a matter of survival–and that you understand all too well. 

“I do like you, Frank. I really, really, do.” You punctuate each word with a kiss until your mouth is pressed to his, and the grumble of his approval vibrates on a wavelength through your body, to the depths of your very soul. 

“And,” he adds with a wry note, just in case things were getting too sappy, “Your rat shirt is starting to smell more like me than you now. It needs a recharge.” 

This does make you giggle. “What have you been doing with my possum shirt, Frank?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” he answers with that rogue glitter in his dark eyes that curls your toes. 

You scoff–and wonder how many grains of truth are hiding in the lie. The thought of Frank snuggling your shirt at night wishing it was you…you really might melt into a puddle.  

“I still have your black t-shirt under my pillow,” you confess in the spirit of solidarity. 

He looks down at you with a raised brow, amused. “I wondered where that went. You sneaky little thief.” Suddenly he is standing with you in his arms, carrying you towards the bed again. He drops you on the foot of the bed, and you have no zero time to regroup before he is on you, pressing open mouthed kisses to the insides of your thighs, up to eat your pussy like he means to devour you. 

“Fuck!” you gasp, writhing against him holding you down as he wrecks you with his tongue. “How are you even better at that than I remember?”

He withdraws with a long hard lick that makes you see stars. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he admits, manhandling you to the edge of the bed with those big hands on your hips, plunging inside you with a groan that lifts every little hair on your body, fucking into you like you belong to him. 

And maybe, you do.

“And how is this sweet little snatch even tighter than what I remember?” he pants back, trembling with the effort to keep his thrusts slow and deep, like he knows exactly what you need to climb that shining peak–you are running up that mountain with his beautiful manhood teeming inside you.  

“I’ve been working out…” you answer with a laugh that comes out half moan, so happy you could die as he lowers his weight down on you, cupping your head in his hands, his long fingers in your hair. 

“I’m not sure I know what that means…” he answers, losing himself with his eyes closed as he bottoms out against your cervix, catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss that makes you clench and pulse around him. 

“Just say thank you.” You don’t know how you have the courage to tease this man, while he’s inside you. But you feel like your heart is made of pure sunshine in that moment, and nothing bad can touch either of you. 

“I’m trying to,” he chuckles, having just as much fun trading pithy remarks during this intimate moment as you, his thumb sneaking between you to rub your aching button to the rhythm of his body moving inside yours. You’re going to cum, to know it in your bones, but even if you weren’t this perfect handful of seconds of connection with Frank would be purest bliss. Those three dangerous words are dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you bite yourself until you taste blood to keep them in. 

I love you. 

You’ll tell him soon enough. 

The pleasure of your orgasm blindsides you like a truck t-boning you in a four-way stop–it’s as mental as it is physical, this absolute, all consuming rapture for having this man in your arms again, in your body, in your life, if you dare to believe it. 

Frank is not far behind you, moaning into the bend of your neck as he cums, filling you to the brim with his hips locked against yours. In the aftermath he sighs something softly into your hair, something utterly inaudible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and your heavy breathing. 

It’s something short though. Something three syllables. 

“What?” you whisper, sweeping the hair from his face with a trembling hand. 

 “Nothing,” he answers, pulling back with a sleepy smile. He shifts to the side and drags over the comforter, wrapping you up in his arms and the cloud-soft blanket. “You know,” he says sleepily, “I was miserable for so long, I think I forgot what happiness feels like. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

“Anytime,” you chortle, snuggled under his chin. 

Everything is on fire…and maybe it will be perfectly fine. 

----

Epilogue coming soon...

[coffin-spider]

Question for all the elder estrogen injectors!!!

Ello!

So ive been on estrodiol and spironolactone for a year and 3 months. Everything that has come from it is amazing and absolutely utterly life changing. My end goal would be to be at least passable as female, even if I don't really consider myself binary.

(Gender is fake frick social norms)

I guess my question is, did you feel like there was a significant enough difference between pills and injection to warrent a change in meds, or what made you choose injection.

I know my expectations and reality probably won't even line up but at a full dose of 4mg twice a day, I'm still struggling with my dysphoria and I don't want to feel this way about my body for forever.

Im sure id get used to doing it but I guess just new experiences make me nervous and I don't want to rush into anything. last time I was at the clinic, they said there was no way to up the doseother than changing medications.

Meds just make me nervous ehe~

Anyway tell me your experience please!

