#sins of youth: wonder girls

[daily-cassie-sandsmark]

#cassie sandsmark #wonder girl #daily cassie sandsmark #brian k. vaughan #scott kolins #chris ivy #rick taylor #sins of youth: wonder girls

[batcavescolony]

In Young Justice 98 comics Match replaced Kon for like three whole issues and no one noticed.

From Young Justice #17 when Cissie packs all her stuff from the cave,

Till Young Justice #19

And carried over untill this moment in Young Justice Sins Of Youth #1

The person everyone thinks is Kon is actually Match.

And this isn't a one off thing Match did, it happened again in Young Justice #38 when Bart and Tim left the team but this time he was jokerized for some reason but the girls still think it's Kon trying to cheer them up (cus they were in a war the last issues)

Superboy comes back all confused because he was having a Heart to Heart with Supergirl on top the statue of liberty

Match does this twice in YJ alone. I can only assume he's done it in other comics too. It's kinda funny but sad like no one notices?

#comics #dc comics #robin #tim drake #cissie king jones #arrowette #cassie sandsmark #wonder girl #kon el kent #kon el #conner kent #superboy #match #young justice 98 #young justice #young just us #batcavescolony reads comics #bart allen #impulse #sins of youth #supergirl #i think thats her? she white tshirt and the 90s-00s Supergirl. corect me if im wrong. #linda right? matrix or linda or merged matrix linda? idk Supergirls are confusing #kon and match

[dailydccomics]

the trials and tribulations of the Wonder wardrobe Sins of Youth: Wonder Girls (2000)

#diana of themyscira #cassie sandsmark #dc comics #helena sandsmark #diana prince #wonder girl #wonder woman #dc #wonderfam #sins of youth

[magicpotatothoughts]

TGCF reread new finds #1

Xie Lian actively and consciously knows that he is attracted to HC the MOMENT THEY MEET in the Ox Cart. Like it’s not just blank gay panic, he knows.

His beauty was deadly like a sword, sharp and mesmerising. Xie Lian only met his eyes for a moment, then lowered his eyes in defeat.

MATE, normally wouldn’t you continue to be mesmerised and can’t peel your eyes away? That is, UNLESS YOURE WHIPPED. XL knows that SL's looks affect him to this degree. Defeat is the key word here.

Also

The distance between them had closed too fast. he suddenly didn't know what to do[...]Xie Lian blanked on the spot. He watched as the tall and slender youth walked away with his giant bag of junk as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, and it made him mutter inwardly, Forgive my sins.

Making a rich young lad carry your things? Making him sleep in your crappy temple? That doesn't warrant the weighty thought? FORGIVE WHAT SINS Xie Lian??!!!

Many village girls saw (HC) and blushed [...] Xie Lian didn't know what they were going to ask, but felt instinctively that it must be stopped at once, and cried, "No!"

Jealous jealous boi! XL WAS POSSESSIVE after ONE night spent together at Puqi Shrine. Didn’t XL just say to SL that he will have no problem in the love department because girls will throw themselves at him? Yo, why are you cock-blocking? Everyone says HC is insane, no XL is equally insane for the other!

Also, when HC revealed that it's his real skin after the Banyue arc, XL instinctively poked him. Then

He looked at his own finger then hid it away, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

What thoughts XL ?!! Explain yourself right now!

Jumping back to OX CART scene, Xie Lian's character development was foreshadowed when they were talking about the gifting of ghost ashes.

Book 1: Xie Lian sighed. "It certainly is painful to think about, to have given everything for love and lose everything in return."

This is what Xie Lian is most afraid of! Like even thinking back to Xie Lian pushing Feng Xin away in Book 4, he definitely operated under that mindset. Love is a risk, it's something to be feared. Even now 800+ years later, he still feels that way and doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone. It just hits so much harder thinking that he operated under that for so many centuries.

Then Hua Cheng says

"What there to be afraid of? If it were me, I'd have no regrets giving away my ashes"

Which I think really changed the way that Xie Lian thought about love. Book 5 Xie Lian completely operates with Love is empowering and isn't something to be afraid of.

TGCF isn't about XL realising his feelings, literally from Book 1 it's about him wondering if it's worthwhile to act on them.

Three things, is this person worth losing cultivation over for?

He needs the reassurance that this person must reciprocate his feelings.

Then HC changed his perspective on love from FEAR -> EMPOWERMENT.

XL is soooo self-aware (unlike SQQ from SVSSS and WWX from MDZS), he's an unreliable narrator in the way that he doesn't reveal everything to the reader, especially his own feelings until he was absolutely sure that there really was both a physical and romantic attraction. I wanted to make this post to dispel the assumption for XL it was easy to forego 800+ years of cultivation. It was not? He ABSOLUTELY thought about it carefully.

#honestly without the thousand caves reveal these two gays would still be 👉👈🥺 at each other #I was inspired by grimbravado's tumblr #tgcf #mxtx #heaven official's blessing #also these are my own perspectives #take it with a grain of salt #hualian #hua cheng #tian guan ci fu #xie lian #feng xin #fenglian #TGCF meta

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part II

I can't steal you (like you stole me) - You, The Pretty Reckless

Spinning all these stories - Skinny Bitch, Lena Meyer-Landrut

It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon - Lemon Tree, Fool's Garden

When I watch the world burn (all I think about is you) - Doom Days, Bastille

Let's compare scars (I′ll tell you whose is worse) - Swing Life Away, Rise Against

Sunsets and silhouette dreams - You be the anchor [...], Mayday Parade

Who could deny these butterflies? - Remembering Sunday, All Time Low

As we say our long goodbyes - Run, Snow Patrol

Naked bodies look like porcelain - Love, Daughter

I wish you were a stranger - Over my head (Cable Car), The Fray

Send my regards to hell - Blame, Bastille

We do fall before we rise - Blood & Glitter, Lord of the Lost

Our hearts beat (control them) - In spirit golden, I Blame Coco

Admiring from afar - we fell in love in october, girl in red

The safest place to hide - MakeDamnSure, Taking Back Sunday

I am my own worst enemy - The Consequence, You Me At Six

My lover and my best friend - Rehab, Rihanna

It's a sign that someone loves you - Don't swallow the cap, The National

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin - Take me to church, Hozier

The wonderful mess that we made - Flaws, Bastille

Drink the poison lightly - I'm not the one, 3OH!3

Saving life in the dark - Believe, Yellowcard

To warm the cold side of the pillow - Hunger of the Pine, alt-J

I'd probably still adore you - 505, Arctic Monkeys

You killed me with your smile - Tonight, Reamonn

Mistaken for strangers by your own friends - Mistaken for strangers, The National

Three whole words and eight letters late - Fireworks, You Me At Six

You say you love me and you roll your eyes - Everyway that I can, Sertab Erener

I'm so surprised you want to dance with me now - Pink Rabbits, The National

To distract our hearts from ever missing them - Youth, Daughter

More titles!

#fic titles #fanfic #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #song prompt #writing ideas #June 2023

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 2

~ ch. 1 here ~

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (m receiving), smoking, religious trauma, bisexuality

word count: 7.1 k

When I meet Matty the following Thursday, it’s in the city center. Feeling nervous and awfully out of place, I cover my eyes with my hand as a kind of mock-visor and search briefly for his familiar face in the square that’s packed with older gentlemen gossiping and families blowing bubbles each bigger than the last. I take a seat on a bench near the middle of the piazza when I don’t see him, hoping I’ll be somewhere he can spot but not as awkward-looking as I might be if I stood still watching the scene like some sick, American voyeur.

Matty walks up with the gait of a bad Mick Jagger impersonator. I can see now that he’s all limbs though not in a bad way; in a way that exaggerates his movements and announces his presence to the world around him. He seems comfortable with the reality that people will look at him. I suppose it makes sense, given his choice of career, but it still mesmerizes me.

I watch him as he walks towards me. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt that exposes his arms to me for the first time. They’re golden and covered with a variety of tattoos in different styles; from his biceps all the way down to his wrists. Eventually, he notices me looking and his face breaks out into a smile. He nods up to the cathedral to my left as he approaches me, giving me a quick, fraternal hug.

“How do you like it, then?” he asks, eyes trained on the holy building.

“Matty, that’s a church,” I state plainly, “I spent my childhood in places like that, and I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that God doesn’t like girls like me.”

“If God exists, I promise you’re one of his favourites,” he laughs as he says it, as if it’s not one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me in my life.

“What do you know about God?” I ask.

“Oh nothing, really,” he concedes, “Just that he’s the most vicious, generous bastard in the world.”

I eye him as he says the words. I suppose that must be true for him. I resent the idea that our accomplishments and qualms are all consequences of our virtuous or sinful behaviors. It’s asinine. But if God is real, he’s certainly blessed Matty – with beauty, intelligence, love, money. 

