#yes i choose violence

[adelinamoteru]

its kinda crazy that yall will apply real world politics and situations to gotham when it comes to jason and his ‘vigilantism’, but never choose to take that angle when analyzing any other bat character’s

brother eye from batman? hello? does constant nonconsensual surveillance seem like an ethical way to keep an eye on supposed allies or stop crime in real life? does beating people up until they comply with u (under fucking duress) seem like the ethical way to produce testimonies and confessions?

but nah, one speech from jason in utrd and yall are up in arms about how nothing he’s saying is actually conducive to lowering crime rates.

at the end of the day, it doesn’t fucking matter who’s right and who’s wrong regarding these morals in real life because the dc universe is so fucking far from reality in the crime that the justice system has to deal with. there is no point in arguing a reality standpoint if its not going to be applied to vigilantism in the bat comics as a whole.

and on the topic of fiction, the willful ignorance as to how jason’s story also portrays a victims revenge/justice is just boring at this point. how are themes in a narrative not coming through to you. especially when doing literature analysis for any of these comics.

[bethanydelleman]

I think I figured out the problem with the Enemies to Lover's trope, it has a bimodal distribution. Let me explain!

Most tropes have a normal distribution:

I hypothesize that with EtoL, there is very little middle ground. This is a bimodal distribution:

You either do EtoL well and join the ranks of the immortals, or you crash and burn. I've discussed previously what makes EtoL work, but there seem to be a lot of traps for writers to fall into when it comes to this trope. For example:

the turn being based too heavily on lust (common JAFF trap)

never fully establishing the enemies phase

insufficient apology on one side (almost always the man's) which makes the other's acceptance unsatisfying

the pair have the communication skills of a newborn baby (ei: the misunderstanding could be fixed with a single sentence)

one side is a real asshole but it's excused because of TRAUMA

growth is ignored in favour of acceptance (can work, usually doesn't)

Relationship is clearly toxic, above and beyond the extenuating circumstances/magical premise (The problem isn't that Edward is a vampire, that's part of the premise. The problem is his disregard for Bella's autonomy)

One side gives in because the other is too obsessed with them

Once Upon a Time flew by having Hook feel meaningful remorse for his past actions (the scene with the Little Mermaid got me so good) and establishing begrudging respect between him and Emma, The Mindy Project crashed and burned by not showing sufficient growth in Danny (does he respect her career now or are they just horny?). Parks and Recreation got it by making the leads both good people who just got on each other's nerves because they had different valid approaches. I think Brooklyn 99 is one of those rare mediocre ones, because the enemy stage isn't fully established but the relationship is still satisfying. The Kdrama Alchemy of Souls got it right by having both main characters display an impressive amount of personal growth, while 100 Days My Prince burned because it relied too heavily on obsession and trauma excusing behaviour.

Pride & Prejudice and Much Ado About Nothing show that the beginning dynamic can be completely different, old antagonists vs. first impressions, but the trope can still work if it's done right. The problem is that it's so often done wrong.

So when it's good, it's SO GOOD, when it's bad, it sucks.

[inconveniently-discorporated]

Observation: Crowley's eyes were significantly easier to see, the times he was wearing glasses (imo).

Speculation: He was a lot more comfortable opening his heart up after the apocalypse and they were "not really" pretending to be just friends anymore.

Prediction: Crowley's shades in S3 are going to be pitch fucking black, impossible to see anything. You know why. 😭

[meredithbeckham]

win the fight, save your life.

[vigilskeep]

i love that tumblr puts mutuals’ blogs on your dash with massive unfollow buttons for no reason at all

[lalo-tellmeagain]

This is how I imagine them. And I know which one I would choose and that choice would be absolute proof of my lack of intelligence.

[red-spider-lilies]

[saintbleeding]

number 14 for the ask game, I think. sorry to perpetuate the Horrors of these asks xoxoxo

14: that one thing you see in fics all the time

hang on ok no wait listen. listen BIG disclaimer that like. i think this is a thing that is very personal to people and im literally not looking to change anybody's mind on the topic.

however.

jmart pet names that i do not agree with !!!

like. look. ok. everyone can do whatever but. my ideas on this topic are so incredibly incredibly specific. but it's also not at all going to break the immersion if im enjoying something and someone slips in a pet name i don't picture for them. like. it's truly whatever. but i will also have a thought of OPE I WOULDN'T HAVE USED THAT ONE PERSONALLY.

