#GG Clout!

[randomnameless]

Hilda to Cyril :

You're always so focused on the task at hand. Sometimes, I almost forget you're Almyran. I always thought they were a…rough and unreliable sort of people. Though you're not really like the rest of them. You seem normal for the most part. But I do know that armies from Almyra will attack without reason, and break treaties, and tell lies… Everyone says they're a bunch of brutes. Am I boring you? I'm talking about your people.

Claude in Nopes :

Break treaties : plans on breaking his treaty with Supreme Leader if Billy joins him in Supreme Bullshit, or doesn't offer assistance to the Imperial Forces in Golden Shower

Attack without reason : borrows Daddy's naval forces to attack Sreng, not because he has something against Sreng, but to create chaoes in the Kingdom

Tell lies : all the schitck about Claude being the embodiement of distrust - or how he backstabs Supreme Leader, if Billy joins in, in Supreme Bullshit.

It's incredible, Claude became Hilda's racist Almyran caricature!

[guardiansgalore]

I'M TRYING TO GET AURON DONE TOO AAAAHH

Happy vincent day (my excuse to draw vincent for the 800th time)

[re-thatrandomdude]

gg for the splatfest everyone! as someone on team zombie, props to team ghost and team skeleton being first and second place!

[rockinmusicquarterly]

LET'S GOOOOOO

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men. 

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too. 

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous. 

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman. 

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet. 

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose. 

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second. 

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?" 

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit. 

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air". 

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila. 

"you're right". 

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle". 

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow. 

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst. 

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more. 

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.  

 and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for. 

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back. 

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else. 

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war. 

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in. 

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?" 

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing". 

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here". 

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul". 

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones. 

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue. 

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle. 

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes. 

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips. 

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones. 

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really". 

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this". 

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you". 

"i'm interruptin something?" 

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak. 

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry". 

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it". 

"i think he did". 

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable. 

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine". 

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered. 

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table. 

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now. 

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same. 

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half. 

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke. 

"how would you know, you've never seen one". 

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear. 

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp. 

"trouble in paradise?" 

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give. 

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care. 

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back. 

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like. 

you hate him. 

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on". 

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end. 

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim". 

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.  

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing. 

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is". 

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him". 

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes. 

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing. 

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort. 

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?" 

"how federal of you", dean mumbles. 

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah". 

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?" 

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks. 

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy. 

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?" 

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?" 

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information". 

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?"��

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell. 

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water. 

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.   

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded. 

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool. 

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop. 

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth?  and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go. 

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?" 

"almost". 

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer". 

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them". 

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently". 

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.  

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look". 

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it". 

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?" 

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey". 

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together". 

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks. 

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin. 

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now". 

"you got somethin real to say to me then?" 

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth. 

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter". 

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care". 

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave". 

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real". 

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave. 

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me". 

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body. 

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?" 

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no". 

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas. 

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion. 

"it's mandatory huh?" 

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business". 

"something's gotta be done i guess". 

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss. 

[majaloveschris]

I'm so happy that "random" director and film producer bumped into Chris and Alba at the GG after party; otherwise, we wouldn't have that lovely picture. I guess nobody saw them arriving, leaving, or just being there. But I'm happy they got what they wanted—a picture of the two of them with others. I'm pretty sure her up-coming movie really appreciates the free clout.

Go Portugal! Go Amelia's Children!

[lokisasylum]

You know shit's going DOWNHILL for Hybe when they start PAYING the SAME journalist who defamed and downplayed Jimin's achievements on Billboard Hot 100, and every other record he got without the company's push to start fabricating dating rumors in order to use that artist as a shield from the backlash the company's already facing under the allegations being made/exposed by MHJ.

Such as the fact that Bongo tried to bribe MHJ into accepting him having NewJeans' album sales inflated so they could "beat aespa's record".

