#which means unhinged and absurd stuff coming

[ghostofashina]

THE WOMAN WHO LAID WITH THE DEVIL.

READ ON AO3.

[slytherinshua]

SHUT YOUR PRETTY MOUTH

genre. fluff. warnings. eric's yapping abt furry stuff 😟 reader hates on furries. slight make out. not proofread pairing. eric x fem!reader. wc. 951. request. no. a/n. @hursheys i hope this fulfills your eric delusions ☝️ i kinda hate the ending but whatever we're gonna roll with it. net. @deoboyznet

“So then he was like ‘well that’s totally furry behaviour’, and, obviously, I took offense to that. Cause, like, hello that’s absurd! I’m not a furry. I just bark occasionally—”

You were all too familiar with Eric’s chronic insomnia. Much like a toddler, if he didn’t do enough during the day to exhaust his endless energy, he could easily stay up all night with no sense of time or how tired other people (you) were. You closed your eyes, still half-listening to your boyfriend’s rambling, although you had lost the context of it a long time ago. If you were lucky, you might even be able to fall asleep to his yapping…

As if.

“So I was like, ‘dude, I have a girlfriend, why would you even suggest that’!? They went without me— good riddance— and I blocked them too, so there’s no need to worry. Maybe this is what Kevin meant when he warned me to stop hanging out with random people I meet on the streets. But, I met you on the streets too, so I can’t trust anything Kevin says anymore. Imagine if I hadn’t stopped to get your number at the crosswalk? My life would be so boring now!” Eric continued animatedly, drumming his fingers against the pillow that rested in his lap, picking out the rhythm to one of The Boyz’s songs.

“And I might actually be able to get some sleep…” You interjected with a tired whisper, rolling on your side to face your boyfriend. You opened your eyes with a pointed glare, and Eric’s let out a small “oh”.

“Right. Sorry, baby. You should sleep.” He said quickly, plopping down next to you and planting a quick kiss to your forehead. He was quiet for around 3 minutes, before you heard a small whisper close to your face.

“You don’t ever regret taking my number, do you?” You opened one eye to find Eric staring at you, his eyes wide like a puppy’s. 

“No, I don’t regret it.” You said truthfully, a yawn coming in at the end of your response. Eric smiled slightly, his brain telling him that he should let you finally sleep, but it seemed his mouth had other ideas.

“What if I was a furry? Would you still date me?” You had to hold back a laugh at the question, assuming that it was a reference to his earlier rambling. Although you couldn’t recall how the full conversation had gone, you were pretty sure that even if you did, it wouldn’t help you understand Eric’s brain.

“Who said you weren’t already?” You asked sarcastically, earning a pout from the boy that was almost impossible to resist kissing. 

“What if instead of talking to you I just barked in response?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him, silently judging his train of thought that was getting increasingly more unhinged with every minute that went by. You being extremely tired didn’t help with your patience for his incessant questions. You loved your boyfriend, you really did. But sometimes you just wanted him to shut up and let you sleep.

“What if instead of walking—”

Eric thankfully was not able to finish his sentence, which you could only assume had something to do with crawling on all fours or galloping around like a pony, because you had finally given in to your thoughts and shut up his rambling with your lips. He was shocked at first, frozen in place from your sudden movement. But kissing you was as natural as breathing to him, so he quickly found his rhythm, pulling you closer by your waist and kissing you deeply. 

“Was that a yes?” Came Eric’s first words when you broke off for air. 

“If you mean breaking up if you became a furry, then definitely yes. Now shut your pretty mouth.” You stated clearly before crashing your lips onto his again, giving him no opportunity to protest.

It was surprising how easy it was to get lost in the kiss even when you were exhausted. With Eric eagerly leading, it was simple enough to just let him do most of the work. You tangled your fingers in his blonde hair as he squeezed your waist, letting his tongue slip past your lips gently. 

It seemed your kissing idea worked wonders to exhaust your boyfriend’s energy, as when he broke it off and fell back onto the pillow, he wrapped you up in his arms and let his eyes fall close. You could feel his heart racing, your ear resting over his chest. His cheeks were flushed a pretty pink colour and his lips slightly swollen from the prolonged kiss. As his heartbeat slowed to a regular speed, you naturally matched your breathing with it, and the repetition lulled you to sleep quickly.

Eric held you tightly in his arms, listening to your steady breathing. He was tired, but his mind still raced with thoughts. Rather than meaningless questions he loved to throw at you, they all shifted to thoughts of you. He didn’t deserve your patience at the best of times, and was forever thankful that you truly loved him for himself. 

He knew he could be overbearing and exhausting at times, but he tried his best to balance it with the soft romantic moments that you and him both loved. You were quite similar to each other, the more Eric thought about. Although you were definitely more subdued, which balanced his exuberant energy quite well.

He sniffed, not having realized until now that his eyes had welled up with tears from his thoughts. He sheepishly blinked them away and held you a little closer in his arms, falling into his dreamland with you.

↳ the boyz taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @blossominghunnie,, @cosmicwintr,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,,

@lecheugo,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @recordsfilm,, @bananabubble,,

@talking-saxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hursheys,, @gong-fourz

[formulatrash]

I've written about this before but all the little F1 men are problematic. yes, even Lewis. they're in F1 - it's why Lewis comes out with boneheaded shit like maybe half the grid going to the medical centre is a skill issue or whatever even though he's generally very sound about most other things. it's why they're all unhinged about their own bodies and say no homo shit at the same time as being fruitier than a pina colada.

where you need to work out how to draw the line is: is this the guy's own issues? does Lewis, for instance, have a gruelling grind mentality that sees him cause himself quite a lot of misery and pain, physical and psychological, in pursuit of performance? yes. this has fucked him up. do Logan and Alex and George all pick at their own bodies because they basically have to treat them as a third party? yes. are they all straitjacketed into the most absurd performative masculinity that makes them as miserable as anyone else? yes.

that doesn't mean it's not problematic. it'd be lovely if they weren't all riddled with issues. but there's 'oh, I see my blorbo is doing his bit that makes me feel kinda sad for his multimillionaire ass again' and 'ah, my blorbo is participating in something genuinely disappointing and/or damaging.'

all the silly little sports men are wrong sometimes, it's about how they do it and in what context. if you say the right thing in one place and then go to one where you know you'll be surrounded by the wrong one then to me that is showing your arse. your mileage will vary.

their own issues make them say some fucked up stuff. they don't make them participate in misogyny or book themselves into wildly bad stuff. hell, I keep forgetting Lewis is doing that Brad Pitt movie, which there isn't an excuse for.

my point is: all of them being problematic in some ways isn't the same as someone actively choosing to participate in something gross. for publicity.

but it's also ok to fancy problematic little men. I fancy Andrea Iannone even though I know he's a Certified Bad Man. that's ok, I'm not electing him to office I'm just looking disrespectfully at jpegs. people do not have to be fundamentally pure and good for you to be horny about them.

[laurelwen]

Just me rambling for a minute:

"I can’t remember when I first noticed the change. It’s not that I didn’t see it coming, I just didn’t want to believe it. I guess that’s not much of an excuse, but it’s the truth. I guess it didn’t look good. But he had to die. It was a necessary means to an end. All I can tell you is that the heavens were falling. And the sound, it… the sound… it was incredible. It was… It was like the gods were rejoicing for what was done."

Never forget that Alex is a bad, bad boy. Look at that monologue! How was he going to say all this and Sally just completely forgot about how deeply sus it was? Just because later on he pulls a Sad Wet Cat routine?? And she was like, "yeah, that sounds right, I'm just going to ignore that deeply ominous pronouncement about the heavens falling and the change happening and how Nigel had to die." Not to mention the Cathar stuff, and gestalt, and him deliberately trying to push her off balance with the whole kids thing. She somehow just completely forgot about all that. Absolutely absurd.

I think despite being initially guarded, she went in there expecting Alex to be innocent, which is honestly McKenzie's fault. Martin put her back up immediately by pressuring her to support his Male Cop Gut Feeling™, and she not only refused but then set out to intentionally prove Martin wrong just so she could throw it in her ex boyfriend's face. She went in there subconsciously looking for any reason to disprove McKenzie, and just spoon fed Alex as much time and attention as he needed to give her the excuse she was looking for.

AND ANOTHER THING: let's not ignore the inherent sexism on display in the script. McKenzie's gut feeling turned out to be right and Sally's was absolutely wrong, which values the Manly Hunch and devalues Women's Intuition. Those silly girls, with their pesky emotions and motherly instincts getting in the way of seeing rational truth...even though McKenzie is clearly the overemotional unhinged bitch here. Don't get me wrong, this film treats it's (three) female characters appallingly anyway. Sally is really just there as a stand in for the audience. Suspicious at first then slowly lulled into believing Alex's story only to find out that we've all been duped by this smug little shit.

I have no point to make here, I'm just ranting about my thoughts like an old man shouting at the clouds.

[Like Minds Masterpost]

[adonis-koo]

my little sun

my wife

my love

my queen

my goddess

love of my life

OOOOOF MISSY THIS NEW CHAPTER KILLED ME!!!!! THEY ARE SO CUTE SO LOVELY SO IN LOVE MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT THEY ARE SO IN LOVE

seeing jungkook being this open about being in love with her is wholesome, I can't wait to see more of their domestic life together! poor princess, I hope she learns how to tame her demons, with wheein by her side again and this new chapter of her marriage (how much fun is jk going to have trying to teach her things and slowly discover her more unhinged side👀👀) I hope she will feel alright again.

also..... mmh I honestly forgot about the ball! so many things happened but something tell me we need to keep an eye out for that... am I right? 👀

aaah missy, thank you so much for sharing once again your amazing stories with us! I will come back with a more in depth ask about this new chapter but it's currently 2 am and I need to be up in 5 hours yikes

it was amazing getting to read wicked again I love this story so much

thank you again missy 💗

ok bye! 💖

!!!!! I’m so happy everyone is going feral at the ABSURD amount of pet names in this chapter 😫 i didnt event mean for it to happen it just did!!

I feel like for Jungkook, he’s just gotten so tired of the drama, the high stake events and the constant tip toeing around the dreaded L word, at this point he just wants to love her, be loved and not be bothered by anything else 😭 which if someone as stoic and non-expressive as him has finally broken down, then you know it’s pretty bad 😭 We can only hope that now that MC’s support net work is no longer in peril, that they can help her mental stability!!

And YES!!! We haven’t talked about the Yule Ball in so long! I’m very excited because this has been a concept that I’ve been wanting to write for SUCH a long time, but like, truthfully I’ve had so much other stuff to plan that now that I’m here I’m just like…😖 I have lots of outlining too do. Because while I can confidently say we are approaching endgame soon, we have YET to reach the climax of the story.

Thank you for reading my lovey!!! I always enjoy hearing everyone’s thoughts about the chapter!! 🥰🖤🖤🖤

[god-of-dust]

For the Fic Writer Ask:

3, 9, 12, 13, 15 and 20 (sorry for asking so many, but I'm really excited for your answers!)

hey friend, thank you! and don’t worry about asking too many questions, i felt talkative :D

[deep fic writer asks]

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

in all honesty, a lot of the fics that i love the most will probably stay forever unfinished in my drafts. as for the fics i actually have finished and posted, i have a soft spot for unscripted, and the reason is that writing it has been fun. readers have praised the character development in it, but it’s something that just happened while i was busy being outrageously self-indulgent with a plot that, to me, was head-empty-just-smut. it reminds me that a story doesn’t have to be that deep to be enjoyable and worth telling.

