#I DON'T CARE HOW UNIQUE HIS TASTE IS!!! I'M SICK OF IT!!! IT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS THROWN TOGETHER LAST MINUTE EVERY TIME

[seshrat]

really wanna bitch about dragula but i don't know anybody who watches it anywhere except twitter, where people will be mad at me if they search up their fave's name, to bitch about it

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Choose Your True Love: Part 3

Part 2

♡———♡

A scream filled with all the agony of the world shook the tense air.

Curious, I approached the window, but was immediately pulled away from behind by my waist.

Gilbert: You're quite curious, aren't you?

Emma: ...............

(...What was that...?)

I think I only saw it for a few seconds.

But in those few seconds, there was a scene that burned into my mind.

My body wouldn't stop shaking, and I felt sick.

Emma: What... what was that?

Emma: ...Blood...

Emma: The square... was bright red...

Gilbert: Ah, you saw it?

Gilbert: It's the Emperor's game... Obsidian's famous public execution.

Emma: Execution...?

Gilbert: His methods are messy. Even experienced cleaners get sick sometimes, so it's best you don't watch.

Emma: ...Ah...

Gilbert: There, there, you were scared.

Gilbert held me in his arms and stroked my hair as if soothing a child.

If I had seen that sight alone, I might have screamed.

(...People's heads... were lined up.)

(So many... like a spectacle.)

Emma: In this castle... Do people die so easily, every day?

Gilbert: Yes. Life is cheap, equal to a scrap of paper.

Gilbert: You're normal to think it's abnormal. It's better not to lose that sense.

Gilbert: If you become like me and see that and feel nothing, it's too late for you as a human.

Emma: ...............

(Assassinations, executions...)

(...It's a nightmare.)

If this isn't a dream but a reality of the past, then I understand why Gilbert, who was once a kind boy, had to become a trampling beast.

(This is... He couldn't have survived this without becoming a beast.)

I clung to his cold body, and Gilbert's fingertips tightened.

Gilbert: This is not a place for you to be.

Gilbert: I don't know what the future me was thinking when he brought you to Obsidian, but...

Gilbert: I want to kill the "me" who brought a pure you to this dirty place.

(His voice... He's serious.)

Roderich: Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: Ah, thank you for your hard work. Have you secured the route?

Roderich: Yes. Since the execution is in progress, now is the time to go.

Gilbert: I see. ...Can you walk?

(...We're leaving this place.)

When I nodded, Gilbert let go of me.

Instead, he took my hand and pulled me gently, as if escorting me.

I stumbled, but managed to move my legs.

Behind me, the death throes were still rising.

Men and women alike--if there is a hell, this place might be it.

-

Gilbert: You look pale. ...Roderich, bring the medicine.

Roderich: Yes.

We left the castle through a deserted area and were led to one of Gilbert's hideouts in the city.

Thankfully, the hellish spectacle wasn't taking place in the city, but what I saw on the way here was different from what I knew.

(Everyone looked depressed and tired, there was no vitality, and the whole city was desolate.)

(...I like the Obsidian of the future, but the Obsidian of the past is very...)

Gilbert: Can you take the medicine?

Emma: ...What kind of medicine is it?

Gilbert: It's a medicine to calm your nerves.

(They have that kind of medicine on hand?)

I was handed a small vial while sitting on a chair.

Judging by the familiar, unique color, it might be something Walter had made.

Next to the vial was a drink that looked like it could be a palate cleanser. It was very thoughtful.

Emma: Thank you...

Gilbert: You're welcome. But be careful, it tastes awful.

(...I know, Gil.)

I accepted his kindness and poured the liquid from the vial down my throat in one gulp.

I masked the peculiar taste that made me feel even worse with the sweet juice.

Gilbert: Now, you said you came from the future, but you don't know how to solve the current situation.

Gilbert: Since we don't know, we need to investigate, and I'll take care of that.

Emma: Huh?

Gilbert: I'm going to have you evacuate to Jade until I find out more.

Gilbert: I'd really like to send you to Rhodolite, but...

Gilbert: The Bloodstained Rose Day, wasn't it? I think that war you were talking about will happen soon.

Emma: ...

Gilbert: I'll report back to you. So, with that said...

Gilbert: Take care, "Little Rabbit."

Gilbert stroked my hair and turned his back.

It seems he's going to return to the castle without resting.

Gilbert: Roderich, you don't have to come back for a while.

Roderich: Will you be alright on your own?

Gilbert: Who are you talking to?

Roderich: ...My apologies.

Gilbert: I'll make sure you get to Jade safely.

Gilbert: If you get even a single scratch, your head will be next, so be careful.

Emma: Wait... please.

I stood up from the chair and grabbed Gilbert's mantle.

Gilbert: What is it?

(Gilbert in the past has been so kind to me.)

(But I... haven't been able to thank him for anything.)

When I thought about what I could do now, the first thing I noticed were the dark circles under Gilbert's eyes.

(...Come to think of it, there were documents piled up in his room too.)

(Maybe he's taking over all the government affairs of the country instead of the Emperor, who neglects domestic affairs.)

In the future, Gilbert seemed to have his own time by training people and delegating tasks, but if that nightmare is happening every day, he might not even have that luxury now.

There's only one thing I can do for Gilbert, who is being targeted and working so hard.

Emma: Would you like to rest for a bit?

Gilbert: Do I look tired?

Emma: ...Yes.

Emma: You don't look "alright."

Gilbert: ...

Gilbert: I see. If you, who are sensitive to people's emotions, say so, then maybe I am?

Gilbert: ...That's a very tempting offer, but...

Gilbert put his hand over his mouth, paused as if in thought, and then lowered the corners of his eyebrows.

Gilbert: But... I'm sorry.

.

.

.

. Part 4 | YouTube SE in JP

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[boykingscourt]

thoughts on spn s8

ahh... good old s8

though it's been a while since I've watched it all the way through (currently in s6 with my friend) s8 without a doubt brings out the most mixed feelings for me compared to any other season

fair warning this got kinda long

let's start with the good:

1 ) the sam and dean drama

if you can look at it objectively, shutting out the narrative's dean bias and the general fandom reaction, it's just delicious. I've seen it referred to as the samndean dual cheating arc, which I love rather you consider that romantic or just in the weird brothers way lmao.

I'm a big fan of benny and unlike most of the fandom don't mind the sam/amelia plot. I like it what it represents for sam's character, showing just how mismatched sam and dean's priorities are in the beginning of the season. and even though sam would cop shit from dean, the narrative, and the fandom at large, those rare moments where he stands up to dean feel like mana from heaven

2 ) TRIALS TRIALS TRIALS

this is the most important aspect of s8 for me and maybe what I should have led with, but I'm sure it's not surprising coming from a sam stan or just if you're at all familiar with my blog (hopefully you are <3)

the trials arc is one of my all-time favorite sam arcs. it has unique whump, deep and meaningful revelations for his character, and ends with one of spn's greatest season finales (to me, and I'm always right)

it also spawned one of the scenes of ALL TIME, 8x21's "I'm not clean" iconic 10/10

the trials arc is of course absolutely heartbreaking from a sam perspective, especially when thinking about s8 collectively. sam going from defending himself and his choices against dean's unfair criticism -> choosing to leave his life with amelia behind -> bravely undertaking the trials but wanting to come out on the other side alive -> not caring if it kills him in the end because of his feelings of unworthiness, guilt over his past mistakes, and (chiefly) dean's infantilization and constant reminders of all that sam has done "wrong" is one of the most sickening (affectionate) journeys I've seen a character go on. even if most of the fandom doesn't recognize it for what it is, at least the dedicated sam corner of the fandom does, and I will never tire of reading trials-related meta