[ow-old-men]

I’m actually so invested in the SEP having body horror like effects

I want their irises to be enormous, allowing for better natural night vision. In daylight it’s unnerving, slightly off and unnatural. In low light the whole eye is drowned in black

I want the rapid and overwhelming muscle growth to necessitate moving precisely and measuredly, almost birdlike in its twitchy adjusting - fluttering and distinctly inhumane

I want them to move effortlessly without a sound, popping up like shadows beside you out of nowhere

I want a general decay from the get go. I want a body that is outgrowing and performing itself at all times tearing itself apart. I want wild growth spiralling into decay, wisdom teeth after wisdom teeth removed, broken bones healed unalterably crooked in the mere hours it took to reach medical assistance. I want muscles torn and ligaments shredded with no regard; part of becoming like this is lowering pain intake to be able to do this

I want Reyes coming apart and flickering to have started long before Moira. What if it made you both strong and malleable, what if his skin was becoming loose and faint around the edges even before she pushed it to new extremes? I want that

I want the process of making humans into weapons to alter you in ways that makes you scary, I want it to leave your teeth on edge to be in the room with them for too long. I want the violence to spring from their agency being robbed

I want them to catch glimpses in mirrors and think ‘what it is there I cannot seem to recognise?’

[xxwithlovefromfaexx]

Forgiveless

back on the Adam train bc this post from @unknownhermit has me fueled in the angst I could procure so I'm made a choose your own adventure type continuation fic 🤪

I actually saw a choose your own type of adventure from this post and I was inspired to do a writing piece like it bc it looked like sm fun! I actually love the idea!

You could always justify the rapid beating of your heart to fear. The hairs, standing atop the back of your neck as his breath tickled your spine to a feeling akin to disgust. 

You breath had caught in your throat, and you could feel your legs turning to jelly. It felt...suffocating. Like he was taking up all of your breathing space, his body pressed up against yours. You didn't need to turn to feel his eyes burning holes into your soul.

"Look at me..." Of course, he had to plead it with his sweet sickly smooth voice. Level and soothing, it broke through the mess of your brain.

You couldn't conjure up half the adrenaline you wanted to bolt. Half the fear you deserved to cry for help. Of course, you could only listen to his voice. His stupid, sweet voice. You turned to look back into his fierce gaze with the guilty look of a child who got caught eating from the cookie jar.

You knew, somewhere within you, that if you tried to lie straight into his eyes you'd loose. There was no hiding it, as much as the shame blurred your eyes and plummeted your stomach. You could see that he was waiting for a better response. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” clearly wasn’t cutting it for him.

You let out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully, this time, he didn't have any spare knifes on his person. Your nerves were already shot, waiting for his next move.

For a while there was nothing. Nothing but silence, one that you could slice through with a sword. His eyes seemed to be searching yours, dissecting your emotions. If you ever wanted to hide from Adam, catching his gaze like this seemed like a stupid move to make. You leaned your body into the door.

Then, ever so slightly, his arms settled. It gave you just enough space to look in your peripherals. You let out a breath of air you didn’t realize you were holding. He took a step back. He was still close enough that he could trap you again if you decided to make a bolt for it. But you could breathe, finally. You allowed yourself to turn to face him slowly, taking in the rest of the room.

His arms hung limp at his sides. Still searching your eyes. As if he was trying to pry the response from you. You let out some deep breaths. Glanced over to the kitchen counter, where the knife stand stood. Untouched, you realized, head bobbing as you counted the knifes off in your head. Your back stiffened as you glanced back to him, seeing his expression narrow into a frown. Well, he can have at least a little of your vitriol. He deserves that much.

“Huh...” You let out, finishing your tally and catching his eyes with your own, your expression souring. Glaring him down, you let the snark get the best of you before your confidence was shot.

“No knives out of place,” you hummed absently, your eyes fixated on his response. His expression was almost unreadable. But you swore you could see a glint of raw, unadulterated pain within them. He stood, largely unaffected, yet you could see his figure had slouched. As if he was trying to be less intimidating then he was to you mere seconds ago, when he had you up against the wall.

All but allowing you to build yourself from your fearful state to bite back. 

He could've slammed you into the door again-or swore and cried and clung to you with every ounce of pain and guilt that swam in the depths of those eyes, but he didn't. Instead, he wore on a blank stare. He had even lowered his arms and slouched his shoulders. Was he changing tactics?

His actions reminded you of the actions of someone trying to coax a feisty stray cat away from a cold, abandoned street. Coaxed right into their savior's arms. His arms, you realized. 

It made you furious, that he would think of you as something to be tamed, when he was the one who brought it on himself.

It also made some pathetically hurt and lonely part of you cry to be held in his arms. Cry, at the very idea that he cared for your safety in a way you had been aching for for so, so long. That he would care in the first place. God, you really ought to look into therapy.

You took another deep breathe in. Steeled your body. Raised your shoulders back. Your arm instinctively went to turn the doorknob behind you, but you stopped yourself when his gaze teetered to your eyes, freezing you in place again. He’d caught you bating your breath before you even realized you were doing it.