If God is real, he’s cursed me to be something immutably unlovable. Damned to rot from the inside out for the rest of my life. I don’t believe what Matty says, even for a second. There’s no way I’m one of God’s favorites. 

Matty waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I didn’t consider that you might have…religious trauma or something,” he assures me.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I say, though truthfully I’m less sure than I say. I wonder if entering the cold, marble palace will transport me back to my youth; to standing primly in church as a child, scared to make a wrong move. Scared to think a sinful thought. Considering each older woman around me, their beautiful hair covered by cotton squares in a performance of modesty. I envied them, how easy they made it look to live by the rules. How little they seemed to struggle with keeping their mouths shut and their shoulders covered and denying themselves the indulgence of imagining another woman’s warm, sweet lips on their own.

Matty seems to clock my hesitance. He takes my hand and leads me in and I was so wrong. 

It’s not cold inside, it’s breathtaking in a way that makes me feel welcome. On the outside of the central atrium are alcoves, each decorated more elaborately than the last. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of incense, the sounds of hypnotic Latin chanting, the sight of refracting, colorful light. It feels Heavenly. I suppose it’s meant to. 

Matty draws me towards one of the scenes that’s painted on the perimeter of the nave. It depicts a woman washing Jesus’ feet. Her head is bowed in submission, focused completely on the task at hand. In her hands is her long, black hair, which she uses to wipe at the top of Jesus’ feet. The chiaroscuro of the scene illuminates the action; everything else is noise. All that exists is her devotion.

“She was a sinful woman,” I say, “A prostitute, I think.” Matty raises his eyebrows in consideration.

“Was it like a punishment or something? Making her wash his feet?”

“No,” I breathe, “She did it to show him that she knew who he was. Knew he was worthy of being revered.”

“So her taking care of him was a sign that she understood him? Or what? Loved him?” 

I shrug. “Isn’t that what we all do for the people we love? If we’re loving them right?”

“I suppose so,” Matty turns his head to look at me. He must see something on my face – a flicker of an emotion or a thought – that he recognizes because he adds, “But it’s no one’s fault if they haven’t been loved right. It doesn’t make you unloveable. It makes the other person a bad lover.”

“Well I suppose we can’t all be as easy to love as Jesus, can we?” I sigh, moving away from him, towards the center of the church.

I sit in one of the pews towards the back. In front of me are tourists and locals; people of all backgrounds, colors, and ages approaching the altar. Some of them have brought candles, hold rosaries. They appeal to God, beseeching his benevolent will. I empathize with them, even though I have serious reservations about the efficacy of their methodology. It’s beautiful how much they care about their fellow man.

When you see a woman wearing sheer tights, gray hairs combed perfectly into an updo, and kneeling on the cold tile floor with her hands pressed together, twins conjoined in supplication, you know that her motive cannot possibly be her own wellbeing. As selfish as we humans can be, it would be blasphemous to come to God’s house and light a prayer candle for yourself.

Matty sits down next to me, close enough that our legs are touching: his corduroy pants to my bare legs, pebbled by the cold air. I remember sitting in church with my crush as a girl, feeling wretched for wanting to inch closer to her. When I finally let our legs touch through layers of wool fabric, the excitement of touching faded instantly, giving way to the all-encompassing shame of the sin I’d committed. I reject the shame now, gently pushing my thigh further into Matty’s to prove to myself that it’s something I’m allowed to do, even in church. I’m allowed to touch him. I’m allowed to look at him and be distracted by his handsomeness. I’m allowed to think about his lips, plump, rosy, and left open wantingly. I’m allowed to think about his hips, how easily they swayed to the music the night I saw him in the club, and how deeply the rhythm seemed to be embedded in him. I’m allowed to think about his sculptural arms and nimble, calloused fingers. I’m even allowed to lust after him, to daydream about how good he could make me feel, if he wanted to. If I wanted him to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking my train of thought. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying desperately not to feel caught, “You?”

“Thinkin’ about the people who made this place. All of the gold light fixtures they had to weld. I mean fuckin’ hell look at this,” he points to a sconce on the wall. It’s carved in the shape of winding vines and inlaid on the front are mother of pearl accents positioned in the shape of a cross. “They did it with much more primitive technologies than we have as well.” I nod along. 

“The devotion,” I muse. 

“What’s that?”

“Think about the devotion they must have had to God in order to create such a beautiful thing for Him. It would show if the constructors didn’t believe. They would have phoned it in; cut corners on the carvings in the pews and the intricate architecture of the dome,” I tilt my head to get a better view of the dome in question. Inside of it, windows filter perfect yellow light into the building and angelic sculptures stand guard over the heavens. 

Matty throws his head back completely, looking up towards the sky like there’s something up there that will save him or give him a more profound understanding of the place where his feet dwell. It’s misguided; I’ve spent enough time looking up to know that. There’s nothing good God can teach us that we can’t learn on our own. It’s nice to imagine sometimes, though: that if you look a little harder or listen to the silence on your knees for a minute longer, all of a sudden the answer to your problems will be revealed. 

With his head towards the sky, Matty’s neck is open and vulnerable to me. A strong vein is prominent on the right side of it and his Adam’s apple protrudes, a silhouette that’s so thrillingly masculine. It feels intimate that he would let me see him like this: all awed and curious and unguarded, like a dog that’s rolled over to offer me his belly. I’m flattered that Matty feels safe getting lost in front of me.

I admire how open he is to the beauty of it all. It’s because churches aren’t places that make him instinctively put his guard up. On the other hand, churches for me are places where I was fed lies, Sunday after Sunday. Where old men seized upon my innocence and insecurity and forced poison down my throat until I swallowed every last drop. I’d had to go through withdrawal when I finally got the antidote. It was arduous, sweaty, painful. I learned to question everything a little too well. I don’t believe in any kind of magic anymore; I can no longer believe anything that’s not right in front of my eyes. God took that from me. Matty is lucky God didn’t take it from him, too.

I look up, following his eyes. It’s all so beautiful it almost loses its meaning. Everything is marble or silk or stained glass. It’s too much all at once. I can tell it’s all spectacular but in the flurry of everything, each individual marvel loses its luster. As I tip my head further and further back, I get a little dizzy and the colors that float above me begin to bleed into each other in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. I snap my head back up; back to reality. I reach out to hold on to Matty’s arm.

“Can we go now?” I whisper to him, still wanting to preserve the sanctity of the place for the other patrons. 

He nods in wordless understanding and leads me out.

–

The scorching heat of midday eventually breaks and yields a brisk night. When the sun sets, my skin remains sensitive, showing temporary, pale markings when I press my fingers into it. It hurts a little; a reminder of the fun I had that made me forget to reapply my sunscreen.

I sit at a table with Christina, Nina, and her friends. Some of us indulging in an aged wine from the region and others vying for an Aperol even though the sun is long past set and the orange bittersweet liquid now looks opaque.

“You know the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new,” says Nina, grabbing another glass of the chianti. 

“Like I’ve never tried that before,” I answer. It comes out meaner than I’d expected; though how could it not? I’m not a teenager dealing with a first kiss who pied me off for a blonder, more popular girl, I’m an adult who built a life with someone and rearranged my guts to fit her into every place that was important to me. Who introduced her to my parents and friends and was now having to wait for the dust to settle in an explosion that blew the whole thing to pieces. 

There are so many life-or-death questions that remain unanswered: Which friends will take my side, and which will take hers? If I have a fling with a toned Italian Adonis this summer, which of our so-called friends will stop inviting me to Dyke Night at Ginger's? Which of them will forget I exist just because I’ve left the city?

No, getting under someone new won’t help any of that, I decide. 

“Sometimes we all need a distraction,” remarks Nina. “Look, the truth is that a breakup uproots your whole life. You don’t know which way is up, you don’t know which places are safe from them, especially in New York. I remember when Mason and I broke up, I didn’t go below 16th Street for a whole month, just because I knew I’d be safe from him if I stayed uptown. My point is more that you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’re in fucking Italy and she’s gone back to Michigan while she figures out her next move. So do exactly what you want for once, it’s not as though you can do that when you’re in a relationship.”

Exactly what I want. The words echo in my mind as the savory wine causes my neurons to sing. What exactly do I want?

–

It’s just past ten when I meet Matty at a cafe near our homes. A late night up with the girls means I’m cursing myself for not arriving early enough to order a cappuccino. Matty is leaning up against a chair with his sunglasses on, looking down. He holds his phone in both hands, a cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right. He exhales some smoke from his lungs and looks up to see me walking towards him.