9. what's your writing process like?

an important part of my process is that appreciation and community-driven deadlines are the main motivators that drive me to actually finish works, which is why shipping weeks are very useful indeed. most of my fics (if not all) are birthed through hyperfixation, which in my case means that i have to squeeze the creative juices on the page before the enthusiasm fades.

on the plot side of things, there are vibes at the wheel rather than a well-thought plan, which is why i usually don’t go for longer stories (though i want to learn to.) i imagine a scene, a concept or a collection of them, and then i string them together until they’re coherent.

thus, when i know that i have a story i want to tell and there’s an audience that makes me excited to sit down and get my fingers on the keyboard, i found out that having a daily word count goal and a timer is the best way for my brain to stop obsessing over every single word and produce instead a repetitive, absurd, unhinged stream of consciousness that i can nonetheless edit later. i put on some background music, open focuswriter with its handy word count options to set my daily goal, start the timer and then i type away until i’m done, even if nothing that comes out makes any lick of sense. all that first draft has to do is exist.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

for the timed sessions i enjoy sitting at the desk in my room where i usually work. when inspiration strikes me elsewhere i use one of those note-taking apps in my phone and then transfer it to my computer later if i feel like it.

mostly, i want to have time and space to relax and do my thing.

13. Do you take pride in your writing, or does it embarrass you? Why?

interesting question 👀 a bit of both, i think. i do like it at times, but when i go back and read my fics i also feel like my style is kind of immature and the story could have been told better.

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time?

i learned not to judge myself too much during the writing process, so i gained more inspired turn of phrases and emotional depth that i could never have reached if i kept obsessing over good form and not sounding like the ESL speaker that i am. my mother tongue bleeds through my words in many ways and that’s okay.

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing?

readers who care about the stories i tell and who leave comments to let me know that they appreciate what i do. it’s humbling and exciting in a way i can’t describe. in the past, it often felt shallow and shameful to think that i create not only for myself but also because i love the validation, but i realize now that it’s true: community is great. sharing my stuff with people who are excited about it is amazing. the more love my creative works receive, the more of them i want to put out in the world.

[soliyra-the-sunbringer]

Soli’s wishlist for Our Flag Means Death Season 2

Hey, so why not: I'll try typing up my ofmd s2 wishlist. Some of these are improbable and/or unpopular.  You don’t have to agree with everything, but I’ve been encouraged to share my thoughts.  OFMD Season 2 wishlist, in the order in which I thought of them just now: 1. THAT THERE BE ONE.  Things are looking very good as of May 2022 but cruel and senseless things happen all the time and nothing is assured.   2.  Re: the reunion: THAT THERE BE ONE.  Some of you have never had your onscreen kiss and love confession take an immediate hard right into bury-your-gays and it fking shows.  Furthermore the writers and actors on this show are amazing and I want to see how they do it.   3. Abshir returns!  That dude is an absolute legend.  I need to know what he and his friends got up to after 1x05  and I am dying to see Oluwande's 'investment' pay off, hopefully at a point when the crew are at their lowest.   4.  Hornberry joins the Revenge crew.  He obviously likes them (he and Stede have a 'rapport') and there is no way that man is straight.  I want to see the Brittish officer -> pirate pipeline happen in real time.  And I want to see him involved in Stede et all getting off their feet/getting a ship.   LET HIM KISS BOYS.  (Is he sleeping with Wellington?  Maybe we’ll find out!)

5. Ghosthoney joins either the Revenge crew or Blackbeard crew.  I could honestly see it working either way and either way is pure gold.  6. "You're STEDE'S Ed???"  The many people on Tumblr calling for this are right and should say so.  Every drop of Ed & Mary content gives me life, particularly the moment she finds out he and the 'Dread Pyrate Blackbeard' are the same person, regardless of how exactly that goes down.   7. Lines for Ivan (in this economy) Ok, so it looks like this one isn’t going to happen, which is tragic but it does seem to mean that there is going to be a Season 2 for Ivan to not be in, so...great??  Anyway, so the way I would deal with this is for Ivan do die in an absurdly dramatic way off-screen.  It is somehow both heroic and cool and also stupid and hilarious.  The actors can probably improv this one, idk.  But no body, no crime, and leave it just open ended enough that he can just show up down the line (in an equally absurd and ridiculous way) if something changes wrt Guz’s schedule or w/e

8.  Jemain Clement as Benjamin Hornigold.  This has been hc’d so hard by so many fans...are we sure it’s not already canon?  Pirate-hunter arc would be epic.  9.  Captain Thomas EDWARD’S.  What can I say except that historical stuff is only cool if it’s funny and/or romantic and this sh is both. 

10. Doug comes out as trans, giving us bisexual (or otherwise wlw) Mary and transfeminine rep in one fell swoop.  

11. Speaking of which: Izzy Hands tries on a dress and experiences gender euphoria for the first time, which serves as a major turning point for the character.  (Ed and Izzy are lesbians together; I don’t make the rules).  

12.  Ed kisses a girl (and likes it, a la Katie Perry).  Please I am dying for explicit bi rep in OFMD. 

13, and this is an important one: STEDE KILLS SOMEONE ON PURPOSE.   --13a. that person is a dick. --13b. and preferably a racist.  This is an important point on Stede’s white-guy journey to active anti-racism.

13.  Anne Bonny and Mary Read, obviously.  Mary is Tig Notaro but I can think of literally dozens of actors I’d like to see as Anne and they’d all be great for different reasons.  MOAR WLW

14.  My favorite actors from the last major fandom I was involved in, because why the h not, is this a wishlist or what? 

15.  Harvey Guillen as someone extremely flamboyant and completely unhinged.  He’s been the uptight, contained one on wwdits for so long.  Let that beautiful little man be ‘round, brown, and proud’ and completely bonkers.  Let him get in a knife fight with Jim.  Maybe he’s part of the Siete Gallos, maybe he’s Jim’s long lost brother, maybe he’s just some pirate, idc.  This may or may not be a Harvey Guillen stan account. 

16.  A new wig for Jim.  Or maybe just Vico’s hair?  I do not like the current wig. 

17.  CREW.  FLASHBACKS.  The people (including Samba) on multiple platforms who are calling for this are right and should say so. 

18.  Geraldo appears in flashbacks.  He is an underrated character and Fred Armisen is delightful.  I said what I said. 

18.  STEARD NATION.  Murray Hewitt was a LOOK and I would like to see more, ty. 

19.  We all know that Lucius is alive, but have you consider that his life was somehow saved by the wooden finger, AKA the power of ~love~? 

20.  The people calling for Rory Kinnear to return as increasingly distant members of the Badminton family who all, improbably, look exactly like Rory Kinnear are right and should say so.  But male family members only; we will not be doing the ‘man in a dress’ trope on OFMD. 

21.  SHOW US THE TALENT SHOW YOU COWARDS.  The people calling for this ar-- you get the idea.  

22.  (can’t believe I almost forgot this one) Gnossienne 5 played on an unlikely instrument like electric guitar or something. 

23.  GIVE FANG A DOG.  Another popular one that is also empirically correct. 

24.  Explicit ace rep.  I don’t really care who but bonus if it’s someone we already know. 

25.  One time I read a post somewhere that said s2 should start with Stede standing in his dinghy with his hand upraised and he sees the crew and they see him and he is immediately hit in the face by the red silk and.  Yes.  That.  I agree.  that’s all I can think of for now, except for the general idea of ‘boys kissing,’ which really should be a given but, again, the world is cruel and senseless and we can take nothing for granted. 

[haikyuusyn]

omg i dont have a title

hi ! umm i was craving some hard dom asahi... so here we are! i hope you like it hehe <33

warnings: hard dom asahi, public sex, bratty reader, panties as a gag, breeding kink, fat cock asahi

uhhhhhhhh if theres anymore i should add let me know !!

word count: 2.2k ish

Everyone loves to talk about how Asahi is so big, yet so gentle. Which is true. But it also isn't really quite the whole truth. Asahi really is a soft, sweet man. But when you open your mouth and say the words you know will garner you his wrath? Those are your favorite days. He loves to kiss you softly and hold your hand. In public, he will play with your hair and look at you like you shine the moon out of your ass.

But, sometimes. Sometimes, you'll whine about how annoying it is being out in public, or how you want to go home, or how the food sucks and you should've gone somewhere better. Asahi pretends like he hates it, but you both know he loves it. He lives for it. His favorite thing is to show you that you’re a bad fucking brat.

As for today, you were being a brat because he forced you out with your friends, but had the audacity to not stuff you with his cock beforehand. You begged so sweetly too; he shoved his thumb in your mouth and watched you suck it and lick and with an evil glint in his eye said “fuck no”. You were furious to say the least. You refused to dress yourself so he did it for you. He picked out his favorite dress that hugged your body just how he liked it. You refused to look at him.

While out with your friends, he made you sit right next to him so he could run his fingers along your thigh. You were addicted to his touch, any little thing he gave you was heaven. But you were dead set on ignoring him. You huffed. You sighed. You whined. You complained about how the restaurant didn't have your favorite things. You ignored him every time he tried to talk to you. Your friends are used to your antics so they just try to ignore you. You glance over at Asahi and you can see the tick in his jaw. You laugh on the inside. He just so happens to look your way and when your eyes connect, yours widen when you see how angry he is. It soaks your panties. Fuck.

You cannot continue sitting here so you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to you, Asahi has excused you both for the evening. Sugawara cackles, “keep it in your pants, Asahi!”

You heave out a sigh of relief when you close the bathroom door. You go to wipe down your face when you hear someone open the door. You turn around with wide eyes and relax when you see who it is. He locks the door and looks at you and you close your mouth before you say anything stupid.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You couldn't behave, even for one evening, could you, bunny?” You hum, thinking of an answer that will displease him the least. Anything you say will upset him. “Well, pet? I asked you a question, didn't I?”

He approaches you and forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. He grabs you by your tiny little neck, so easily snappable. “I-” “You? You what, bunny?” You clear your throat and steel yourself, “I. I couldn't wait, sir. I asked before we left but you wanted to make me wait and you know I’m…” “I know you are what, bunny? You couldn't wait a couple hours? I would've given you everything you wanted.” He murmurs into your neck while having a steel grip on your jaw. “You're such a cock hungry whore, you just wanted me to pull you in here and destroy your sweet little cunt, didnt you, pet?”

You clench around nothing and close your eyes. Your breathing is fast and shallow and Asahi laughs at you. “You're just so easy for me, aren't you little one?” You whimper at his words. “Sir… please…” “Why should i give you anything, bunny? What have you done to deserve it? You've been so mean to me all evening.” You pout at him. “Sir, please… I need you so bad…”

He looks at you through the mirror, you look so tiny and so debauched just for him. It makes it cock swell in his slacks. “Hmm… where do you need me, naughty little bunny?” One of his hands starts moving slowly down your body. He softly caresses one of your breasts, squeezing it with the lightest of pressure. Your nipple starts to harden under his ministrations and you let out a soft little whimper. “Do you need me here, little one?” He grazes your nipple and groans. You're so soft and tiny for him.

He doesnt stay long, living for your torture. Ever so slowly, he starts to move lower until he's at the apex of your thighs. “Maybe here, bunny?” He's moving his hand under your little dress, inching closer to where you're absolutely dripping for him. “Ah, it looks like it's here, you naughty little slut, yeah?”

Your thighs are starting to get sticky with your arousal and all Asahi wants is to lick it up. Another time, he supposes. “Wow, bunny, you're dripping. Have you no shame? Soaked for me, in the middle of a restaurant? How lewd.” The degradation is making your cunt throb, god you want anything, need anything inside you.