3 ) very distinct arcs

this probably seems trivial in relation to the other two but I like how s8 feels like two or three different seasons mashed into one

now let's talk about the bad:

1 ) wasted potential

you could say this about a lot of spn seasons/plotlines, especially the later ones, so of course it applies here too. as much as I like benny, I think there's more they could have done with him, mainly giving him more interactions with sam! I feel the same about henry winchester too. I didn't need peepaw to stick around forever, but without a doubt they should've given him more than one measly episode. he and sam had serious potential to bond and grow close, making his death (ideally later in the season) much more impactful

2 ) too much angel crap

I really can't tell you how sick I got of angel politics, and s8 only gives us a taste of many more boring conflicts to come. the angel "trials" do nothing for me, I hardly remember anything that's going on with c*s once he comes back from purgatory minus that cringe ass swan song imitation they give him and dean (and it's memorable for the wrong reasons), and the angels falling, which seems to be a big deal at first, is extremely underwhelming once s9 rolls around (maybe it's not fair to pin that on s8 but whatever)

3 ) narrative bias towards dean/fandom reaction to sam

maybe this is also not fair to pin entirely on s8, but these things are unfortunately forever intertwined in my mind and color my view of the season as a whole. s8 sam is arguably the most misunderstood and slandered sam of the whole series. you could certainly make that argument for s4 sam, s9 sam, even s5 sam, but I'm sure you will agree s8 sam is up there no matter which sam wins that crown for you

the significance of the trials and what they reveal about sam's character is entirely lost on most of the audience. all we seem to hear about instead is how stupid and pointless they find the amelia plotline, how jealous and unreasonable sam is regarding benny, and (you already know it!) endless endless ENDLESS "waaaaaahhhh sam didn't look for dean!!" just one of the three of those is enough to drive me insane, and we are instead treated to all three and more!

couple this with the narrative's dean bias (and s8 just happens to be the moment where, in my opinion, this bias becomes fixed and permanent) you are left with some of the worst takes and most fuck ass sam meta you can imagine, some of it being so bad I've heard of many instances of sam stans taking a break from spn or just checking out entirely around this time

s8 my beloved and s8 my beloathed

although maybe this is all entirely too serious and I should instead just thank s8 for its greatest gifts: estrogen!jared sam with his beautiful tan and glorious long glossy chestnut hair AND sickly trials era bella swan sam, both of whom I want to abandon the silverware for and eat with my bare hands

thanks so much for this ask, and if you were expecting a succinct response instead, I sincerely apologize

[forcebookish]

ok i'm doing it: ep2 (mostly unpopular) opinions. it's so fucking long i'm putting it under a readmore lol YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

topmew have bewitched me body and soul. i love everything about them. i was so into the idea of them being "toxic" (fandom has ruined that word, i reallllly hate it but it applies here) but hilariously, i think they're the least toxic relationship in the show (if you don't count aprilcheum): they talk about their feelings and boundaries, they go on dates, they genuinely care about and are interested in each other as people. and they want to have sex!!!!! but on mew's timeline, which i like. i love their dance and how flirty they are.

top's trauma is both heartbreaking and unique. it's great writing and it feels like there was a lot of thought put into it. force's acting is incredible. he really looks like a scared little boy and before he admits he can't sleep alone he's got a look on his face like he's scared he's going to be laughed at. because he has been laughed at :( even mew laughs at him (which i kind of liked tbh it was a really honest reaction and i like that he apologized for it). he could have made it into a sob story and told mew when he was trying to sleep in his bed with him, but he only admitted to it when asked and didn't try to ask again about sleeping beside mew, which i think says a lot about him. my son is a good person. as always, forcebook know how to make a scene feel Real.

mew is hot. that's all.

ok actually, mew is fascinating (but not because he's a puppet master🙄 i'm now 100% sure he's not, why would he be lying in his non-diegetic literary device confessional?? please). he is very perceptive (so is top tbh), but boston seems to be a bit of a blindspot (for both of them). i had a suspicion that mew knew that top and boston hooked up, but now it seems like he might not - and he took it at face value when boston lied about top dumping him once they have sex 🤔

i don't care about sandray, there i said it. they're boring.

ray especially is boring. irl? unrequited love and losing a parent is tragic, and i do feel for him, but in fiction? it's tired. wah wah my crush doesn't like me back wah wah dead mom wah wah. i hope his arc picks up but for now i'm totally lukewarm

also the smoke makeout is gross. all i can think about is how bad they must smell and taste😒

i love that sand makes plum wine. plum wine is fucking delicious and i'm very relieved those creepy jars in his apartment aren't pickled eggs djkfjlgjf and i'm happy he's bi!! woohoo!! but other than that, i don't find him particularly interesting, although he definitely has potential (legal issues with the wine, whatever the fuck he and top have going on)

obviously, FUCK BOSTON. hope that sexual predator drowns xoxo i don't want to get into it again because i've already made like nine posts about it but god he is a bad dude, and not in a fun way at all. he actually makes me sick. and i'm not exaggerating or being dramatic, i barely ate yesterday because that scene combined with the fandom reciting rape culture talking points without any self-awareness (even sticking to their guns when called out on it), just unironically saying almost verbatim every victim-blaming kind of bullshit people use against real sexual assault survivors made me SO uncomfortable and anxious.

nick...... sweetie pie what are you doing with this walking red flag what do you even like about him is the sex really that good because it honestly doesn't look that good

(like. topmew's love scene in episode one is hot, aesthetically, but i also can't help but think how fucking good everything they did actually feels. not just from an acting perspective but what they are physically doing: the grabbing, the neck and chest kissing, the grabbing, pelvis-to-pelvis and chest-to-chest, the grabbing djfklsjlgd but all of boston's are just kind of like. yeah ok you sure are having sex. that sure was an orgasm. idk, ymmv)

i do think it's funny that there are so many viewers who think that mew is going to "snap" and "seek revenge" or whatever, when nick is such a better candidate for it. that boy is already crazy, he's on a knife's edge. and that sex tape plotline coming up? the photobooth photos? he's going to do something drastic. ticking fucking timebomb.

APRILCHEUM ARE SO CUTE AAAAAAA I WANT SO MUCH MORE OF THEM

good lord i wrote a lot. i hope the fandom doesn't burn me out with their bull shit because there is such a severe lack of forcebook and topmew love and a fucking glut of content for everyone else, and i want to make stuff for forcebook (and especially top).

also i feel like i'm going to end up writing a lot of topmew fanfiction. like with abaab, probably not before it finishes airing but... plus, i still don't have any real ideas, just vibes and some, ah, positions i would like to write hahaha

thank you for reading this far omg

[kaisollisto]

I fear I love this too much, so yeah

"there is a terrible, beautiful new guardian grotesque to be received by the Silva tombhouse from the Salviuses." this sentence rAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, love the way it's written to be received, the imagery here, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,

"families on this hill are not quite rich enough to expand at the pace of the wealthiest among them, who slice and raze to add to their already broad campuses of tombs."

god this bit of detail is so delicious, like there's so much said HERE with just a single sentence. knocking on ur dOOR oPEN UP. I am throwing myself at ur feet.