“Y/n!” he smiles, immediately putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek, “How are you, darlin’?” I can feel my cheeks getting warm due to our proximity and his openness. 

He has a European self-assuredness to his movements. I’m not stupid enough to think that all of Europe is the same, but there’s a facility with which he takes my hand. Whereas, if I were to touch somebody, I would pause and hedge and overanalyze before reaching out. Even more so if it was someone I liked—which I’m slowly realizing I do.

“I’m good,” I smile at the dark lenses of his sunglasses. I hate those little pieces of plastic for keeping me from seeing his brown irises in the sun. I bet they would sparkle. I want to steal them from him and hide them so he can never wear them again and I’ll always be able to see the magic that happens in his eyes. Maybe it would hurt him, maybe his crow's feet would become more pronounced but I don’t care even a little bit. I want to know what it feels like to look into his soul again. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask.

Matty nods toward a light pole a few meters away. Propped up beside it is a shiny black Vespa. 

“Thought we’d take a little day trip to the lake,” he says.

“Oh no, I can’t,” I say out of instinct. 

“Oh,” he deflates a little, “why not? Have you got somewhere to be?” I look at him embarrassed. 

“My mom would kill me if I got on a motorcycle,” I say. Truthfully, I’m scared more by the feelings that bloom in my stomach at the thought of holding onto his waist than the thought of riding the vehicle itself. He breaks into a toothy smile and crinkles sprout at the edges of his eyes.

“Your mum’s not here. How old are you, again?” he asks. I decide that doesn’t deserve an answer, instead opting to roll my eyes pointedly at him. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s a Vespa, not a motorcycle.”

“Do you have a helmet?” I question, timidly. He reaches out to my tote bag – embroidered with the familiar emblem of Shakespeare and Company – and tugs my silk scarf from it. His hands move tentatively towards my head, face questioning softly if he can touch me. I give an imperceptible ‘yes’, and soon his warm hands are cradling me. He places the scarf lightly on my head and then moves his attention down to my chin, tying it in place delicately. He reaches out to caress my jaw.

“There you go, princess,” he coos. The nickname doesn’t have the sting of taunting it once did. It feels sincere; like Matty really believes I should be treated with the utmost care. As soon as I can begin to smile up at him, he’s gone again, throwing his leg up to straddle the bike. With his Wayfarers covering his eyes, slicked-back hair, and tan skin, he looks every bit the rockstar Nina’s friends say he is.

I find myself skipping to him and straddling the bike behind him. I can’t see his face but I imagine it must be twisted into that ridiculous, self-assured grin I witnessed on the first night I met him. Where it once produced acrid bile that stained my throat with hatred, it now endears me to him. It’s indicative of a boyish playfulness, a thrill-seeking tendency that I so admire. Girls can’t afford to be silly and I’ve been surrounded by them for so long. I want to walk around in Matty’s skin for a day and learn what it feels like. 

What does it feel like to him when he walks home alone at night? It must be how I feel when I walk during the day. No– it’s even more free, it must be. Even during the day, I cringe imperceptibly away from every man I pass on the street, no matter what part of town I’m in or whether I have my headphones on. 

When Matty meets a girl and chats her up, he must not feel any of the apprehension that I do. No poking and prodding to see if she’s the one straight friend that’s tagged along to the gay bar because she’s just “so tired of men” or the sweet, bi-curious loner who’s looking for her first girl-on-girl action. He can just approach them without pretense and genuinely try to get to know them. He can entrance them with the arcane physics of his adorably curly hair and the spellbinding timbre of his speech.

When he speaks up, people must listen to the deeper, commanding pitch of his voice. They must be piqued by the melody of his Mancunian accent. They must believe him, perhaps even when they shouldn’t.

Do I want him? Or do I envy the ease that seems to come with being him? 

Do I want to feel his insides? Or do I want to feel him inside of me? 

I snake my arms around his middle, trying not to dwell on the soft cotton and lithe muscle that cover his torso. I clasp my hands together just under his ribs.

“You ready?” he asks. I press my cheek to his back, bracing for impact. I nod against him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. He chuckles at my hesitance and hits the accelerator.

And we’re off, bumping down old cobblestone roads, bathing in daylight, and meditating to the sounds of the city – babies crying, birds chirping, music playing, meat mongers yelling like showmen – and it’s not scary. Matty is solid underneath me, resilient. He runs a hand through his curiously straight hair like it’s nothing to him. 

On our way to the lake, Matty slows down at a fruit market packed with old ladies haggling with one another. He puts the kickstand for the Vespa out, twirls the keys around his hand, and pockets them. Then he strides over to the gaggle of nonnas greeting each of them in due course. 

“Come stai, Matteo?” 

“Come sta l’america?” 

“Che rockstar!” 

They clamber for his attention like he’s a grandson they haven’t seen in several years. 

“Tutto bene, grazie,” he manages, his English tongue contorting around the Italian. He still sounds anglophonic when he pronounces the words, but they cheer and coo all the same. Matty beckons me from the bike over to the fruit stand. “What do you want, darlin’?” he asks when I arrive next to him. 

I look down at a ripe selection of fruit that’s bursting at the seams with juice. Apricots the color of the sunrise, jewel-toned berries, and peaches: fuzzy, soft, and yielding – not unlike human flesh, I think. My thoughts wander to Matty’s hands and cheeks and thighs. What would they feel like if I touched them? Would they give? Would they warm me? Could I squeeze him hard enough to make him burst?

“Andiamo a Lago di Garda,” Matty explains. The nonnas grab a paper bag and begin pointing to the selection of fruits. “Albicocca, pesca, frutti di bosco,” they gesture to each in turn. Their voices undulate and vary in pitch as they describe the fruits. It sounds like verse to my ears: romantic, melodic, and exquisitely idyllic.

Matty turns to me, “They want to know what you want.”

I look at them – their pink noses and wiry eyebrows and floral aprons – and smile. I mime how many of each I’d like and they pack our bag to the brim. They pass the fruit to me as Matty pays what he owes, bidding them farewell. He runs up behind me as I approach the Vespa and takes the bag from me, setting it at his feet. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs one with his teeth and lets it stay there, nestled between his lips. My eyes remain trained on his every movement and he notices, tossing me a lighter as he starts up the bike.

“You light it for me, sweetheart?” he asks. My hands fumble with the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette and idling there while Matty inhales. When it doesn’t light right away, he brings his hands up, cupping them around the end and they graze my fingers on the lighter. We look like two school children telling secrets and the moment feels as intimate if not more. How I’d love to know his secrets, each and every last one.

I release the lighter and Matty lets the cig hang languidly on his bottom lip.

“You want one?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say. 

“Too right you are,” he replies, “hold on tight darlin’.”

–

Matty drives calmly down the motorway as I clasp my hands together as hard as I can. The breeze whips against my face and chaps my lips but I don’t mind. With the sun on my face and Matty underneath me, I feel unreal, unstoppable. As we reach the lake, the trees become more abundant. They flank the roads that lead to the beach and smell like fresh-squeezed lemonade, refreshing and revitalizing.

We finally slow down and sit on the rocky shore. Matty hands me a basket of berries and I immediately pop one in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice that explodes on my tongue. 

Next to me, Matty bites into a peach. The juices run down his chin and he uses the back of his hand to wipe them off. 

The sticky juice glistens on his hand as he puts it down on the rocks to support himself. I’m mesmerized by the way the sheen that covers his hand catches the sun. I’m like a magpie drawn to anything shiny and ripe and sweet, not content enough with the fruit that’s bursting in my own mouth. I need to have his too.

“Can I try it?” I ask. Matty turns to me mid-bite and hands the peach to me as he chews the bite in his mouth. With the fruit in my hand, I inspect the marks his teeth have left, the place where his tongue has been. The thought that the tangy, sweet flavor will be laced with the taste of Matty’s mouth is absolutely delirium-inducing. It intoxicates me like a drug: the thought that I want him inside of me, that I could have him inside of me if I only lick the spot in front of me. I take a bite out of the yellow flesh and suck the juice into my mouth before passing it back to Matty. 

It’s better than I expected. Warm from being outside, not cold and refrigerated and sterile like the fruit Claire and I used to buy in New York. It’s soft, yielding easily to my teeth and tongue. And it’s sweet, sticky. The surface of the flesh is covered in Matty’s saliva and it seems to make me hungry, truly hungry, for the first time in months. I want to devour the peach and then the berries and then every other perfectly imperfect food I can find. It tastes like vitality. It tastes like desire. 

“That’s really fucking good,” I declare. 

Matty inspects the dents I’ve left in the fruit. Then he runs his tongue over the fuzzy skin and yellow flesh before biting into it. My skin burns from the sun and the eroticism of the situation. We’ve each been inside of one another now, him in my mouth and me in his. I want to taste him properly, from the source.