He's running his finger along your clothed entrance and laughing at you condescendingly. “Well,” he sighs exasperatedly, “I guess we shouldn't really expect anything else from such a deprived slut, yeah?” You moan at his words and he tightens his grip on your throat. “That's enough out of you, bunny. I dont want to hear another fucking peep from you. Naughty bunnies don't get to make noises.”

“Put your leg on the counter, whore.” You walk towards the sink on unsteady legs and Asahi slowly comes up right behind you. He reaches under your dress and slowly, so slowly, removes your dripping panties. He runs his nose along your jaw, “I have the perfect gag for you if you cant keep that fucking mouth shut, okay little one?” You close your eyes and try to keep your whimper in you; he doesn't punish you, so you assume he didn't hear you. But he did. He's just seeing how obedient you can actually be.

“See, now, if you were my good, sweet little bunny, we could be at home, I could be on my knees worshipping your cunt like it deserves to be worshipped, stretching your tiny little pussy on my thick fingers… but, no. You wanted to be a fucking brat. Just one fucking day, would it kill you to listen to me, brat?” You're about to sass him back, but he's quicker than you. He shoves your soiled panties in your mouth and grins evilly at you, “I'm pretty sure I told you to keep that slutty mouth shut. I guess you're just incapable of learning, aren't you bunny?”

Now, your boyfriend is a big man. He's six feet tall and everything about him is massive. Everything. In the beginning, you would beg him for no prep. You told him you liked it when it hurt. He refused. It took many months of convincing, and he only does it when he's unhinged and angry and it's one of your favorite things. When he uses you for his own pleasure.

He whips his fat cock out and rubs it against your ass. “You feel that, bunny? Feel how hard I am for you? I'm throbbing, babe. I can't wait to tear your insides apart with my fat dick. Can you wait, bunny?” He growls into your skin when you make eye contact in the mirror. You have unshed tears in your eyes and he can tell how much you want him.

“You want me, you nasty whore? In this fucking restaurant bathroom? Where anyone can hear you?” You whine, but nothing comes out. You nod your head frantically, he needs to know how much you need him inside you. “Hmm… I guess I can give it to you. Deep breath, bunny.” And then he slowly pushes the fat head of his cock in your quivering hole.

He bites your neck, hard, growling into the soft skin. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight, bunny. Breathe, little one.” You close your eyes and take deep breaths, willing your body to relax. Fuck, hes fucking massive. It burns and it feels so fucking good. He's slowly moving forward, inch by agonizing inch, “Ah, that's it, sweetheart. You take me so fucking well, dont you bunny? It's like your cute little cunt was made for me, yeah?” You tighten even more, you don't know how it's possible. Hes stretching you to your limit and it feels like fucking heaven.

Asahi gives you about five seconds before he starts to move. He starts a slow, steady pace. In and out, moving his hips until just the tip is in and making its way back. He's so deep inside you, you can feel him in your throat. Tears are running down your face; you're starting to squirm. You want it hard and fast and sloppy and he's going much too slow for your liking. You dig your nails into his skin and he looks at you with an unreadable look in his eye.

“What? Does the little slut want more?” You glare at him through the mirror and he wants to push your face into the ground and take you like a fucking animal. “You better wipe that nasty look off of your face, little bunny, before you dont fucking cum at all, yeah?”

And yet, you tighten even more. He laughs at you and it's so condescending it makes your heart rate pick up. “Of course, how could I forget? Should I just use your cute, little hole? Should I just fucking breed you here, where anyone can find you dripping full of my cum? Just use you for my pleasure?” You're sure if he keeps whispering all this nasty filth into your ear you're going to cum from that alone.

Asahi suddenly pulls out of you and you actually start bawling trying to grasp onto him. He scoffs at you, “Shut up.” He grabs you and places you on the counter so he can grab your hips and jack hammer you into nothing. He slams right in, no warning and starts an absurd pace. He does not look at you, does not touch your clit. All he cares about is filling you with his cum; filling you up so deep your stomach bulges with the amount of semen he's giving you.

“This cunt is mine, pet. Not yours, mine. If i want to fill you with my kids and leave you high and dry, I'm going to do just that.” He's pounding you so hard you can hear his heavy balls slapping against your ass. It feels so fucking good you dont want to do anything but be his little cock whore ever again.

“How can you still tighten so much? Youre so fucking nasty, bunny. Who the fuck gets off on being used like a fucking rag doll? You're unhinged, my love.” Asahi is pounding your walls so hard your entire body is shivering. His cock is so huge he doesn't even have to try to find your g spot. He always hits it every time. He starts pistoning his cock in the direction of your sweet spot, “Either you cum like this, or you don’t cum at all. Think you can handle that, little bunny?”

You want to scream. You want to moan. You want to let everyone in the restaurant know who exactly is destroying your cunt. But your damn panties are in your mouth and no noises are coming out. Are you crying in pleasure, or frustration?

Asahi somehow moves faster and harder and it's making you dizzy. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. “God, bunny, you're squeezing me so tight. Are you really gonna cum from me using you like this? You're disgusting.”

And if you're being honest, that is your tipping point. Your entire body locks up and your orgasm hits you like a fucking freight train. Asahi is trying to keep his groans in while you’re creaming on his cock. He doesn't stop beating your cunt with his dick until his cumming deep inside you filling you to the absolute brim. You're still shaking by the time he's done, with tears and snot all over your face.

He pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip out of you. “Stay still, sweet bunny. Let me clean you up, yeah?” He's grabbing a wet towel and slowly and as softly as he can, wiping your battered cunt. “Let's keep a little in there though, hmm? I know how much you love keeping me inside you, bunny.”

He helps you off the counter and you collapse in his arms. “You did so well, sweetheart. My perfect little bunny. You're so soft and perfect for me, aren't you, bunny?” You bask in his praise and touches. You love when he treats you like a doll, but you especially love after. When he covers you in sweet kisses and caresses and even sweeter words.

“We're gonna go home, take a nice bath. I'll give you a massage, would you like that, bunny?” You blink blearily up at him, “Yes, sir.” He smiles softly at your serene face, “We can even use one of your favorite bath bombs. Would you like that, my perfect little pet?” You snuggle into his massive body, “Yes, sir. Mmm, I love you, Asahi.” His heart stutters in his chest, “And I love you, little bunny.”

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Hi! I have a genuine question, and I hope it doesn’t come off as somehow mean-spirited. From the things you reblog/post about, it occasionally seems like you purposefully look up discourse posts and look at multiple of them (be they fandom-related or more heavy real world things). You even posted about some obscure (and absurd) Twitter takes a few times iirc, which you must’ve also looked up on purpose, because that sort of stuff doesn’t just come up on the timeline (unless you follow some of those unhinged cDream apologists, but I imagine you do not). So I guess I just wonder, like… why? Clearly some of these things cause you mental distress, and even if they don’t actively, it can’t be good for your mental health in general to be so immersed in all the discourse and stuff. With IRL topics, I can at least understand why you’d want to stay educated, although I would argue scrolling through Tumblr tags is not the way to do it, but fandom discourse?.. Why cause yourself distress on purpose?

yeah that’s why I Stopped doing it lmao. realised that was a form of self harm! now I try not to

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’m re-watching Taskmaster s05e08 before tomorrow’s podcast episode, and it’s really reminding me that that song task deserves every bit of hype it gets. It’s talked about so often as one of the best moments in all of Taskmaster, often as the best moment in all of Taskmaster, and that’s such a tall order that I often think surely it can’t be as amazing as all that. And every single time I re-watch it, I remember that it is, in fact as good as all that. I shall put further discussion of this issue behind a “keep reading” link.

Everything about it is fucking perfect. It was so perfect for them to leave it until the last task of the season, because everything else led up to it. It was the cumulation of the unhinged-ness we saw all season from Bob and Sally, the weird combination of winging it with attention to admin that we saw all season from Aisling, and the relentless pragmatism that we saw all season from Mark Watson. And it was the perfect foil, the exact equal and opposite, to the incompetence we saw from Nish all season. That task needed to be last, not just because it was it was good enough to be worth saving, but because every moment from the whole season before that made that watching that task better.

It’s not often that you get one task in which every single segment of it is so fucking good. The set-up was hilarious. It doesn’t matter how many times I watch it, I will never avoid falling apart laughing when Bob Mortimer asks, “Do we strike you?” Sally’s baffled amusement as they question her. Mark’s incredibly earnest journalism-style questioning, trying to get as much information out of her as possible while still being incredibly polite. The absurdity of some of the questions, and some of the answers. Where did they find this woman, and did they know beforehand about the weird cello quartet story and use her because they knew that might come out and would be funny? Or was that a coincidence? I can’t believe I’ve never wondered this before now, but who the fuck actually is Rosalind?

And then obviously, the songs themselves were God damned masterpieces. I don’t think I have to say much about them, because everyone who’s seen Taskmaster knows those segments are the absolute crown jewels of the greatest TV show of this era. And as good as the nightmare song is, I don’t think it’s controversial to say that Always Seeing You Do Cool Stuff is the more special one. Because the nightmare song is just a really top-level version of the kind of humour we’ve come to expect from its singer-songwriters, while the Wumar song... I mean the English language has not created the words to describe the exact feeling of watching that song for the first time, after seeing the whole season that led up to it. Every time I re-watch it, I remember the first time I watch it (when I didn’t know what was coming), and how the excellence of Wumar’s performance leaped out of my laptop screen and knocked me unconscious with a fucking crowbar. Alex described it afterwards (specifically talking about the fact that apparently Nish can sing and play the guitar?) as a “miracle”, and I thought that was the perfect word. It was a funny line, but also just the right word to describe how surreal it was to see that happen.

And that brings me to the last segment of this task: the aftermath. Again, it was all perfectly played. The shock and awe expressed by everyone after the Wumar song. And then the amount of joy and laughter on that stage, coming from no one more than from Nish, after the nightmare song. The way all the contestants expressed how impressed they were with each other, for their own songs and each other’s songs, but especially the genuinely heartwarming reaction that Mark and Nish had to seeing their own song performed.

I mean fucking hell. This is the beauty Taskmaster season 5 in one image (unfortunately with awful image quality but you get the point):

And this, as Greg acknowledged afterward, an actual tear in Mark Watson’s eye:

This hits even harder now that I’ve listened to Mark Watson’s recent appearance on the Taskmaster podcast, which first made me realize just how much work Mark had put into doing well on that show, including lots that was outside of the actual filming days. This episode had another major example of that, actually, in that I think Alex was telling the truth when he said Mark really did bring the pieces of an actual bathroom in there for the final prize task. Mark got so emotional because he had genuinely put way too much work across half a fucking year into trying to do well, had had quite a bit of it blow up in his face, had been dragged down by getting tied to his lovely but disastrous friend Nish, but then got this one moment of absolute glory and Greg just looking at him like:

I mean, the whole thing was very fucking funny and it is a joke when people say things like “wow it’s very impressive that you did so well at this Taskmaster task” (the joke being... it’s a pointless show and none of it is impressive), but also you have a heart of solid ice if you can look at this picture and not find it genuinely touching:

On a similar note, I do find this Tweet unironically beautiful.

I was going to say “okay I’m done posting screenshots now”, but actually I’m not. I noticed something in watching it tonight that I can’t believe I haven’t seen before, since I’ve watched this task so many times. Somehow, it always went over my head that there’s a moment when you can see the lyrics sheet from which Nish and Mark were reading while they sand their song. The chorus is in its own box in the corner and some of the words are separated with underlines or crossed out and I am just so pleased to have noticed this.