You two stared at one another until you squirmed under his gaze, and let out a sigh of defeat.

"I hate it," You confessed, glancing down from his discerning eyes. You needed a second to breathe.

To collect your thoughts. You could feel your body vibrating with anxious uncomfortable energy. In between the shock, fear, and....that confession of yours...you hadn’t even fully processed the weight of your own feelings, damnit! 

Yet you knew he wouldn’t let you leave after what you’d said. Not without closure. He required honesty, and he wouldn't be happy with anything less. You gulped in some more air, trying to desperately compartment your thoughts.

"I hate that I love you,” you muttered. He stood, unmoving. Waiting for you to finish. You breathed sharply from your nose, frowning at his expression. What more did he want from you tonight?  

“God, I hate it! I hate that I don’t hate you, that I’m not fearing you as much as I should, I hate it all so much I-" you stopped your eruption, and took another gasp of air to quell your rising emotions. 

Your hands were shaking again. You legs felt like jelly. Your head pounded from running too fast for you to keep up. He looked concerned, and leaned in ever so closely. Reaching his hand out to you. He rested his hand, right by your own hand that was still clutching onto the door knob.

You wanted to slap his hand away for even thinking to be this close to you now. You wanted to hug him, because you wanted nothing more but him close to you right now. Then maybe stab him again, just for making your feel so pathetically in love with every little stupid thing he does. For giving you the space you so desperately begged for, even as he pressed you for more of an explanation. He wasn’t even interrupting you once. 

"I should hate you for what you did. I want to, I want to hate you with every fiber of my being. But I-" you stopped. You looked back to the kitchen, contemplating your chances of slipping away for the third time that night. 

You wouldn’t dare say it again. As if the more you spoke it out loud, the further it would cement the fact into reality. The thought had the pent up water works overflowing from the cracks of your defenses.

 You let out a frustrated groan, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Maybe, if you haven’t inserted yourself into my life, I could hate you properly,” You muttered the bitter statement mainly to yourself, sniffling involuntarily.

How did his face remained unhurt and hurt, all at the same time? He didn’t even blink. You don’t think. His face was as unreadable as a white canvas, but swimming deep within his eyes you could see the pent up emotions of pain, guilt, regret...all of it. It looked unbearable. 

In a way, it made you feel miserable.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow the room whole, and all you could do was watch him through your blurred, teary gaze.

“I’m not going to let you go now,” God, why did he have to talk. Why did he have a say? 

Why would he dare to make this so much harder for you?

“Please,” You managed to sob out. He flinched at your plea. You felt as if your heart, throbbing through your chest, was pumping the pain out from your eyes. It was too much to hold in. As if you were bleeding from both sides. In your hatred for Adam, and in your love for him. 

All of your pent up frustration and pain gushed through the floodgates, untamed, raw and unfiltered; and it was shooting him point blank from your position just a mere step away from him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I-I just can’t, I won’t, I...I couldn’t leave you if I tried,” He sounds so genuine. You have no choice but to believe him. He wouldn’t lie to you anyways, you noted bitterly.

And all over again, you just despise it. You hate that he never lied to you, not once. You could only muster a sob in response, letting your tears escape from their ducts and flood down your face. 

The room was so silent, you could hear the fat droplets stain the ground in between you and him.

“I love you, so so much.” He confessed.

No, no, no! You didn’t want to hear it. That he loves you too. That deep down, your hearts ached the same. 

“And I want to hear those words from you, over and over again. Just, not like that. Not like this,” You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he held your gaze in his and you shut your mouth, letting him continue. 

“I’ll wait. However long it takes to hear you say those words without an ounce of fear,” He seemed so somber, yet so determined you would see it through. 

You couldn’t hear it anymore. If you did, you'd cave into your desires for sure. You’re hands turned the doorknob. He took a step forward, just as a resounding click ruptured through the room.

He was so close, you could feel his breath mix into yours. Too close. You could see everything plain as day on his face. The frustrated tears that had bubbled to the surface as he’d spoke, full of emotions left unsaid. The emotions you'd seen ripple through his eyes not even a moment ago. 

You could feel the tremble in his grip as he reached to touch your arm with the tips of his fingers, so light and fragile. As if you’d crumble before his eyes. The hurt in his eyes, laid plain and bare for you to see. Because he knows it's because of him, that this is as difficult as it is for you right now. 

You were left with that same suffocating feeling, as if you had to act and do something, anything. Only you couldn't bring your head to sit still enough to formulate a response.

What will you do?

Lean into him

Turn the doorknob

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

People having fun is one thing. Exploring ideas in fics is one thing.