“How come your hair is straight today?” I ask, reaching my hand out to touch a strand that’s fallen over his face to partially obscure his eyes. It’s stiff and crunches beneath the pressure of my fingers.

“My natural hair would have fallen in my face and gotten us into an accident, especially given the fact I have to drive on the right side here,” he answers, leaning back on a boulder on the beach. I consider his face, trying to imagine his absent ringlets. 

“I wanna see your curls,” I say. I kneel next to him to get a better vantage point. From above, I see each gray strand of hair that invites the light into his mop of curls. I hold his gray streak up to the light and let my hand linger as it falls into his hair and then down to his face, feeling the rough stubble beginning to form on his cheeks.

“Yeah? You like my hair curly?” he teases, a blush gracing the tops of his cheeks as he looks up at my face. 

“A lot,” I nod. 

“I’ll never wear it straight again,” he says to mollify me.

“Good,” I state. I stand up and take my sundress off so I’m standing before him in a white cotton bra and underwear. Matty’s eyes go wide as I remove my clothing and hold my hand out to him.

“Come on then,” I encourage. He stands up smiling, unbuttons his shirt, and removes his trousers, leaving him more naked than I am. 

I thought I was beginning to know Matty, but seeing his bare chest reminds me of how much I have left to discover. It’s littered with poems and phrases, crests and colors. His shoulders are broader than mine and they’re covered in sturdy muscle that continues down to his pectorals and upper abdomen. I’m staring, I’m sure of it. He’s hard in all the places I’m used to softness and wide in the places I’m used to encircling in my warm, small hands. I grab his arm and drag him towards the lake, submerging my head in the cool water as soon as it’s deep enough. When I emerge, I push my hair back and toss some water in Matty’s face.

“Oi! What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You said you’d never wear your hair straight again,” I remind him, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Matty kneels before me as I scoop handfuls of water onto his head until he’s totally soaked. It feels thrilling, having a man on his knees before me, at my mercy. I’m not used to gentleness from boys; only jeers and catcalls and hands obnoxiously placed at the small of my back in clubs. But I don’t want to use my position for anything other than sweetness. I rub his curls lightly, removing the gel from each strand. Matty looks up at me as I massage his head watching my eyebrows scrunch.

“Your hair is soft,” I tell him. He smiles up at me and moves his arms around my hips to hold me as I continue my ministrations on his hair. He breathes through his nose and I feel the warmth that emanates from him as it seeps into my skin. He’s centimeters away from my core, no doubt feeling my heartbeat wildly in my chest and smelling the faint, musky aroma of the wetness that’s beginning to gather between my thighs.

“Thanks,” he says, lips kneading the soft flesh of my tummy as he does. It tickles and my eyes snap to his, gasping. His gaze remains trained on me as he moves his mouth to kiss me there. He uses only his lips at first, pecking and rubbing at me, but soon he grows impatient. He leaves open-mouthed kisses just above the waistband of my panties, sucking the skin below my navel, nipping at it, and smoothing his tongue over to soothe it. He moans into my stomach as he does, letting out a sound muffled by my belly.

I whine in response, grasping tightly at his hair to keep myself steady. He jerks back quickly.

“Ah!” he hisses. 

“Oh fuck, sorry,” I duck down to him, holding his face to make sure he’s alright.

“I’m fine, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “actually, you’re all good now if you want to, um, rinse off.”

Matty ducks into the water, smiling brilliantly at me when he meets my eyes again. I crouch down, reaching out to him, wringing out his curls, and scrunching them up onto the top of his head.

“Better?” he asks, standing up. Beads of clear, freshwater pool in his collarbones and race across his torso down to his hips. They catch on the sunlight and make him glisten. I want to lick them off his body, trace their path, and make him whimper.

I smile and nod, standing up to more or less even our heights. He wraps his arm around my neck, looking down at my body once we’re close enough that I can’t follow his eyes. I tremble. My arms are decorated with goosebumps, my breasts are peaked from the cold, and my white undergarments are soaked, plainly revealing what lies beneath them. 

“You chilly, huh?” he asks. I nod into him. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Matty drags me back to the rocky shore and covers me in his button-down shirt, beckoning me to sit between his legs. He envelops me in his arms like my own personal human-sized blanket and holds me until I stop shivering. 

–

“Oh shit, have you ever been in one of these?!” Matty shouts. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard, I’m right behind him on the Vespa. But he’s so excited at the thought of the old 35mm photo booth that stands tall on the side of the road. He leaps off the Vespa and digs around in his pockets for the 10 or 15 cents he needs to get it to work. “This is so fucking sick!” he exclaims. “Y/n! Come over! This is amazing!”

I dismount the bike more methodically than him, taking care not to get my skirt caught on the seat. I push the velvet curtain to the side and am met with a very eager Matty. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bench, instantly winding me up in his arms and tickling me. I’m caught off guard as the bulb in the center of the wall flashes, CLICK. I push Matty off playfully, turning back around to him – CLICK. I look at him, chest heaving for a moment – CLICK. It draws his attention and Matty’s eyes flit to my breasts, I notice – CLICK. I launch my body towards his, unable to contain myself anymore. His lips catch mine as I bring my arms up and around his neck – CLICK. Matty’s hands reach around my shoulders, feeling my bare skin, warm from the sun. I move my mouth hard against his, eager to taste the leftover juice from the fruit, tobacco from his cigarette, anything. Anything as long as it’s Matty. I reach into his soft frizzy curls and hang on to them to steady myself and push further toward him until he’s completely up against the wall of the photo booth. Matty’s hands find the smallest bit of my waist and pull me into his lap. His hands fall to my knees and rub all the way up my thighs, caressing the velvety flesh and stopping only when he’s reached the top to grab two handfuls of my ass. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes as he releases me slowly. 

Using my newfound leverage, I push his head back onto the wall and attack the exposed skin on his neck and chest. I lick his Adam’s apple and kiss the ink peeking out from under his button-down.

“Fuuuuuuck, y/n,” he moans, lifting his head up to watch me as I unfasten each button on his linen shirt. His abdomen is hard under me and it feels so divine; almost painful but in a way that I deserve, that I revel in. I caress each tattoo on his torso with my tongue and his hands fly to my hair, massaging my scalp. I look up at him when I reach his ‘we are kings’ tattoo, partially concealed by his trousers. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes question him. “Please, go ahead,” he says, needily. His pupils are blown out and his hair sticks up in places it shouldn’t.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and boxers, feeling giddy and nervous with anticipation. It’s hardly my first time – boy or girl – but it’s new in the sense that I’ve been used to one person for so long. How she sounded and tasted. Seeing his cock spring out, hard and red, makes me feel like a schoolgirl. I’m intoxicated by everything I don’t know about him and what I’m about to learn. I move his clothes down below his knees and tentatively kiss his inner thighs. The skin there is thin and warm and it smells musky. I reach my hands up to touch the hair that grows at the base of him. Then I lean my head towards the same spot and kiss the skin there. I run my tongue around the bottom of his cock, wetting him as much as I can and kissing him everywhere as I make my way to his tip. When I get there, I look up at him. His head is backed up against the wall and he’s sat on his hands, surely in some semblance of politeness. I move the left one up to cup my jaw. 

“Show me what you like,” I plead, “I wanna make you feel good.”

He groans through his lips as he pushes his thumb into my mouth. I wet it the same way I wet the rest of him and then I suck on it, just a little, moaning as I do.

“That pressure’s good,” he tells me. I nod and he takes his thumb out of my mouth and rubs it against my cheek. “Honestly though I really wasn’t expecting this. I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue for you.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re turned on?”

“Very,” Matty chuckles.

I smile at that: an innocent, sweet, reassured one. His words give me the confidence to cover his tip with my mouth, my right hand falling to the base of his length and encircling it. 

Matty’s hand flies to the back of my head, under my hair and grips it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. My eyes fly up to his face as I take him further in mouth until I meet my hand. I move up and down on him, relishing in every whimper and squeeze and twitch he unleashes.  

I begin to feel Matty stirring under me, and I look up at him, surprised at what I see. His eyes are open watching me with religious devotion. His right hand travels down my shoulder, blindly searching for the straps of my dress and bra and pushing them down until my breasts fall out, spilling down my chest. Matty wastes no time grabbing a handful of one as I continue my pace on his dick. He squeezes me gently but soon opts to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out teasingly and keeping time with me. It feels fucking delicious and spurs me on. I remove a couple fingers from him and take him down further, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around him as he twists my nipple with sadistically erratic pressure.

“Please,” I groan around him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but he gives me what I want anyway, touching me rhythmically and gently fucking my mouth as he chases his orgasm. 