Finally, I’d like to end this post with a shoutout to Rosalind herself, the mystery woman. She also contributed plenty to making this such a memorable task, by sitting there silently, impassive and expressionless while two people sang her praises and three other people called her a nightmare and TV’s Bob Mortimer said she jumps quite far for a woman of her age.

[serenawitchwriter]

BNHA fusion (Bakusquad/Todoroki)

TodoBaku

i pity endeavor

somehow angrier than bakugou? like it’s less of a tsundere, shouty way and more of a punk rock 100% ready to throw down at the slightest provocation

has less tolerance for spice but will eat it anyway

spicy noodles

a lot blunter with his actual thoughts

so much fire, i’m imagining because of Baku's chemical secretion they could possibly make some kind of plasma, though i doubt that makes scientific sense.

also shoots steam out of one their hands

spiky red and white hair, not split down the middle but streaky. a bit like natsuo only more integrated

red eyes, no heterochromia, but keeps the scar

handsome, but constantly looks a bit constipated

really self-critical

incredibly good at mocking people. easily makes people cry with his insults because they’ll attack the thing about you that you don’t like

surprisingly unaggressive towards midoriya. like bakugou’s rivalry/aggression toward him is somehow dampened by todoroki’s love of mido

also tolerant of specifically mina, uraraka, and kirishima. everyone else push their buttons to the point of pissing them off.

i’d like to see them fight dabi because it feels like they’d have similar vibes, except todobaku is less theater kid.

would absolutely wear a leather jacket

despite their angry punk energy, they still pretty anal about self care and schedules. like they’re straight edge nerds about everything but fighting

KiriTodo

chaotic

like they aren’t a bad person but they are a dumbass and the shit that they get up to is spectacularly wild

completely red hair, silky texture. either slicks it back or spikes it into a mohawk. depends on the day

still scarred, red and blue eyes.

shark teeth but in a softer shaped face

usually shirtless, especially when it’s inappropriate

will eat literally anything

incredibly insecure but honest about it

clingy to his friends in an almost desperate way. like his friends will always be their for him but even then he’s struggling to feel secure about it

slow burn anger, but is the most terrifying person to see angry. you do not want to see him get genuinely pissed

an incredibly kind person

fantastic with animals

another elemental quirk user

i have the mental image of a rock golem running at the enemy while on fire and covered in ice. again, avoid pissing him off

pauses a lot while talking and uses a lot of filler words like ‘like, um, and uh”. almost like a valley girl

deceptively smart and emotionally mature. like they have their moments of being profound, of getting where others are coming from, of doing something totally genius

but is also a dumbass the vast majority of the time. like you’d be shocked at how stupid he can be

can’t fucking read

affectionate towards Bakugou and Midoriya. thinks they’re all best friends. isn’t entirely wrong. loves Mina as well

cuddly as hell, but is not comfortable to cuddle with. he’s too hard and he’s never the right temperature

TodoMina

chaotic part 2

a weird combo, probably not very stable

candy cane colored curls, with a pink transition color in their hair. still has horns.

it’s hard to tell that they’re scarred with pink skin. heterochromic eyes, one blue, the other yellow with black sclara

has a creepy laugh

fully into being an alien and is attempting to convince people it’s true, not in a joking way.

more plasma options in terms of quirks. i don’t know how freezing or heating acid effects it, but the effect can probably be used for something

will do basically anything they put their mind to, no matter how absurd. once they make a decision they’re going to do it hell or high water

shift back and forth between being incredibly hyper and on the ball, and being exhausted and antisocial. 

overly invested in gossip and discovering the truth. nosy as hell

impossible to predict

probably into yoga?

manic pixie dream girl? definitely quirky

has a mean sense of humor, and is sometimes just mean in general. generally has good intentions but won’t hesitate to cut people down when they feel they ‘deserve it’

candy addiction

TodaKami

very stable

very funny and chill

stoner vibes regardless of if they do drugs

zones out constantly

black lightning in the white half, red lightning in yellow half of hair. fine and silky as hell

green eyes, no scar. probably needs glasses but doesn’t have them yet

weather powers. can make storms, clouds, effect temperature. can be effected by their own weather and injures themselves often

but is an op fighter anyway

both a memer and conspiracy theorist but in an entertaining way. could have a buzzfeed unsolved style show if they find the right skeptic. i feel like iida would be a cute partner for that. obviously todokami is the unhinged one

will eat literal garbage. i could see them eating from a dumpster because the pizza looked okay

rude mouth, says what he’s thinking regardless of how hurtful it is. isn’t intentionally trying to be mean.

obsessed with dragons

constantly tired. they sleep and sleep but it is never enough

pretty cuddly and quiet when zoned out

a fantastic hugger

baby

Todosero

weird but in an inexplicably normal way

like they’re not getting bullied for it, they’re not subverting society or being overly chaotic. they’re just kinda... odd.

possibly a fae in disguise?

fixed looking smile

scarred. small black eyes. hair is split to be red and white. but the roots are black

obviously still has tape elbows. quirk is probably some kinda fire and ice whip. makes a lot of icicles as well. has many creative applications, especially because they’re both range attacks

executive dysfunction anyone?

loves manga, particularly weird artsy kind, or horror and mysteries

will chill in high places for hours. probably makes a full spiderweb or cocoon or hammock.

just likes getting away from people

wears Hawaiian shirts casually. on the tame side

loves the beach

loves noodles more than life itself. has a mission to try every type of noodle

probably gets stuck places and gets lost easily

makes people uncomfortable. kind of person who just stands silently and stares at you. will wait until you notice him to speak. so sometimes he’ll just be standing silently behind you for five minute and than you’ll finally turn around and have a heart attack,

will otherwise jut kinda stand at the periphery of groups and stare blankly. like that vine of the guy disassociating at a party

never quite jives with the conversations, timing always seems off. they’re just really awkward

pretty fun loving given the opportunity. hanging out with friends is their favorite activity

vibes fairly well with ojiro and hagakure

TodoJirou

cool

makes ice puns, which is lame but gay/lesbian solidarity part 2

white and purple hair in a bob. no scar. has the earphone jacks. purple and silver eyes. petite

deserves to wear sunglasses at all times. probably doesn’t but they deserve to

incredibly chill

actually pretty lazy given the opportunity

still plays the bass and is quite passionate about it

husky singing voice. it’s good but unique, most suited towards indie stuff, not belting Broadway.

plays with earjacks constantly

in love with momo

powers aren’t particularly enhanced by each other. have to get pretty creative to make it effective. don’t mind that much, they aren’t trying to be number one, they’re just herre to help

probably always in a leather jacket

generally pretty sweet, especially towards close friends. it’s a quiet kindness. more shown by putting extra food on your plate when you’re not eating enough, instead of demanding you eat more verbally

sardonic

stable

easily annoyed, especially by injustice. if something is unfair they’ll get mad

generally incredibly mellow, one of the less feral fusion overall

(masterlist)

[hurricanery]

If You Went Away - pt. 4

A/N: Here’s part 4! You can read the previous parts here:

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

If you sent a different prompt, I will get to it/start posting stuff in between. Thank you if you sent a message encouraging to post this next, the feedback is very much appreciated <3 This chapter takes place starting the day after Halloween/the day after the last chapter’s events.

_______

(present day)

A groan leaves her lips the second she opens her eyes and a dull, familiar ache expands through her head. The type of subdued headache you wake up with when you’re five years old and your temper tantrum is what finally put you to sleep in the first place.

But she’s not five years old. She’s a full grown adult who apparently still cries herself to sleep sometimes.

Her first thought is that it’s way too bright in here.

It takes all of her strength to push herself up and stumble across the room in an attempt to shut the blinds.

She manages to fulfill the task, but she’s interrupted on her way to climb back into bed. Because she’s gracelessly tripping over her boots, and her jeans, and her jacket. All of the things she’d worn the night prior. She steadies herself, as the unwelcome realities of the morning catch up with her.

And then it all hits her. As she looks down, noting her attire, dressed in only Link’s Mariners sweatshirt.

Suddenly she needs support. Her legs feel like they might give out from under her as the sleep-induced drowsiness fades and the trainwreck situation that was the night before crashes down on her.

Her head starts to spin as she tries to shut out her own self awareness. The awareness that she’d shown up here last night, acting completely unhinged, and then in her post-surgery sleep-deprived state, she’d practically begged Link for contact. Begged him to touch her. She cringes. Because those were almost her exact words.

She glances at the clock. It reads 9am. Which means Link was definitely at work by now, and Scout was definitely still sleeping. She forgoes her desire to crawl back into bed, and instead, decides a shower will help wash away her faults.

She enters the bathroom that’s attached to their room, reaching her hand over to turn on the shower. She waits a few minutes for it to warm up before stripping the sweatshirt off and hauling her body into the tiled stall.

She sits. Because that’s all she feels her body will allow.

She sits huddled on the shower floor, knees pulled into her chest, as the steady stream of hot water hits her in the back.

She focuses on the sound of the shower, trying to let it soothe her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registers the sound of her own breathing, trying to keep it steady. Her body feels numb as she focuses on the persistent sound of the water hitting the floor around her. It pounds in her ears, and if she focuses hard enough in her mind, she can trick herself into thinking she’s caught up in a thunderstorm. She likes that better. Pretending to be somewhere else. It’s easier than coming to terms with her own inconsistencies.

In her mind, it’s absolutely pouring. And when she concentrates deeply enough, she can hear the occasional crash of thunder. It’s quiet, but it’s there. Almost resembling the sound of her front door slamming shut with the wind. But more powerful than that.

However, it must be windy, because she feels the house creak with movement that she’s not making herself.

“Mommy….?” A familiar, timid, voice sounds from somewhere in the distance. And Amelia startles only a little.

“Mom?” This time it’s louder, closer.

And now she’s panicking a little. Because she knows Scout hates storms.

A knock against wood shakes her from her reverie and she lifts her head enough so that it meets the stream of water from above. And all of a sudden her head is stinging, because this water is absolutely freezing now.

“Mom?!” his voice is close now, and bordering on impatient. His tone brings her back to reality and she completely realizes where she is. How long had she been in here?

“…Scout?” Amelia finds her voice, perplexed. Scout usually sleeps in well past 10am when he isn’t woken up by her or Link.

There’s another faint knock against the bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a second, Scout. Okay?” She tries to sound cheerful. “I’ll come make you breakfast.”

“Aunt Mer gave me breakfast.”

She frowns, standing up and shutting the water off. Meredith was here? She doesn’t know how to respond to that exactly. She feels numb, and confused, and out of her head.

“Can I go ride bikes with Bailey?!” Scout’s question pulls her attention back.

“Wait, hold on a minute,” she mumbles, pulling a towel around her body and moving towards the door. She peeks her head out and meets her son’s eyes. “Just wait for me to come downstairs.”

His hyperactive body language isn’t boding well for Amelia’s request. He’s practically jumping up and down from where he stands in their bedroom. “Please. Pleaseee. Bailey has his bike and he’s already out there! Please!!”

“Okay, okay,” she groans. And Scout immediately takes off, running towards the stairs. “Wait! Hold on there, buddy!”

She exits the bathroom fully, and Scout stops in the doorway, looking at his Mom anxiously, like she’s about to be the gatekeeper of all of his fun.