∪･ω･∪

(Also I’m not basing my choise off of this I just want you're experience loves)

[pokesmashorpokepass]

[jennandblitz]

inspiration

Sirius flips through his sketchbook, sighing softly. Everything he’s drawn recently has been utterly lacking in any kind of spark. Even his favourite things to draw are falling by the wayside, they look stiff and ugly, lacking in life. Art school is harder than Sirius expected—his muse has always been fickle and he’s always been a slave to it, but having to consistently turn out this much work without any real inspiration is hard.

He’d nearly skipped this life drawing class, wanting to stay at home and daub paint uselessly on a canvas until it started making sense, but he’s here now. The door to the studio opens and the lecturer starts talking, introducing the class. Lily is sat beside him, already doodling away with a pencil in her hand and another in her hair, already engrossed in drawing something from that lively imagination of hers. 

Who do you think our model will be today? Lily writes on the corner of her notebook, tilting it towards Sirius. That opera singer was cool.

Sirius hums, flipping to a blank page. Honestly anyone interesting. I’m so stuck.

Lily gives him a sympathetic look as she bites at the end of her pencil, tutting softly. 

The door to the studio opens once more and Sirius looks up to the sound of scuffling feet on the hardwood floor. His jaw drops. Standing there is the most stunning man he’s ever seen—a mop of curls crammed under a beanie, a crooked nose, a shy, crooked smile. To anyone else, Sirius’d wager he looks unassuming, passable in fact, but Sirius can already feel his fingers itching with the urge to draw. He can’t take his eyes off of this man.

“Alright everyone,” the lecturer says, but Sirius has already flipped to a new page and started a sketch of that face. He hasn’t even thought about the fact the man is going to get undressed shortly, or anything beyond that face, full to the brim with inspiration. “This is Remus.”

@wolfstarmicrofic

[lasplaga]

-;┊ 𓆙 𝕺𝕺𝕮 ; ◥ 𓆙      —      𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐒 --- ( 3/?) 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑'𝐒 (𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡) 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑 & 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

Suddenly inspired by @punishdsin to post a thought but attempting to convince Osmund that indiscriminate murder, cannibalism & parasitism of human beings is wrong / something he should feel sorry for will never be possible. Osmund, with the brain & biology of a highly intelligent parasitoid, is more familiar with the eusociality & nature of insects than he is with human beings. He is hardwired more in the sense of arthropods, which can suggest why his emotions are so cold & utterly disturbing at times. It is why he is naturally drawn to group organization or group thinking, with bugs behaving as a biological hivemind colony ( obviously not telepathically ).

He views humans ( for the most part ) in the same lens as a parasitic wasp seeing a caterpillar as prey. It is necessary & part of his species survival to inflict mass amounts of suffering in order to procreate. He is not going to feel guilty about being born what he is & that he plays a predatory role in a vast ecosystem of hosts, but it is something that he wholeheartedly acknowledges & will express. Osmund, as well as the other zealots, are aware that they are 'cursed' & have uncontrollable lusts for blood, flesh & implantation. It is what separates them from other human beings, which are infected but 'passable' on the inside & out. They mutated generationally from their descendants, it is in their DNA.

Of course, there will always be outliers, gradual scales of behavior & some parasitic species may act strangely towards / with their prey if it is mutually beneficial. It's also researched that wasps can recognize "good" & "bad" faces, that they can learn routines & even be fed / cared for by humans. The zealots are intelligent enough to exhibit these same behaviors with outsiders, but they will always value their kind FIRST, which is the important distinction. If you set them off, they swarm, just as insects do.

It is a bit similar to the parable of the scorpion & the frog, with the scorpion unable to resist its natural urge to sting, but it also chose to be honest about it to the frog. This level of frankness gives the scorpion a certain charm & tragic dignity. Yes, they did form an entire religion about propagating their species, but hosts at their core, without outside influence, will always seek out other hosts to infest. They are, by nature, self-destructive, only concerned about the preservation of their Master, & the Master of his own body.

[the0verboss]

I can't believe the first piece of ficlet I'm gonna write for this is fricken Sad Gale Hours. I keep debating continuing this narrative from other companions view points

Gale POV angst/abandonment, Major character death(not Gale)

Gale/ Cleric Male!Gith Tav (it's Iss'tav'in let's be real but he's not named or described for the most part)

✨☀️💀🌙✨

His beloved leaves their home in Waterdeep so soon after they return from Wither’s party Gale can hardly mount a defense against it. He wonders if he should have expected this, if he’d missed signs of this on coming meteor amidst the revelry. When his mind cycles through the memory, it seems obvious. He and the others had sat around the table eating and feasting, Wyll and Astarion taking turns telling grand adventure stories while Shadowheart and Karlach heckled them. Gale’s darling husband had spent the night tucked away in a corner with Lae’zel after making the rounds. Gale hadn’t wanted to begrudge his githyanki love a chance to catch up with his kin, to hear how the war against Vlaakith was faring, to speak in his mother tongue with what might amount to his sister.