There is just something about the way you depict Beatrice in her solitude. The peace she has and the environment she has made peace in (/potentially a home in). There's a quiet tenderness here that makes me think fuck i'm gonna get gut punched. The worldbuilding here with just a few lines make me insane. I'm telling you the imagery please believe me, it's insane i'm reading and I can picture it, there is a movie inside of my head. The vibes are vibing and I can taste the air, I can imagine everything. (Also the " It’s said, it’s said, it’s said" yeah yeah that hit me, this definitely felt like a secret I don't know how you did it but it feels like i am one of the books on the shelves hearing about this rumor,)

I am blushing at Lilith's description, whew,,,, i'm keeled over on the floor holding my chest.

"Walls still perfused with the fragrance and vapor of hot homemade stew."

suddenly i feel homesick for feeling I have never desired for and you are to blame ):< AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"It slithers amongst the roots of the living but does not make a home of it."

yeah yeah yeah banging my head against a wall. This did make me bite my fist and cry a little. yeah yeah, clutching my poor beating heart in my chest. you bodied this, ate I fear I will be kept up at night thinking about this. I want inside of your brain. this whole paragraph and description here makes me feel complete, like a good meal.

HELLOOOOO HI teleportation or a form of portalling, i'm rubbing my hands like a lil fly, god i'm intrigued i'm in love, i'm in too deep. Also Beatrice's description of lilith god, there is so much love and admiration in this paragraph. There's so much care underlying here, a hidden history that WE don't know and it makes me sick. SICK. You're sick x: THE GLIMPSE OF more worldbuilding, i fear i cannot handle this. The lore on this is crazy, like suddenly get hit by it in the middle of the day crazy. I'm going to have to lay down. (once again i am shouting at you about the worldbuilding clenching my fist).

i'm in love with your vocab, I find myself constantly looking up words and it's refreshing to see so many new words. But also i'm in awe and amazed, you always know the right word to describe a feeling a scene and i'm gonna need a lobotomy. The description of Beatrice's two heads, i'm actually clawing out my chest. It is all just so Beatrice to a heartwrenching degree.

banging on table I'm fucking telling you your imagery oh my god, i cannot live with this information inside of my brain. It cannot hold place inside of me because I think I will explode. There's something about your descriptions of Ava's mirth that are so HER but also make me teary eyed, like yeah that's our chimerical gargoyle of a bbg. There's something so endearing about this and it's so so so so clear to me how much love you have poured into this i think i might drown.

The thinking of Bea's brain oh i'm shaking, i'm shaking,

"She thinks, distantly, of what someone else wiser than her might say. “They’ll agree with me that you’re certainly unique,” she starts, and it’s like Shannon’s talking through her, stately and gentle. Bold, like Mary. "

actually i'm fucking sobbing, fuck you. oh my god someone wiser than her??? Where Beatrice goes, Shannon + Mary follow. Warrior nun has taught me there is no god just the people who make a home and invite you in. (And I can't fucking take it anymore) The constant reminder that yeah Beatrice loves her people so much (people we were robbed of in the show) never fails to make me the worst version of myself. Beatrice carries them in her and to think when she cannot rely on herself they are there. God what the fuck what the hell. Or on the flipside there is not enough room for Beatrice with all these people in her heart, not enough of her that she cannot trust herself to say something that geniuinely comes from her. Being her is such a new and uncomfortable experience that she has never had reason to try until now. (but that's just a theory a game theory B) ). Regardless Beatrice and the people who have loved and continue to love her make me sick.

Oh the idea that they are gargoyles and will never be anything more than that is sickening, utterly heart wrenching and I do not want to live in a world where this is true. Throwing up, I fear I have forgotten how to breathe. I love this AU I clicked on the post and I FUCKING knew i'd eat this shit up god. Banging on the table I love love loved this. This this this, god i can't imagine who i'd be without this. This, my head is in my hands. The delicacy in which Beatrice holds, regards, Ava already has me fetal position. Pain recognizes pain and to want to be there, to soothe that pain. Sick YOU'RE SICK. But i suppose that is also the true nature of Beatrice. The nature of being guardians, of caring of loving.

love love love this, god i'm a whore for funky au's. i will be so chill about the next installment, if there is one, but this, this has my love.

WIP... Wednesday

Tagged by @willowedhepatica  (thanks!) I'm so sorry that this comes so late 😭 life got in the way. Not sure who i can tag who has things in the works they can share, but please Please know if anyone has any snippets or sneak peaks I would love to see them and yell about them with you pleaseee

Not strictly a WIP but here’s just under 3.5k of an oldish experimental AU inspired by this post :’) in this one they’re… *checks notes*, ah, hmm. Chimerical tomb guardians carved from stone.   

-----

It’s a wickedly stormy day when a procession scores up the hill through beating rain and blowing dust, but there’s no time to waste. The wedding will not wait, and on its occasion, as a symbol of the new ties between the families of the bride and the groom, there is a terrible, beautiful new guardian grotesque to be received by the Silva tombhouse from the Salviuses. 

It is surely mounted on the property sometime during the silver-black onslaught of sky upon earth, but Beatrice cannot clearly see it through the rain and the  maze of trees that still separates the Silvas from their neighbors. The families on this hill are not quite rich enough to expand at the pace of the wealthiest among them, who slice and raze to add to their already broad campuses of tombs. Instead, in this part of town, modest, often unmatching clusters dwell amongst the wildflowers and long-lived trees sprayed across the land. 

Beatrice likes the nature. Her perch is kept cool by the damp and dewy mornings, birdsong flickering from above and around. In the filtered haze of heat and light there is some measure of peace too – here, there is less to fight over, and fewer lines of tension between the families. Hidden by farther slopes, there are fewer threats from beyond. And, overshadowed by the lower circuit of large gated tombhouses, there are far milder spoils for aspiring robbers. 

It’s from one of these large inner-city tombhouses that the new stone protector is said to arrive. The Salviuses have money spilling out their hands and down their wrists. It’s said, it’s said, it’s said – it’s whispered in the wind that carries the falling leaves from vine to vane, so easy for Beatrice to stretch up and put an ear to. The pollen clouds dispersed over grass in shapes spelling disruption  and newcomer. It’s gossiped over pages in the library, first with smug nods and just you wait and see, dear, we’re never wrong from the grandfathers and grandmothers as Beatrice pores through the volumes in the upper shelves, precious books pressed so high and so far back that they’re backed into both wall and ceiling. 

Then, inevitably, it carries through the air in the giggles and hushed gasps of the living members of this family, hands curling over yarn and needle as the youngest children breathlessly run and hide behind the walls and in the shadowy pockets of the tombhouse. The Great-great-great Grandmother who had been the first to break the news is mollified by the confirmation, and generously refuses to gloat.

A Silva girl is marrying a Salvius boy, and the Salviuses are pledging a guardian – the spirits know they have too many anyway, but still, a Salvius guardian – to this hill. 

“You’ve got to go over and see what’s going on,” Beatrice is instructed one morning, in no uncertain terms. They’re going over integration by partial fractions on the little platform at the back that looks down over the mills: her, Great-Grandfather, and Lilith, who’s slunk over yet again from the Villaumbrosias’ for some ‘peace and quiet’, and also because Beatrice’s family likes her for some mysterious reason. They pretend it’s because they need the extra pair – or, well, pairs, in Lilith’s case – of eyes. The massive, foreboding, Villaumbrosia affair the next hill over already boasts so many fearsome hands on deck, and they only have one Beatrice. 