“I’m almost there,” he pants, reluctantly bringing his hand to my face and pushing it off of him, “You can stop.”

I keep his tip on my tongue and shake my head side to side. 

“Please?” I look up at him begging, “Want it in my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he breathes, manouvering himself back inside of me, fucking my face harder than last time but still shallowly enough that I can take it without gagging. I need him. I don’t know why or what I even expect to gain from it but his release is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. I move my hand from his thigh and squeeze his balls gently, then cradle them in my hand. I taste him not long after, salty, warm, and pooling on my tongue. I can feel him pulse in my mouth, giving me more and more. Though the load gets smaller, and each burst further apart from the last, I find myself hoping it won't end. I feel content, consumed by pride and pleasure.

I hold him in my mouth until I’ve caught every last drop, savoring the feeling of him filling me up and the flavor of him on my tongue. I swallow and lap at his tip and shaft to clean him up, and then I tiredly lay my head on his left thigh. It's been a long time since I let someone drip down my chin and licked them up, desperate to get every last drop. It feels good to need someone like that. Like water. Like medicine.

 He leans over just a bit to cradle my head with his hand, pushing the front pieces of my hair behind my ear, dragging his thumb to my lower lip, and lingering there. I breathe heavily while my eyes pierce his, mouth wantonly open. 

“Fuck, that felt so good, thank you,” he breaks the silence. I take his thumb in my mouth in answer, sucking at it delicately. I release him and kiss the pad of his finger gingerly. Matty takes hold of my hands and lifts my body back to his, holding me in a hug for what seems like an eternity. Time stops for a moment in the booth – it could be the year 3000 or the 80s, there could be a parade outside or a silent street that echoes with each of our breaths – it’s just the two of us, chests pressed against each other, the air thick with elation and longing.

Eventually, I have to peel myself off of him. Matty stands and stretches his arms above his head, displaying his toned triceps and delts. He bends at the waist to retrieve the strip of photos, fingers over each frame as he admires them. He folds the strip just before the last still, hiding the photo where our lips are meeting. Then he rips it off completely.

“There you go, princess,” he places the film with the first four photos gently in my hand. I look up at him confused and just a little sad. “This one’s for me,” he amends, tucking it into his back pocket. “So that I know I didn’t dream it.” He holds my face between his hands as I gaze up at him.

“Angels usually only visit me in dreams.” I roll my eyes and try to avert my gaze from his. He doesn’t let me, tilting my head up toward his by putting his finger under my chin. His eyes search mine with a fervor that would scare me if it came from anyone else. He closes them as he slowly leans forward to catch my lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tastes like goodbye. 

“Don’t make me leave,” I mumble into his mouth.

Matty wraps his arms around my back, pulling me further into him, and rests his head on mine. He’s warm and wet and smells like sex. 

“Why did you want to do that?” he whispers into my hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really. It wasn’t logical, it was more instinctual than anything, a natural progression of my feelings and of the direction in which I was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him there; it felt natural.

“It wasn’t to, like, get over your ex or something was it?” he pulls away to look at my face as he asks, “I’m fine if it was, but I just want to know if you like me or if you’re just going through something.”

“I try not to make a habit of blowing people I don’t like,” I tell him teasingly. He chuckles, rubbing his nose against my cheek, tickling me with his five-o’clock-shadow. He kisses the edge of my face, right next to my ear.

“I like you, too.”

For a moment, I allow my mind to run free with the knowledge of his admission. To imagine date nights and naps on his bare chest on the sun loungers at the villa. My stomach flutters. I want it so badly.

I reach my arms up around his neck and touch my lips to his. 

“Will you take me home, now?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy smut #matty Healy

[alvindraperzzz]

Joking aside though, Cassie’s disconnect from Diana’s mission is weird on several other levels.

One. We know Cassie is eloquent and persuasive when she wants to be. Inspiring, even. She convinces Zeus to give her powers. She’s almost as guilty as Tim is for number of rousing speeches. It’s called into focus in the lead up to Sins of Youth, when Tim makes Cassie the spokesperson for Young Justice; despite her doubt she convinces the nation, and the League, to give YJ a chance. She becomes leader of Young Justice because her teammates voted her to be leader (out of universe because she won a fan poll, which will never stop being astounding to me). As leader of the Teen Titans, she acts as liaison to city officials and other teams.

Why isn’t Diana using this? There are entire demographics Cassie can reach that Diana might not be able to. 

Two. Public perception. Cassie does a lot of crazy stuff. I’m not just talking about her shenanigans with YJ. Cassie has been kicked out of multiple schools, most for behavioral issues, at least one of them for being Wonder Girl. She technically kidnapped the President (Amazons Attack was garbage start to finish and I hate to acknowledge it, but unfortunately it happened). See Wonder Woman and Teen Titans for other major fights and major property damage.

Cassie is Wonder Girl. She is publically associated with Wonder Woman, as her protege and sidekick. There’s no mention of how what Cassie does could reflect on Diana. Diana, an ambassador from a foreign country who regularly speaks to the United Nations. You’d think Diana’s PR team would have something to say about that.

There’s more but like. This disconnect is so weird. Is it because she’s a teenager? She fights supervillains and risks her life everyday, I think she can handle outreach and a little public speaking. Is it because she’s uninterested? I don’t think Diana would have accepted Cassie if she had complete disinterest in her cause, or at least, we’d see more conversations about it. Is it because her training got handed off to Artemis, who has a different upbringing and set of values from Diana? That… actually has merit. Doesn’t explain everything, but it does account for some things.

#cassie sandsmark #diana of themyscira #wonder woman #cassandra sandsmark #talking about cassie #yeah most of her development happens in team books but she’s wonder woman’s sidekick #you’d think they’d touch on it just the slightest bit in ww

[mrsnancywheeler]

okay hear me out (just a warning for mentions of trafficking and self harm)

It’s a cold winters day in District 4 and it’s been like a year ever since reader became a victor and sadly a sex symbol to the Capitol. Obviously, to Finnick’s dismay, she has been feeling horrible about herself. Not only has Snow stolen her youth, her innocence, her sanity, her best friend, but he also had to take her dignity too by selling her.

Everything weighs on her like like thick snow and sometimes it’s too much to handle. Of course, Finnick is there to help his sweet girl and try bring her at least SOME comfort in a world that is actively breaking her down. but sadly, he isn’t always there. whether he’s at the Capitol or just wondering around the markets, his sweet girl is left alone with her thoughts and god is that dangerous.

The overpowering guilt from Conway, and how dirty and disgusted she feels with herself after a trip back from the Capitol- sometimes it’s all too much.

She needs to punish herself.

it’s so sad but imagine as a way to punish herself, when it’s a cold and snowy day in District 4, she actively goes out into the cold, the cold that seems similar to the one that nearly killed her.

Finnick comes back to the home except the person who made it a home wasn’t there. his sweet sweet girl. he runs out of the house, desperate to find her only to be met with the sight of her sobbing in the snow- allowing the cold to threateningly bite at her to remind her of all of her previous sins. I can just imagine Finnick’s heart breaking as he runs over to her while ripping his jacket off. when he realises that his sweet girl can’t allow herself to find warmth, not even in his arms, so he has to pick her up and carry her home.

She’s so cold in his arms, when he finally returns home he immediately either puts her infront of their fire place or in the comfort of their bed. he brews her some hot tea with honey in it and gathers as many blankets as humanly possible.

he’ll cuddle with her and whisper the sweetest words into her ear until she falls asleep.

“i love you. i love you in every universe”

no because this is so on brand for reader bc as we know she is a self-hater, literally 24/7, all she thinks about is loving Finnick and how much she hates herself.

and like I imagine for a while she literally refused to go outside in the cold, especially in the rain because of the hypothermia related trauma but then she realized like 'I deserve to suffer like that' and her and finnick are so codependent, like I think if her brain wasn't constantly occupied by his presence then the other thoughts start to invade

I feel like she'd do it so robotically too, like it's early morning. it's rare for it to snow in district 4, and finnick hated not being able to go on his early morning swim so he goes ice fishing super early. usually he's able to come back, his sweet girl is still in bed, he takes a quick shower and snuggles back up with her. but she wakes up before he returns, from a nightmare that's left an immeasurable amount of residual guilt and so robotically is letting it take over. just walking outside, barefoot, in her nightgown in the snow.

and it's freezing, but the guilt is so loud that not even the part of her that can't even take anything but a hot shower, is drowned out. until finally she's sat in the snow, feet and fingers going numb, teeth chattering, but no care because her thoughts are so occupied with how she deserves this. deserves worse.

then finnick is coming back with his fish, and when he enters their bedroom to find her gone he's immediately confused. she's not in the bathroom, but the balcony door is slightly ajar. which only confused him further because his sweet girl wouldn't even dream of opening it, it's too cold out. but he goes outside and he finds her, down the balcony stairs in the snow, completely exposed to the snow. and he's running down them, calling her name.

finnick instantly has his jacket around her shoulders, "angel, are you okay?"

