#i feel so fucking unsettled and off balance

[spacedace]

Something I've seen in fics a few times but not for comedic effect is the idea that Constantine selling his soul so many times makes him look/feel Wrong to ghosts.

Like I love various Danny ghost shenanigans giving Constantine a heart attack in stories but just imagine that Constantine is like deeply, deeply unsettling for Ghosts & Liminals to be around.

To the point of whenever he and Danny meet for the first time at the Watchtower after Danny's joined the League, Constantine just walks in and upon turning to look at who just walked in Danny just shrieks like a small child and throws a chair at him out of reflex, diving behind Captain Marvel to use him as a magical human meat shield while screeching "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT???! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" At the top of his lungs and doesn't stop until Batman makes Constantine leave.

Even after Zantanna explains Constantine's whole deal and Danny explains to the Justice League how totally fucked up that looks/feels like to him ("Dude, Ghosts are their core, for us you see that before you see the shape of whoever you're talking to. Like, imagine someone walks up to you with a face that looks like it's made out of a shattered plate and the pieces are bleeding"

Or like, imagine instead it's a thing were Jason and Jazz are dating and Jazz, Danny & Elle are invited over for a nice meet the family brunch - "Brunch is fun and casual!" Dick insisted, "Way less intimidating than if we had them over for dinner!") and Constantine pops in to talk to Bruce about a case.

And the second he walks into the room all three just shriek like they're from an episode of Scooby Doo.

Elle takes one look at Constantine and just nopes out of there so hard she doesn't even gk intangible as she throws herself out the window and starts flying for the hills. Danny screeches like a cat whose tail has been stepped on and jumps onto the ceiling and scrambles away. Jazz screams like a house wife from an old Looney Tunes cartoon and starts climbing Jason like a tree - which is a bit of a problem since she's half a foot taller than Jay and throwing his center of balance off a bit and now half of the plates are smashed on the floor.

Jason doesn't even notice though because he also is losing his shit over what the fuck that thing is and unlike Elle is far more interested in Fight rather than Flight and pulls out a gun - "Why'd you bring a gun to brunch?! Guns aren't fun or casual!" - and just starts unloading on Constantine (who is very lucky Jason has switched to non lethal rounds and that he's quick enough with his spells to largely keep most of the rubber bullets from hitting him) also while screaming at the top of his lungs.

And well, turns out Jason's new girlfriend is the older sister of that ghost hero the League's been looking to recruit and Bruce is gonna take advantage of that - Phantom has been hard to pin down, which is fair, bad history with government agencies trying to kill him and all - to talk to him about a place with JL, though first he's going to have to get him down from the ceiling and that'd be a lot easier if Constantine would just leave already, they are supposed to be having a family brunch this is his one day off!

(Elle screams her all the way to Metropolis and doesn't stop until she nearly knocks Superman out of the sky. He isn’t really sure what's going on, but he does manage to calm her down and takes her to go get some ice cream. When he pitches joining JL she tells him that she thinks he's kinda lame but that Superboy is cool so she's down. It's...honestly kinda devastating but Clark manages to get through it.

A note gets made when the two ghost heroes officially join the League that partnerships with Constantine should be kept at an absolute minimum.)

And lol yeah, just, Constantine being utterly terrifying to Danny and the Pham

#dc x dp #dp x dc #batman #danny phantom #justice league #danny fenton #danielle phantom #dani phantom #danielle fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #john constantine #anger management #Constantine thinks it's kinda funny #once they get to the point that no one instinctively tries to kill him on aight anymore #he likes to sneak up on Danny just to make him jump through the ceiling #batman made him stop after Danny activated his Wail while screaming for half a second & nearly shattered all the windows in the Watchtower #Danny gets all of Constantine's soul contracts just to make John stop looking like that #Constantine immediately took the blank slate and started his favorite hustle again

[ofswordsandpens]

I've enjoyed episode 3 the most so far, but I think the show is still struggling to find a good balance between taking itself seriously and the absurdist humor that RR writes with. My main takeaways:

The Fight Scenes (or Lack Thereof?)

It seems very peculiar to me that the show is just speed running through its battle scenes. Again, it feels very much like the product of Disney trying to sanitize anything that's too extreme?

The trio fleeing from the kindly ones in the book ended with Percy taking control of the bus and then crashing it. It explodes. They lose all of their stuff (money, food). In the show, they simply bail out the back window. No true panic. No tension. Just, okay :) we're leaving now :)

The Medusa Scene. I'll speak more to this later, but in terms of the fight we get to see... well we get to see nothing. Apparently this fight required us to view it through the lens of the invisibility cap (ie. not at all),

I understand this show is intended for a younger audience, but the books are as well. Even the movies, which are pg, came up with better ways to show things without necessarily showing things. As a result, it feels like anything that might induce the slightest bit of tension or fear are sanded down and its honestly doing such a disservice to the books and the audience.

Medusa

I actually really liked this portrayal of Medusa. The 1950s housewife vibe landed well for me. And I loved the actress's voice -- very soft and soothing but always sounding as if she were just about to cry.

Also, I really liked her dialogue. Her digs at Athena and Poseidon were perfectly tragic.

That being said, I really prefer the trio's arrival to the emporium in the book. In the books, they've been wandering the woods and are lost and exhausted and hungry because of the battle/bus crash where they've lost all of their stuff. It almost feels like the emporium popping up "out of nowhere" was more of it finding them.

Meanwhile in the show, Grover finds it through scent on a satyr path and they immediately know its Medusa, which imo takes out so much of the fun of it all??? In the books, they dont know. Grover's just like, freaking the ever living fuck out, and clearly Percy and Annabeth have let him take sole custody of the shared brain cell, cause they're more concerned about getting some food than anything else

Just... RIP dumbass shenanigans

And honestly, I'm not really sure what necessitated the change here in the show (of them not being tricked). It would have been one thing if they were going to change Medusa entirely to not wanting to harm them at all, but imo, I think its arguable/evident that show Medusa was looking for an excuse to petrify Annabeth and Grover (at minimum) regardless of anything.

Honestly, I would have had the show loosely play it out as: book arrival (they dont know its Medusa), keep the dumbass energy and banter, the trio figures out it Medusa while they're eating, Medusa is the more sympathetic version we see in the show, regardless it still ends with the battle.

Also, I do mourn the book battle. The panic and absurdity is just handled better imo. Annabeth shoving them off the bench, Grover flopping all over the place with the shoes but actively getting a good few hits in, Percy having to use to the reflection to behead her... the #TeamWork was emphasized a little more there to me.

Characterization

I think the show is absolutely nailing certain parts of the characters.

They've gotten Percy's anger and his derision towards the gods down. But, I think they're actually underscoring some of his, idk, sincerity? His kindness? It was the line "she met a pinecone's fate" that just rang off to me. While undoubtedly funny, it's just such a stark difference from his reaction to Thalia's story in the books, where he was unsettled by her fate and felt a sincere sympathy for her. The line in the show I assume is meant to criticize the gods, but still, it feels like it comes at the expense of the sensitivity that he has.

They've gotten Annabeth's bluntness, intelligence, pride, and superiority down cold. No question about it. But I feel like they just need to let her be more of a 12yo kid?

Like. In canon she and Percy banter and argue over the silliest of things. She plays hacky sack with Grover and Percy. She blushes and hyperventilates when Luke interacts with her. Episode 3 is like the first time we've gotten to see her do something remotely childish (buying all that candy) and I'm just dying for more of that!! She's not the "mom" of the group and she has her canon dumbass moments. I'm hoping more of this is captured moving forward. They've gotten a good start on the banter, but let Annabeth be more silly! Cause she is!

(Absolutely none of my personal qualms about the characterization are Walker or Leah's fault. They've done amazing. It's the writing/directing I'm side-eyeing).

OH! And I'm sorry but Percy being like "Annabeth we're going to bury medusa with your hat on" would have never ever flown with Annabeth. In no world.

But Grover eating them up at the end? Iconic. Good for him.

#pjo adaptation #pjo show crit #pjo

[peachesofteal]

How would Soap react if he saw that Cypher was being harassed or stalked by some other individual on base? This individual is completely unaware of Soap's fascination with and control over Cypher. Maybe she is being preyed upon by some stereotypically young and horny meathead and his buddies or an older officer who has never served in a combat role. What would Soap do to that person? What would he say to Cypher about it, if anything?

18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / no smut, Johnny beats the shit out of someone / soap x cypher masterlist

Early morning is one of Johnny's favorite times. He enjoys the quiet pace, the peace before chaos, the relaxed, subtle silence that slowly gets washed away as people start their days.

He particularly enjoys you in the early mornings, watching you make your way across base before any of your counterparts, settling into your work without turning on most of the lights, tweaking the nuances of your new routine. Cup of coffee, speciality keyboard, water bottle, your favorite jacket. Every morning, he marvels at how stunning you are, how perfect, beautiful in every way, down to each individual strand of your hair. He watches how you tackle the things thrown your way head on, sinking into your expertise that surpasses, he suspects, every one else in the room, sees how you treat everyone kindly, how you work so passionately and diligently. It makes his heart glow in his chest, love and obsession and possession burning in his blood, always pushing him closer to get a better look, encouraging him to linger where he can't be seen.

But this morning, something is different. You're late, far later than normal, and you seem... off. There's something off balance in your steps, something in your face that unsettles him, worries him. You power up your work station, arranging your belongings as you like, but instead of appearing happy, healthy like you normally do when you're about to settle into your day.... you look distressed.

He badges into the building without another thought. Anxiety is churning through him now, mixing with fear until his steps are more than hurried, and people are throwing him bewildered looks as he barrels down the hallway. Whatever it is, he'll fix it. He'll make it okay. He'll take care of you.

He stops short just inside the room where you work. Some people look his way curiously, but when he returns their probing eyes, they flinch away in a panic, burying their noses back in their computers, pretending he's not there. Good.

He's about to start towards your console when someone else does the same, a private that doesn't even work in this building, his eyes narrowed and hungry on where your elegant fingers fly across a keyboard. What the fuck?

You don't notice the private at first, which irks him, makes him even more worried, your lack of situational awareness scratching at him beneath his skull. It's a danger to be here in the first place, so close to an engagement zone, and the fact that you're less than aware does not make him feel good.