Great-grandfather is gentle and teasing about it; Beatrice (and Lilith, although she will never admit it) is his favorite captive audience. 

Of course, it’s easy to treat her as one of their own on mornings like this — quiet summer days when she’s stripped of silica and scale, descended from her weatherworn perch. Devoid of the coarse matter of rock and metal twisted into hungry, flame-spitting fangs, and instead merely a soft-spoken spirit in a youthful skin. When the great grandfathers and mothers and their grandfathers and grandmothers look at her and see dark, almost-human eyes and loosely-bound hair in a bun above her shoulders.  

And when Beatrice walks Lilith out and across the rocky way that leads home, it’s easy for them to wave the two of them off. After all, Lilith is just a young woman with black waves she tucks carefully behind her ears and a handsome, slanting jaw that could almost pass as being real; as being pressed and molded with muscle and mandible and a fragile, mycelial network of vasculature and nerves. Not another delicate illusion that would slip and shatter at the first sign of danger, revealing in a flash the grotesque ugliness within.

There hasn’t been an attack in a while. When there hasn’t been an attack in a while Beatrice thinks the family tends to forget where exactly they hold court.

(Here, cradled close enough within these hills to walk back to where home once was. Children’s handprints on the threshold, coal scribbles on the floor. Walls still perfused with the fragrance and vapor of hot homemade stew.)

This is a graveyard. This is a necropolis, a city of the dead. It slithers amongst the roots of the living but does not make a home of it. In its palm lies the fragile in-between, the sickly sweet intersection where the living and the after-dead mingle like the meeting of two clouds. Within its grounds the family is wont to forget the ruthlessness that’s sometimes needed to keep it in balance.

Once they depart, Beatrice and Lilith’s guises fall away. Invisible to a still-beating heart, two terrible chimeras gouge skid-marks through the dirt to get to the Villaumbrosia citadel before its guests arrive at ten-thirty. Miraculously, only twice during the entire trip does Lilith half-heartedly threaten to snap Beatrice’s tail off. 

They make it there just in time. Beatrice watches as Lilith sweeps her way up the manicured moss columns and melds, in a quick thrash, with the magnificent dark-gray creature of stone that lunges out from the south turret. Frozen like this: mouth curled in a snarl and sharp wings flung out – in mockery, in bombast, in warning; Lilith at her most vindictive and most frightening, the elaborate Villaumbrosia insignia branded hot and painful down her side.

Beatrice knows it hurts, of course. Perhaps less so like this but certainly in the flesh, where it is always red and raw like the day it was carved down Lilith’s ribs in the workshop. Preserved unchanging in the meat as it is preserved forever in the rock. Lilith winces, when she thinks the others aren’t looking, but Beatrice knows. Camila might say something – probably does say something, but Beatrice doesn’t. She understands too well, and after all, what can they do?

After all, this is their work. This is life: whatever is asked of them. For Lilith today, it is to be a showpiece for guests at a bloated, overwrought tea ceremony. Broadly, it is watchman, and protector, and advocate. And at times like these, when there is a stir in the tangled ecosystem of bloodlines and their guardian-creatures, Beatrice is called upon to be an ambassador. 

So, the day after the storm, Beatrice leaves her perch to seek out the Silvas. She glides down from the still-slippery stone, and lands softly on the wet earth, scale meeting fur meeting soil and humid air. 

In her hands – her metaphorical hands – she clasps fistfuls of string that stretch, infinitely thin, to every corner of her tombhouse. She flexes each one and puts it between her teeth as she steps over the threshold and into the trees, testing their elasticity and tensile strength. If there is to be a twang, however minute, she must feel it. There is only one of her at home.

As she approaches the Silva tombhouse the air around her shifts and seems to solidify into a medium both probing and warning. Beatrice stills, allowing the woods to see her and course through her calmness. They know her, of course, and she waits for them to pass on the message to the newest guardian, still incredibly sensitive to the prickle of unfamiliar movement and sound. 

Presently, physically, the world exhales. 

Beatrice cautiously continues forward, until the treeline peels away to reveal the Silva tombhouse.

Tombhouse, as it goes, is a misnomer – a tombhouse is a complex rather than a single shell. It is no single cell for a coffin, but a collection of connected mausoleums and courtyards and passageways and corners and gates, lifted high and tunneled low. And as befitting a clan of esteemed craftsmen, the Silva tombhouse is a harmonious set spiraling outwards in organic whorls. Its walls are scraped clean and brushed beige, curled and leafed and folded in at the edges. Delicate and pretty in its strength in a way Beatrice’s own plain, stoic little set of residences could never be.

At the top of the central mausoleum, bounded by a parapet, rests a flat platform. On that ledge sits the new grotesque. 

Ink-black stone peeks curiously down at Beatrice. 

Immediately it is clear that she is like nothing Beatrice has ever seen before. Yes, as is tradition she is joined and jawed together piecemeal from various symbolic beasts, but this composition and style is unique. 

She’s simultaneously entirely unlike both the typical statues produced by-the-dozen in the workshops, and the specially commissioned sculptures like Beatrice herself. This guardian is a patchwork of shapes and textures Beatrice has only ever seen in the watercolor sketches of her tombhouse’s own library as belonging to exotic creatures from faraway places. Still other elements escape her recognition and description, and everything meshes deftly at smooth, near-invisible seams. 

Perhaps this isn’t surprising in a Salvius guardian – Jillian’s own commission too, it’s rumored. No less should be expected from someone the alchemists and scientists alike shy away from. Jillian Salvius considers herself a traveler, and a collector, and a dabbler, and Beatrice hears that the spokes of her gates are gnarled and carved in strange patterns from foreign lands.

The guardian shifts and cocks her head curiously, and Beatrice pulls herself together sharply.

“Hi,” the creature says. “You must be the neighbor from the east.”

Beatrice snaps back into polite, exceedingly proper posture. She nods, dipping forward in a movement resembling a bow. It makes the high-perched creature giggle, gauzy like air.

“Good morning,” she replies. “My name is Beatrice, and you’re right. How did you know?”

The guardian doesn’t answer. She separates from her stone in a miasma of color, swoops down noisily, and lands, a little clumsily, on a lower ledge. “Two heads, huh?” she says, thoughtfully. “Kinda perfect for the scholars.”

It’s not said judgmentally; more so with a further curious slant of her head, observational and light. Beatrice feels strange and semisolid all over.

She doesn’t correct the new guardian; tell her that no, she hadn’t actually been crafted or blessed for this bloodline, only gifted to them just one generation ago. And gifted rather carelessly, at that; an obligatory token presented upon the death of the benefactor’s tutor.

Before that her two heads were designed not as a tribute to wisdom or a paean to collaboration, but in order to stare proudly over an excessive estate, stretching out in opposite directions over land too vast for merely one head to behold. An arrogant symbol of not just physical, but political reach. She was a status symbol for powerful people – two-faced might be a better descriptor. 

Beatrice has always considered this with some bitterness, but today, she oddly feels no urge to self-flagellate. She feels, suspiciously, nothing at all; a fuzzy blank.

Instead, in response to the guardian, Beatrice blinks. Both of her heads do. They crane and incline together, like long-necked birds bending to convene. She feels sharp ears on each one twitch and flutter.

The creature laughs again. She descends further to the porch, then approaches Beatrice slowly. “I’m Ava,” she introduces herself, finally. Shyly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ava,” Beatrice repeats, careful and hushed. She parses it over and traces it as though threading a needle – how the strange, simple symmetry of the word, the hypnotic up-down-up of A-V-A,  doesn't begin to encompass the entity approaching her. On cue, Ava does a funny, shuddery motion that cascades down her whole form. 