"c'mon let's get you inside"

"you're gonna get frostbite, sweet girl, we gotta go in."

"hey, hey, it's okay." he's wiping away her tears and is shocked by how her face is somehow even colder then usual. but she doesn't move and he just picks her up, brings her inside. wrapping her up in blankets, rubbing her hands and legs to try to warm her back up. I don't think he'd want to leave her alone for any amount of time, so he'd take her wrapped up in blankets to sit in front of the fireplace as he made tea. softly guiding the cup to his angel's mouth so she could take small sips before carrying her back up to bed where he cuddled her, not just to provide the extra body heat, but to prove that he was there, that he'd always be there for her.

"angel, you can't do that."

"m'sorry."

"you don't have to be sorry, we just gotta think of ways to handle it until I get back. you could've died."

and her little, "I know," shatters the already broken pieces of his heart.

he decided rope tying would be to dangerous of an option, no matter how short he cut the rope, he'd never drag her out with him when it was this cold out, and eventually he landed to leaving long notes on the vanity about all the things he loved about her, all the things that made life worth living, and a cup of tea. just long enough that it could give her something to read until he returned and could comfort his sweet girl.

because he couldn't just make her better, or make her stop the self destruction, but he would sure as hell so whatever he could to quell the storm.

and they really do love each other in every universe

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #the lakes #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #the river #anon

[japhan2024]

Review of Smosh's Funeral Roast

I am harsh at times, but know it all comes from a place of love!

Spoilers under the cut

I live in Europe. This is relevant because of timezones: the funeral roast of Anthony Padilla was live at 6pm for them, meaning 3am for me. I am not the youthful insomniac I once was so I had to train my sleep schedule the entire week - otherwise I would miss it because I fell asleep. But I wanted to witness this live. I love smosh.

The trailer for this roast deserves an award: Ian and the cast have a movie night as suddenly the light turns blue and everyone but Ian freezes. He seems to know what's going on and discovers a zombie or ghost like Anthony levitating. The cast of the roast are all introduced and all play a gothic, churchy kind of character. See the full trailer here (it's currently at 666k views, how fun):

Around 1am I got impatient and decided not to wait for my alarm clock but to install myself on the couch, with a blanket and a scarf, and a hot cup of tea, god knows I would need it. I watched episodes of the Scott Pilgrim Netflix series to kill the time. The character Todd Ingram reminded me a lot of Anthony and I wonder whether Anthony has 'vegan superpowers' as well. Probably so.

Finally, the pre-show begins. This is pretty uneventful as they play a game and succesfully convince thousands of viewers to buy their tickets to the main show. I look at them. Everyone is gorgeous. But I can't look away from Ian and Anthony. And here is where I stray from actually reviewing the show to let my inner fangirl out: holy fuck they are hot. Me and my friends on tumblr have been making 'forgive me Father, for I have SINNED' jokes because his character, 'the pastor', just brings that out in people. We're not used to Ian in black, or in a robe, and he looks phenomenal. And then there is Anthony, clothed in a ridiculous Harry Styles-esque lace top with lace gloves, resting his head on Ian's shoulder. It's such a cute moment, Ian pushes him upright. He can be alive for a second before his funeral. My heart melts. Honerable mention: Courtney's bikini girl cleavage right behind Ian. The girls were ready to rock. Okay, okay, back to the review.

The room feels kind of small and a bit claustrophobic. The Smosh art dept. always steps up, so the stained glass "friendship never dies" high-five looks incredible, and the megachad-Anthony portrait hilarious. The casket is huge. But the props make the set look even smaller. I think the problem is the cameras. I realize how difficult camerawork is when you have multiple focus points to switch between, but next time they should do a lot of practice with this to streamline, to get everyone in the shot and better capture people's reactions to the roasts.

Ian walks in. He starts off with a bit about who Anthony is: a hot, hardworking guy with a big dick. Those are the main takeaways of his roasts.

Amanda is next. She looks beautiful but very wacky. Her deliverance and accent are stellar, though. She truly is top talent at Smosh. Her roasts are also some of the most scorching of the night. She doesn't shy away from calling out Anthony's past problematic behavior and less than stellar performance in the bedroom ("look it up!") She gets a round of applause and deservedly so.

Tommy follows with a kind of angry roast, and proceeds to read the will, from which nobody comes away unscathed. I feels like his words about Anthony supposedly hating the cast are a necessary evil. Just the same day Anthony posted his interview with Shayne on his personal channel. There we learned that Shayne didn't know before if Ian and Anthony actually had wanted to hire them. Anthony said they were very much involved, something I don't know whether to believe. As apparently, Ian never talked about it with Shayne either, for all those years. Shayne had also been very apprehensive when Anthony came back, not knowing what would happen and the first change was to boot the entire cast off the main channel. I feel like Tommy's roast puts the topic on the table and hopefully they will talk about it more until nobody has any doubt left.

Now I have to insert that one of my main critiques of the night is that lots of people both did a lot of obvious jokes (tattoos, leaving smosh, general appearance) and did not go hard enough. Anthony kind of has an awkward CEO vibe (he's not the ceo but still) about him that seems to make even the cast a bit wary of him. I had hoped for jokes about that.

Brandon Rogers is next and rightfully points out the lack of celebrities in the line-up. Doesn't Anthony have more friends who want to roast him? Either he doesn't or the rest of Smosh don't have access to them. Which is both fine, because it is a Smosh party after all.

Arasha comes in swinging with all kinds of Zoomer slang that I frankly don't understand but her deadpan delivery is like a breath of fresh air. She ends with a very nice message. That kind of undercuts her roasts though, I wish she would have been meaner.

Now it is time for the musical half-time show, which actually deserves its own review. Performed by Angela and Chanse, this is incredible. By far, the most professional part of the evening. These are no theater kids, as they still call themselves. These are Broadway acTORS! I was really taken away by their talent. Not only do they act, but they also sing amazingly? Did you hear Angela do screamo?! And Chanse's riffs? They pointedly mention the sexual tension between Ian and Anthony, both on- and off screen. This has been occupying my mind ever since. Wow, sorry I went fangirl-mode again. But the halftime show simply is that good. Keith makes an appearance at the end and brings the show back down to earth with his humor.

The biggest surprise guests are next in what I can only describe as Dan telling the horny tale of his years long obsession with Anthony, and the many, many times he unloaded on the 'sexy Anthony' calender (which is a real calender, I was there when it came out but was broke at the time, darnit). Dan and Phil have been shedding their PG personas on their own channels for a while now, but for those who don't watch them daily this December - they're doing gamingmas and it's chaos - it is shocking what X-rated stuff comes out of their mouths. Anthony is visibly taken aback. Good!

As the show progresses, Ian keeps moderating as the pastor. It is great to see him so in control and enjoying the roast of his best friend. The joke of Ian not being able to show his emotions comes up a lot, but today I see him mainly just having fun.

Of course, then there is Bikini Girl, whom I had high hopes for, maybe too high. She is hilarious, but nothing really stings. Courtney does also direct the whole show, so super kudos to her. I just don't think she has the best roasts. She is followed by Rhett and Link, who just do their regular thing. It is funny but not very original. You can only hear so many tattoo jokes before it gets old. We do see Link's bare torso, so a win for fangirls (gender neutral).

Then Shayne, or should I say the Chosen has his turn. He is absolutely in character and does great. I just don't know if the Chosen is the best person to deliver roasts. It feels more like a Shayne party than a roast of Anthony. Which enough people love all the same, I'm sure.

Angela is 'the vessel', a possessed girl, reading the roasts from the audience. These roasts are very mid (they should have included mine! /j), but her delivery is again stellar. Smosh is really lucky to have her.

And last but not least, Ian goes on a second roasting spree. Only, it isn't a roast? He just makes fun of Anthony’s baby picture and then proceeds to tell Anthony how grateful he is for him, how he's so glad they are friends again and that he loves him? Anthony is crying by this time, which makes the moment even more tender.

Of course, Anthony has to do a counter-roast. It is apparent that he is still affected by all the roasting or 'love-bombing' as Amanda calls it. And he's not as good at live comedy yet. Still, his jokes are funny and really in Anthony's own style. He concludes with Ian's quote of being happy to burn Smosh to the ground with him. I knew that quote would be ingrained in Anthony's mind. It was one of the sweetest things Ian had ever said to him, after all. Until Ian has now told him he loves him, of course.