“Scout listen to me,” Amelia says pointedly. “Just because Bailey has a big kid bike, doesn’t mean we’re changing anything about your bike-”

“Mommmm!” Scout interrupts her with an exaggerated whine. “I know I know, please!”

“Hey! I asked you to listen.” She waits for his impatient demeanor to calm a bit before she continues. “Scout, you have extra wheels for a reason, okay? We’re not taking them off until Dad has time to teach you-” Amelia trails off bemusedly as she watches her son nod along with her words, focus elsewhere, his eyes darting back to the stairs every few seconds. She recognizes the distant sound of Bailey’s laugh from the driveway outside.

“Okay, go.” She laughs. And Scout immediately runs off. “But stay in the backyard!”

_______

After about twenty minutes of pulling herself together, Amelia finally rounds the corner into the kitchen. Meredith turns around from where she’s cleaning up some of the mess from breakfast.

She raises her eyebrows at Amelia briefly. “Long time, no see,” Meredith says, somewhat sarcastically.

“You say that like it’s my fault,” Amelia defends herself. “The phone works both ways.”

Meredith frowns, but then nods at her words, in a very ‘you got me there’ type of way. “Well anyway, you look exhausted,” Meredith says blatantly.

“Thanks,” Amelia laughs, reaching for the coffee-maker. “I actually slept really well last night.”

“Something tells me you didn’t.”

This was their typical banter. Amelia actually feels comfort in the layers of sarcasm and utter boldness of their dynamic. It’s sort of refreshing. Compared to Maggie, who often tells Amelia what she wants to hear, Meredith doesn’t beat around the bush.

“You want to talk about it?” Meredith offers, somewhat flimsily.

Amelia grimaces. Because no. She doesn't want to talk about it. But, she knows she has to. It will all come out anyway. And to Meredith, of all people, who was queen of telling her to stuff her feelings in instead of dealing with them.

Amelia clicks the coffee-maker on and listens to the familiar sounds of the machine coming to life. She peeks out the kitchen window, a smile waving across her features as she watches Scout show off his training wheels to Bailey. She turns back to Meredith, who’s still looking at her blankly. Then she decides to rip the bandaid off, putting it all out there.

“I basically begged Link for sex last night.” She leans back against the counter nonchalantly. As if the situation she’s confessing to is completely normal. “And then…” She laughs at the absurdity of her own words. “When he rejected me….? I cried myself to sleep.”

Meredith’s expression doesn’t even falter.

“In his arms!” Amelia raises her voice incredulously, still laughing bitterly. “I should add that. I cried myself to sleep….in his arms.”

Silence fills the kitchen momentarily, until the distinct sound of the coffee-maker clicking off catches Amelia’s attention. She moves toward the cupboards, rummaging for a mug, before pouring herself a cup.

“It could be worse.” Meredith finally says, after Amelia takes her first sip.

“Ah, shit!” Amelia exclaims, burning her mouth on the hot beverage, almost breaking the mug with the force she sets it down with.

She takes a moment to gather herself, closing her eyes and nodding at Meredith’s words. Because she’s right. In the grand scheme of things, it could be much, much worse.

And in an almost ironic turn of events, her thoughts are interrupted by the agonizing sound of her son’s cry from the backyard.

Amelia’s eyes spring open and she glances at Meredith briefly before they are both taking off, sprinting outside.

She feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience as her senses adjust to everything that’s happening around her.

She sees Scout. Sprawled out on the driveway, a bike abandoned about 10 feet away.

She hears him. His scream of a sob. It rattles her eardrums and covers her body in chills.

And she hears Bailey, too. His panicked tone as he explains how ‘Scout just wanted to try it, auntie Amelia, he just wanted to try my bike for a minute!’

“Shh, Bailey, shh,” Meredith murmurs somewhere behind Amelia. “What happened?”

“The...the bike tipped over,” Bailey cries. “He just wanted to go fast, Mom. He just wanted a little push. I’m sorry!”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay,” she hears Meredith whisper to Bailey.

Amelia approaches Scout, and just by the positioning of the fall, she can already tell that things are at the point of much, much worse.

“Meredith,” she breathes, as she kneels on the cement of the driveway. She hovers over Scout, pushing his hair back and resting a hand on his hot cheek, murmuring to him that everything is going to be fine. She turns back to Meredith. “His, his arm….look at his arm. Look at the angle of his arm.”

“I’ll get the car.”

_______

The ER is crowded when they arrive and Meredith decides it’s best to take Bailey home before things get too chaotic. She reaches for Amelia’s hand and squeezes gently as they both watch the resident on call guide Scout into a wheelchair.

“Thanks for driving us,” Amelia whispers, glassy eyes still glued to her son as they begin walking inside.

They get situated in one of the trauma rooms and Amelia hovers over Scout, who has finally stopped crying.

“Mommy,” his voice is still strained from his previous sobs. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know.” She can’t help the tears that spring to her own eyes as she runs her fingers through his hair gently. “But you’re so brave.”

An intern that Amelia doesn’t quite recognize walks into the room and she turns to him. “No,” she says, dismissively. “No, I told them to page Atticus Lincoln.”

“Uhhhh,” the intern looks around, confused. “Well, we did page him but-”

“Go find him,” Amelia interrupts. “On foot.”

The intern stares at her blankly.

“Now.”

The harshness of her tone has him turning on his feet instantly.

_______

“It looks like….the impact of the fall definitely caused a tear in his rotator cuff,” Link murmurs, as he examines his own son carefully. “His shoulder is dislocated. We’re going to have to….reset it.” Link outwardly cringes at the last thought.

Amelia sighs. She stands on the opposite side of the bed from Link. She can’t take her eyes off of Scout.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bud?” Link gently responds as finishes his examination.

“Did I break my arm?”

“No, no. Not quite.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Link laughs, half-heartedly. “Yeah it is.”

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

Amelia’s gaze snaps quickly to Link, out of concern. But Link’s tone provides an instant sense of calmness to the room.

“Well, that’s actually good,” he explains. “Because, you see, your arm isn’t broken. It would hurt a lot lot more if it was broken. It’s more like….your bone is in the wrong place.”

“And….you gonna….put it back where it goes?” Scout wonders out loud, causing both parents to smile despite their joint concern.

“Yeah, bud,” Link murmurs, watching as Amelia brings her own hand up, biting at her thumbnail anxiously. “We’re gonna put it back in the right place.”

“Mkay,” Scout murmurs quietly. “I’m tired now….” He blinks, eyes shifting between both parents on either side of the bed.

Amelia smiles sweetly, tears threatening to make another appearance. She gazes at Link.

“That’s okay, Scout,” Link whispers, eyes shifting from Amelia to his overtired five-year-old. “You can close your eyes….that’s actually better, while we wait….to not have him moving around much….” The last part is directed more towards Amelia, who nods solemnly at this information.

“What do you mean ‘while we wait’?” Amelia whispers, noticing how quickly Scout had drifted off.

Link sighs heavily. He moves towards one of the two plastic chairs in the corner of the trauma room and motions for her to join him.

Amelia bites her lip anxiously. The anticipation of sitting so closely to him, mixed in with the regret of her actions last night, causes her to panic. With the chaos of the morning, Amelia barely even had time to dwell on how their first conversation would go after last night. These weren’t the circumstances she imagined at all.

What immediately registers for her, despite her own nerves, is just how overwhelmed Link looks, too. And that revelation is what allows her to cross the room and take the seat next to him. Because despite what had happened between them, they were in this moment, processing together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” she murmurs as she sits down. “It all happened so fast….we just had to get here. I completely forgot to grab my phone-”

“Amelia, that’s not what I’m worried about,” Link interrupts, the tone of his strained voice perplexes Amelia and she turns to him, studying his face.

“What then?”

“I, uh….we’re waiting….because I paged Nico.”

Amelia just frowns. “You’re here now, though. I don’t understand why-”

“I can’t do it,” he says simply. Eyes glued to the floor as he zones out slightly. “I can’t be the one to pop his shoulder back in place.”

“You’re….” Amelia trails off, her eyebrows pulling together as she tries to understand. “You’re head of ortho….why would you not be the one to do this….”

“It’s gonna hurt like hell, Amelia!” Link’s voice raises harshly and they both turn to Scout, checking to see if he’s woken up from the slight outburst.

“Sorry…” Link murmurs, much quieter. “I can’t….I won’t let him associate that kind of pain with me. I won’t do it….”

Link’s getting worked up now and Amelia absentmindedly reaches forward, squeezing his knee. When she realizes what she’s done, she quickly pulls her hand away.

“Okay, I get it.”

Link finally looks at her, and for the first time Amelia sees the panic in his eyes. It mirrors her own.

“He’s going to be okay.” Amelia adds. And when she reaches for his knee this time, it’s not absentmindedly.

Link glances down, eyes focusing on her hand. He inhales deeply, and then hesitantly rests his own hand on top of hers, giving it a small squeeze.

The moment is interrupted when Nico walks into the room, and they quickly pull apart.

They both stand. And Amelia exhales shakily as she moves towards Scout, gently reaching forward to wake him up.

_______

“You did so good, baby,” Amelia murmurs, ruffling Scout’s hair as she once again feels her eyes sting with moisture. This time it’s out of gratitude.

“Do I get anything I want now?” Scout wonders, as Link and Nico carefully help Scout up from the bed.

Amelia laughs. Because she had promised that. When the panic set in just before Nico began the process of re-setting Scout’s arm. Scout had lost his cool completely. Breathing rapidly as his eyes darted between his parents in total fear.

‘I’ll get you anything you want after this’ Amelia had pleaded with him.

And Nico had stepped forward, resuming the task at hand.

‘Look at me Scout, look at me and scream as loud as you can. Don’t hold back, I want to hear it.’ Link had instructed.

“Cuz I know it.” Scout chimes in again. “I wanna ice cream sundae. With sprinkles.”

Amelia laughs again, reaching for the hand on his good side as they walk out of the trauma room and towards the ambulance bay. Scout’s injured arm now resting in a sling.

“I can make that happen,” Amelia smiles as they walk outside.

“No, dad too,” Scout whines, pulling his hand free from her grasp. Amelia frowns. “You both have to come!”

“Dad’s working, Scout,” She mutters, “Sorry, you’re stuck with just me.”

“Noooo,” he whines. And the realization dawns on Amelia that it must be closing in on late afternoon. This was Scout’s usual naptime. He was only going to get more irritable.

“Sorry, Scout,” she tries not to sound too defensive, attempting to hide the ego bruise developing at his sudden refusal to be with just her. “That’s just the way it is…”

“Then why's Daddy walking over here?”

“Huh?”

Link catches up with them a moment later. Jacket on. Holding his car keys.

“Hey! I wrapped up early. You guys probably need a ride home, right?” He looks at Amelia. He can’t quite determine the expression she gives back to him. Somewhere between hurt and frustrated.

He looks between the pair, perplexed.

“What’s up?” he mutters in question.

“We’re getting ice cream!” Scout excitedly announces.

“Oh?” Link trails off, glancing back at Amelia, whose appearance doesn’t at all match Scout’s enthusiasm.

She rolls her eyes.

“I can drop you guys off somewhere and pick you up?” Link offers quietly, muttering to Amelia.

“No, no!” Scout interrupts. “No, Dad! You have to come! You have to come, too!” He stomps his foot and Link almost wants to laugh at the impatience. He doesn’t laugh, though. He holds back at Amelia’s demeanor.

Scout looks up at Amelia, and she sighs, weighing her options.

“Okay, let’s just go,” she breathes, glancing at Link. Who frowns slightly at her. But she just nods her head, suddenly indifferent.