When you do, finally, look up and spot the oversized low rank that's heading your way, you stiffen, fingers slowing to a stop, throat bobbing with a swallow. He says your name, informal as all get out, and you shift in your seat, fingers coming together, one of your many tells. You're uncomfortable, he realizes. This bloke has been making you uncomfortable. He's chatting you up, or trying to, brushing his hand against your arm, the motion making Johnny see red, and the way his face twists, like he's in on some sick joke, tells Johnny all he needs to know. Slimy git.

"Private. What's yer business on this floor?" Johnny barks, louder than necessary coming to stand beside your chair, across from where the private lurks, chatter around the room dying out as you stare up at him, wide eyed and... relieved.

"Sergeant MacTavish, I wasn't aware the 141-"

"I didnae ask ye what ye're aware of, private. I asked ye what business ye have here." He repeats, inflection flat, and the private gulps, stammering out some bullshit excuse until Johnny is excusing him, encouraging him to make himself scarce.

Once he's gone, you release a long breath, shoulders slumping. He wants to take you in his arms, and hold you. Wants to comfort you, tell you he'd never let anything happen to you, that you'll always be safe, as long as he lives.

But he can't. He knows what a brazen display of affection would do to you, in this setting. How it would harm, instead of help. So, instead-

"Are ye alright, wee sweet?" He keeps his voice low, and your eyes slip closed.

"Yes. Thank you... Sergeant." You whisper.

"Do ye need a break?" He'll take you back to your room, if you do. Or his. Make up some excuse for Price and get you out of work for the day, in a blink. You shake your head.

"No, sir." He nods, squeezing your shoulder with slow, gentle touch, before giving you a long look, and taking his leave.

The pub that everyone frequents off base is a dingy thing. It's dark, and dirty, just the way Johnny likes it. Simon can smoke inside here, right at the bar, and he's just putting his first cigarette out when Johnny's target stumbles, half drunk from the toilets.

"That him?" His LT grunts, and Johnny nods, swallowing the rest of his beer in one go. Simon slaps a folded bill down next to the ashtray. "See you in five."

It's not hard, to get the private outside. He's more drunk than Johnny originally thought, and ushering him towards the back door is as simple as telling him he wants to have a chat, keeping his tone light and easy.

The private doesn't realize the danger he's in until he gets to the alley, and sees Ghost stepping out from the dark.

"Wh-what is this?"

"This-" Johnny hums, removing his jacket as Ghost grabs the private by the back of the neck, turning him. "is a lesson for ye."

"A lesson?"

"The civilian specialist. Cypher." Ghost tells him, removing his hand, letting him shift fully to face Johnny, stricken.

"She doesnae like ye. She doesnae want ye, and she never will. Dinnae ever, ever, touch my girl again." He pushes him, just a little, as a pre cursor, a warning for what's next. The private's eyes are wide, and scared, and Johnny smirks. "If I ever see you-" He swings, landing his fist across his jaw, hard enough that he knows the private is seeing stars, and Ghost steadies him for the next. "looking at her again-" he swings, again. There's a satisfying crack this time, the private's nose, blood spurting from the wound like a fountain, and the injured man howls, loud enough that Ghost is clamping a hand over his mouth to shut him up. "or talking to her-" he lands two more punches to his face, a jawbone hit, and eye socket. Nothing breaks, which is ideal, but he puts enough force behind them that he knows the eye will swell shut, for days. "even breathing near her-" His last punch is the knockout. It sends the private stumbling backwards, and Ghost slides out of the way, letting him fall, his body sprawling across the pavement like he's fallen from the roof. "I'll fucking kill ye. I'll kill ye, and bury ye in a nameless pit. Do ye understand?" He spits, and the private tries to say yes, but it comes out as a cry.

"Nod your head." Ghost instructs, and he does, miserably. "You tell anyone about this, I'll do worse than what Sergeant MacTavish is promising. We were never here. Copy?"

"Yes sir." The private blubbers, and Johnny shakes out some of the tension between his shoulders. Much better.

You're still awake. He's on edge, and was hoping to have a few hours in your room, watching you sleep, listening to the rise and fall of your chest, soothing himself with your presence, but instead, you're still awake, and he's at a loss before he accepts he can't fight it, and knocks on your door.

"Sergeant?" You're surprised to see him, caught off guard, and he's driven to soothe you, stepping forward inside your room, clicking the lock behind him.

"That private won't be bothering ye anymore." He tells you lowly, and your eyes go wide.

"I- What? Sir?" He pulls you into his body easily, your nose in his neck, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. He can feel the tension slowly leaking from you, his hand working broad strokes up and down your back, murmuring to you about he'll always keep ye safe, how he'll always take care of ye, and upon pulling away, he's incredibly pleased to see that you seem happy... even relieved. "Thank you, sir." You whisper, and he rubs a thumb across your cheek.

"I want ye to call me Johnny, Cy. Instead of Sergeant." Not instead of sir, but he doesn't think he needs to tell you that. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "It's late, ye should be in bed."

"I couldn't sleep." You confess, and he nods.

"I know. C'mon. I'll help ye."

#soap x reader #soap x cypher #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #peaches writes

[blood-orange-juice]

I want to overanalyze everything Arle says and how others interact with her. 4.1 spoilers ahead

(meanwhile Fontaine is the nation of human trafficking, actual slums exist and the law doesn't really apply to the wealthy)

She's very good at being unsettling. Half of what she says is a double-bind, she states things and the opposite of them at the same time. It's not even lies, she just rules out any possibility of truth. A conversation strategy the only goal of which is to throw people off balance. This creates a feeling that she might stab you right now in broad daylight or maybe give you a poisoned piece of cake.

A truly lovely woman.

Also an interesting parallel:

(first meeting with Furina and Arle's farewell to us)

Similar words but we understand what she meant each time, right? She's good. One has to constantly guess with her. It's your fault if you guessed incorrectly.

Demanding too much before she voices her actual request. The classics of bargaining. Again, she's good.

Traveler: "he would not fucking say that"

Personally, I think she's bullshiting to check our reaction. One of the best ways of getting information out of someone is to say a thing that is obviously untrue.

As a side note: interesting how hoyo are keeping the story suitable for all headcanons. Haters and indifferent people "know" that he had no chance of learning what food the traveler likes (their character doesn't interact with the boy that much). Shippers can "know" that we share Childe's love for spicy seafood and honey roast, not cake. Shippers who like cake can assume that she reads his letters. I also don't think he knows anything about Arle's taste in desserts, he's too self-centered for that. Anyway, lovely.

Alternative: it's a metaphor. This is obviously not a tea party, it's a battlefield. Childe would totally say *that*. But that's too subtle for most players, I doubt hoyo would do it.

Everyone who had read Tartaglia's actual letters to home stifled a laugh there. Anyone who has *seen* our dear boy really. He doesn't write about what he contemplates or feels, only about actions. Here's a headache medicine for our dear father. Please tell Anton that people in Liyue don't eat stones, it would be ridiculous. I'll take the first boat home once I've finished making a bloodbath out of this lovely city.

(a reminder in case anyone forgot)

So. Bullshiting again. Is she trying to check how close we are? Or to demonstrate that she doesn't, in fact, read his letters (even if she does)? I'm not considering the option that she's actually clueless, she's the Fatui spymaster after all.

(if she's trying to learn from us how to mimic his style to get to his family it would mean she's clueless and it would be bad writing)

Also I know that a lot of people are shouting "have you forgotten about the Vision??? stupid traveler, you have a proof that he's alive" and honestly I'm surprised. Why would we want to share *any* information with her? The traveler was visibly upset when Paimon blurted what she blurted. Also, yeah, let's tell a totalitarian country military official that her colleague recently gave one of his favorite weapons to an enemy of the state. Surely it will go swimmingly. That was intentional.

And then her farewell and her thanking us for helping the twins. Her unhingedness is suddenly gone. She might not be genuine but there's no double bind at least. She starts to say things that could be true or untrue.

Also this:

Not even a guess that the Gnosis could be used to power the Oratrice? After the Akasha terminal plot it's a pretty obvious option to anyone, would she really miss something like that?

Is she trying to push us to do something? It's hard for me to believe that she genuinely doesn't understand. But also she shares that info about a curse. Meh. I don't understand what's happening here.

#батя #arlecchino #childe #tartaglia #chilumi #lumine #aether #genshin lore #fontaine spoilers #genshin impact #fontaine tea party #fontaine #fatui #fatui harbingers

[verycherry1]

Pike Roast {Carmen Berzatto | Pt.3}

Part one

Part two

There was a yawn bobbing up his throat, he blinks tightly trying to swallow it down. The technique stopped working after the third yawn caused his eyes to water, he slipped his phone out from his back pocket. 

8:30pm.

The well-known coffee chain was just a five-minute walk, he was certain he could manage to make it in time before they closed at 9. He desperately needed the caffeine to pull him through clearing out the remaining shelves before renovations began the following morning. He didn’t give it another thought before he was sprinting out the door of The Beef, marching down the strip of Chicago. 

The city was louder for a Wednesday night. Bars are at a little bit more capacity than usual. Despite the uproar of college kids cackling from each bar, he was caught off guard by a familiar yelp from a chatty tavern steps away. He studied the way you threw your head back, laughing in slow motion, balancing the stem of your beer bottle between your fingers all in one motion. Beautiful. He thought to himself, swallowing the lump that knotted in his throat as he watched you gush at the backward hat that was spewing nothing but slurred bullshit across from you. He felt his blood pressure begin to increase, palms sweaty from clenching his fist so tight at the unsettling sight in front of him. 

Does he know that you hate cilantro? He thought to himself, sizing up the generic frat-like fucker that was making you bust your gut with laughter. Had this mystery man already made his way into the solitary of your studio? And seen your ridiculous collection of coffee mugs you showed Carmen the first night he slept over? Had this man already filled the void on Carmen’s side of your bed? Using his set of knives to prepare meals for you, or the ashtray you specifically bought for him to ash on your patio. Did you burn his white cotton tees to replace with the new man’s threads to wear to bed? Are you showing up to his work with Pike Roast? 