But the absolute copium of thinking there's a body swap at the end of s2...Why do people in this fandom refuse to accept that Aziraphale is more complicated than their post-2019 headcanon of him? His actions presented in the surface level plot actually made perfect sense for his character lol

[kittenbased]

Why would you two have hidden something that big from me? Was I that untrustworthy? I'd sometimes think that.But then I'd think, "No, this is on those who kept it a secret." As I watched Woojoo withering away, I realized she was the one suffering the most. So I'd calm down a little. But I was still mad at you.

[innytoes]

Willie Ship of your choice and Pokemon AU?

The problem with living in a town with a gym, Reggie thought, was that every passing by would-be Pokemon master thought literally everyone with a Pokemon wanted to battle. It was exhausting. Especially when they wouldn't take no for an answer.

Listen, was it stupid for Reggie to try and punch out a Geodude? Yes, but it was better than trying to punch out a twelve year old. Probably. The twelve year old probably wouldn't have given him what felt like a black eye. And he had to act fast, because the Pokemon had been rapidly approaching his cowering Jolteon.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Alex asked as he came to on what appeared to be a park bench. It wasn't very comfy, except for his head, which was pillowed on something.

"That Sparky is a rescue, and if she doesn't want to fight, she shouldn't have to," he said, gently petting the Jolteon who was nuzzling her nose under his hand anxiously. "It's okay baby, nobody's going to hurt you."

Both of Reggie's Pokemon were rescues. His very first, a Growlithe puppy he'd found out in the rain when he was fifteen, was a constant companion. Reggie wasn't sure what had happened to it before he got him, but Buddy didn't particularly like fighting. He shied away from battles, and it took Reggie ages to realise why he always cowered behind his legs in a certain part of town. The part near the gym.

They'd worked on that, and getting his confidence up in general. Buddy was a happy Pokemon now, though he still didn't like battles. The only time Reggie had ever seen him fight was to protect Reggie, and to help him kick Sparky's owner's ass. Anyone that would raise his hand against his own Pokemon didn't deserve them. They did, however, deserve a black eye, a stolen Jolteon, and singed pair of jeans.

With a groan, he sat up, laughing when Buddy hopped on the bench and started anxiously licking at his face. "I'm okay, Bud," he promised. "What happened? Did Whitney put them to sleep?" That was their usual strategy, when trainers wouldn't stop bothering them. You couldn't start a Pokemon fight if you were too asleep to grab your Pokeballs.

Alex' emotional support Jigglypuff chirped at him from Alex' backpack.

"I was going to, but..."

"Yeah, sorry, Ziggy and I stepped in first," a new voice said from behind him. Reggie turned and blinked. Apparently, the comfortable thing his head had been pillowed on was this gorgeous stranger's lap. He had beautiful long dark hair, killer cheekbones, and just about the cutest Zigzagoon Reggie had ever seen draped over his shoulders like a fancy stole.

"I- uh- that's..." Really hot, Reggie wanted to say.

Sparky nudged his hand again, pointy fur prickling under his fingers. "Thanks," Reggie managed. He looked up at Alex, who seemed equally flustered at this hot stranger who just rocked up and saved them both, and then waited with them until Reggie regained consciousness.

"Are you... a trainer?" Reggie asked, carefully. He didn't seem to have any Pokeballs on his belt, just the Zigzagoon wrapped around his neck. But if he defeated that kid's entire arsenal, that Zigzagoon was probably powerful as heck.

"No," the guy said quickly. Ziggy nuzzled his cheek gently. "I... not anymore. Ziggy and I are just... travelling."

"Thank you for saving us," Alex said sincerely.

"If you're new in town," Reggie said, not wanting the guy to leave now that he was awake again. "Maybe we could show you the best places to get food?"

The man's guarded look changed into a beautiful smile. "I'd like that, yeah," he agreed. "I'm Willie."

In the end, Willie decided to stick around a lot longer than he planned, and Reggie and Alex never had to worry about pushy Pokemon Trainers again. Their boyfriend and his badass Zigzagoon had them covered.

[notbecauseofvictories]

katabasian mason installing himself (via calmly and politely delivered threats of violence) as puppet master political advisor to an administrator who’s been shown to be well-meaning but naïve, something of an empty suit---

a present for me??

[gonegrove]

So I remember we were driving, driving in your car / Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk / City lights lay out before us / And your arm felt nice wrapped ‘round my shoulder / And I-I, had a feeling that I belonged / I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Fast Car - Tracy Chapman // Stranger Things 2, 3 & 4

[queerofthedagger]

the ending this, the true villain of the show that, my most controversial, unpopular opinion on bbc merlin is that the scruffy arthur s4 look that we thankfully didn't get was horrible and they did the right thing to scratch it xx