And then it was 5 am. I got a healthy two hours of sleep in! I came away from this roast with a content smile and a full heart. This was well worth the ticket, the staying up late. I am happy to be a member and support them monthly, I've loved their humor even before they started their youtube channel. I love Smosh. I'm so happy that Anthony is back. Smosh is whole again. And it brings out that light in Ian's eyes. He is funny in an unhinged way again. I truly love Anthony and Ian and their dumb videos. I want them to continue to make them forever. These kinds of live shows are fun. But Ian and Anthony truly shine in their off the walls absurdist sketches.

Special shout-out to my bestie @only-frann who I could scream at this whole day.

#smosh #Anthony’s funeral roast #Youtube

[bitimdrake]

Young Justice reading order 👀

Yeah! This one's pretty simple. If you just read straight down the bolded comics, you're good.

Optionally, you can start with the first meetings between the future members. I've only read some of these, but it's:

Robin Plus Impulse #1

WF3: World's Finest Three (Superboy/Robin) #1-2

Superboy and the Ravers #7 - Kon and Bart

Impulse #28, #41 - Bart and Cissie

And then we get into the actual Young Justice content:

Young Justice: The Secret #1 (1998)

JLA: World Without Grown-Ups #1-2 (1998)

Young Justice vol 1 (1999) #1-2

optional DC One Million tie-in: Young Justice #1,000,000

Young Justice #3-4

Secret Origins 80-Page Giant #1 (1998)

Young Justice: Secret Files and Origins #1 (1999)

Young Justice #5-7

Young Justice 80-Page Giant (1999)

Young Justice #8-10

Young Justice Special #1 - tie-in to No Man's Land

Young Justice #11

Heck's Angels crossover: Young Justice #12 / Supergirl vol 4 #36 / Young Justice #13 / Supergirl #37

Young Justice #14 - tie-in to Day of Judgement

Young Justice #15-19

Young Justice had its own event, Sins of Youth, with a bunch of oneshots for various characters. Honestly just pick the ones for characters you're invested in:

Young Justice: Sins of Youth #1

Superboy vol 4 #74

Young Justice: Sins of Youth Secret Files and Origins

Sins of Youth: JLA, Jr. #1

Sins of Youth: Aquaboy and Lagoon Man #1

Sins of Youth: Batboy and Robin #1

Sins of Youth: Kid Flash and Impulse #1

Sins of Youth: Starwoman and the JSA, Jr. #1

Sins of Youth: Superman, Jr. and Superboy, Sr. #1

Sins of Youth: Wonder Girls #1

Sins of Youth: Secret and Deadboy #1

Young Justice: Sins of Youth #2

And then we finish up the series (with a couple extra notes to keep you up to date on the solos):

Young Justice #20-34

Our Worlds at War tie-ins: Young Justice: Our Worlds at War #1 / optional Superboy #89-90 / Young Justice #35-36 / Impulse #77 / optional Superboy #91 / Young Justice #37

Young Justice #38 - tie-in to Joker: Last Laugh

Young Justice #39-44

World Without Young Justice: Impulse #85 / Robin #101 / Superboy #99 / Young Justice #45

optional Impulse #86

Young Justice #46-55

The team ended with Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day #1-3. At that point, half the members faded into the background and the other half moves over to Teen Titans vol 3, found over in my Titans reading order.

#* #ask #anon #*dc #dc #dc ref #dc timelines #young justice #young just us #yj #tim drake #kon #conner kent #bart allen #cassie sandsmark #cissie king jones #anita fite #slobo #robin #superboy #impulse #wonder girl #10to2

[remingtoniii]

BSD Theory

(Summary at the bottom)

I saw a post (https://www.tumblr.com/sherxplained/743992135434518528/so-long-awaited-fyodors-backstory-asagiri?source=share) that said that Fyodor could have created the abilities, and that's why we see him in the time of the crusades. (I personally thought this was very interesting, and it made me think.) His ability name could have been inspired by that, as he did the crime and must accept the punishment:

Immortality

Whatever punishment Bram Stoker decides on

Being something completely new [will explain] )

So, as we can see, Dostoevsky was caught at Bram's palace. In the newest chapter, Bram orders that he is executed. This leaves us to wonder how Dostoevsky managed to take control of Bram. So, many years later, Bram is under Dostoevsky (but different version). It's clear that Bram has lots of enemies (the Sultan, Rome, etc), as he's accused of being a spy for a few people before his punishment is ordered.

Dostoevsky talked about how Bram is "the Devil", and it leads to a conversation about how both the Devil and humans were created by gods, which "Would it not stand to reason that both are just as cruel?" (Bram Stoker). Clearly, people have been attacking Bram for many years, and he's under the impression that humans are all cruel (we'll have to see how this ties back to the person who looked like Aya Koda). According to the wiki, his cells were mutated due to an ability, which caused him to, you know, vampire it all up in here. My prediction is that Bram was shunned by humanity due to this, and all of the people against him and the vampires are people he has deemed cruel and devilish, like him.

Dostoevsky could have been replaced. Based on the memory that Sigma sees, we can infer that he was lying about the split personality, like he said. The scar on his face most likely didn't heal, so what happened to him? How has he lived this long?

My personal theory is that he is eternally youthful, but when he passes away due to being murdered or however, he spawns in somewhere else, for lack of a better word, completely free of that scar. I think he got the scar by doing something humane, maybe saving a person. In the original Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov saves a girl early in the book, and wonders why he did it. He later thinks he has no humanity. What if Dostoevsky protected someone, and by doing so, committed a crime worse than mass terrorism, like killing a priest, or some other holy figure? His punishment is to live forever without the thing that reminds him of his humanity.

We don't know his ability, but my bet is that he was shunned by humans for it. There, he turned to the church, believing that as God was the one who blessed him with the abilities, he would still love him. There, he met someone worth protecting, someone who gave him life (My bet is that there is a parallel to irl Nikolai Gogol and BSD Dostoevsky), and he suddenly has someone to live for. Then, something happens, he protects the person, but they no longer think of him as human, or probably start praying while he watches, praying to be saved from Dostoevsky. There, he uses his ability on his friend, killing them. His punishment for the crime is for his humanity to be stripped away. This is also a parallel to Jesus, where he died as a punishment for humanity's sins, but instead of coming back only once (or twice with the rapture), he repeatedly comes back, and every time, his humanity leaves him again, coming back more and more inhuman as time goes on, paying for his own sins.

Now, this is all incredibly farfetched, but these are my own theories and thoughts on the newest chapter.

Summary: Dostoevsky will reincarnate into a new, injury free version of his body as a punishment for his actions before BSD 113

#bungou stray dogs #bsd 113 #bsd fyodor #theory #bram stoker #bsd bram #fyodor #sigma #bsd spoilers #bsd #vampire #biblical parallels #jesus parallel #fyodor backstory theory

[daily-cassie-sandsmark]

#cassie sandsmark #wonder girl #daily cassie sandsmark #brian k. vaughan #scott kolins #chris ivy #rick taylor #sins of youth: wonder girls

[devine-fem]

LONG POST! you can skip.

I have come to rant and vent about Jack from Wonder Woman 2023 and why they are a transgender/TRANSFEM allegory.

I would like to preference this by saying that you can feel represented through this character for a multitude of reasons regardless of being trans or not but I personally think they’re some sort of transfem allegory and I’m here to talk about why because 1) its my blog and 2) I am obsessed and I’m here to argue that they are transfem, a transfem allegory or at the very least transfem coded.

Who is Jack?

“Jack” is an extreme Wonder Woman “fanboy” that we know is ill, their tests have been coming up slim and they've had a multitude of doctors come and try and cure them and to give them a couple of good memories before they pass, their parents ask Wonder Woman to spend a day with them.

Allegory 1.

From their timid nature, I assume that a lot of their life they feel like an experience is ruined if they're involved or feel apologetic if they're not perfect all the time. This to me makes me think “Jack” likes to try and embody Wonder Woman during stressful or traumatizing situations. They idealized her to never be afraid, anxious, or quiet.

Allegory 2.

There’s this montage that features “Jack” doing a bunch of things that an Amazon would do like archery, wearing the armory, or eating the fruit, but also things that Wonder Woman would do like use her lasso, throw her tiara or sword fight, etc.

It makes me think “Jack” wanted to spend their time doing things that made them feel strong, things that could really immerse them into the Wonder Woman experience. Something they probably yearned for themselves, probably used imagining themselves in the life of an Amazon to escape.

Allegory 3.

Point 1.

“I don't think this should be what I… like.”

There are expectations for you in the world, and certain people, most of the time a trans girl will feel the pressure that she should be this way or act this way but they simply can’t because it's not how their brains work, it's not how they function, and when you're told otherwise you start to think there’s something deeply wrong with you like you’re broken.