Beatrice, leaning her heads over old tomes like water jugs tipped over a parched tongue, dreams of fantastical things, from places that often sound even more surreal. And yet before her now stands the most peculiar thing alive yet, that defies everything she’s known and seen. 

Yes, clearer now before her eyes, Ava is a patchwork of impossible parts. 

Up close Beatrice can see she’s also a riverbed of illusory things. Small divots seem to scoop themselves out, sink deep, and then ripple back up into the surface of her body. Bubbling, and collapsing, and reforming, like springs of molten mother-of-pearl. Each little cavity shimmers like roughened gemstones: a gasping, dark blue, like well water under the sun; or a moody green like the light-starved undershade in a storm; or a thawing amber that Beatrice cannot even describe except that it looks like the smell of hot bread with a sweet cream core, tempting and steaming.

“Beatrice,” Ava echoes, her eyes gleaming and dark. They bubble expressively and endlessly deep. Gazing at Beatrice, straight, still and pondering. Searching. 

Silence stretches until it doesn’t. 

Something snaps – a bird on a twig above –  and Ava shakes herself awake. “Where’s my manners!” she exclaims suddenly. “Come on,” she swishes around gamely. Beatrice, bewildered, sneezes. 

She’s learning quickly that when Ava laughs, the dense tassel-like feathers on the back rise in delighted reflex and splay apart. 

The two of them slip between trees into a little glade, buoyed by her relentless charm and a thrumming current of something else, in the undertow.

Once upon a time, this was a courtyard, although now that the Silva tombhouse has unfurled in the opposite direction it’s been allowed to tastefully overgrow into its former self, mossy and scruffy. Old pieces of wall and pillars still cordon off one side; Beatrice resists the temptation to bound about and explore, and instead parks herself primly at a corner, not fidgeting.

Ava has no such compunctions. She wriggles herself into a comfortable position on a large boulder. Her weapon of a tail dangles down and bats at the ground idly, uprooting chunks of grass. 

“How are you finding it here?” Beatrice asks, trying very hard to be normal. 

“Honestly? I don’t know yet,” Ava grins, “and you’re the first one of us I’ve met here.” 

She pauses, cocks her head to one side so strikingly. The gesture almost looks human. “You know, my new folks think very highly of you,” She looks appraisingly over Beatrice with an indecipherable expression.

Beatrice feels quite hot. “Mine are curious about you.”

There is a shift in the air as Ava straightens abruptly. Her tail stills. “What will you tell them?”

Beatrice bites her tongues, undecided. She’d meant to think of it later, to phrase and rephrase and turn the words over and over in her mouth on the way back to get them right. It takes a while, usually, to distill her thoughts precisely into words that balance both insinuation and tone, and half the time it ends up all too stilted and formal anyway. How people seem to be able to do that, off the cuff – it’s confusing. Far easier, Beatrice thinks, to sit quietly beside and let such people do the talking.

Especially now that this seems, somehow, to be important to Ava. And especially now that she finds she doesn’t quite have any of the words.

If Beatrice had hands she would wring them. She thinks, distantly, of what someone else wiser than her might say. “They’ll agree with me that you’re certainly unique,” she starts, and it’s like Shannon’s talking through her, stately and gentle. Bold, like Mary. 

She adds, in an abrupt impulse that’s, alarmingly, all Beatrice, “I do think you’ll fit in well here.”

“Oh,” Ava seems surprised. Her tail, heretofore curled tightly on the boulder, relaxes and turns a loose arc in the air, hacking at the grass. “Thanks,” she looks at Beatrice, and inhales sharply, although not unkindly. 

Pauses. Sheepishly, she adds, “I’ve heard some people, uh, calling me devilish and other things, you see. But you know, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Beatrice grimaces involuntarily, then schools her expression back into an empathetic nod. It’s not unexpected. There’s bound to be a procession of curious gawkers and onlookers filing through to try and catch a glimpse of something hailing from the elusive Salviuses. Beartice knows the type: traditional, gossipy and busybodies.

They’ll take one look up the roof and gasp in disbelief or disgust, probably. Sneer up at the twisted, unnatural proportions, if they’re brave. Ava runs too close to the precipice of their diluted tolerance.

“The Silvas are good people. They’ll stand by you.” Beatrice isn’t sure if it helps, but it’s true. The households here are the little silver lining of this part of town, otherwise ragged and out of the way and a little discordant in its hues.

Ava exhales gently. Beatrice thinks there’s a small smile there. “I know.”

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Yeah. I know,” repeats Ava, her eyes shining, and it’s almost like she really does. 

Beatrice understands. They did it to her, too, after all.

The people who commissioned her had made a puppet of her. They had demanded a departure from classical references and therefore affixed to her frame things like startling, swiveling joints and odd angles.  Two heads, of course, among other modifications – all in an arrogant, ambitious drive to defy tradition and create a visionary symbol of fear and envy.  Instead, the lay beholder glanced upon the warped anatomy and thought it blasphemy. And so, Beatrice rapidly became that to her own family too: acrid to the eyes, rotted in the soul, a disembowelment. Failure. An embarrassment. 

The whispers billowed large like cotton sheets drying in the fields, caught and blown out in the wind.

It was a matter of time. Beatrice imagines the tiny family offspring being taught their true oral history in a sugary sick little chant, clapping their chubby hands cheerfully and squealing every grim word, 

Then the old teacher died / and it was a great relief / The family rushed to ready / a token of public grief

Her, of course. Her, and not any of the cruder, more sedate, stone guardians that studded the estate. The small ones who, on a good day, sat patiently and circulated air and respired noisily, and who were not capable of thought or pain. The family had a lot of them lining their walls, not much more than large decorative lumps of dough programmed to trap, waylay, or bite at intruders. 

Instead, they parted ways with the looming, ghastly and elaborate figure that guarded one of their main wings, and painted it as a great outpouring of sadness. Beatrice knew better.

The whole event was swift; almost planned in advance. She’d barely had time to send an urgent warning to Lilith before she was gone – a failed experiment in pomposity that took an unforeseen and regrettable turn into the profane. 

In a matter of days she was transplanted from lush green gardens into dry hills bathed in reedy, half-obscured sunsets. The kind of neighborhood her old family would call avant-garde or ‘forward-thinking’, although with a scoff that betrayed what they really thought.

And at night, looking down to sleeping homes, Beatrice would hear in the nothingness the same whispers splashing down the stone like rain, all over again.

Mindlessly, now, she has the sudden urge to reach out and feel. Fluttering cells or hardened stone, it doesn’t matter. She wants to transmute a hand of tender human pulp and skin, and run fragile fingers softly over the strangest braided foldery and flattening of membrane, bumps and spindles until they catch, pierce and bleed. 

And she so badly wants to tell Ava: I think you’re nightmarish and very beautiful. You would hold an army off this humble hill. like holding out a pathetic little bundle of flowers– but she doesn’t. It’s too long and too much; I’m here. is too short, and both are too naked. She’s not that kind of creature. She’s carved from solid rock and even when she sheds it it still feels like its weight chains her to the earth.

Her voices remain even and steady, somehow. 

“I –This isn’t the customary welcome and introductory visit,” Beatrice confesses, in lieu of it all.

“Oh. It’s not?”

Beatrice shakes her heads. “There’ll need to be a more official one.” 