Scout squeals with excitement, taking off quickly towards the parking lot. And Link catches up with him. “Wait, buddy, Slow down! Try to keep that arm still.”

Amelia trails behind them a bit further back, mentally preparing herself. Because now that the major crisis of the day was resolved, there was suddenly way more room to process the events of last night. And what their new normal was, going forward.

//

[shadowtrooper1414]

Ricochet

Hey, guys! I know I don’t post my own stuff often, but I wanted to share this over here for people that may or may not be keeping an eye out for it. This fic was inspired by this post, asked by @rosytheribbiter over on @delimeful‘s page. I’m not entirely sure how I did, so please be nice to me. (Also, if enough people want me to, I’ll make an angstier follow-up that is all from Virgil’s POV)

Ao3 link for those of you who prefer that

Ships: Platonic DRLAMP (but can be read as vaguely romantic) tw: blood, injury, minor swearing, talk of dueling, gross mention of eyeballs (because Remus), sympathetic Remus and Janus - let me know if anything else needs to be tagged!

-----

Being a figment of the mind was a unique thing. Roman, Logan, and Patton had never had long-lasting injuries. Any wounds they did get would vanish sooner rather than later. Most of the time, it didn't even hurt. It made sense for them - they weren't real, after all. Even with eating and drinking water, it was unnecessary. Uncomfortable, if one doesn't do it for a while, yes, but it wasn't required to live. Obviously, at first, the other sides had assumed Virgil was the same as them. However, they noticed certain things about the anxious side, the closer he got to them.

Virgil always took a sharp breath when someone stubbed their toe, or he winced when one of the others grazed the stove. He would hide away when Roman came back from the Imagination with injuries. He kept his hands in his pockets the morning Logan spilled some scalding coffee on himself in a half-asleep state. No amount of coercing could get Virgil to remove his jacket the day after Patton ran his arm into a doorframe, despite the hundred-degree weather.

On top of that, Virgil had always been wary of injury, even when they were kids. It was assumed that it was an Anxiety thing - a Paranoia thing, at the time, really - but the Light Sides were unsure if that was really the case.

It took an unexpected turn one evening. Virgil was busy helping Patton with dinner while Roman was in the Imagination with Remus. Logan had been sitting in the community room reading when he heard a loud crash and a surprised gasp from Patton.

Logan stood quickly, book forgotten, and made his way to the kitchen. When he entered, Patton had corralled an exasperated-looking Virgil into a chair and pulled his jacket off. One sleeve of his purple long-sleeve shirt was slowly turning a dark reddish color, along with a patch on his back.

"Patton, really, I'm fine," Virgil said with an eye-roll.

"Kiddo, you're bleeding!" Patton exclaimed. "You are certainly not 'fine.'"

"What appears to be the problem?" Logan asked, announcing his presence. He eyed Virgil for a few moments. "Do you need any medical attention, Virgil?"

Virgil swore under his breath before pushing himself up, grabbing his jacket from the table. One hand was pressed firmly to his stomach. "I'll be fine. Just... I need some space."

Logan gently grabbed Virgil's arm as he tried to brush past. "Are you sure you are alright, Virgil?"

Virgil seemed to not process Logan for a second, as if he hadn't even noticed him before, then shot him a smirk. "Sure am, L." He carefully pulled his arm away before continuing to the stairs, which he half-stumbled up.

Logan looked to Patton with a raised eyebrow. Patton furrowed his brow, exceedingly concerned.

"Should we check on him?" Patton asked.

Logan paused for a few moments. "I'm... unsure."

-----

Later that evening, Roman came back from the Imagination, Remus in tow. Both were boasting about the "epic" duel they'd had with each other. It took a few minutes of no questions from Patton, and no statements about the event's absurdities from Logan before either twin realized something was wrong.

"What's up, Padre, nothing to congratulate us on?" Roman asked, vaguely teasing.

Patton blinked, then shot Roman a half-grin. "Sorry, just thinking about this dueling day!"

Logan let out a groan while Roman furrowed his brow. "Dueling - like... grueling?"

"Yeah, not my best, but..." Patton trailed off to shrug. He shook his head. "Anyway, who won in your duel?"

"I got impaled, so technically, Romano Cheesy over here won," Remus said, shouldering Roman a bit roughly. Roman winced a bit.

"Yeesh, careful with that shoulder," Roman half-whined. "You can't even remember that you mercilessly slammed your mace on it."

"Whoopsie, my bad," Remus said unapologetically.

Throughout the exchange, Logan shot Patton a careful look. Patton furrowed his brow, then looked to the twins.

"You two... got hurt?"

"Yeah, but it was no big deal," Roman said. "They're already gone."

"Can't say the same for ol' Virgie, though," Remus said, sounding a bit unhinged. A heavy silence fell over the room before Remus said. "Hey Calculator Watch, pass me those eyes. I want to put them in my pasta."

"Eyes..?" Logan asked, gazing at the table where there were, indeed, eyes. An entire jar of them. Unperturbed, Logan slid the container across the table. "Remus, what did you mean by 'can't say the same for Virgil?'"

Remus hummed distractedly, pouring the eyes all over his spaghetti. "What? Oh, it's nothin'. Don't mind me."

Roman shot Logan a puzzled glance. Logan shook his head and mouthed, "Later." Roman shrugged, seemingly satisfied with that. Logan, however, was starting to string together the pieces of this worrying picture.

When Virgil came down, his shoulders tense and back slouched, Logan very carefully kept his questions and thoughts to himself.

-----

Logan decided to confront Janus about it at a later date. It took a while before he could get the tricky side alone, and the answers he got... weren't exactly straight - pun completely unintended, Patton.

"I was wondering about Virgil," Logan had started one early morning - it was before even Patton got up.

"Do not go on," Janus had replied, putting together a hot cup of tea. "I just hate sharing things about people."

Logan waited a few moments, cataloging every strange event involving injuries and Virgil. "You noticed it too, have you not? The way he hides after one of us gets hurt, or when he covers up his reaction to a minor cut or burn. Even in the way he is wary about injuries, it is... strange. And I feel like it means something."

Janus hummed softly, sipping his tea. "Well, it is not the first thing he has hidden from you three, I will give him that." He side-eyed Logan. "Why do you ask?"

"The other day, during dinner preparations, he fled the kitchen after suffering from two large wounds that could not have come from anything in the kitchen."

"And why do you think I would know what is wrong?" Janus asked.

Logan hesitated. "You... knew Virgil. Before he came to us. He had to have trusted you at some point - more than he trusts us, at least."

"Well, he's definitely not doing it because he's concerned about you," Janus deflected. "I would most certainly ask, he'd love that."

Logan sighed. "I suppose you are right, Janus. I am simply... worried about him."

Janus let out a slow breath through his nose. "Logan, let Virgil come to you. He will, in time."

Logan nodded despite his frustration with that answer. There was some shuffling from the hall before Virgil entered. He looked halfway between bewildered and exhausted. He gently bumped Logan's shoulder before resting his chin over it. 

Virgil gazed at Janus carefully before closing his eyes. "Hey, L. Jan. What're you two talking about?"

"Oh, you know, the sky, space, the ozone layer," Janus said. He looked at Logan. "This was definitely not a pleasant chat, Logan, I most certainly did not enjoy it. I would hate to have another one sometime." With that, he half-sashayed out of the room. Logan watched him go, contemplating his non-answers.

"Did he bug you about anything, Lo?" Virgil asked sleepily.

"Not at all," Logan said. "I had been the one to seek him out. I had some questions for him, is all."

Virgil hummed, leaning further into Logan. "As long as he didn't bother you."

Logan smiled softly at Virgil. "Of course." He continued about his morning with Virgil literally half-asleep on his shoulder the whole time. He supposed he could postpone his investigation for a little while.

-----

The next couple of weeks passed, and Logan cataloged every out-of-place behavior Virgil exhibited when one of the others were injured. A burn here and there from Patton, some bruises from the twins adventuring in the Imagination. There was even a paper cut from Logan at some point - Logan had only seen it for a few moments, and it could have easily been dismissed. However, it had been too similar to the one he had gotten.

The next time Logan was able to document a significant injury, however, was an average Sunday afternoon. Roman and Virgil were cuddled close on the couch, debating about something or another when Remus and Janus entered, the latter limping.

Patton immediately jumped up from his place on the floor, concern on his face. "Janus is everything alright?!"

"Everything is just fine," Janus drawled, face set in a grimace. "Absolutely nothing happened."

"He fell down the stairs in the Subconscious while we were checking on the Other," Remus noted cheerfully. He plopped himself down next to Virgil. "Twisted an ankle. It'll fade eventually but probably hurts like a bitch."

Logan noticed Virgil glance down at his own ankle and wince. The anxious side cleared his throat and made to stand.

"It's getting kind of late, I should go to bed," Virgil said conspicuously.

"It's 2 PM," Janus deadpanned, moving to the couch. He gently pushed Virgil back onto the sofa, to which Virgil glared at him. "You will be going to your room."

Remus leaned into Virgil, grinning when Virgil grimaced. "Awe, c'mon, Virgie! It'll be like old times!"

"Yeah, sure," Virgil said, rolling his eyes.

Logan gently cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the three not-quite-bickering sides and the confused Light Sides. "Virgil, if I may..?" He carefully gestured to Virgil's ankle.

Virgil tensed, going pale, before looking to Janus. When Janus nodded and moved to sit on the couch armrest, Virgil sighed and rolled up his pant leg. The ankle was slowly swelling to a dark purple color.

Roman furrowed his brow. "Virgil, did you get hurt?"

"Not... exactly?" Virgil asked more than answered. He heaved a breath, fisting his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie. "More like... I took Janus's injury? I'm used to it, though. It's been happening since Thomas was a kid, so it's really no big deal. When any of you get hurt, it... ricochets to me." His voice had gotten tight and quiet near the end, and Virgil was hunching into himself. "I can deal with it myself - I usually do. Well, I did." He shot Janus and Remus a meaningful look.

Logan hummed. "So it is as I thought, then." At Virgil's surprised look, he continued. "Those few weeks ago, when you were seemingly injured out of nowhere, I decided to... try looking into it. As best as I could, anyway. I did my best not to pry into anything personal."

"Virgil, why didn't you tell us?" Patton said, seeming to just now find his voice.

"I... didn't want to make you worry," Virgil mumbled.

"You very much did not succeed," Roman said, tone gentle despite his words.

Logan stood. "If you would allow us to assist you, I will go get the first aid kit from the bathroom."

Virgil hesitated before sighing with a nod.

"Oh, I'll go bake some cookies while Logan patches you up, kiddo!" Patton exclaimed, quickly racing to the kitchen.

"Hey, RoRo, let's build an epic blanket fort," Remus said, jumping up from the couch. Roman quickly followed him, setting up the furniture so the fort would have good structural integrity.

Still perched on the couch's armrest, Janus shot Virgil a smirk. "Totally didn't tell you so."

Virgil ducked his head, face flushing. "Shuddup." And maybe lowering his head also allowed him to hide the soft smile on his face.

And that's how Virgil ended up in the middle of a cuddle pile, ankle bandaged and iced, with a Disney movie marathon running for the night.