Did you even fucking miss him? Carmen ingested his heart from his throat, turning away from the mockery in front of him. No longer feeling the need for the liquid adrenaline, but rather, a burning poison from a shot glass. 

He slammed the restaurant door behind him thinking of your toothy grin flashing at a man that wasn’t him. It wasn’t long until his fist collided with the paper-thin wall, justifying that it was to help with renovations, not his anger that was fueled by you moving on. 

—

The renovations only kept his mind occupied for so long. No matter how hard he tried to flee from his thoughts, the jealousy lingered. He couldn’t even look at the clock without visualizing what you were doing right now. Let alone whom you were doing. His curiosity got the better of him after another long day of remodeling at the restaurant, convincing himself he was just dropping by your apartment to retrieve his set of knives. Amongst other belongings, he had left. 

He shifts from one foot to the other, gawking at the door he once pushed your frame against during a heated make-out session. His fist bundled in his wool jacket, sweating at the motion of pulling them out and colliding them onto the frame, heart pounding louder than his knocks. 

You didn’t give him much time to prepare, within seconds the door unfastened. He knew it wasn’t off to a good start by the sigh that escaped your lips. 

You roll your eyes, flickering your wrist to look at your watch, jutting your chin out signaling him to get started. 

“Y’er new man here?” he questions, trying not to make it obvious his eyes were looking past your height and into your apartment. 

“I seem to be misunderstanding how that’s any of your business?” You catch on, bringing the door closer to your hip to close the visible space. 

His blue eyes flicker to your agitated ones. “Is he?” 

“My boyfriend? No, just a hobby.” You smirk, matter of fact like. 

“Can I come inside then?” He asks in a faint mutter, trying his best to brush off your snarky remarks. 

“Absolutely not.” 

He sighs, running his fingers through his matted curls growing impatient with how difficult you’re being. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not welcome here Carmen.” You tell him before verbally stabbing him with his own words, “we’re not a couple.” As if he hadn’t spent this entire month licking his wounds, you managed to form another gash.

 “You don’t have to keep reminding me that I fucked up.” He mumbled, blankly staring into your rage. 

You’d grown irritated at this point, rolling your eyes once more. “Then stop randomly showing up at my apartment.” 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). ” He blurts in an outburst before you can swing the door shut. Not similar to the tone he yelled with but, more of a desperate crack in his voice. It was so foreign that it left you stuck, pausing any insults you had left. 

His hand rubbed the back of his head, looking back and forth down the hallway anxiously. “I-I wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’t nice to you, and I’m sorry..” There’s a tired look in his eyes that stopped up your throat.

“You..” he resumes, only to pause again. He brings his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping it’ll assist him to formulate something, anything coherent before his anxiety gets the best of him. “you have a really big heart, and I uhh, I guess that’s overwhelming because I..um” he stops once more, too overstimulated because he doesn’t even know where to begin with getting you to understand his absolute mess of a thought process. “Because I don’t come from a very affectionate background. And and-“ 

“Carm..” you whisper cautiously, trying to defuse his sudden departure of fight or flight. 

“I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, I had uhh… a stutter when I was kid, I was scared to speak half the time..” he confesses, avoiding any contact with you. 

“Carmy..” you try again. 

“I got shitty grades because I couldn’t pay attention half the time.. I didn’t get into college..” 

“Carmen..” you try once more in the same faint whisper but he’s already lost all sense of self-control that his words just spiral into word vomit. 

“I didn’t have any girlfriends, I don’t think I’m funny..” he lets out a weak laugh, taking his closed fist and compressing it to his chest, hoping the ball will prevent his chest from closing in on him before he can tell you everything from his heart. 

“Car-“

“My brother stopped letting me into the restaurant a couple of years ago, just cut me off cold. And umm.. that hurt y’know? Made me feel rejected, and lame, and shitty and uncoo-“

You grab his entire face, feeling the heat from his cheeks releasing in the palm of your hands. “Carmen, enough.”  

Obeying, all he can do is plead with his watered-down eyes. Like he’s telling you he’s trying and he knows he fucked up but that he doesn’t know what to do with all of his emotions at once. 

“M’sorry.. M’sofuckin sorry..” he mutters, sliding his rough hands over your silk-like fingers. 

“Carm, breathe..” You coo, still cradling his face while stroking either side of his cheeks causing him to release a deep sigh of exhaustion. The weight of his entire head immediately eased into your embrace. Even if he wanted to convince you how sorry he was, his energy ran low. 

“Please don’t make me go home..” he whispers, clinging to your hands that haven’t let go of his face. 

He can’t go home, he doesn’t want to go home. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, aside from the restaurant - you’re the only home he knows. 

His calloused thumbs are continuously rubbing over the back of your hands. “Can I- Can I please come inside?” he asks in a shakey tone, bracing himself for you to tell him to get lost.

But you don’t. Instead, you pull his face to reach your own, silencing any other apologies with your lips over his. He immediately sighs into your mouth, feeling the majority of the knot in his chest decompress. You keep the pace slow, but Carmen wants nothing more than to make up for the lost time. He grinned against your mouth when his strength lifted you off the surface causing a yelp to escape from your lips. Your legs immediately draped around his waist as he carried you inside, only to unravel from his figure when he tossed you gently onto the bed. Carmen wasted no time stripping from his layers, first with his shirt as he studied you with such attentiveness that he didn’t bother with the rest of his clothes. All he wanted was to please you. 

The tips of your fingers learned the intricacies of the prompt veins down up his biceps, your mouth stamping wet kisses to the juncture between his neck and shoulder while he hovered over you. He wasted no time with you, engulfing each whimper from your lips and squeeze of your muscles around his fingers. His tongue told him exactly where he needed to be and he never relented. Never strayed. He studied your squirms from the heave of your breast and the tuck of your bottom lip between your teeth. The way your muscles spasmed as you chanted his name. 

Through hitched breaths, you reminded  Carmen with each kitten lick he flicked that no one ever made you feel this undone, this fucking good. Your fingers intertwined in his mane as he trailed his lips up the curve of her body.

“Hmm, so what are we going to do about that boy toy of yours?” He questioned as he pressed his hips against yours. Angling your head back so he can kiss along your throat, gently biting. 

His question made you huff, blush on your face as you smiled with your lip between your teeth. On instinct, your thighs cradled his hips between them and he placed his hands beside your head. Your glazed eyes stare up at him between your feathered lashes. There was a crooked curve of his mouth while he admired your frame under his. 

“I’ve grown quite bored of that hobby.” You confess to him, pulling his lips back to yours getting lost between your sheets for the rest of the day. 

#carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto angst #cherry joints #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto

[fatuismooches]

heyyy basically

i’m feeling absolutely shit rn bc i’ve worked myself into an utter state (god i’m praying i don’t faint after my exam and nullify it) so like what better to do than to come up with a brainrot

just imagine, it’s fragile! reader and they’ve got an upcoming assessment, biggest of the semester but fuck they just can’t study. their headaches are debilitating and constant but they push through anyways because god they need to get that score. they can’t fall behind now. and dottores been watching you all day, he knows he can’t get in your way, you were practically unstoppable; it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. but rn? god rn seeing you like this planted a strange feeling in his cold excuse of a heart and he knew he couldn’t just leave you like this. without a word, he saunters over, and gently pries the quill from your hands, you protest but you haven’t the energy for much more really and so you let him. you let him guide you to the bed and you let him lay you down and slip in next to you. he wasn’t a man who thought much of ‘cuddles’ or whatever the hell you called it. yet he wraps his arms around you, gentle yet so firm you’d think a breeze could snatch you away. yet he cradles a hand behind your head and runs his fingers through your tresses, combing out knots, combing out stress. yet he presses you against him and lets the unspoken reassurances flow onto you through the way he pulls you under his sanctity. ‘don’t break yourself’ whispered his fingers as they traced meaningless alchemical symbols on your skin. ‘you’re perfect the way you are, you don’t need to do this’ reassured the proximity between the two of you. the only word that was vocalised between in the quiet sanctuary was your name. there it hung, palpable and present in the air. and nothing more was needed to be said

LOL SORRY THAT WAS SO LONG, can u tell i’m dying for comfort rn 😭

HOPE THAG MAKES IP FOR MY ABSENCE LMAOO

-🌕💗

🌕 ANON?? THAT FIRST SENTENCE IS VERY ALARMING PLEASE REST??? Studying and working are important but you and your wellbeing are more important 💖 Balance is key, please make sure to relax 😔 But the brain rot? *chef kiss*

If you had the energy to, you'd laugh at how poor your situation was. This... mysterious illness of yours just had to appear when finals were right around the corner. If it was just a cold or a slight fever, you could have worked through it, just as you had many times before, but this pain was unlike any you ever had endured. But anyway, surely you could get through this. It was only a few more days, and you absolutely had to do good. Especially since this professor was notorious for his long and complicated exams. Especially because you couldn't bear to think what would happen if you fell behind. What Zandik would think of you.

You could always tell when Zandik was looking at you because anyone really could feel the piercing stare he gave off. You two studied in the same room but in different spaces for maximum concentration and organization. You used to ask him questions and such but you've been far too quiet now for his liking after since you became sick. And while he does admire how perseverant you are to knowledge, he does not enjoy forcing you to go to sleep or watching you barely touch your food while studying. Even he has to acknowledge the limitations of humanity. No human can properly function like this.

The silence he used to crave becomes unsettling, and he shall tolerate it no more. You don't even notice him coming up behind you, thinking he's too focused on his own stuff, so when your pen is plucked from you rather easily you're surprised for a good few seconds. You're opening your mouth to protest but the words don't come out when you see the expression on your lover's face. Zandik gives you a look that you have only seen a few times but understands well - the one where he will have his way, he won't take no for an answer.

So when he pulls you from your desk and lays you on the bed, you can't help but mutter some grumbles as to how you were perfectly fine, and he did this kind of stuff before so why couldn't you do it, which he promptly shuts you up with a flick to the forehead and soft blankets. He doesn't verbalize it but it's because you are clearly tired and sick. You are sick with something he doesn't understand for once in his life and he cannot seem to find any kind of information or research or anything whether it was from hundreds of years ago to a few. And you are pushing yourself through it with no knowledge of the consequences, and no knowledge means no predictability. And then means there is uncertainty which he does not like when it comes to you. For once, he is unsure. Zandik does not enjoy that feeling.