The overlapping layers of spines along Ava’s limbs rise and then flatten, quickly.  “So I’ll get to see you again soon?” 

Feeling warm, or moist, or something like a pillar of pressurized foam, Beatrice clears her throats. “I suppose so. Yes.”

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi again 😊 I'm sending so more info in hope you could help me and our previous talk just in case

* love criminal stories, adore guessing what happened and people motivations and * easily notice patterns or inaccuracies in world around * when like something or someone it often becomes her obsession * nitpicking and easily irritated when stressed * really objective, can see things from different perspectives * envy characters in tv/book/celebrities who have personality or look wish for and try to become like them * aesthetic loving person, really love fashion, architecture, movies from Tim Burton and Wes Anderson * want to be liked but have elitist taste in people, not everyone is 'worthy' * "im not like others", want to be unique and special but still liked and fit in * sensitive to criticism, easily hurt, takes everything to heart * have strong likes and dislikes but also can change her mind about things when learning new things about it * when choosing college I went where my friends and choose major that seemed cool in that moment * in last part of Bridget Jones when she choose Mark instead of Jack - couldn't believe how stupid ending was and how she choose person not most compatible with her who make her feel good and not stupid but one (which life proven before many times) are completely opposite and it simply don't have right to work out * daydream a lot, when I'm watching something or reading or just sitting in the bus * love justice, when my team won but I know I was unfair I tend to cheer up for other team next time * over-think what people think of me, if what I said was stupid or boring * like gossips and theories, I like to look at them from different perspectives and find out others opinions * often say or do things without thinking it through

I'm almost sure that I'm Fi and Se user (Isfp or Esfp, eventually Enfp or Enfj) and enneagram is either 9w1 or 4w3

Hi Charity 🙂 I struggle so much to find my type. I feel like finding it could help with creating/finding myself you know. I want to have this one perfect vision of mysel and become this person. Whole my life I’ve been trying to my true self, once Rory from Gilmore Girls, then Blair from Gossip Girl, sad artist, nicest girl next door, badass. I’m so sick of it, of being everyone and no one at the same time. I just want to find one route and stick to it. Like I want to be remembered as this concrete person. I don’t care if people think I’m too nice or too rude or fake. Being in the middle, mediocre, not distinguish around others, not knowing who you really are is awful feeling. 

You are too interested in reading between the lines and hypothesis to be inferior Ni, so if you are sure of Fi, ISFP. You also seem like an attachment type, so I would look at 3, 6, or 9. There's some 3 stuff in what you wrote, but the lack of a sense of self, being everyone and no one at the same time, is also 9ish.

[ginger-and-mint]

Hey, I'm wondering if you have any advice on writing kink stuff? Basically, it feels like I'm writing the same story repeatedly. Coming up with stuffing scenarios that both make sense, and aren't just retreads, is really hard. It probably doesn't help that a) I don't have much writing experience, b) my interests are really narrow, and c) I have no imagination, lol. How do you keep stuff fun and interesting? (Jsyk, I sent this to Tiny as well, I love both your blogs 😊)

Hey, anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoy my and Tiny’s content and I’m flattered to be asked for advice! ♡ I have a lot of thoughts about this, so I’ll do my best to boil them down into something useful.
 ^^

Since you mentioned being pretty new to writing, I broke up my advice into a few different “stages,” starting with things that are easy to implement and moving to things that might feel more manageable as you get more comfortable with writing. Under a cut because Real Heckin Long.


Stage One — Don’t Sweat It

This might sound corny and unhelpful, but I genuinely think that especially when you’re first starting out, it’s best not to put pressure on yourself to write the world’s most original stories. Write to please your inner fiend and nobody else! If repeated versions of the same story continue to light your fire, there’s no shame in embracing that.

Doing this will honestly help you with originality in the long-term anyway, because you’re giving yourself the freedom to learn more about what specifics you really enjoy in kink writing. Later on, you can use that knowledge to put new twists on those specifics and invent new scenarios.

Stage Two — Stuffing Scenario Cheat Sheet

I completely agree that believable stuffing scenarios are really difficult to invent. What’s realistic is a matter of opinion of course, but for me, this is a quick breakdown of logical reasons for a character to overeat. If you’re getting tired of using the same justification in your fics, try picking something new from this list:

Accidental stuffing:

Character is distracted by something during the meal

Character eats so fast they don’t realize when they’re full

Character has been hungry for awhile and overdoes it when they finally get to eat

Reluctant intentional stuffing (motivated by external circumstances):

Character feels social pressure to keep eating **

The food will go to waste otherwise **

Eating contests / challenges **

The character is trying to bulk up

Enthusiastic intentional stuffing (because the character wants to):

Character just enjoys the feeling of being full

Character and/or their partner(s) have a stuffing kink

Character has temporary access to good food and is indulging while they can

Fantasy Shenanigans:

Side effects of being a magical creature (e.g. a werewolf eating too much for their human form to handle, a vampire needing to feed all at once, etc.)

Magic that causes a character to overeat (e.g. enchanted food, curses, potions, etc.)

Magic that requires a full stomach and/or extra energy to work (e.g. my di-mage spell mechanics, the antidote in this fic of Tiny’s, etc.)

[free space because fantasy lets you set the boundaries of what’s realistic, so your imagination is really the limit!]

** If you’re aiming for realism, I would be careful of these scenarios. In my opinion, they can be done believably, but often are not. Some things I would look out for:

Most foods can easily be stored for later, so if you want to use the “avoiding waste” trope, make sure that you’re either in a setting without access to refrigeration or that the food is something that genuinely wouldn’t keep until the next day (or at least would be way less tasty after a night in the fridge.)

Social pressure works best in scenarios with people that the to-be-stuffed character 1) doesn’t know very well and 2) wants to impress or keep face around (e.g. formal events, business dinners, first dates that involve food, meeting their partner’s family, etc.)

Loving friends, family, and partners don’t pressure or guilt people into overeating! Characters stuffing themselves because their loved ones are really insistent that they have to taste-test everything or act so disappointed because they went to all this work on some extravagant feast always ring at best false and at worst abusive to me. What kind of loving relationship is it if you don’t feel safe to say “no thanks, I’m full?” That’s not to say social pressure with loved ones can’t be done well, but it usually indicates some kind of character flaw (i.e. an inability to say no and/or a steamroller-y personality) that in my opinion, has to be acknowledged by the fic’s end if you want the tone to stay light and fluffy.

Again, this may just be my opinion, but eating contests only come across as realistic with certain character personalities and in certain contexts. Like yeah, I can believe that a himbo with YouTuber Energy would take on a hot wing eating challenge in front of all his bros, but not so much that an otherwise self-respecting character would drop everything to eat themselves sick because a friend randomly challenged them.

Stage Three — Change Up Other Elements When Using Similar Tropes


Especially if you have narrow interests, it’s probably inevitable you’ll write same basic story structure over and over. I know I sure do! However, I would say that changing other elements of the narrative can give your writing an entirely different feel, turning it into a whole new story that will not feel like a simple retread to a reader.

One thing you can change up is setting. A lot of times kink writers will just plonk characters in the comfort of their own homes, which is valid — but setting hugely influences the atmosphere of a story, so the same Kink Plot will read really differently if it happens, say, at a campground or on a boat. Providing a rich setting can even become a feature of the kink itself. For example, setting your story at a lavish buffet could introduce an element of indulgence that hits you and/or readers differently than a story that involves casual takeout in the living room, even if the rest of the story is similar. Try bold settings! They’re fun!