[itsclydebitches]

I know you say that the Adam stuff in v3 was a good example of visual storytelling in rwby, do you think there is anything else, in your opinion

Yes! Let’s praise poor RWBY for once lol 

I’m sure there’s a lot that I could choose from but that would require me combing back through old content to jog those memories. So let’s stick to Volume 7. Overall, I quite enjoyed the JNOR vs. Neo fight. There are plot convenience issues (the stupidity of having the group carry the relic around instead of putting it in the vault) and choreography issues (I’ve heard a number of complaints about the slow-mo and how Jaune and Oscar don’t integrate well with Ren and Nora), but the fight does a good job of conveying a lot of information visually. It’s one of the few moments in the volume where I felt like RT was successfully a) using the medium to its advantage and b) achieving more than one thing in a single scene. 

Warning: Here be lots of screenshots. 

First, I want to acknowledge that lately RT has been demonstrating a talent for horror-esque writing. RWBY obviously isn’t in the horror genre, but via the Apathy we saw that RT can crank up the creep factor when they choose to. This scene does something similar (though admittedly much more subtly) and it starts with the opening shot of the destroyed guards. 

It’s a simple thing, but note how dark the room is, especially compared to the hallway outside. This is supposed to be a terrifying moment. The team has just arrived looking for Oscar and have instead found a disaster zone. There are scorch marks on the walls. The guards aren’t just lying powered down, they’ve been hacked to pieces. Though AIs without aura or souls, they’re designed to look like people and at first glance it definitely seems like we’ve got three bodies decorating the bedroom. Nora’s panicked cries tell us how bad the situation is, but we get that loud and clear from these visuals first. Also note how, despite being lighter, the hallway is dominated by a very deep red. I’d actually say to a certain extent this is a mistake - the pink/reds of the environment make it easy for Neo and Nora, with their predominantly pink costumes, to blend in too well during the fight - but in regards to color associations we get some nice shots throughout that convey danger and high emotions. 

When “Oscar” comes on the scene we know, instantaneously, that it’s not Oscar. Not just because we as the audience know that Neo is off doing something nefarious, but because via the language of film/television that’s not how you re-introduce an established character. You don’t hide their face like that unless you’re about to reveal something - like the fact that that’s not really them. This is also the first of a number of medium closeups on the relic, putting emphasis on it first because someone currently holds it who should not have it, and then as a means of reminding the viewer what this fight is about. 

Via some great attention to detail, we see again the clear wrongness about this “Oscar.” That’s not how Oscar stands. That’s not how Oscar smiles. More than just animating him differently, this shot pulls from those subtle horror tropes. He has the dead-eyed look of a doll or a supernatural being that immediately makes the viewer (if not Nora) go, “Wait...” It helps that Oscar is a short boy with dark hair. Put him in different clothes and he could play any number of possessed kids. 

With Neo’s deception revealed, we get what the fandom knows is not good visual storytelling. AKA, Oscar charging down the whole length of the hallway while Neo just stands there and lets herself get hit. I don’t need to re-hash how stupid that was. What I like a lot more is the subtleties in how she communicates given that, obviously, Neo can’t rely on any dialogue. Coming out of the hit she immediately has her umbrella leveled at the group and pulls out the blade to communicate, “Yes. I’m taking you on.” The neat choice though is that she brings the umbrella down to do it. She takes her weapon off the group, if only for a moment. Jaune has just gotten done insisting that she should give up because it’s four to one. The blade says, “I’m taking you on” but lowering her umbrella likewise says, “I’m so confident about taking you on I’ll even make myself vulnerable for a second.” 

Which retroactively makes her getting hit like that even stupider but it’s fine we’re moving on. 

During this time we also get a lot of insight into Oscar. Check out how utterly bedraggled he is, showing us how tough the initial fight with Neo was and how lucky he is to have escaped. He clutches the relic close to his chest and stares, scared, at the rest of the team. Oscar hasn’t reached a point yet where he instinctively draws his weapon and prepares to defend himself (indeed, he didn’t even have his weapon out during that initial encounter. That’s one hell of a rookie mistake). He’s still a terrified kid who hopes he won’t have to fight at all, literally hiding behind more powerful friends. This is all great characterization, the only problem is consistency. Nothing about Oscar has been consistent. One moment he’s holding his own against Lionheart and insisting he fight Hazel. The next he’s getting his ass kicked by Neo and cowering at the prospect of more. One moment he’s positively done in by these fights, horrified, scared, unsure of himself. The next he’s confronting the general of a kingdom with all the wisdom of Ozpin. This guy: 

and this guy: 

Exist about fifteen minutes apart. Because though RWBY is great at visual storytelling within each scene, they don’t keep it consistent from one scene to the next. Which is why Oscar is (accurately, imo) animated as an inexperienced kid in Scene #1 and then inexplicably becomes a wise old mentor in Scene #2. Not because anything occurred between Scene #1 and Scene #2 to create that change (let alone such an extreme change), but only because the show suddenly wanted Ironwood to look like an unhinged character. How do you achieve that? Not by having the guy he’s talking to act as winded, wild, and emotional as him, but by having Oscar speak calmly, rationally, softly, sounding oh-so-persuasive so you don’t listen to the actual words he says and how nonsensical they are (you’re as bad as Salem). Instead, you pay attention only to the visuals (Ironwood looks crazier than Oscar so he must be wrong). Ironwood is a great example of how RT sometimes tries to get visual storytelling to outweigh basic logic/what’s been said on screen. 

Anyway, I’m getting off track. The fight begins and I do still love how Oscar is depicted here, even if it doesn’t align with what we get later. The moment that umbrella and cane cross was great because who doesn’t love visual symmetry? Oscar grabbing Neo is wonderfully in character because he’s barely trained! He’s a kid! He’s flying by the seat of his pants and going with whatever vaguely successful act pops into his head. The absurdity of, “I’m just going to grab her” is tempered by Oscar’s furiously determined expression as well as Neo’s brief look of shock. It works up until they realize what Oscar grabbed was just a copy. 

I mentioned early that JNOR often doesn’t work well as a team, unless it’s specifically in the context of Jaune giving orders and the others executing them. Oscar and his lack of integration is obviously exempt from this, being the newbie both to fighting and this particular team’s dynamics, but Ren, Nora, and Jaune have no excuse. The first half of this fight is a good example of what I mean. We see Nora attack. She’s tossed aside. Then Ren attacks. He’s slammed into the wall. Oscar attacks (umbrella vs. cane) and it’s only at the last second that Jaune arrives with his shield to stave off a blow that would fell him too. Why is everyone taking turns here? They know none of them can beat Neo one-on-one and Jaune just said that their victory lies in it being four-to-one. So why separate out all the attacks? Arguably we can read this as a major flaw of JNOR’s and visual setup for something they’ll have to overcome later. In reality though I highly doubt this was deliberate on RT’s part, leaving this as bad visual storytelling (in that it makes the characters look stupid) as opposed to good visual storytelling (JNOR will realize this flaw and work to correct it). 

After Neo disappears we get a chase through the hallway that does a great job of showing us precisely how weaker Oscar is compared to his teammates. He doesn’t have their stamina, breathing heavily and falling further and further behind. At one point (screenshot #2) he arrives just in time to find the team turning back in the direction he’s just come, showing not only how he can’t physically keep up, but also his place in this team/the group. He’s literally not with them. Anyone who has followed my blog knows my thoughts on how the group has treated Oscar and if (again) I were inclined to think that RT was aware of that treatment and working to integrate it into the show with the intent to resolve it, this would be another great detail. As it is, I think Oscar as a character is just continually going to get the short end of the stick. In particular, the crane shot shows us exactly how far behind Oscar is. The others charge ahead without him, not caring where he is or if he can keep up. Which leads to this. 

Oscar rounds another corner and they’re gone. Nowhere to be seen. If anyone had the thought, “He’s not that far behind. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Ren, Nora, and Jaune were clearly moving fast enough to round another corner and leave Oscar stranded. Here those subtle horror elements come back into play, particularly the maze-like design of the corridors. The only unique marker we get is the info board, otherwise it’s all identical hallways, housing a killer, with Oscar now left alone in it. The long shot makes him look small and emphasizes his isolation. 

Then he’s attacked and it’s suitably scary. The hand over his mouth. The dark room again. We only get the briefest glimpse of Neo-as-Nora before she attacks, but that one second is another excellent moment of animation. Nora has never sauntered away like that. Even the quickest look in an action-driven scene is enough for the viewer to go, “Nope. Not Nora.” 

The attack itself is the one moment where I think the slow-mo serves a good purpose. We might know (via that quick shot, how characters act (Nora is unlikely to pull Oscar aside like that) and expectations for how a story functions) that that’s not Nora, but Oscar doesn’t know that. The slow-mo gives us - and him - the chance to focus on Neo’s eyes changing, that stomach-dropping moment of realization, and we see Oscar’s horrified shock in the close up on his own eyes. Though RWBY doesn’t always grapple with the emotional implications of every encounter, I think it’s worth noting that this can really mess someone up. Oscar thought he was safe with an ally and had the rug pulled out from under him. He will now forever have the image of Nora attacking him, regardless of the fact that it was really “Nora.” Jaune likewise exclaims in horrified surprise when “Nora” charges him down the hallway. The ability to turn into someone else is an advantage that Neo knows how to use to its fullest. Not just in regards to spying, but how to unsettle your opponent too. 

Waiting for the day she turns into Pyrrha ngl. 

We see that same work when she encounters Ren. Admittedly, I’m torn on this one. If only because I agree with others when they ask, “Doesn’t Ren spar with Nora all the time? He should be able to hit her.” The context of “Barely trained kid thought he was with a friend and then watches said ‘friend’ attack him” is not the same thing as, “Much more experienced fighter realizes the moment ‘Nora’ rounds the corner with an umbrella that that’s not her, has no doubt hit her numerous times in the past during training, yet for some reason can’t bring himself to hit her now.” It... doesn’t quite work. Here, I think RT does a good job of showing us Ren’s distress, it’s just that this is paired with a very bad job of establishing what that distress is and why it exists. This is what we needed to hear about during the party conversation. If Ren and Nora had actually talked rather than just kissing, we might have understood why Ren is suddenly incapacitated here when “Nora” looks at him sadly. 

As said though, the emotion of the scene is great even if we don’t quite know where it came from. Neo’s pitiful look, Ren freezing in shock (check out the red there too), his dumbfounded expression as he just sits in the middle of a battle, and when we come back to him we see the tear tracks. Overall, this scene does a great job of incorporating lots of information beyond “Team JNOR is fighting Neo for the relic.” We just need to connect that information better to what came before this scene (Ren) and what comes after (Oscar). 

Finally, Neo slams into the other guards and transforms again. I love this final shot of her, both for how she moves and the implications of the transformation itself. Meaning, Neo is a professional. She had a job and she did it. Once the relic was in her possession and she had an escape route, she took it. Neo doesn’t get distracted by taking revenge - these are some of the people we fought against when Roman died - or trying to take them out to please Cinder, or even just going after them because she’s Evil. Neo is focused, no unnecessary actions taken, and that, just as much as her semblance and skill, is what makes her dangerous. 

[lovelylogans]

golden light and black clouds

Always keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don’t think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt.

-practical magic, alice hoffman.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: superstition, food mention, death mention, a bit of anxiety, deceit mention

pairings: polyamlamp (analogical specific)

words: 1,501

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is friday the 13th! this also ties into my fic, lavender for luck—you don’t necessarily need to have read it to understand, but it would probably help!

It should not have been necessarily surprising, that his witch boyfriend was superstitious, but this bordered on the absurd.

“Are you sure you’ve got—?” Virgil asks, poking his head into Logan’s bedroom again, his hair messy and tousled and generally untidy.