ALSO:

(The OP is referring to 2022 when "With You" was released and Jimin's personal information was sold to antis, who spread it to the media to make it seem like Jimin hadn't paid his apartment's rent [its called "health insurance", but in reality its apartment rent] in 3 months, when at the time BTS had been on tour in the US and therefore Hybe should have absorbed the payments until their return. But a manager who was in charge of delivering the mail stole Jimin's for those 3-4 months in order to sell it to antis on DCGallery. And Hybe "allegedly" had no knowledge that this was happening right under their noses and put up that halfassed apology.

And the girl group OP is referring to is Lesseraphim, since at the time one of the former members, Garam, got involved in a very ugly scandal that resulted in her getting kicked out of the agency. OG Armys know about Bighit/Hybe's past scandal with their first gg GLAM and without the fabricated distraction using jimin's mail, this would've put BH/Hybe under a very shitty position infront of investors. )

(Yes, you read all that right, Hybe personally chooses/hires problematic journalists in order to PAY THEM to write articles that favor THE COMPANY. Even if it means damaging their own artist's image/reputation. Like what they've been doing to Jimin since FACE was released last year. ALL of those Weverse Magazine articles that targeted, defamed, downplayed Jimin's achievements, but favored and praised ANOTHER MEMBER, were all PAID and APPROVED by Hybe themselves.

Jimin stans have been warning and talking about this since last year, but nobody believed us. They thought we were throwing baseless allegations "out of jealousy" only for it to be brought to light in the end.

The sales that were stolen and erased from Jimin's album so that he wouldn't get the record of "First 1Million Seller Ksoloist"? Got proven with an official Retail Chart near the end of year that proved Jimin's album had not only sold MORE copies than the other members, but he was the only member who's numbers matched the pre-order with the ones that were actually bought AND shipped/delivered to actual fans (and not some warehouse in China without owners only to be discarded in alleys, train stations and bathrooms << ).

I wrote something similar to this last year around June, how we should be cautious of content Hybe would be releasing in the following months; with possible shipping content included to benefit only ONE member who was obviously being favored above the others to prove a point.

That the company isn't blind, they KNOW which member currently has a large following of unique loyal fans and if said member wasn't the company's favorite they will do everything they can (rumors, scandals, forced shipping content, ect) to wear out the solo fans and make them leave that member to make him dependent only on the group's fandom or company support (even if its nonexistent).

And it amused me the amount of shippers and company stans that got hella triggered by that post I wrote, even though in the end it all came true.

As for that problematic (crazy bitch) girl from IG claiming to be "jimin's gf" ? Just know that she's been doing this since 2018 to MANY male Idols/Public figures for clout (i guess it helps to boost her already TANKING career as a mediocre "actress").

Hell, she even at some point in the past 2 or 3 years claimed to be f*cking JK too.

[jacquesthepigeon]

all this discussion around the financial situation around Marinette's family is making me convinced that if you put any character from Miraculous (ex. Adrien, Zoe, Nino) into a show like Gossip Girl where everybody in the cast is rich/has tons of clout, they'll fit right in with no problem

I don’t know anything about GG but I’ll take ur word for it

[edenisme]

Mostly I’m just annoyed the splatfest teams have been so unbalanced. I love Shiver and gg to team money (you guys were fighting hard whenever I saw y’all) but 9% is pretty indicative of the larger problem.

Team Fame had 9.10% and Team Bigfoot had 8.69%. When less than 10% of your player base wants your option (no offense team fame love you guys) then you are not picking good themes/good teams for it.

3/8 splatfests have had one team with more than half the votes:

Ice Cream Splatfest - Team Vanilla: 55.04%

Taste Splatfest - Team Sweet: 56.84%

Deserted Island - Team Gear: 58.28%

That’s 5/8 splatfests with massive popularity disparages. 2 of the remaining 3 were NOT EVEN SPLATOON ORIGINALS—they were the pokemon and Zelda collabs (zeldafest has most even teams to date for those curious). The chocolate splatfest was almost equal to the pokemon percentages, with 24-33-42 and 25-33-40 respectively.