Another element to vary is context. For example, the basic trope of “stress eating” would play out really differently if a character is about to go on an important mission vs. if they’re recovering from an emotionally difficult day; a story about about a character intentionally stuffing themselves will have a completely different flavor if they’ve been going hungry for awhile vs. they’ve been overeating all week; and so on.


Finally, consider changing up the focus. An easy way to do this is to switch up whether you’re writing from the POV of the stuffed character or a caretaker. You can also focus on different details of the stuffing — for example, lingering on how delicious the food looks and tastes vs. how the character feels as their stomach fills vs. physical details like whether they’re getting bloated or grumbly.

Stage Four — Connect to Character or Plot

The most surefire way to make kink stories distinct is to give the story an additional purpose besides just being kinky. This doesn’t have to be some big, extravagant plot (although it certainly can be) — it can be a simple as writing a kink story the way you usually would, and just finding something within it that you can use to reveal an aspect of your character.

Start with an ordinary kink scenario and try to dive a little deeper. For example:

Say you want to write a story about stress eating. Okay — what is the character stressed about?

Maybe you come up with something relatively simple and generic, like school. Okay, what about this character makes them so likely to be stressed out by school? Are they a perfectionist? Are they facing a lot of pressure from their family? Do they have a goal that requires excellent grades? Have they struggled with this subject in the past?

Let’s say you decide to go with perfectionism. Now, what scenes can you use to show this struggle? And optionally, can you give the character some kind of resolution by the story’s end?

And there you go! Your fic now not only has kink, but also shows how your character reacts in a certain situation.

Character especially is a treasure trove of uniqueness, in my opinion, because well-developed characters react differently to the same scenario. Stories feel more original because even if a reader has read this exact same plot before, they will not have seen how this particular person handles it. So one of the best ways to make fics distinct is to spend time developing your characters!

If the goal is to simply write solid distinct kinky stories, trying to create detailed plot is more work with lower return than investing in your characters, if you ask me. You have to enjoy the process of creating plots itself for it to be worth it. If that’s something you’re interested in, I have a whole load more thoughts about that -- but since this is already incredibly long, I’ll save that for a separate ramble if anyone is specifically interested.

---

I hope something in this huge infodump is helpful to you! Some of it may sound intimidating if you’re just starting out with kink writing, but it’s absolutely all something that can be worked up to. Please feel free to ask any follow-up questions if stuff I’ve written doesn’t make sense. Good luck with your writing, anon, and thanks for giving me an excuse to just go off. ^^’ ♡

[cultofstan]

My love for Bane!!

Before you read, I want to make it clear that there are some nsfw parts to this posts. If you are under 18, please don't read!

This post will go over various details and reasons why my heart belongs to the big green giant know as Bane from Batman and Robin (1997). Get ready for a long read, because I've got a lot to say.

(If you haven't check out my Bane Wallpapers, go do check them out! They bring me so much joy, I hope they do the same for you ppl too!)

His mask is very cool and unique, because if you look closer you see they used Bane's comic book mask as a base and then just changed the mouth area and added black eye pieces on top of the red piece he normally sees out of. Imo, it is the best movie Bane mask we have ever had! A lot of people hate the multiple tubes coming out of his head, but I think it makes things extra spicy! A constant reminder that your not just dealing with any normal super human, you dealing with a venom infused one that can fight you like it's nothing! The bulging veins that can be seen in certain lighting is a detail I feel deserves more love. It adds to his big and tough demeanor. You can really tell the venom is working wonders on him! The zipper on the top of the head and the fact that his mask is most likely made of tight leather or latex brings thr entire thing together and is truly a marvel to look at! I absolute love it!💚Imagining him slick that smooth, stretchy, husky mask on while the venom starts to pump into his brain and muscles just does things to me. If Bane offered me a chance to wear it, venom or not, I would do it in a heart beat! It would probably reek of sweat, his bad breath, and of old leather, but I wouldn't care. Just the thought of inhale all those smells brings me a joy I can't describe! 😍

When I was a kid, in addition to his lovely mask, his clothing choice was another thing I loved about him. It looks like Bane is just wearing a black cotton tank top with some black sturdy pants, but I've always the headcannon that it's actually very flexible black latex one piece! It makes a lot more sense when you notice his collar, chest harness, wrist bands, crotch diaper, and boots are also make out of a harder leather with spikes and studs! I swear, half of my clothing choices/dreams come from this man! His boots, for the most part, are very frankenstein/gothic inspired with thick sole and it going all the way to his knees. The copper rivets are the only things that make them stand out, imo. I've had thoughts were in order to prove my love to him I have to lick or kiss his boots while he judges. I'd hate it for the most part, because they probably taste like dirty and dust, but I want him to know that I do love him, so I'd do small smooches starting from his toes and work my way up his leg until I'm straight up licking his boots. I'd get so carried away he'd probably make me stop pretty quickly so I don't get sick 😂. His spiked collar and wrist bands are easily the clothing items I want the most! Any time I see someone on the street with spikes in their clothing I immediately think about him. Because he's worn them for so long, they're probably not that tight or rough but still firm enough to not sag. Maybe even a little flaky in certain parts. I don't think I'm comfortable with myself enough to wear a collar in public but I've come so close to buying spiky wrist bands or gauntlets it's crazy I don't actually own a pair yet. One day, I'm sure. His crotch diaper, for lack of a better name for it, is the one thing I'm 50/50 on. Some days I think it really adds to his look, especially with the spikes that go out. Plus, to a certain extent, it makes practical sense because that way heroes cant go from behind his and try to restrain him, or can't throw too many kicks, without getting poked/cut by the spikes. But other days I think it just doesnt look that great, because it ultimatly looks like a big metal diaper, it takes away from his intimidation. Plus, I won't be able to give him proper hugs! (I want to give daddy all the hugs he deserves! 💚) His chest piece is what brings everything together. The little Bane symbol is so cute, I've always looked for a pin or something to buy but no luck. I actually used to have this Bane cape that I won at Six Flags when I was little. I cut the symbol of his face out of it and tried multiple times to attach it to my jean jackets but I suck at sowing. 🥲 The leather straps that hold the chest piece compliment the other leather pieces of his outfit. The metal looking chest piece looks wonderful and adds a layer to his character that I both love and hate. In this movie he's a drone, a mindless agent that is only allowed to follow orders. I'll will discuss this in a bit. But for the record, I hate the fact that Bane is written as big dumb idiot in this movie. It's the one big problem I have with him, which sucks because I literally love everything else about him!

I've probably watch the Bane transformation scene in Batman and Robin, like, a thousand times. No joke. I didn't realize it then, but seeing a short, thin, twink become a tall, hulking, king really hit my desires in the right way. Like, now, I know for sure that's one of my kinks and it makes me so damn happy! Granted, I've never been skinny in my life, but I've always wanted to be a musclar and strong man, so it makes sense why I love this scene so much. It's a literally fantasy of mine brought to life! More specifically, I've always wanted to be a type of strong that allows me to run miles like it's nothing, throw punches that instantly knock someone out, and lift so much weight that I borderline have a superhero body. Don't get me wrong, this is seriously mentally unhealthy because I know it's kind of impossible considering my personality and the actuality of gaining so much muscle, but I believe as long as I realize it's a dream and not beat myself up over it, it's not too bad of a thought to have. Actually, if you think about it, this Bane is kind of a plus size body representation. Sure he's got giant arms that can crush my bones like tooth pics, but he's pretty bulky with a big belly. That might be too much of a stretch to say, and I totally understand if people don't agree with. That being said, I have to say it, this man probably gives the best hugs in all of Gotham! He's so big that you don't even need a jacket in the house! Just let him embrace you and you'll never feel alone or cold again! His thick hands holding you in really tight, his muscles locking you in and warming your arms, while his gut pushes you back a little of your feet, like he wants to swoop you into his arms and carry you! 🥰 He'd be careful with his spikes of course, don't worry. A detail that sends me over the moon about Bane in this movie is his green skin. I can't put my finger on it, but it really adds to the whole transformation and therefore my thirst for him grows even bigger! Especially because it's completely unique to the movie. It looks so good that I wonder why the comics haven't adopted something similar.