When he initiates the act of cuddling you are surprised but do not question or tease him for once, as comfort was what you desired the most now. Your senses were all hazy from the onslaught of illness and studying and he was being so un-Zandik-like but you lived for moments like these. Your brain had trouble processing his movements but he was doing all the things you enjoyed, fuzziness and heat warming your body. You could make out the lines being drawn on your body, a habit he tended to do unconsciously. The rubbing of your skin in the sore places from studying nonstop. No words needed to be said. Zandik wasn't very adept with flowery words anyway, and you preferred it that way. This meant more than words could convey, and you fell asleep quickly in your beloved's arms.

Zandik looked at you, completely knocked out with not-so-subtle eyebags. Your painfully weak grasp on his shirt. You were far smarter than what a test said anyway. He himself knew that for sure. Maybe that final of yours will be postponed. Better yet, canceled. He'll see what he can do.

Whenever I'm in Sumeru I'm always reminded of how I'd NEVER EVER join the Akademiya because of how hellish it seems, so much work and years to graduate, too much thinking, way too many smart people there who would talk circles around me, uniform, studying, failing, no sleep, and then there are students like Layla barely surviving 😭 I have no talent but sign me up for theater 🙏

Anyway... I appreciate all short and long brain rots, they're so 🥰 I wish I could provide more comfort but... *hugs you* <33

#smooches talks #🌕 anon #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #this was delicious bUT PLEASE DONT OVERWORK YRSELF 😭😭😭 #as a student i can relate bUT!!!! #youve clearly worked so hard and youre going to do great 💖 #TAKE A BREAK AND REST OTHERWISE...

[wheels-of-despair]

Enough | A Make Up Story | Tom Grant x You | Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: Could Be Worse Words: 2.5k

"Had a nice reunion with Jade, did ya?"

He might as well have punched you in the gut. You lean back against your car, still halfway in a ditch, seeing them all over again. You exhale shakily and try to think of a witty response, but your thoughts are too scattered to provide one.

He steps closer and leans on your car next to you; not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him in the cool night air. You stare off into the distance together, trying to collect yourselves as you watch the moonlight illuminate the blades of grass swaying in the breeze.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That was unkind. The girl… the other girl… she came here to be with me. Or so I thought."

You angle your head toward him, not quite facing him, and see the glimmer of a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Been together for three fuckin' years. Here a week, and Jade steals her away like it's nothing." He rubs his face angrily with his sleeve.

"She has that effect on people," you tell him sympathetically. "Just… consumes your entire fucking life. Don't even think she knows what she's doing."

Tom swipes at his cheeks again.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I don't care."

"I think you do."

"How would you know?" he snaps. You swallow, and proceed gently.

"I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't love you back."

You sigh together and stand in silence, not sure what to do next. This is the worst night of your fucking life. Heart broken, car broken, alone with some random crying guy in the middle of nowhere. Where do you go from here?

"How fuckin' dumb are we?" His bitter laugh comes as a welcome sound, breaking up the deafening silence of the night.

"Could be worse," you smile.

"How?" he challenges.

"I could've run over your stupid ass."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess that would've been worse. For you, at least."

You lean over and knock him gently with your shoulder, and he loses his balance and stumbles.

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe," he says cheekily, having turned around to steady himself with his palms on the cool metal of your crooked car. You roll your eyes, even though it's too dark for him to see.

"Well… I'd offer you a ride into town, but I don't think this fucker's coming out by herself." You give the door a smack.

"I'll get the work truck and pull you out in the morning."

"And until then?"

He tilts his head back toward the place you were both running from. Absolutely not.

"I'll sleep in the car."

"No, you won't."

"Don't tell me what to do, Drunk Guy Who Walks in the Middle of the Road."

"We're not going anywhere near them, Girl Who Almost Ran Me Over. There's an unlocked van near the entrance that hasn't been stripped yet. People just left today. We can crash in there tonight, nobody'll even know."

You stay silent.

"I'd offer you your pick of caravans, princess, but I don't have my keys." He pauses. "It's gonna get cold out here tonight. Lots of wild animals out here, too." As if on cue, something screeches in such an unsettling way, your hair stands on end.

"Fine," you grumble. You open your car door and lean in to grab your bag of necessities… and the groceries too. Jade may have lost her chance, but at least somebody would benefit from your signature hangover cure in the morning.

"What's this?" Tom asks when you shove the grocery bag in his hands.

"You'll thank me later," is the only explanation you offer. You really don't feel like having to explain how ready and willing you were to take care of the woman who'd just stolen Tom's girlfriend from him.

You lock your car - which is far enough in the ditch to not block the road - and turn back toward the caravan park. It's not until you begin walking that you realize how drunk Tom is. He didn't slur his words or get giggly or emotional like Jade did when she was hammered, but he was dragging his feet and stumbling. When he trips over nothing for the third time, you sling your bag across your body and slide yourself under his arm.

"Don't get any ideas, Drunk Boy, you're making me sick with all this weaving you're doing." You point ahead. "Ready to try a straight line?"

"Piss off," he mumbles, but there's no anger in his voice. You grin and guide him forward.

He has to stop and get his bearings when you reach the caravans closest to the main road, but eventually finds the one he's searching for. He opens the door and gestures for you to enter. You step inside the dark room and stop, not knowing where the light switch is or what might be waiting for you to trip over. Tom crashes into you with a grunt a second later, then turns on the light.

It hadn't been scrubbed yet, but it wasn't in bad shape.

Tom sets the groceries on the table and stands there awkwardly. You have to give him credit; as uncoordinated as he was, he never dropped it.

"There's sandwich stuff in there," you tell him, pointing to the bag. "Make yourself something to eat, I'm going to change the sheets."

"Not hungry. I'll do it."

"You're gonna want something to soak up all the booze you've got sloshing around in there," you gesture to his stomach with a smirk. It rumbles helpfully to illustrate your point.

"Spares are in the top of the closet," he says, dropping into a chair at the table and starting to pull out the food you'd bought for Jade. You turn to hide your smile. You strip the sheets and put on clean ones, then return to the tiny kitchen.

Tom's made you a sandwich. It's sitting on a paper napkin across from where he's destroying his own. You step past him to look through the cabinets, and find a stack of paper cups. Those will do. You pour two cups of the weird pop Jade likes and slide one toward Tom, taking your seat across from him.

He takes a sip. "The fuck is this?"

"Something Jade likes," you shrug.

"She has horrible taste," he blanches, then takes another bite of his sandwich. He looks up to see your pointed stare.

"…in drinks," he says through a full mouth.

"Nice save," you admonish sarcastically before taking a sip from your own cup. "Good god, is this made from goat urine?"

Tom snorts, causing him to choke on his sandwich. You get up to slap him on the back and dislodge the hunk of bread, and when he recovers, you take your cups to the sink and pour the god-awful liquid down the drain. You rinse and fill them with water, then return to your seat.

"First you try to run me over," he takes a gulp from his cup, "then you try to poison me. What's next? You gonna drown me in the sea?"

"Only if you survive the fall when I push you down the dunes," you wink, taking another bite of your sandwich.

He grins and shoves the last bit of food in his mouth, then begins cleaning up his side of the table. He even sticks your perishables in the tiny fridge for you. No sense in spoiled food and broken hearts, you suppose.

"You take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa." He'd waited 'til you'd just taken a bite so you couldn't protest. Without waiting for a response, Tom walks into the living room and flops down on the tiny sofa under the window. He yelps, flails, and falls back onto the floor.

You jump up and flick the living room light on. Tom lifts the front of his jumper to his nose, sniffs, then breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh thank fuck, it's only beer. Thought I'd just laid face-down in someone's piss."

You snort and cover your mouth with your hand, body shaking with silent giggles.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?"

"No," you lie. Tom glares and picks himself up off the floor, peeling his now-wet jacket off. He hangs it on a wall hook, then turns back to stare at the sofa, looking for a dry spot big enough to lie in.

"C'mon," you tilt your head toward the bedroom. "I solemnly swear not to spoon you."

"You're sure?"

"Unless you really want me to?"

"No, I mean…" You know what he meant.

"After all we've been through? I think we can survive one night together."

#writings of despair #tom grant is enough #tom grant #tom grant x you #tom grant x reader #WARNING: You have not seen the last of the last only-one-bed trope. You're welcome.

[deandoesthingstome]

Night Moves

Chapter 1

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra Pierce)

Series Summary: When Walter Marshall is called to investigate a homicide by the railroad tracks, he quickly uncovers an unsettling pattern. Alexandra Pierce just wants someone to find out what happened to her friend. She has some secrets, too. And Walter’s going to uncover them.

Word Count: 1422

Series Warnings: In general, this series will depict assault, murder, stripping, hooking, rough sex, make up sex, fingering, oral (m and F receiving), p in v sex in various positions, self-loathing, failed relationships, smoking, drug use, drug addiction, general violence, and maybe some comfort. +18, Minors DNI

Chapter Warnings: Smoking, mention of stripping, mention of hooking, a dead body, grumpy Walter

Disclaimers: I do not own Walter Marshall, Night Hunter (Nomis), or any other characters from that movie, but I do own this OFC (Alexandra Pierce) and these words. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header made by me, with pics found from Pexel.com and the internet. Dividers are not mine, but check out the masterlist for credit.

Playlist: I’ll be adding to this Night Moves playlist with each chapter. Songs 1- 3. I really hope you check it out, at least "Low" - Chet Faker. Whatever you think Walter's taste in music might be, these words hit home about him for me. Direct Spotify link here.

Masterlist

Don't look at me

I'm the bus stop boxer

Going down by the railroad tracks, where

People know that they better not relax

I'm the man, baby, I am the man

This is where I can make you understand

“Trixie, wait up!” Sasha called from the club entrance. She was just tucking her stilettos into her shoulder bag and trying to cross the parking lot as quickly and gracefully as she could in her regulation heels, thankful for the unseasonably warm spring evening. 