He is certainly begrudging him now.

They fight. Gale tries to argue from a logical stance at first. They have a life that requires they be present, responsibilities to the Academy and to the the Spires. His mother expects them both to be in attendance at her next soiree, newlyweds that they are. Gale’s continued research on the orb, dormant as it is, requires his attention. Surely they can take some time to prepare for a voyage of this magnitude.

He runs out of gentle patience quickly in light of his husband’s pre-arranged plans. The man has taken leave from the temple for now, and of course he doesn’t expect Gale to join him. Someone must stay and care for Xan.

It feels utterly patronizing and for the first time, since they shared a night in a conjured bed under false stars, Gale thinks back on his time with Mystra. The feeling is sickenly familiar. He thinks of his mother, her place in the Dekarios clan, noble as it is, but alone. He thinks how everyone always says he favors her, in looks and demeanor.

They do have a child he reminds his love, righteous and growing furious. Xan needs a good githyanki role model. He's still so young, and Gale has only a passable knowledge of tir’su.

And when even this pleading falls of deaf ears, then, there is anger.

He rages, throws things, yells, says things that he knows he'll regret later. While his husband continues to pack the last of his travel bag Gale can feel his composure unravel. It feels ugly. Worse than that even, he feels volatile,a yawning chasm where his breaking heart resides. Dark, desolate and afraid.

“Gale, I love you, but I'm going, my people need me. Lae'zel would not ask lightly.”

“You can't just abandon your family on a lark!”

But he does. The last Gale sees of him is a cape draped back, glowing Blood of Lathander in one hand, shimmering gold helmet tucked under the other. Then he's gone.

They don’t kiss good bye, though Gale imagines that would be difficult with the way he was snarling.

Gale stands in the open door of their, no, not theirs, not anymore. He stands in the door of his tower long after the love of his life has gone. Fists clenched, eyes wet, but silent save for the occasional sniffle. The sea is quiet, he can hear no gulls as the sun begins to dip beneath the waves.

He doesn’t hear the baby crying til Tara comes through her cat flap of displacement and bites him on the hand.

“Mister Dekarios, Gale, what's happened?”

“He left. He just….left us.”

“Well, I never…is he coming back?”

As Gale cradles the small githyanki baby in his arms, rocking and trying to soothe him, he chokes on the answer.

Yes. No. I don't know. He says he is.

The orb feels hungry again for the first time since they defeated the brain. But if his heart feels broken and consumed as he stands in his tower clutching the small body of his son then, it's nothing to what he feels months later.

It's nothing compared to the unexpected agony of seeing Lae’zel standing, blood drenched and solemn, on his balcony. She’s alone, a shroud wrapped bundle under one arm, glowing with divine light. Under the other a familiar shimmering gold helmet.

[lemurzsquad]

Music to Owl Ears

After suddenly moving from America to Japan with only passable knowledge of the local language, you begin to attend Fukurodani Academy for their music program. And within the first five minutes of being there, you're accidentally knocked right into the shenanigans of the volleyball team, especially their famous owl ace.

Prologue

Pairing: Bokuto x musician fem!reader

Summary: The reader is an American who has suddenly moved to Japan, attending Fukurodani Academy for its music program. (Full summary and cw in masterlist)

A/N: This is absolutely a shameless self-insert. I wanted a cute Bokuto x reader fic with a musician, specifically one that plays my main instruments, so this also serves as a love letter to all my fellow musicians out there. I will try to update this when I can, and I can add a taglist if anyone is interested TvT this is my first Haikyuu fic, so hopefully it's alright.

I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 725

cw: slight emotional rollercoaster for reader

"Bold for English"

"Normal for Japanese"

- Masterlist -

- Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps >

You stood at the entrance, the sign reading “Fukurodani Academy”; although, you’re certain you would not have been able to make out what it said given you didn't already know the name.

It was about to be your first day in a new school year, in a new school, in a new country. Did being a third year with barely passable Japanese and no friends terrify you? Absolutely. But, unfortunately, the only thing to do now was take that step onto campus and start, you supposed.

And so you did. The first step wasn't so bad, it seemed. The next seemed easier, perhaps. The nervous shaking you felt in your hands was becoming ever more apparent as you clutched your bag that in and of itself felt weird, considering you were so used to a heavy backpack.