This would be less of a problem if it weren’t for the mirror matches. When more than half your players are stuck in mirror matches (and even more in the case of Fame and Bigfoot skewing the splatfest so badly) the splatfest itself becomes disheartening. While I love getting to play the game regardless, a not insignificant number of players don’t want to be stuck in mirror matches all weekend when they don’t give any clout/points for their team.

This also impacts tricolor, as the mode needs all three teams to have a real match. With less than 10% popularity, both Team Love and Money (+ Nessie and Aliens) get stuck in mirror matches regardless of who is most popular until the minority team can be found. And everyone makes jokes about only seeing these teams once or twice when it happens, so you can see how the average (and casual!) player will suffer if this isn’t addressed.

Tl;dr Splatfest teams have large popularity disparages and this causes excess mirror matching/unbalanced splatfests. Splatoon devs need to start doing polls ahead of time or something it’s really bugging me.

[zhansww]

Rant incoming....

Not gonna name names but there's a certain Asian gay reality tv show that I recently watched and more or less enjoyed. But simultaneously wondered whether it's as fake as any other reality tv show or if it's actually real. Surely, given that it is a gay show and queer people are still having to fight for acceptance in that (and other Asian countries) they would probably not be acting on that show... is what I assumed. There are two guys that became a couple but well, I know for a fact that they are faking it. I still keep seeing updates of them on ig and holy mother of God, those two are really milking this for what it's worth all the while they are literally just acting. Which would be fine if their "work" wasn't pretending to be in a happy, queer relationship. Like, it pisses me off so much. I don't know if they are even queer tbh. But clearly, they don't care about what a huge and also sensitive deal it is for them to be able to be so out and proud and to have the support that they have. Like, this would make me really hopeful for a certain other Asian country (which they even had a f-cking fanmeet in the other day) if it was actually real. But instead, seeing the way they use the support they have to get clout and make money off of their "relationship" is aggravating me so much. You have f-cking real queer couples, having to hide what they have for fear of losing their livelihood and then you have these two. Everytime I see them, it makes my blood boil with the injustice of it all. I remember solo gg or dd fans used to claim (years ago, dunno if they still do that) that ggdd only do what they do for clout. The mere notion of that was insulting to me and to ggdd imo... and yet here we are, with a couple that's doing exactly that. From a different country but still... I can't f-cking believe this, it makes me so f-cking mad o.o

[jewishbarbies]

Why are people even saying that this GG joke was making fun of Taylor Swift, when it's actually poking fun at NFL for using her image, because they're so fame and money hungry. The joke is not laughing at her, but she took it as such, because of her victim mentality and her parasocial fans with comprehension issues did exactly the same. It’s always being a victim and who cares what was actually being said smh.

no like I was rolling my eyes because that’s exactly how she could’ve played it. she could’ve taken advantage of the pr moment and blamed the Men Centric NFL for using her for clout and leaving her to take all the criticism for it and instead wasted it by getting pissy and showing her whole ass. she wouldn’t be mad if it weren’t true.

[akookminsupporter]

hybe needs to re-evaluate their relationship with geffen. they have fucked over release, distribution and promotion of bts ( grp & solo ) releases since 2021. they want money & clout via the tannies but don't respect them. what they did to chimmie yesterday was unforgivable and im so pissed that cuck ran away from twt & linkedin before army could whoop his ass. i can't believe the audacity he had to post that new industry plant's single under that tweet. the new hybe× geffen gg is debuting this week and this makes it even more disgusting

Opinions.

[allycat75]

We see you and your handlers, Boston Dumb Fuck (probably more your handlers).

We have been noticing anons coming to various blogs with a couple of sets of storylines- either "what type of girl/woman would you be happy for Chris to be with?" and "I think he is an awful person and the worst actor in the world and he ruined Steve Rogers".