That was just one of the amazingly ridiculous club rules designed to toss women off balance, literally and figuratively. Augie’s Cabaret couldn’t actually tell a dancer what to do outside of work, no matter how much they tried to entice women into extracurricular jobs. But the parking lot was leased to them just like the building. So performers showed up and left in the “outside uniform.” Tight fitting, preferably low cut crop tops and hip hugger minis with as much skin showing in between, above, and below as possible. And though dancing took place in much higher heels on the stage inside, two inches was the minimum height for the lot.

Sasha caught up just at the sidewalk where Trixie had stopped to light a cigarette. She offered the pack and Sasha snagged one gratefully. Everyone’s nerves were stretched tight and if a few smokes could shave off some of the edge, Sasha wasn’t going to feel bad about it.

Trixie smirked and waited while Sasha pulled her flats from her bag, replacing each heel one at a time before nodding they could head off.

“Did you hear about Angel?” Trixie asked.

“No. Oh shit!” Sasha exclaimed, turning to watch Trixie’s face. “She get roughed up, too?”

Trixie took a long drag and nodded, tapping the ash off her cigarette.

“Fuck, that’s like three we know of right? All around here?” Sasha asked.

“I’ve heard of a few over near Glenwood, but yeah. Angel, Sheri, and Magda - all here near Hennepin.”

“Dating?” Sasha asked, using the euphemism the women preferred.

Trixie inhaled and nodded slowly again. Sasha looked away before her face betrayed her concern, just in time to spy the large crack in the sidewalk. She stepped gingerly to be sure her foot didn’t get caught and mentally patted herself for insisting on changing shoes for the walk and bus ride home. If she hadn’t been trying to keep as much info about her personal life from the club owners as possible, she would have just driven. But the shared walks and rides gave her an opportunity to get to know her co-workers better and it kept the bouncers from knowing her license plate number. 

“I do not know how the fuck you walk home in those heels,” Sasha said, tossing her butt to the ground and pulling her long windbreaker out of her bag. “Your feet have to be killing you. I saw they scheduled you for two extra stage dances tonight. You okay with that?”

“Girl, I asked for it. I am so far behind with them.” Trixie took another drag and exhaled the smoke slowly. “I still have last month’s rent to work off and the first is coming up again soon. I’m so fucked.” 

“Do you know what you’re gonna do? Not…” 

“I’ll do what I have to do,” Trixie interrupted.

Sasha knew what that meant and fought every urge she had to remind her how dangerous it was. How there was no security down by the tracks like there was at the club. How anyone buying there wasn’t exactly gonna be rolling in cash, so she couldn’t quote club prices. How even if the club takes a larger cut of that illegal income than they do stage and floor work, at least she wouldn’t be isolated and without security.

But Trixie had already warned her months ago when Sasha had started at the club: Be careful how you talk to the other performers. They aren’t children and they don’t need your judgment. 

Trixie knew her from the clinic where Sasha had done some volunteer work and was shocked to see her at amateur night trying to hide behind a bombastic neon pink wig. Sasha recognized Trixie, too, and cornered her afterwards, begging her not to say anything to anyone about who she really was. She just wanted to see if she could actually get up on stage and put her old dance lessons to use before she asked for a job.

Trixie was wary, but liked her from the clinic and gave her the benefit. Sasha explained that she hoped to learn a little more about the circumstances that tended to lend themselves to starting a career in adult entertainment and what, if anything, women who found themselves here might need to either stay safe, both physically and emotionally, or get out altogether. Trixie agreed to help her navigate the waters. But she also made sure Sasha remembered to treat them like human beings. Not that Sasha would have ever intentionally done anything other than that, but when you don’t come from the life, there is always something to learn. Or rather unlearn.

Like the fact that they aren’t all strung-out coke-whores and very few of them actually have the daddy issues everyone thinks they do. Which Sasha was gradually learning as she made efforts to befriend and chat with all the women she met on her shifts.

And so, against all her better judgments, so many of which she’d willingly pushed aside these past few months, Sasha let Trixie go once they reached her bus stop. 

“Be careful. Please. Do you have your cell? Your panic button?” Sasha asked, trying to mask her true concern while she donned the dark coat and covered up for the ride.

“Yes, mom,” Trixie stuck out her tongue. “Look, I get it. I know things have gotten a little scary out there, but I’m stuck, Sasha. I can't borrow anymore from the club and I need to get them paid back. This is my only option.”

Walter Marshall shifts into park and grabs the dark blue windbreaker from the passenger seat before stepping down from his Ford extended cab and heading towards the line of cops and yellow tape marking the scene. He swings the jacket around his shoulders with ease, slipping his arms through the sleeves and marking himself as someone who belongs behind the lines. A few uniformed officers step aside, one picking up the tape to let the Lieutenant pass under as he nods curtly in thanks.

It’s a grizzly mess. Or it would be if the responding units hadn’t already covered the body tossed carelessly a few yards back from the tracks.

Walter makes his way to his new partner, Mick Jonas, nodding towards him with the same grim reserve he showed the rookies. The CSI unit is still snapping photos of the surrounding area and scouring the ground for possible evidence as he squats low and lifts a corner of the police blanket. It takes all his nerve not to drop it again just as quickly.

“Jesus. Fuck.” It never fails to hit him hard.

“Yeah,” Detective Jonas agrees, fidgeting with the cigarette pack in his coat pocket and grateful he hadn’t lit up like he wanted to just as Marshall appeared. He didn’t need another dressing down about preserving the scene.

“Looks like someone went 12 rounds with her and she was on the ropes the whole time. This track with anything you’ve seen lately?” Walter asks.

“Not with bodies, no.”

“Something else then?” Walter questions, standing once again and leading Jonas back over the line.

“My girl, Lila. You know, she’s an ER nurse. Says there’s been a rash of girls coming in, beat up.”

“Girls?” Detective Marshall stiffens, curious about the ages and whether this is something Faye could get caught up in.

“Well, you know … I mean…,” Jonas stammers.

“Right, street workers then. You can just call them women, Mick.” He didn’t like to think about the fact that sometimes they really were girls. 

“Okay, yeah. And, well, strippers, too. I mean, that’s what she said.”

“But no police reports filed?” Walter opens the driver’s door and nods toward the passenger side. “You need a lift back to the station?”

“Yeah, I do, thanks.” After climbing in and closing the door, he continues. “And no, yeah, police reports were filed. Want me to see if I can grab ‘em when we get back?”

“You do that.”

Chapter 2 

Taglist:

Anything: @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @sillyrabbit81 @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @summersong69 @mollymal (I can’t tag you two, sorry) (Also throwing in a few from the old days for old times sake ;) @littlegreenplasticsoldier @anotherwinchesterfangirl @sebbytrash @feelmyroarrrr​)

Night Moves: @luclittlepond (I can’t tag you, sorry) @enchantedbytomandhenry @kingliam2019  @henryownsme @geraltsyenn4eva

#walter marshall #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fanfiction #night moves #mine #night hunter fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

"That's probably the most unsettling part of things; not the tadpole, not the memory loss, not the outbursts of nigh-insatiable bloodlust... I'm still favored by something, someone, and I have no idea who. The blessings feel strange in my hands; familiar to hold but the balance is all wrong, like swinging a real sword after using training weapons all your life. Or maybe the other way around, like being handed a blunted knife after doing something stupid with the real thing. No fucking idea who I swore my oath to. But I know that oath like my own heartbeat; blood for blood, justice for the weak, and vengeance where justice turned a blind eye. When I feel the divine burning through my hands, it never feels the same twice. A different hand on my shoulder every time, but it's always Death. Death as rebirth, death as rest, death as justice, death as dispassionate inevitability... And death as hunger.

Doing @catbatart's RPG Inktober challenge and knocking out a twofer with Days 1&2 - Dwarf and Paladin. I'm gonna be on and off on this one, this is the first thing I've drawn since mid august last year, so I figure that'll be safer for my wrist and/or sanity. But I'm planning to try and knock out 10-15 out of all 31, which is still pretty ambitious for me.

Folks who've been following me since the olden days of Fallout 4 might recognize Maya Acerbi under the beard and edgelord coat of paint she's gotten as my Dark Urge playthrough character for Baldur's Gate 3. Everyone else has their cool, mysterious, catlike Durge characters, and then there's me with a crusty old dwarf woman who by the end of every day looks like she got dragged backwards through a bush and then rolled in mud and/or blood that might even be hers.

#answers to questions nobody asked #my art #my ocs #maya acerbi #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 durge #if you asked me about the broken sword I could go on about the symbolism regarding a dark urge character essentially being a broken weapon #and how it's reflected in the divine smite channeled through a broken sword and in the broken up silhouette on the moon looming over her #but those are conclusions I came to about 12 hours after I finished the piece and went 'fuck it. good enough' #because the facial scarring got frustrating #the real answers there are. one. 'i'm bad at drawing the moon' #and two. she's absolutely the type to keep swinging a busted sword until even the gods themselves are like 'okay you should probably chill' #and then keep going #inktober #art challenge #if folks have played durge and know what they're looking for hopefully they'll see the couple little hints there #if not then whatever I'm still happy with the textures and that goddamn chainmail #long post #as always folks. likes are alright but reblogs mean i will swear my fealty to you

[theherosvillain]

The Bird and the Boy - Daemon AU

(TNT)KAYF Masterpost

Takes place early on in Phantom's captivity. He and his crow daemon, Cinder, are still trying to escape.

My heart thumped wildly as I raced for the exit with Cinder flying close behind me. We were almost there, but I could hear Vale and his daemon gaining on us. The thud of footsteps and paws drew dangerously near as we approached the door. As I grabbed the door handle, Vale’s wolf daemon growled, too close, and I flinched away. But that wasn’t what stopped me.

What stopped me was the sensation of Cinder being snatched out of the air, someone else’s hands wrapped tightly around her body.

The world lurched sideways, nausea curling my stomach. When I righted myself, I saw Vale holding my daemon. His palms pinned her wings to her sides. Her beak was open in shock, and I could feel her trembling. I could feel myself trembling—with rage, with disgust, with the utter wrongness of it. “Let her go,” I hissed.

Vale regarded me calmly. He didn’t look at her—my daemon, my soul, clasped between his hands. He only looked at me. “Come with me,” he said, “and then I’ll let her go.”

My chest burned with rage. I could feel Cinder’s heart pounding against her ribs. I was sure Vale could feel it, too. “Let her go, now.”