All that was left was to make it to class and all would be right with the world. You could begin the school year on a positive note with no incidents right off the bat and a fresh start. It was simple, really.

But oh, you knew better than to jinx it, even in your own head.

You took a deep breath and tried your best to put on a smile just for yourself. You thought, I can do this. It'll be fine. What could possibly happen on my way there? And there it was.

You quietly let out the breath you held for a moment as you attempted to push down the nagging anxieties that tried to resurface. In a stroke of bad luck—or good luck, depending on how you looked at it, maybe years from then—you failed to hear the sounds of shoes hitting pavement behind you. In an instant, it all came crashing down; you were slammed in the shoulder, throwing you off balance. You barely managed to stop yourself from falling face first into the concrete, instead landing on your back, braced by your elbows.

As you stared ahead, completely and utterly stunned and staggered, you sat up. It was then that everything hit you like a ton of bricks.

You were completely blindsided when all the emotions you had narrowly kept behind a dam inevitably flooded through you. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how ridiculous it was that simply falling over finally broke you and your patchy attempt to bottle everything in, so you did both.

There you sat at the edge of the entrance to Fukurodani Academy, laughing as anguished tears dripped down your cheeks. The fear and emotional distress of moving to Japan was hitting you for, truly, the first time, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You hiccuped in spurts, disbelief and bewilderment at your own reaction running through your mind while a pained grin sat plastered on your tear-stained, reddened face.

You didn't notice the figure, now standing in front of you, shouting, “BOKUTO!” off to the side and further down the sidewalk. You didn't notice when they exchanged worried glances that you might be hurt and unsure how to react to your state of hysteria.

Eventually you calmed down enough to return the confused looks that peered down at you. You made eye contact with worried blue and guilty gold before stuttering out with an embarrassed chuckle, “Sorry, I must have not been paying attention and– oh, wait—” When you see their eyes widen slightly, you realized you had instinctively started apologizing in English as a default and quickly corrected yourself to a simple, “Sorry…” in Japanese with your still heavy American accent.

You gave them a lopsided smile as you wiped your tears. You could never have imagined at the time, as you were grabbed by the shoulders and hoisted to your feet with such strength you could only let it happen in your dazed state, that it would be the defining pivot in what could have been a prison of loneliness and isolation in a new year, in a new school, in a new country. But, while you were overwhelmed with a torrent of apologies and “sorry”’s and “please, please, please forgive me”’s, the key to your unlocked cell seemed to be snatched and thrown where no one could have possibly found it again.

And, just maybe, you considered tempting fate more often in the future.

Thank you for reading!! <333

- Masterlist -

- Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps >

Do not copy and/or repost!! Any likes or reblogs are appreciated, though! (c) 2024 LemurzSquad

[werewolfetone]

Thinking about the 3 novels I've read about an gorta mór that weren't utterly terrible I think I should say that grace is a poorly researched book with great writing and okay characters and castle richmond is an extremely well researched book with writing that can only be described as "trollopian" and good characters and famine is a passably researched novel with writing that is totally overshadowed by the fact that the characters are completely incomprehensible to the human mind

[starsnsparkles]

okay i’ve calmed down a little from the massive shitstorm that happened when the winx reboot teaser originally dropped, so now i want to completely and utterly rip into this generic, over-detailed monstrosity of a design that they decided to go with...

... starting with bloom!

oh my sweet, sweet baby, what have they done to you… first off, say goodbye to her iconic bangs, now we have… anime bangs? the braids would look great if her hair was let down & made to be wild, but no, we had to slap on her the mew mew new zakuro’s ponytail which makes them both look out of place and cartoonish with how out of place & massive it looks on them… the outfit raises SO many questions. like, huh? what *is* that crop top doing? like why does it have 1 shoulder pad? why does she have the flame arm decoration on only one arm? the other looks so bare in contrast. what IS that skirt? like, what are those ruffles? they look so random and out of place, her whole outfit is making me go ??? they’re, AGAIN, trying to shove her in pink :^) those boots are whatever, and the wings are overly-detailed, but fine. all of their wings are doing too much ngl, especially if this is the first transformation, but hers is one of the better ones

now onto stella!

the worst case of babyface i’ve seen in the reboot, and that headband with stars ain’t making it better. it makes her look like a middle schooler SOB the top is doing too much for a base transformation, like bloom’s, but at least hers kind of resembles sun rays so it’s… passable? i still want it gone & redesigned tho. the wings, again, doing too much, i like the sun imagery. now i’ve heard people discussing that stella will stay “faily of the shining sun” rather than “fairy of sun & moon” and if that’s true… then i fear it truly is over lads.... i’ll save my moon stella spiel because i’ve already written a post about it, but the “moon” part of stella could play such a huge role in her character and it’s NEVER been used to its full extent and i die inside every time i remember that :^) and if the reboot doesn’t even try? i’ll go fuck myself then uwu

now for flora...