I am not one for conspiracy theories, but I have been here long enough to notice patterns. We just saw it with the anons asking "what would it take to believe it isn't PR". When the consensus was more organic sightings, we got the photoshopped GG party pics and mentions (by the way, I can't remember the blog, but thanks for finding the 2020 pre-Golden Globe party pics- blue blazer, rust turtleneck- which are clearly the original images, at least for you BDF, and probably why Vogue took it down). And of course we got the oh so romantic group date, with Gully overacting to highten the importance, all leading up to the "natural" double chicken peck with the mouth wipe dismount. I think we are still waiting on the score from the Russian judge, but you have strong odds to medal in the Pathetic Olympic Games. However, you will not be allowed at Whole Foods because scientific analysis came back and it was determined you are too manufactured and modified to be considered organic.

So now to the new intell gathering. One is seemingly to gauge how far gone we are as a fandom, perhaps? Maybe would we even welcome you back as Captain America? General feedback is that there is talent in you, BDF (not for the wifey, she is hopeless) but here is an odd concept- maybe you need to work at it, instead of planning and executing these stupid stunts that make you look like a fucking joke. Have some humility that you are not magnificent and take some acting classes, and probably engage in some intense therapy because whatever is blocking you in your personal life is blocking you in your professional life. And remember, Sam Wilson/Anthony Mackie is Captain America. Whether he succeeds or fails, you don't need to come back and look like the White Savior. Also, it would just be sad, like the guy who keeps visiting his high school long after graduating (and we all know why that isn't a good look for you, either).

As for whether another 26 year old would look good on your arm, if only she weren't an arrogant, childish, manipulative, racist, antisemetic, fatshaming clout chaser, my question is why does it matter what we think? If you and your team are thinking of "recasting", don't! Just cancel the show! You are not a character. Your life is not a script that needs tweaking. You should never do this type of arrangement again-EVER!

And as for your next "real" relationship, that isn't for us to decide. What I will say is that you need to get your shit together and be good to yourself or you won't be good for anyone else. This situation exposed how damaged you are by agreeing to it in the first place, with so little guardrails, and caused even more damage by exposing how much of your personality and character was built on matchsticks. There is so much to repair and build back stronger before you should even think about a partner right now. But a little tip- once you are ready, it is no one's goddamn business but the two of yours what you do and how you make each other happy. Hold it precious and don't stop learning and growing.

And finally BDF, fire your entire team- agents, publicists, stylists,... Start with fresh ideas. Even if they have been kind to you and don't have ill-intent, they have gotten you into a rut that you desperately need to be forced out of. Especially if their only solution to get you more work as an actor is to see which Netflix Chick they can whore you out to, they do not have your best interests in mind.

Also, this is just another example of where the fandom has been used and abused for emotional manipulation and free labor, so keep that in mind as you begin to balance the karmic scales again. We haven't forgotten.

[rainbowsky]

Hi Rainbow,

I just want to ask you something I've seen several times now since I joined the fandom. Is it true that XZ's big name fans openly call fans to rate other people's work (not just WYB's, because I know that happens a lot) 1 stars on Douban and other sites. I'm asking purely because I want to know the truth, and I'm worried how it'll negatively affect XZ in the industry, not because I want to put that blame on XZ. Please ignore this if this isn't something you want to post on your blog. Thank you

Hi Anon,

What's with all the asks lately about anti/toxic fan behavior? Every turtle who reads my blog should know by now that I think focusing on what those people say and do is pointless, and a very unproductive, negative approach to fandom.

You're all free to do whatever you want, but I hope you can stop bringing these topics to me. It's not what I want to focus on, think about or talk about.

This truly is the last question of this type I'm taking. We should be focusing on GG and DD. When there is a lull like this, and things are slow, now is the perfect time to watch their projects. I highly doubt everyone's seen them all, but if you have then a rewatch is always worthwhile.

GG's movie is coming out early next year, why not also read the story it's based on? The Legend of the Condor Heroes by Jin Yong. FANTASTIC, FANTASTIC story. Absolutely gripping, exceptionally well told. I've been working my way through this series for the past several weeks and I can't recommend it enough.