Point 2.

“It’s my dad… and the other kids.”

Trans people, you ever have the dad or either parent feel like they can’t support you and you have the desire to be called your gender but they avoid calling you gendered things at all like “Boy” or “Girl” and avoid gendered things entirely by just calling you “Kid” or “child”? Because that is what this feels like. A relationship between a father and son is strong but when the son shows disinterest in that relationship then the father feels rejected. Their happiness to have a son feels strained and they begin to wonder how they should interact with the child.

“Jack” also feels like their dad doesn't support them and their interests, be it something happening off-panel or the natural feeling trans youth feel like they’re being subtly judged by their parent even though they don't want to say it. That along with their community judging them to their face and ostracizing them for being different.

Point 3.

“Why can't I like Superman or Batman and… I don't know… Baseball and like normal stuff? For a boy? Why is this good?”

Boys feel represented through Superman or Batman, a strong invincible, and macho man. Not a woman, why does Wonder Woman make “Jack” feel seen for the first time in their life? Why does the world of a woman give “Jack” so much escapism? Do you get where I’m going with this?

Point 4.

“Is it because I’m sick inside? Is that why God made me sick?”

It's the idea that inside you, regardless of what you may look like the stuff inside you makes you sick and wrong. The person inside you that you've been holding onto for so long. It's like you feel impure and sinful and like you deserve to be punished for something you didn't ask for cause then maybe the punishment will make everything feel right again.

This to me at the very least sounds like the typical “Superboy trapped in a Wonder Girl’s body” if you know what I mean. I know they're coming to terms with their death and this character might die but I hope they don't, I really do.

This character was supposed to reach out from the pages and touch the reader who relates to it most, like making male Wonder Woman fans feel seen… but how come it reduced me; a trans girl Wonder Woman fan to tears? I felt that I connected to Wonder Woman, I felt my gender through her just like “Jackie” probably does. I selfishly want to see more of them personally.

Anyway, I love them so so so much. Wonder Woman come in many different shapes and forms and personally I like to think of them as my favorite “Wonder Girl.”

END OF POST.

#wonder woman jack #wonder woman 2023 #wonder woman #diana prince #dc comics #dc universe #dc #comics #eve’s thoughts

[dailydccomics]

“Superboy” has no problem punching old people lmao Young Justice: Sins of Youth #1

#kon el #bart allen #cassie sandsmark #tim drake #dc comics #greta hayes #young justice #superboy #impulse #wonder girl #robin #dc #sins of youth

[scary-white]

What are your favorite Carrie fics?

Here ya go, anon. I made a post like this a couple years ago, but it needed an update. This features some shameless self-promos. Sorry, not sorry. ❤️

Fix-its:

All You Ever Wanted to Find by boyscoutpaladin

Sue is totally fine with the idea of missing her senior prom. That is, until Tommy comes to her with an idea: both of them should take Carrie White to the prom.

Saving Grace by scary_white

Sue Snell is a bit more determined to help Carrie after the events of the prom, and isn't so willing to let her go down without a fight-- Or to let her go down at all. As long as Sue has anything to say about it, Carrie White is going to live.

enjoy life right now (as long as you can breathe) by @homosandhomies

Enjoying life is not sinful.

Fix-it of Sorts:

Upper Cut by palletesofrenaissance

I always wondered what a different ending would be like, and due to a restless night I wrote this down. Ideas thought about include: In today's time, would everyone have laughed at Carrie at prom or would they have more sympathy? How big of a destruction would have happened as a result? What if Sue had called out and Tommy moved out the way? What about the additional use of technology? How would Sue's teen pregnancy reveal go over with her parents? A sort of "fix-it" with a semi-happy ending because I was curious and I wanted to, plus this year has been scary enough.

Three Body Problem by Tamoline

After being banned from Prom, Chris decides to yell at Carrie from Billy's car. This starts a chain of events which sends things spinning down a very different path.

Sue/Carrie:

After Party by bread_bird

There was a dead girl in the passenger seat of Sue Snell’s car. Or, in the wake of the Black Prom, Sue and Carrie get the hell out of dodge and make a new life for themselves. Together.

wondrous miracles for our ancestors, in those days, at this moment by @homosandhomies

Carrie celebrates Hanukkah with Sue and her family.

the ties that bind by janie_tangerine

She’ll have to deal with the fact that Carrie White is her soulmate later, because Chris Hargensen is still throwing the damned tampons at her and the entire room is screaming plug it up and she’s there standing and unable to move and feeling like she’ll throw up and Carrie’s voice goes into a shriek as she screams help me all over again and fuck, it’s obviously period blood and it makes no sense she'd react like this but she is and it’s mixing with too much blood that no one else can see apparently — “Christ,” she shouts, shoving whoever was in between the two of them out of the way, then glares at Chris Hargensen, who at least shuts up — out of surprise, most probably, but better than nothing. “What the hell is wrong with you all?”

Homecoming Queens by scary_white

In a universe where Sue befriends Carrie rather than having Tommy take her to prom, things fold out very differently.

Horror:

Reunion by Scioscribe

Sue hears stories about Carrie White

The Monster in the Lake by Scioscribe

It's a hot June morning at Christian Youth Camp, and the lake is as warm as blood.

Sweet Sweet Vengeance (Sweet Sweet Irony) by scary_white

Sue Snell is present at prom when Chris Hargensen plays her nasty trick on Carrie White. Stricken by the loss of her boyfriend, Sue follows Carrie out of the gym before she can come back for the carnage. When they see Chris and her boyfriend pull speeding out of the parking lot, Carrie gets an idea and the two embark on a mission for sweet revenge.

#carrie stephen king #carrie white #carrie #carrie the musical #carrie 1976 #carrie 2002 #carrie 2013 #asks #fanfiction #carrie fanfic

[witchthewriter]

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

・It was short glances at first 

・You thought maybe she needed something, so you would walk toward her and curtsy 

   ”What can I do for you, my Queen?”

・Her cheeks turned as red as her hair

       “No, no. Thank you.” 

・You had curtsied again and turned away. There wasn’t an inkling in your mind that Sansa, the Queen in the North, had fallen in love with you, a serving girl 

・Sansa is always making sure that you feel safe at Winterfell (she would become belligerent if you felt uncomfortable for any reason - someone making you feel small, bullying you or making sexual remarks. She would end them.)

・You sometimes wonder why you get the best jobs (washing up dishes, or cleaning Sansa’s quarters)

・But you don’t complain - you get paid the same no matter what chores you do

・Sansa often thinks about you throughout the day, especially during those meetings that seem to go on forever

・She thinks about your smile the most - how your eyes crinkle. That’s how she knows it’s a genuine smile, because it reaches your eyes.

・This is completely out of character for Sansa, but she actually cleans up after herself, especially when you’re on active service 

・She feels bad when you have too much to do

・Brienne was the first to notice Sansa’s feelings

・The young Queen wasn’t the best at hiding it

・’It’, being her soul-consuming love for you

・Her romantic feelings had seemed to disappear for years after the trauma she endured in her youth 

・So her feelings for you felt like an awakening of sorts

・Sansa had similar feelings toward Margaery, but looking back, it felt childish 

・As Queen, Sansa knows her responsibility is great. And although she feels overwhelmed at times, she never wishes her life was different. This is where she’s supposed to be. 

・Everyday she wakes up and feels like she makes her parents proud. 

・She fights for Winterfell in their honour 

・But at times, she does wish for an easy solution to the problems of the heart

・Because Sansa yearns for you

・She gets embarrassed by how easily she trips over words and blushes 

・How she can’t get you out of her head 

・There isn’t an easy way to focus on anything else - she doesn’t train like the knights, nor does she go to the Gods to pray

・Praying feels like she’s back at King’s Landing, as if she has no other way of being left alone

・So now she visits the library, which she wants to grow, and open to as many people as she can

・She also visits the crypt, where her family resides

・Sansa begs for their help, for their guidance. She believes they’re looking over her, guiding her hand

・The first time Sansa built enough courage to visit the crypt and talk to her family about you ... she thought she would burn on the spot, not from ‘sin’ but from embarrassment 

・But as Sansa awoke the next morning and opened her door, there on the floor was a pawprint and as she poked her head outside, she saw the sweep of your skirts

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Wondrous Love by Bear McCreary

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

  ✧ Madly In Love x Ridiculously Oblivious 

  ✧ Curious, Wide-Eyed (You) x Has Seen Everything, Thinks It’s Cute (Sansa)

  ✧ Moral/Emotional Support

#sansa stark #sansa stark x reader #sansa stark headcanons #sansa x reader #sansa stark x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones headcanon #house stark #sansa x you #sansa x female reader #sansa stark x female reader