Behind me, the wolf growled, and I bristled; I’d forgotten he was there. “You’re in no position to make demands,” said Vale. “Come with me.”

Finally, Cinder snapped out of her stupor and jabbed her beak into Vale’s fingers. He winced. For the first time, his gaze flickered down to her, to the blood trickling down his hand. He squeezed her harder, and she stopped abruptly. Then his eyes were back on me. “Well?”

Her chest constricted, and so did mine. I clenched my fists, my shoulders dropping. “Fine.”

His grip loosened, and Cinder took a deep, shuddery breath. Then he turned and started walking back the way we came. My stomach sank, but I followed behind him. His daemon brought up the rear, watching me—as though I would leave without Cinder.

All the long way back, my skin crawled with the feeling of his hands around her. I felt nauseous, off-balance. Cinder trembled the whole time, suppressing the urge to peck him again. I wanted to lash out, make him drop her. The only thing stopping me was the wolf at my heels. Normally, a daemon wouldn’t attack a human, but this wasn’t normal, either. It made me seethe with rage. This whole time, Vale had hardly laid a hand on me. What gave him the fucking audacity to touch my daemon?

Finally, Vale stopped in front of the room we’d escaped from. Finally, he held Cinder out to me and carefully deposited her into my outstretched hands. She stumbled, and I clutched her close before she could fall. Her chest was heaving. I watched Vale brush a tiny black feather from his palm. “If you continue trying to escape,” he said calmly, “I can’t promise that won’t happen again.”

Cinder’s feathers bristled. “You’re a fucking monster,” I hissed.

He looked unaffected. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to comply, Phantom. If you continue fighting me, there will be consequences.”

It was pointless to argue with him. Still, my teeth clenched as I shuffled into the cell and let him lock the door behind me.

I sat heavily on the cot, relief mixing with anger. I unzipped my hoodie to let Cinder burrow inside. She shuddered as I stroked her feathers, trying to get the gross, skin-crawling feeling off of them. “Fuck,” she muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m not letting that happen again,” I whispered.

She pressed her head up into my chin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. “But it’s not happening again.”

She sighed. “We’ll find another way out. Soon.”

I nodded. Soon. Because if Vale was willing to do that, just to keep me here, I didn’t want to know what else might happen if we didn’t get out.

*

Once Phantom was locked away again, Vale left briskly, trying to walk off the unsettled feeling in his chest. He felt like he needed to wash his hands. Of course, he reminded himself, he’d only done what he had to do. Restraining the daemon was necessary to keep Phantom in line, and if the boy kept refusing to cooperate, he would do it again.

Still, that didn’t mean Vale liked breaking the taboo like that. It happened all the time in this line of work, but Vale rarely did it himself. It felt too … intimate. The memory of the bird’s frantic heartbeat against his fingers made him wince inwardly.

Jax padded along by his side. “I could have gotten the bird,” he murmured. His tone was neutral, but there was a question in it. Vale had felt his daemon’s surprise when he’d grabbed Phantom’s daemon, but neither of them had shown it.

“You couldn’t have,” said Vale. “You’re too big. You would have hurt her.” Jax hadn’t been in the right position to reach her, either; he’d been closer to Phantom. Vale glanced down at him. “You could have gotten the boy.”

Jax bristled. “It wasn’t necessary,” he said impassively.

Vale curled a hand into Jax’s thick, dark fur. “If it ever is,” Vale murmured, “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” He didn’t have to remind Jax how important it was to keep Phantom in the headquarters and under control. At the moment, the boy was unpredictable, but he could prove to be a valuable asset if Vale trained him right. If he escaped now, there wouldn’t be any second chances—it would only prove to him that Vale could be defied, and that was a dangerous assumption for him to make.

Jax’s shoulders relaxed. “Of course.” But Vale could still feel the seed of tension in him—he didn’t want to touch another human any more than Vale wanted to touch another daemon.

But Vale let it slide, for now. He trusted Jax. And, anyway, for all his defiance, Phantom was a smart boy. He’d settle in sooner or later. Vale was certain of it.

#original writing #original fiction #wip #daemon au #captivity #(try not to) kill all your friends #oc: axton vale #oc: the phantom prince #i feel like this au says so much about their characters #idk if i'm gonna write more of it but i've been thinking about this particular scene for MONTHS

[almost-a-class-act]

For the Band of Brothers girlies: some Sunday afternoon webgott fluff.

My brother texted me that he got his first white hair and this story was born. Featuring gardener!Lieb, because when do I not feature gardener!Lieb.

You can find more of my stuff on AO3 or here.

--

David leans over the sink, close enough that his breath fogs up the mirror, and uses one hand to flatten the bulk of his hair while he combs out the offending section. The dim yellow overhead light isn’t ideal so he turns his body to try and catch some of the morning sunlight spilling in through the glazed window without taking his eyes off that section of dark curls. One strand catches the light, glinting bright and jewel-like, distinct from the others.

It can’t be.

Of course it can be; he’s forty-two, and his own father has been grey for twenty-five years. He’s probably lucky it’s gone this long. And yet.

Shit. It can’t be.

He is so fixated, turning his head ever so slightly so that the hair catches the light better and he can confirm that it is, in fact, white, that the knock on the doorframe behind him startles him into nearly dropping the comb into the sink. He frowns at his own clumsiness, and then the frown settles into a proper glower when he turns to see Joe hanging in the doorway, watching him.

Joe, unfairly dark-haired still, apparently immune to the ravages of time, some-fucking-how.

His brow dips in response to David’s thunderous expression. “Who pissed in your Corn Flakes?”

David can’t even begin to pretend that he isn’t as unsettled as he is. “I have a white hair,” he announces, imbuing it with all of the real distress he feels over this thing that he knows perfectly well, on some level, is an incredibly minor cosmetic issue and doesn’t mean that he has one foot in the grave.

Joe, to his credit, does not immediately begin not letting him live down how dramatic he’s being, and beckons him closer. “Let me see.”

David obligingly pulls his hair to the side and steps nearer, tipping his head down. Joe presses gentle fingers to his scalp and leans in close. Then, before David knows what’s happening, he feels a painful little pinch. “Ow.”

He reels back, outraged, as Joe leans past him and rubs his fingers and thumb together to drop the white hair into the sink.

“Now you don’t have any white hairs,” he says. “Can I brush my teeth?”

David stares at him in indignation. “You can’t just – pull my hair out!”

Joe gives him a look as he reaches for his toothbrush in the mug on the back of the sink. “Were you going to leave it? Or were you going to obsess about it for two hours and then pull it out?”

David opens his mouth, and closes it. “I was – obviously going to pull it out,” he says, which is so not the point.

“There you go.” Joe carefully squeezes the toothpaste tube from the end, the way he always does, to make the last quarter of the tube last as long as the first three quarters had. “I just saved us two hours.”

David has no words to express how much Joe being calm about this might just be the thing that finally drives him crazy, so he stomps out of the bathroom instead.

In the bedroom, he changes out of his pajamas like they have personally offended him and pulls on a black sweater that is almost certainly Joe’s. He doesn’t care, might actually want to cause some friction, an occasional guilty pleasure of his since on balance they don’t fight nearly as much now as they used to.

The sweater having caused his hair to stand on end, he storms back to the bathroom where Joe is just spitting his toothpaste into the sink and rinsing his toothbrush. David retrieves his comb, aware that Joe is watching him in the mirror.

“Is that my sweater?”

David steadfastly looks at his own reflection, combing his hair down with a level of unnecessary violence that is leaving more strands in the comb than this task usually does. “Yes,” he says. “It’s black, because I’m mourning my youth.”

The look that Joe gives his reflection is so long and incredulous that it might be funny, if David were in the mood to laugh about anything. Instead, he ignores him, and Joe widens his eyes for a moment, shaking his head, before removing himself from the bathroom and the immediate vicinity of David’s wrath.

David spends the next hour banging around the house. He sort of wants everything to pile on, to give this a reason to be a bad day, but the sun shines resolutely outside the window and Joe’s coffee is, as usual, extremely good, so he can’t even justify his continuing bad mood to himself.

Which, of course, does not help.

Joe comes in from tending to the garden mid-morning, wearing that worn-out white t-shirt he always wears and sporting a streak of dirt on his cheek that might be endearing if David were in the mood for things to be endearing.

“I’m getting old,” he bursts out, since he needs to try and put this into some semblance of words and Joe, while not always the most sympathetic listener, can usually figure out what David is trying to say even if he doesn’t actually say it. “The inexorable march of time is sinking in. Right now.”

Joe balances on one foot to tug one of his boots off, maintaining eye contact. “You’re not getting old, Web,” he says, in a tone of voice that he has developed, at some point, specifically for David. David knows he has because he hasn’t heard Joe be this patient with things he considers to be silly with anyone else. It is sweet, he supposes, a little, although he finds it irredeemably annoying to know for sure that Joe thinks he’s being silly and is placating him. “One of us is looking down the barrel at fifty, and it ain’t you.”

“And yet, somehow, you don’t have any white hairs,” David says, because Joe’s hair is as thick and dark as the day they met, more than twenty years ago.

Joe does break eye contact then, yanking off his other boot and placing it next to the first one, and in that moment, David knows. “You have had white hairs,” he accuses.

“Yeah,” Joe says, straightening, with a very faint jut of his chin. “A few.”

David stares at him, unnerved by this betrayal. “What? When?”

“I don’t know,” Joe says. “Over the past few years. I pulled them out. So what?” He is trying his best to look casual about this, but David knows him well enough to know by now when there’s something else at play, and he snorts.

“Don’t pretend you were fine with it,” he says. “You have more hair products lined up in the bathroom than I do.”

Joe gives a half eyeroll, giving in. “Did you think I was going to age gracefully?” he asks. As gracefully as I do everything else? he doesn’t add, but it’s implied. “Come on, Web. You’re not exactly the May to my December but we can probably split the difference and call it August. I wasn’t about to be an old man when you still looked twenty-five.”

For the second time this morning, David opens his mouth and then closes it. He has been so focused on the concept of his own long, slow descent to the grave that it hadn’t even occurred to him to think about anything – or anyone – else. “You’re not an old man.”