As for your question, Anon, yes - that type of activity/behavior is a typical part of toxic fan culture, although GG's active fandom solos are known to be especially dedicated to this type of toxic fandom. It's a double-edged sword. On the one hand they are boosting his popularity and clout, and on the other hand they're really messing with his career and harming other fans and artists.

GG and DD's fans are especially horrible to each other and are constantly launching attacks on each other and on each other's idol. Some of the worst attacks against GG and DD were heavily pushed by XFX/MTJJ against each other's idol. The infamous 'desperate illiterate' attack against DD, for example, was largely pushed by XFX, who actually still frequently use it to this day.

My hope is that GG will gradually start to shed this type of fan, and I believe there's some evidence that he's intentionally, carefully shifting his image toward that goal. But in the meantime, this is just where things stand.

A GG solo posted an essay on Weibo a while back that was translated on Twitter, outlining some of their experience in that fandom. It was an interesting read and should give you some insight into how they operate. My thoughts on all of that can be found here and here.

I have also written a lot about similar topics in the past. Just a reminder that if you want to know my thoughts on most past/non-time-sensitive fandom subjects, you can always browse my masterlist post and explore the tags on my posts.*

*Just make sure you're doing so from my actual blog page, because if you access a tag from your timeline or from a reblog you'll get every post from all over Tumblr that has that tag, whereas if you access a tag from my blog you'll only get content from my blog that is tagged that way. You can also do a search on my blog for subjects you're interested in.

[randomnameless]

Regarding to the negative character development in Nopes. How do you consider Supreme leader's route to be worse than the original route? I wanna know your thoughts on her character and the route itself.

You mean on Supreme Bullshit?

I prefer her in CF - even if we have the "lel professor Supreme Leader was mourning you for 5 years while you were absent (and no one conveniently thought to explore that damn ravine where you fell to see if maybe you were still alive) but now that you've returned we can maybe stop being in a stalemate against Faerghus and finally roll over Derdriu!" pandering shit, because even if it came with wonderful Supreme One Liners and Replies, in CF, Supreme Leader kills her enemies herself!

Sure it comes at the cost of the most badass Shonen Explosion I've ever seen in the FE Series, and yet, for her, that explosion meant her role was ultimately reduced to the role of a mosquito : sure it's annoying and you want to smash it, but when you look around to find someone/something to smash it, you happen on an agressive venomous snake, who cares about the mosquito now?

We know how fandom is about Supreme Leader and her actions and her uwu agency - in Supreme Bullshit, we're left in the vague about what her MAGA plans entails because she doesn't finish her quest - Nopes ends before the epilogue - and it's almost as if the Nopes!devs didn't want her to deal final blows herself, or have her hands be "as clean" as possible as the ones who are erased are either peons or secondary/tertiary characters : Supreme Leader isn't the one who splits Rhea's head open in this route, Rhea and Thales take each other out, heck, she doesn't want to liberate Fodlan from inhuman monsters anymore, it's Claude who parrots to whoever wants to listen that Rhea has to die (and yet, Supreme Leader still wants to make Garreg Mach Rhea's tomb... maybe it's a considerate gesture on her part, to have her reunite with her family?) Speaking of him if conditions are reunited, he "forces her" to kill him, because he betrays her first :'(

In CF, Supreme Leader - when she finally has the means (aka Billy!) to do so - attacks all of her enemies, even turning against the Agarthans (rip cornelia?) and it's only because the plot is held by duct tape and chewing-gum that she somehow avoids retaliation because Uncle is too stupid and wasted his nukes on Arianrhod instead of nuking Firdhiad when both Supreme Leader and Rhea would be there !

However, the facts still stand : Supreme Leader dealt a blow at the Agarthans, ended the Nabatean presence in Fodlan, personally erased Faerghus' line of Kings and conquered the Alliance.