the best out of the batch. nothing really more to say. you can’t really go and make a bad flora transformation technically, just slap her in pink & green, with pretty flowers and voila, there’s flora. girly concepts work on a girly girl what a surprise! the petal skirt is very nice, i will say, although we’ll see later on how horrible it translated to 3d animation :^) her wings suffer the same as the rest, but they’re more toned down so they’re better, her hair is also doing a bit too much, i think the braid with flowers is great, but get rid of those two flower odangos and she’s pretty solid.

musa time!

*insert here a long-winded rant about her face looking generic af when previously we had a very good model shown in the magazine for her monolid look that potrayed her asian heritage more* but of course, we can’t have nice things, so here ya go, a downgrade :) anyway back to the design. so basically, musa’s design pays omage the most to her og magic winx design, so it looks pretty okay. i wish she had headphones, but i like the braids. now i did say the dress pays omage to her og design, but the added details on it to ‘make it look updated” are pretty nonsensical as well. it’s the bloom thing all over again. what is that small gap that’s covered with transparent material? we shall never know. it’s there to be there. 0 purpose. remove that and the design is so much better. what irks me about her wings is that they’re the wrong colours so they don’t even look like they belong to musa. like all others, they’re doing too much, but out of the bunch, hers are the worst. shape is meh, but the colours ruin them.

and now, the girl that suffered the most… my sweet, sweet tecna...

to all tecna truthers, it is a sad day indeed. tecna went from the most unique and wel-thought out magic winx design to… this. just one of many. literally nothing about her costume is revolutionary. nothing looks good. nothing says fairy of technology, save that thing in her hair. that’s literally it. i just don’t even have the words to describe how bland this is, which is horrible to say, because this is tecna! hey! fairy of technology! a fairy that literally connects the two worlds of a fairy, a being that is supposed to be this untamed magical concept connected with the nature & the world, with technology, the futuristic & more grounded concept that explores probabilites in a totally opposite side than magic. like, SHE IS REVOLUTIONARY but nah. here is a generic purple fairy. i want to PERISH.

and last but not least, aisha!

aisha & stella look like babies it’s not even funny actually. now why is she BLUE. aisha had a great thing going for her in the og where her outfit was green & her powers were pink, which contrasted well, and she was still a water / fluid fairy, so she really stood out from the rest of her archtype. and now. she’s BLUE. we already have bloom. we don’t have a green fairy. is this the part where they try to leave a spot open for roxy? yeah we love roxy, but aisha deserves to keep her og colour more than her, you know, THE aisha, who is objectively a bigger part of the winx brand than roxy. her dress is again, doing too much while not really making sense. it looks sloppy and overly-detailed with little reason to be so. flora & aisha are set apart from the rest solely bc their midriffs are covered & that’s about it. her wings are also too similar to bloom’s. my god why are they trying to bloom-ify her i don’t know.... the beads look nice tho, but they don’t feel like aisha. aisha is this cool, admirable, hero character that loves sports & adventure, and i’m getting “mum we have sports day tomorrow” vibes here. misery… and apparently she’s still “fairy of waves” so if they get rid of morphix, which was masterful addition to the power scale, i’d be ACTUAL MISERY

as for animations & civilian looks...

people say they’re eating and i just wanna know WHERE. i like the casual outfits more than the transformations by a mile, and that’s not saying much. musa & tecna’s outfits looked better in the magazine feature/leaks, musa especially suffered. stella’s hair fuses with her outfit constantly. and even if it were good, the animation downgrades everything though. it looks like it came from disney junior, ffs, it looks just a tiny bit better than miraculous ladybug and i can’t take that show seriously because of how bad the animation is. it’s giving fucking, rooster teeth studios with 6 employees and a 6 month deadline. it looks atrocious, i can’t even describe it SOB

closing thoughts - this literally looks like winx for toddlers. i’m sorry, so much hype for “we wanna age up our target audience after nick ruined it” and then we get this. dollar store animation, fumbled transformations, missed opportunities. i was beyond excited and probably coping back when the animation test aired. now i’m fully in IT’S SO OVER downslide. you hate to see it! :)

p.s people are saying these forms might actually be enchantix. baby if this is enchantix? we’re even MORE COOKED