Virgil’s looked stressed for the whole of the month—he isn’t particularly prone to smiling, but usually, when he does, it’s genuine and soft and sweet. Since they’d all come back to school, he’s been stressed—shoulders hiked up close to his ears, a tightness around his eyes, the bags under his typical eyeshadow growing deeper and darker, and when he smiles, it’s almost like it’s just for their sake. He’s used to Roman doing something similiar to that. Not Virgil.

It still confounds Logan, that a Friday the 13th could really have Virgil that rattled.

“Yes,” Logan says wearily. “I haven’t moved the mint on the sill and I have the lavender oil in the bathroom.”

“Good,” Virgil says, already distracted, “right, good,” and he closes Logan’s door behind him.

Logan returns to annotating his textbook. He’s only read a page more by the time Virgil sticks his head in again.

“And you—you know a lemonade recipe, right?”

“Lemonade?” Logan repeats skeptically, looking up from the textbook.

Virgil looks abruptly embarrassed, before he scuffs his toe along the carpet and mumbles, “Look, just—if someone irritates you tomorrow, don’t—don’t retaliate too excessively, yeah? Just drink lemonade instead.”

“All right,” Logan says. “Sure. I’ll drink lemonade if I get particularly annoyed with someone.”

He must not sound particularly dedicated to the idea, because Virgil glowers at him a little.

“And you have class at noon, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Virgil says, “that’s cool,” and then he shuffles a little further into the room. “Can I take a look at your ceiling fan?”

“My ceiling fan?” Logan repeats.

“I just want to be sure that it works well,” Virgil says. 

“That’s outlined in your family’s mythos?” Logan says. 

“Yeah, actually,” Virgil says, and flicks on the ceiling fan. He watches it circle a few times, eyes narrowed, before he flicks it off again. “Can I stand on your bed?”

Logan considers this, before he says, “As long as your shoes are off.”

Virgil wiggles his socked toes at him in answer (purple with cartoonish black cats on them, undoubtedly a gift from Patton) and clambers onto his bed. 

That’s the point when turning back to his textbook loses any hope, because Virgil hums thoughtfully, and then Logan’s ceiling fan begins to dissemble itself into his hands.

Logan stares, jaw slightly unhinged, as Virgil seems to investigate each piece, before just—sticking it back on, not with any particular sense of order, but it seems that as long as he puts the pieces back and if he wills it to happen then it would just... happen.

It’s nonsensical. It’s utterly, completely unrealistic.

It’s magic.

Logan’s known Virgil’s magic for months, of course. But when they first came back to the apartment, Virgil was shy about doing magic in front of them, and then they spent a summer parted, but now, Logan supposes, with all the supposed dangers of a Friday the 13th and three more people to look after than he’s used to...

Virgil sneezes once, flicks a finger dismissively in the air, and Logan watches as the dust seems to disintegrate from everywhere in the room—the fan’s inner machinery, which is what seems to have made him sneeze in the first place, the top of the bookshelf, the inside of grates that he can’t reach with a feather duster—and the air immediately smells cleaner, sweeter, like lavender and honey.

“That’s remarkable,” Logan says, before he can help himself. Really, it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep quiet for so long.

“What, cleaning?” Virgil says, but his pink cheeks give away how flustered he is.

“All of it,” Logan says, and squints up at the fan, as if the magic will dispense itself into formulas that will float in the air until he can solve them and figure it all out. “How do you know how to make it work?”

“Well, I’ve repaired a couple over the years, but it’s mostly,” Virgil says, and makes a vague hand gesture. “Intention, I guess? I mean, I have to know my limits, but. Stuff like this, the magic’s mostly wanting.”

“Limits?” Logan repeats.

“Mostly the cliché stuff,” Virgil says absently. “You know, bringing back the dead, love, that kind of thing. It’s pretty individualized, though—apparently Sally’s kid’s resurrected a few sparrows or something, so she might have a necromancy gift. First in the family, we think, but it’s still pretty early to tell.”

“Is there a particular age at which gifts manifest?” Logan said, debating if he wanted to dig out the notebook he’s started to keep about Fae family traditions.

“Eh, not really?” Virgil said. “Apparently mine started showing around the time I started talking, which makes sense, since mine’s communication-based.”

“With cats.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “My—“

He hesitates, clears his throat, and says, quieter, “My dad’s gift didn’t show up until late, I think. He was about eleven or twelve.”

Virgil’s never really mentioned his parents, outside of their deaths.

“What was his?” Logan asks, grateful that, for once, his voice seems to have taken the hint and gentled.

“Prophecy,” Virgil says. “Dreams, mostly, but stuff like tarot and tea leaves.” A pause, and then Virgil shakes himself. “Uncle’s showed up way earlier—he was young, too, he can talk with snakes and he’s got a gift with plants.”

“Even with identical twins, there’s variance,” Logan says. “Interesting.”

He wants to ask more—he always does, whenever Virgil mentions something about magic like it’s a common, well-known fact to everyone and Logan doesn’t know it—but he isn’t quite sure how to ask it. He isn’t Patton—he can’t gently approach the subject of Virgil’s dead parents, who have died from the same thing that Virgil fears might take him and Roman and Patton one day. 

So he changes the subject back to the other slightly more pressing worry to Virgil. “Are Friday the thirteenths really so dangerous? I mean, this seems like a lot of—precaution.”

“I mean, they’re,” Virgil says, and hesitates even more, before he says, “They’re, I mean. You’re more prone to bad luck and everything, but it’s—it’s the August ones that are—“ He fumbles the end of his sentence. Logan disregards this.

“August is more dangerous, really?” He says. “I’d have assumed—October. Or a solstice month, at least, you’ve mentioned the importance of those.”

It really didn’t seem to fit—the heat of summer, the sunny, bright days. Roman taking them all swimming in the pool, Patton making homemade popsicles and the way they melted over Logan’s fingers, Virgil blowing a breath across the back of Logan’s neck and it moving his body from overheated and sweaty and uncomfortable to cooler and more comfortable and sated in the space of seconds—none of it seemed particularly dangerous.

But then—the stress that Virgil’s so clearly been under, since they all moved back to school.

“My parents died in August,” Virgil says, and Logan closes his mouth. Virgil smiles—tight, humorless. Logan hates it. “Well, around this time, anyway. Whenever the curse takes place, it takes into account the—the continuation of the line, or whatever, but most of the time, it’s...”

“In August,” Logan realizes, quiet—from his own research, even months ago, he can remember the number of deaths of the spouses of Fae.

“Right.”

Logan hesitates, before he reaches out and takes Virgil’s hand. He, certainly, isn’t the most comforting boyfriend of the four of them, but he’ll certainly have to try.

“There’s a vending machine in the astronomy building that sells lemonade,” Logan says, as a peace offering. “I can buy one in the morning. Just to be prepared.”

Virgil smiles, and, for the first time since the calendar changed months, there isn’t quite the same tightness around his eyes. Logan leans close, and kisses his cheek, before he digs out the notebook he’s kept for Fae magic, and heads the paper with FRIDAY THE 13TH.

“You can tell me the things I should do or avoid,” Logan suggests, clicking a pen. “If you’d like.”

Virgil lets out a slow breath, before he starts to speak, like he’s reciting a poem.

“Make certain never to step on one of the crickets that may have taken refuge in a dark corner of your living room, or your luck will change for the worse. Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Crossed knives set out on the dinner table means there’s bound to be a quarrel...”

Logan takes dedicated notes, the whole time. If he’d looked up as he asked his questions of clarification (”this applies to women specifically?”) then he would have seen Virgil smiling softer and fonder, and while he stared at Logan, he wasn’t too anxious at all.

[pigballoon]

The Favourite

(Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018)

The latest effort from one of the few directors of acclaimed foreign cinema to make the transition to English language cinema and lose nothing. In his first effort in over a decade to not be co-penned by himself and his great writing partner Efthymis Filippou, Yorgos Lanthimos' latest very much maintains the dark, black wit of his previous work, though gone is the stunted delivery, and in its place by far the most opulent setting that the man has ever grounded one of his mad works of absurdism in the middle of. 

For anybody put off by the sort of derivative qualities or way in which the bleakness more than ever before in his work overwhelmed the black comic aspects of his Killing of a Sacred Deer, it shall come as a relief that the man has perfected his tonal balancing act once again. 

Aided by performers that have worked with him before (Rachel Weisz, Olivia Colman) and some whom are new to the Lanthimos rogues gallery (Emma Stone, Nicholas Hoult) the man has crafted All About Eve in the court of Queen Anne. Like Mankiewicz's movie the whole thing is sort of an actors dream, and like in that movie everybody here absolutely nails it. It's certainly nice to see Hoult finally in a role that allows him to make use of the devilish glint in his eye, and have more fun on the big screen than he looks like he’s ever probably had.

Rachel Weisz is always an actress best put to use in more low key emotional roles, so it's no surprise to see her reteamed with Lanthimos, she's the perfect performer for his parts, and her killer stares and slice to the bone banter are probably the comic highlights of the movie, yet in the latter stages as confusion sets in, and competition starts to overwhelm, the way she so quietly suggests her internal crumbling without external aid is probably career best dramatic work.

Fresh off an Oscar win Emma Stone is sort of the fish out of water here, an American placed in the middle of so much Englishness, and yet she never seems out of place for a second. Her accent is flawless, but far more interesting is the way she absolutely nails her arc in a way Anne Baxter was never quite able to finish off in the similar role in All About Eve. Stone's meekness gives way to some of the best comic work she'll probably ever have the chance to do in her life, and it's in those moments you can understand her casting. She's always been a strong comedic performer, and in The Favorite she's found the perfect role to allow her to stretch her dramatic and comedic chops in unison. Some of the wicked physical stuff she does here is to die for, and tops maybe even Easy A as the best, most complete work of her life

And at the centre Olivia Colman gets the big breakout role that's probably been too long in coming. Hers is the most showy role, thus maybe the most difficult to execute, but she pulls it off without a hitch. She is painfully vulnerable here, and does both big and soft dramatic, emotional moments with as much dexterity as anyone even passingly familiar with her will know she's capable of, but the way she blends that with bombastic, electric, almost animalistic, carnal comic madness is what makes this the sort of turn you'll never forget. She is sort of unhinged in the most human way, finding the depth and meaning in her work by being tethered very much to the harshness of her reality, rather than simply external madness for comic or dramatic effect.

Still, for all the deserved acclaim that this triumvirate of leading turns is earning, for as many eyes as they may be drawing to the sort of movie many probably normally would't watch, it remains so much more besides. The screenplay originally written by Deborah Davis and worked on later by Lanthimos and Tony McNamara is still very much the heart of the whole thing, balancing political, and social strife with personal dalliances that clash with each other to give the movie its meaning, not stated, but placed at the centre of all that is going on for the viewer to discern in horror. Aided by the genius stroke of setting almost the entire movie within the confines of the court, the struggling world outside spoken of but very rarely seen. It's a simple but brilliant angle of the movie that leaves you to work out what it's saying without anyone actually spoonfeeding it to you verbally.

And even beyond the screenplay its working on so many levels, the costumes of the great Sandy Powell are to die for, so to the gloriously garish production design, and Robbie Ryan’s lensing too, so much of it by candlelight, is not only gorgeous to behold, but visually telling in the way it wields shadow, and lends a hell like quality to all it frames.

It's a monstrously dark work of black comic art by its creators, sumptuous to behold, devilishly delightful in its wit, and unobstrusive in its unfurling of its intent, and almost for sure the crowning achievement of an already outstanding directorial career. Composition, content and creativity all working in immaculately devilish disharmony.