Sure she tells Balthus she will crush everyone who doesn't side with her, but when it comes to Lords/Main antagonists... when CF had her swing Aymr - even against defeated characters who fell on their knees and aren't fighting anymore - SB brings out convoluted circumstances to either has her fight because she is attacked and thus on the defensive (which is rich when she's supposed to be the invader!) by an ally whose motivation never made sense but who is now suddenly betraying her and all of his former allies who joined with her (GG Clout) or... Rhea gets her Big Damn Hero moment, fulfilling the initial promise/oath she swore on that route (help humans to get rid of Agarthans) and supposedly dies in the process, while Supreme Leader - the oathbreaker - pulls out her best impression of Tuxedo Mask "my job here is done - but you didn't do a thing" ending on a High Five.

Imo it's very telling that the only main character who can be alive at the end of SB is Dimitri - because he is the character Supreme Leader wants dead at all costs, and if the Nopes!Devs wrote Zarhofl as they did, I wonder how they could and might have justified a metting between the two that doesn't end up in Supreme Leader Aymr'ing him (maybe Cornelia would have conviently warped there and stabbed him to death, so her hands would still be "clean" ?).

In short, I prefer CF!Supreme Leader (or her FE16 version sans the pandering) because she is determinate and wants to achieve her goals, even if she has to be ruthless to do so - and we see that ruthlessness (even if it's poorly executed) in CF, Supreme Leader kills named and main characters to MAGA (and to free humanity from those vile subhumans).

In SB, she is always... put in situations where she "has to" protect herself from either backstabbing allies, or, when push comes to shove, her enemies are conveniently at the same place at the same time and take each other out : FFS, it's Rhea who takes out the leader of the Agarthans, and it's Thales who removes Nabateans from Fodlan. What is all that determination good for if, in the end, she's not the one solving the issues?

Oh, and because I'm petty like that : why the fuck the sailor fuku, seriously - sure her red dress (the one from her legendary version!) isn't as, uh, battle compatible as, say, Queen Elincia's battle outfit, and yet there's something really disturbing about the Sailor Fuku. Supreme Leader is regal, commanding, even with the red dress. Her final outfit (Willy's armor retrofitted with boobplates?) is, well, a full suit of armor, Supreme Leader is a warrior and leading her troops to victory, she will battle and fight herself even in melee.

The Sailor Fuku is... just some generic Anime design, I know she has a plate but come on, comparing this to her Emperor battlesuit, it's almost as if we're not in the same genre anymore - it's war phase now, Supreme Leader is dead serious about her plans and her ambition, she's not the "school girl who will also go to war!" - compare the three outfits, which one doesn't scream "Emperor" to you?

So yeah, short (short) story : while I like SB for Shonen explosions and more exposition about Adrestia, imo, this route is worse for Supreme Leader's agency than any other route in FE16 (AG takes the cake in its last part though!) because while she has it, in the end, she doesn't do a thing with it :

MAGA? Dimitri cannot be killed in the game, she leaves the task to Clout who doesn't do it and worse, who can betray her :( so she has to kill him :(

Frre Humanity from the sekrit nabatean illuminati and the agarthan terrorists? She just kicks them from their homes (Agarthans managed to infiltrate Adrestia, she kicks them out of her land) and they managed to take each other out.

Sure, she knows how to highfive at the end of this route, but was it really worth all those sacrifices, aka, to get rid of conqueror and determinate!Supreme Leader to have instead sailor fuku!Supreme Leader who knows how to highfive?

I know they're not meant to be compared because different circumstances and all, but can you imagine a second, a Jugdral spin-off AU much like Nopes is, where Arvis wears a high school uniform but Siggy, Manfroy and Travant accidently kill each other so he gets the continent on a silver platter without having to do any fighting or planning himself?

That's Supreme Bullshit for Supreme Leader, and that's why I think this route doesn't paint her in the best light, especially compared to her FE16 version.

[dteamain]

what did max gg say? is there a link

sorry to give keemstar clout but

https://x.com/keemstar/status/1767660121553854476?s=46&t=2L_ZHRM49CtObxwTqXdyeQ