The very idea is simply impossible. Joe gets up early in the mornings. He does what he’s always done, which is make coffee and breakfast and then go out to the garden. He carries bags of soil with no trouble and is down on his knees in the dirt half the time, and he has been known to chase his nieces around the coffee table at his sister’s house, which they prefer from Uncle Joe best of all because he always pretends he’s not going to play with them until he does. He trims David’s hair once every six weeks with eyes as clear as the day he passed his army physical, and he still reads comic books like a teenager even though David has spent years trying to imbue in him a suitable respects for the classics.

“You’re not old,” he repeats, and means it.

“I know math was never your strong suit, sweetheart,” Joe says, “but that means that neither are you.”

He’s right, of course. David can navel-gaze and wrestle with his own mortality separately if he wants to, but he simply can’t believe in Joe’s. Shit.

“But what if I get old?” he asks, aware of the inherent ridiculousness of the question. Of course he will get old.

And yet.

Joe cocks his head, which is the only warning David gets. “Kind of hope you do, Web,” he says, quiet, the way he says things sometimes that mean something else. David knows abruptly that he’s thinking about the storm and the empty slip where his boat was supposed to be, the immense luck to be standing here now when the sea had almost kept him.

He swallows, and can’t say anything for a moment.

Joe comes closer, not afraid to invade his space, even when David is in one of his moods, even when the almost-thing they never talk about hangs in the air between them. He settles a hand on his chest, familiar and reassuring. “You’re going to get old,” he tells him, something faintly chin-up in it, almost cheerful. “No way around it.”

David sighs, almost imperceptibly. “I know.”

“Yeah.” Joe rubs his palm soothingly against the fabric of his sweater and then taps, gently, twice. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go first.”

#band of brothers #fanfiction #webgott #roaroftheninth

[good-beans]

Tsumi's ask game: 2, 3, 4, 6 for Fuuta and Mappi!

Woo thank you so much :3 I promise I didn't go overboard but there were still a bunch so they're under the cut

2. favorite mv moment/frame?

This first one, hands down. Of course I love all frames of my little skrunkly (especially in his little knights outfit :3) but this moment in particular gave me chills. I could write a whole essay on how well Bring it On shows the melding of imagination/reality in a way that isn’t infantilizing. It’s not like a little kid getting carried away thinking of their fake stories, this happens to everyone – this has happened to me. Between the glitching and the beat in the music, this really gut-punched me with the feeling of letting yourself get carried away. Shoutout to the second one because it’s epic and I edited a lockscreen with it for a while. (extra shoutout to when he wipes the blood off his face ough I love that one too)

3. favorite non-mv official illustration?

the pv shot who said that. Lmao I actually really liked the 3rd anniversary art! It really captured that shit eating grin, and somehow maintains the perfect balance of making him look genuinely creepy/intimidating and still like a loser asdfsdf. In general he just looks real good in it :3 I know it’s like three tiny panels but I also love his Clock Over Orquestra look ;-;

4. favorite minigram episode/moment?

THERE’S SO MANY LOL I think it has to be the pause of silence as Amane makes fun of his height, but I’m so obsessed with the starry-eyed panel when he’s watching Yuno do cat’s cradle ;---; (eng versions from thinkin-bout-milgram)

6. favorite relationships with another character in the prison?

In general it’s Yuno, but a lot of that is from my own analysis/brainrot/fic writing 😭 I will never shut up about how his initial impression of violence was revealed to be in her defense, rather than his own aggression!!! They’re very similar and where they’re not, they’re complimentary. They are so special to me. If we’re talking mainly canon, it’s definitely him and Amane :’) Some parts are healthy and healing, some parts are fucking them both up more, but it’s all very fun and interesting. 

2. favorite mv moment/frame?

You’re making me choose??? You’re making me choose only one frame of my beautiful beautiful wife????

Seriously though, this one. I know it may be cliche as her Classic Frame but for someone who really relates to her “out of control” emotions and toxic positivity habits, it really hit hard!! It puts you in her victim's shoes, but still in the mindscape, and is just so unsettling and sad ;-;

3. favorite non-mv official illustration?

Definitely her birthday art! She’s so beautiful and happy in it <3 I love the dress, love the cake, love the flowers, it’s perfect! I enjoy her various anniversary art, but it always makes me sad seeing them try and paint her as creepy. I get it, but the whole point of her character is that there’s nothing literally creepy/mean about her ;--; (Referring to my previous answer, that's how you make her creepy. You put the viewer in her victim's shoes and make her just as cheery as always.)

4. favorite minigram episode/moment?

Her “I bet I could” because she Could!!! I believe in her 😤 It was such a cute minigram overall but after so much canon content of her struggling to keep up with what society/others expect of her I loved seeing her have some confidence in herself, even if it was silly :3 Ahh I also love her keeping up with Kotoko at jumprope! She may be small but she can keep up with the best of ‘em 💪

6. favorite relationships with another character in the prison?

Also Yuno lol! I love how much they care for each other, especially now that Yuno has been looking after her in T2 ;-; In general they make such a cool parallel – they both have crimes related to a partnership with a man, both pay attention to the picture-perfect ideal of a woman that society expects, but are complete opposites regarding honesty/masks. My secret little favorite is Fuuta, but once again that’s really all from headcanoned interactions and parallels 😅

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #mahiru shiina #ahh thank you pal :D #these were so fun #despite being absolutely insane over every second of backdraft im not crazy about the visuals #i could write So Much on my love for bring it on though... #i dont have it on me rn (no phone :c) but someone made a nic stitch of the scene where mahiru is looking down at her bf in the mindscape #hes disheveled but shes looking down at him blushing and i also love that one #rose posts #ask

[djservo]

HELLO 😁🤭😋 in my being young hot and sexy moment i almost forgot and checking the calendar was a jumpscare! but i’m here, once again asking for your book wrap up. how was your september reading? (spoiler: mine was awful) horror on the horizon for october? awaiting the deets

always with the end-of-month jumpscares!! I feel like I've only just processed the ending of august, probably bc it was packed to the brim but STILL! crazy!! very solid reads this month, I'll give her (september) that

Cool For You by Eileen Myles

got deja vu while reading and bc it reminded me of Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh bc they both work in medical institutions and have this similar demeanor towards work so i was like? is Eileen based on Eileen Myles?? but I enjoyed this one far more, really dug her style of writing and generally autofiction as a genre lately. it's like the best of both worlds of more intimate-feeling fiction and memoir without this fragile energy an author sometimes carries when trying to frame their life as accurately as possible. I like how experimental it can get with the form of a novel in a way I thought Myles did seamlessly like all the jumping around different stages of her life really worked for me because there was a nice rhythm to it all. plus her writing voice is just so effortlessly charming + funny + playful, she could make anything sound interesting I'm sure. one of my favorite lines:

“I was a funny and stupid girl—Jesus sliding on a banana peel in the temple."

little silly tidbits like that, I can't not smile!

I Wished by Dennis Cooper

it's crazy to me that I've only started Cooper this year because his writing is so ridiculously special to me now. I was gonna hold off on this one til I've read more of his early poetry, but I think it was actually fitting to follow up my journey with the George Miles cycle with this as it was kinda like a self-reflection on the cycle. now having read several books by him, I realize the necessity of the digesting period each one needs because of how much more I get out of them the longer I ruminate, far removed from a freshly-read state to fully comprehend the piece as a whole if that makes sense. I don't even wanna read my previous blurbs about the cycle books because, though I remember loving them instantly, I'm sure my interpretations were barely scratching the surface of what/how I feel about them now,.... I feel like i've just talked myself into a circle/I've totally lost my grip LMAO but this was very sweet and sad and funny and sad again and it's just a miracle to me how striking his writing is even with how succinct it can be. absolutely beautiful!!

Quarry by Jane White

damn these boys are fucked up !!! I won't get too deep bc a lot of my thoughts come from the climax/ending of this book and I don't wanna spoil in case you ever read, but there's a funny formality running through it all that becomes funnier with every unfolding + atrocious act. surprisingly a lot of gay + incestuous subtext going on that my friend and I kept texting each other during reading like "did I really just read that ..." there were so many layers and dynamics to pick apart, far more than either of us were expecting I think. twas a fun and twisted time and makes me excited to continue on with this theme!!

I think I mentioned before that Quarry was the start of a planned trio, so Lord of the Flies is next which I guess is sorta fitting for October. I was just remembering how I read Jekyll & Hyde last October and am debating if I wanna do another classic (eyeing Frankenstein) or maybe American Psycho finally to dip my toes into Bret Easton Ellis... unsure if I wanna be simply entertained or wholly unsettled, will maybe try and find a perfect in-between balance ⚖️

#asks #cheesehair #reads

[violethyacinth]

If I see one more fucking tiktok about how Men was a “surface level, reductive film” I’m gonna flip my fucking lid.

Media literacy is in HELL and y’all are acting fucking silly. Every negative “critique” I’ve seen is giving fake-woke, white liberal bullshit. “It doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test” 🙄 are y’all kidding me? I keep seeing people say the movie is trying to say that men are inherently evil. I wholeheartedly disagree. I would argue that this movie is an exploration of how toxic masculinity begets more toxic masculinity, and how damaging it is for men to seek validation and hinge their worth so heavily on the love and attention they receive from women. It shows how this behavior is damaging to everyone, not just women and non-men, but to men themselves, too. It’s a film with heavy themes of trauma and healing throughout. However, for as horrific and freaky as this movie is, to me it’s a hopeful one. To see Harper this entire film reclaiming her autonomy despite the most horrific shit happening to her is empowering to me. It’s almost laughable to me the fact that we’ve been given this film that is about a woman reclaiming and reestablishing her autonomy and all anyone can seem to do is talk about the men in this flick. I’m really about to go in so, spoilers ahead for the A24 movie Men.

Harper is such a strong lead character. Harper says “No” repeatedly throughout the film and is continually ignored but she NEVER relents. Harper says she wants a divorce and she means that shit. He tries to manipulate her into staying, she shuts that shit down. Her husband gets violent with her, she immediately makes him leave and his dumb, unable to take “no” as an answer ass, literally died as a result of trying violate Harper’s boundaries further. Harper does everything right in this flick and y’all still dont like it?

Harper said she was going to have this vacation for herself and she DID it! The scenes of her simply existing among nature are so beautiful and joyful and TRUE to what it feels like to finally escape a shit relationship. This movie is so beautiful and unsettling all at the same time. We get these gorgeous shots of Harper in nature truly reconnecting and just feeling and enjoying her surroundings. This movie so expertly balances these moments of peaceful serenity with unsettling tension. Watching this film, you as the audience are experiencing these emotional ups and downs along with Harper. There is a scene where she gets caught in a rain shower while out on a walk and she finds shelter under an ancient tree. We see shots of the wind blowing her hair about and rustling the leaves above her. Harper is smiling, I mean absolutely cheesing it, laughter bubbling up out of her as she’s watching the leaves shimmy and shake against the blue-gray sky, and all the while there’s this beautiful musical score building underneath in such a way that it appears as though the leaves and nature itself are making music for her. It’s one of the first truly light and joyful moments of the film. Throughout the entire scene there is an almost tangible feeling of a weight lifted off of Harper’s and the audience’s collective shoulders. We’re given a moment of relief from the tension that had been winding so tightly since the moment she arrived at Cotson that carries on into the next scene.

When Harper gets to a point where she just wants to give up and come home because of all the horrible shit that had happened her whole trip, her friend puts her foot down and really shows up for Harper. Her friend is the only person this entire film that we see honor Harper’s wishes, full stop. She does not come to the house in Cotson until AFTER Harper says “yes,” once again reinforcing Harper’s autonomy. Yes, Harper wanted to come home but as her friend said to her, “this is the only thing you’ve wanted for yourself.” I think that moment of defiance, of righteous anger we see from her friend in that scene at all the shit Harper had experienced is so beautiful. If your best friends don’t support you in the things you want to do and encourage you when you feel like giving up, then are they really your best friends?

The ending sequences are so fucking wild and amazing to me. Once Harper agrees to stay and wait for her friend to show up, the escalation of the horror and the monsters? Whew it’s intense. But throughout, Harper maintains her autonomy. She stays a badass. She thinks someone’s broken in? She grabs a weapon. Geoff shows up and wants to have a look around? She urges him not to leave but is ignored because of his chivalrous posturing, which he ties directly to a shitty thing his father used to say to him. She accidentally hits him with her car as a result. That shitty fucking piece of shit kid shows up and is taunting her and harassing her? She nearly stabs the little fucker again. The sexually repressed vicar? She means no so intensely that SHE RUNS THAT BITCH THROUGH! I think it is so interesting that in all of these instances that Harper responds to violence with violence, it never seems to actually stick. But when she finally stops fighting back physically, when she sits down and asks “what do you want from me?” And his reply is just “your love.”

Harper is having none of these motherfuckers bullshit and I LOVE that for her. So for her final scene to be sitting in the bright courtyard and looking up to see that her friend is there and realizing that she is safe and she isn’t alone is so delightful.

I just think this movie is so good and so beautiful and so powerful.

I have a lot of other thoughts about the folk horror aspect of this movie that I think a lot of people are missing. I will not share them here right now because I just wanted to gush a bit about Harper and how amazing she is.

#spoilers #men spoilers #men 2022 #men movie #endless list of favourite movies #Men #long post #rambling a little #i know I keep calling Harper’s friend her Friend but I am fully aware it’s totally possible she’s actually Harper’s girlfriend #if so I’m so here for that #if not I still love their friendship and respect and love they have for each other #idk I was unsure if we’re supposed to assume Harper was leaving James for her or not #speaking of is she ever named? i can’t remember her friend being named but I only saw it the once a few weeks ago now #idk I think there’s definitely a reading of this movie that is Queer for sure #Harper doesn’t necessarily give Straight Woman vibes to me a non-binary queer femme #but who knows #from drafts #i wrote this probably three weeks ago but just had been sitting on it #Violeta speaks

[elvesandlanterns]

Ghost Helpline part 7

“What exactly did she say?”

“I’m telling you bats she just went ‘Questions cost extra’ and then the two of them just disappeared into thin air!!” Arsenal couldn’t fucking believe this, they had been talking in circles for five minutes. The girl left Roy feeling off balance, she creeped him out. There he said it she creeped him the fuck out! A part of him was so unsettled by her all he wanted to do was shoot both those fuckers and be done with it. Then he pushed that unpleasantness down and looked again. All he saw was a tired tired kid. Had he ever been that tired as Speedy? Now he was pushing all those feelings down again because now he didn’t want to kill her or sympathize with her, he guessed some part of being a father had made him weak, now all he wanted were answers!!

Tim was begging to grow worried for Bruce Batman. It was clear to Tim that he was spiraling, understandably, all security forage in the watchtower had come up as static. Glitching widely, the best picture they could capture was of the floor covered in fire Konstelacios metallic boots in the corner. There were no leads; no ancient murals, crumbling statues or off handed anecdotes in a dead man’s journal. Nothing. And according to the team on dragon watch duty there were possibly even more threatening players involved. A group of people strong enough to take down a villain that thwaped Superman like a fly. It was unnerving for Tim, which only meant it must be driving Bruce Batman up a wall. Tim worried.

—- — —-

Konstelacio arrived at Masters Manor with her friend approximately 10 minutes later. A headache forming in between her ears and a sigh escaping her.

All of her brothers ran about packing their things, “See I told you she’d be back! She’s fine.” Konstelacio didn’t bother to check which one of them had spoken, it hardly mattered.

“I’m heading down to the lab, I need to use the portal.” No one answered as she took Aragons hand and descended the steps.

“Whelp, time to face the music buddy.” She pouted, listening to Uncle Dans lecture was going to be a pain.

—— — — —-

Booster came back three days after the meeting, a whole day and a half before Captain Marvel, with a massive concussion .It was a mistake.

#danny phantom #justice league #batman #redeemed vlad #dc x dp #dp x dc #billy batson #ghost helpline #dan redemption #fruit bat #batfam #@alikoyuii #@busterkeel #@mayoota blog1 #@vixen uichah #@roseisred #@starkcravingmad #@icedbluesoul #@mimilikey #@dodekakophonie #helpline part 7

[infinitethree]

Hello Fates, tis I again. I just wished to inform you that, I can make out some sentences, some words, but more often than not I just hear a veritable mess of sounds. Though I will admit that some words come in clear, but in a language I'm not familiar with. It is most odd, but not my place to press. Maybe I should see if Chat is similar. Hmm. Have a good day.

Theo gets stopped in his tracks by the chorus of voices in his head shouting over each other. He suspects they're trying to figure out what words are clear, but he’s more concerned about the sudden headache he’s been inflicted with.

He’s left a bit off balance from the barrage. "Fuckin'-- shut," he groans, willing his head to stop trying to escape his skull.

Oop Too far? I think so, yeah Sorryyy Theo

He grunts, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. The sun, which had been warm and inviting all of two minutes ago, now feels oppressive.

This is definitely one of the least fun experiences he’s been 'gifted' by the Observers.

Weirdchamp name, in his books, but hey– he didn't get to name them.

And with that, his day goes from kinda sucky to outright shit.

They shouldn't know about that. Nobody should– not to this extent. He was careful about what he researched or spoke about.

Not even his dad knows. He can’t know, because he would try to stop him.

Theo knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his dad doesn't plan to live once they’re all gone. But Theo has spent a lifetime honing his skills to keep his stupid, idiot dad alive. If he's there, even if only a little longer, he can drag his dad through the grief.

Family first. No matter what.

Hearing that there are entities who know his goals to that extent…is distressing. More than that, it's insulting.

How dare they imply that he would abandon his dad to his grief? How dare they ask him if he's thought about the consequences of this?

The consequences of turning a blind eye to the future are too high to back down.

"Fuck you," he hisses. Rage curls the edges of his words despite knowing he can't murder who or what dared to ask him that question.

He starts to stalk off. He's going to do literally anything but humor these assholes.

"Do you want to know a secret, Theseus?"

Theo stops in his tracks again. There’s not much that unsettles him, but a cloying sense of wrongness is humming in the back of his head.

This voice isn't the same as the Observers. Who or what ever this one belongs to, they are not to be idly snubbed.

He swallows, but gives a slight nod of his head. He’s not thrilled at being singled out like this, even less so to learn 'a secret'.

And especially not coming off the heels of the last two things he heard.

Even the Fates go quiet, unsure what to make of this.

"Admins," the voice giggles, "don't age like you do! Would you really leave your poor dad and baby brother all alone? You'd break their hearts."

Something in Theo’s chest squeezes at the idea of knowingly damning the two of them to that kind of pain. If Lee does become an admin here, and he really does age differently, then there's no telling how long the two of them would live with that grief.

Sounds like a lie? We'd know, right? There’s no way we wouldn't have noticed by now. …Does Lucid look any older, though? It’s only been like, what, five years? Max? That's nothing. We could ask? No way. If it's true, he'd have too big a reason to get Lee to stay. But if it’s not true, we'd be worrying for nothing. We gotta know more, though. Could ask other people on the downlow? 

"It doesn’t matter," he says. "S' not something I'm fuckin' doing anyway."

The voice laughs. Something about it feels cruel. "Your loyalty is so…deep. But you don’t know anything else, huh?"

He wants to curse them. He wants to tell them to eat shit and die in a ditch. He wants to write this off as something toying with him.

He can’t, though. He keeps his damn mouth shut, because he knows that pissing off something powerful is a one-way ticket to regret and misery.

"God, you're so boring," the voice whines. "It's no fun when you're smart. Not when you're not the one who can figure it all out."

…The contradiction confuses him. He’s boring because he’s smart, but not smart enough? How the fuck does that make sense?

It sounds like the voice blows a raspberry. "You're not the reason I spoke up, anyway. Go run along and tell your dad what a fun chat you've had."

He grits his teeth. Even if he wants to demand more information, doing so is too dangerous.

Instead, he turns on his heel. He needs to talk to his dad– things have just escalated.

Mocking laughter dogs his steps.

#long post #chronotag #asked&answered #chaoticTheseus #FatedChat #MysteriousVoice #RunsTheShow #why yes that IS Mystery #they have decided they're bored of waiting in the wings #and want to get this show on the road #this can only go well for everyone :)