I could go for hours about how I think the writers butchered Bane's character in this movie, but I want this post to mainly act as a positive appreciation post/background for head cannons that I might post about him one day. So to end, and give a taste, I'll finally talk about Bane being a drone in this movie. In weird way, because he's played as a mindless servent, it makes this version of Bane one of the easier Bane's for me to fantasies about. This is because in the movie, it's implied Bane only follows Poison Ivy because she was the first person he didn't see as a threat. Plus, I wouldn't be surprised if she used some of her suductive powers on him. (I would too, just saying) So, with that established, I like that he's a mindless drone because it means that, in my head, he's not exactly my "servant" but he will basically do whatever I say. Why? Because I will prove to him I not a threat either, and only want to love him!! He'll have a concuious and his own goals, and I'll follow along and help because I trust him and want to support him, but, for the most part, he will do what I say and love me in return. I could explain this more, but I want to save the juicy parts for the follow up post I have planned for this. 😏

If you've read this far, thank you. From the bottom of my hear. I've never wrote something this personal or long. I hope I can continue to do more of these, if I'm passionate enough.

[inactivebsdblog]

Hello! Could I request a matchup plz? I have intp personality and I'm a asexual biromantic 5'1 ravenclaw Gemini girl with adhd.I'm caring,funny,loud,crazy,loyal,sassy,open minded,teasing and brutally honest to friends.but to strangers I'm cold with resting bitch face,because of this I don't have many friends.I like to watch anime, cook,draw,space,read,roast people with sick insults,listen to music,take long walks,and sleep,I also like to travel the world. Thxs!

THIS

LOUD FUNNY GIRL WITH ADHD?

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU BECAUSE I KNOW EXACTLY WHO TO MATCH YOU WITH (there's really only one worry I have with this but honestly, I think he'll understand) (now that I look closer, there is one certain woman I can see you with too... but I'm gonna take my initial choice anyway because I can make better HCs for him)

I match you with...

Nakahara Chuuya!

He may seem like a pretty hot-headed (*cough* TSUNDERE *cough*) person at first, but inside, he is a very considerate person, really

Your first meeting was... bumpy. Literally. You bumped into each other while you were taking a walk and none of you really knew who bumped into who since you were both lost in thoughts (all alone~ *Mod is slapped*) so you just blamed the other.

You two started to sass the hell out of each other every time you met, be it on the street, in a shop, anywhere.

Chuuya was kinda relieved you couldn't use his height aganist him since you are shorter but you still gave impressive answers to his teasing and teased him himself in pretty creative ways.

The more he got to know you, the more he came to like you. You made him laugh and you were unique. You didn't try to fit in. You'd tell him how you think his clothes are terrible if you'd really think so and he wouldn't be as angry because he'd know that you're serious and not trying to tease him like a certain waste of bandages.

He would've never confessed to you on his own (like I said, Tsundere), but one day, conveniently, you turn to him with a grin and said "Admit it, you just like me~!" in a teasing way.

What you didn't expect was him saying "Yes, I do like you" with a serious face before turning into a blushing mess.

And after that, it just... happened.

You listen to his problems, even though you have to chuckle every time Dazai comes up. This guy has a complex that's thankfully not as bad as Akutagawa's, but it still exists.

Chuuya also tries to listen to your problems and gives advice on how to solve them... though most of the time, the advice is just him offering to beat up whoever caused you the problem. Sometimes, though, his advices are very helpful.

He watches anime with you, though he isn't interested in most of them. I can see him getting invested in romance anime, though (he is the Port Mafia's mum, after all, if you don't get that, listen to the Port Mafia Onsen Drama CD).

I can totally see him testing your food, walking to his bar and taking out a wine he thinks fits the taste. Actually, you can't tell me that wouldn't happen.

He's the type of person that would take one look at your drawing, say "Not bad" and come back at night to fanboy over it and take photos.

(Okay, how can I understand "space"? Like, do you like space, the sky thing? I'm just gonna assume it's that) Chuuya and space? He's gravity. He could take you to space... but he doesn't want to kill you, so he takes you high enough to still be able to breathe. The same with travelling, just that you're flying through the sky and see Yokohama and cities around from above. He could show you the whole world, but that'd be draining for both of you.

(I can show you the world~)

He leaves you alone when reading (or sleeping). He doesn't do it often and he doesn't want to disturb you since you look so peaceful and beautiful-

He knows your roasting skills first-hand and he thinks you're very creative.

Taking long walks with Chuuya often ends in a bar. You do get him home before he gets too drunk, but he has very low alcohol tolerance, so at home, you have to put up with him complaining about Dazai.

Speaking of Dazai: he'd be the one to burst through the door and congratulate his former partner on having found someone shorter than him as his significant other.

Angry Chuuya incoming... though this time, it's really for your sake, not because he feels insecure about his height. He would sacrifice the world for you.

Thanks for requesting! I hope you liked it!

[visible-buttholegirl]

i am only on here to reblog sexy men and regurgitate the same depressing bullshit i think about on the reg. it repulses me more than it repulses you, trust me (i say as if someone is reading this... dear god i hope no one is reading this).

welp. today was one of those days where i felt particularly lonely. i hate how much this comes up in my life and in conversation because i feel like i'm banking on a relationship to boost my confidence and help me grow as a person. it no doubt will do both of those things, but i can't rely on it, i have to be able to grow and build confidence on my own. all that being said i think overall i'm fairly confident and comfortable with myself. it just feels like its been my main focus for a few years now and nothing has come of it, yet i've also not been able to progress in other areas of my life.

i don't know, i'm just getting really really sick and fucking tired of being the single friend. i don't know what it will be like for me to be with someone again, and i think it will really be shocking to my friends, and that's almost a little insulting on its own, but it can't be helped when i've been single since 2017. i also feel like being single makes others perceive me as younger than i am, and i KNOW i am not well-versed in flirting/dating/relationships as a result of my involuntary hiatus.

its also frustrating because the city i live in is a fairly big city, rife with queer people of all kinds, and yet i've gone four years without a boyfriend. what the hell gives?????? why has no one from my past ever hit me up??? its things like this that send a message to me that i'm not attractive enough, or i'm too fat, or too weird or socially awkward, or i'm not the hottest one in the room or SOMETHING. i know i'm hot, i'm tall and i think for the most part i carry myself well, i'm unique and i have interesting passions, and i'm chill and easy-going. kind of the perfect package really lol so like i'm pretty confident in myself for the most part but when i think of these things i get in my head.

also sick of hearing advice on the matter from people who are in relationships. i'm sorry but i find it hard to believe you know how it feels to be undesired for this long. it has been so exhausting and now i'm numb to it, almost to the point where i fear i've completely alienated myself from the possibility of being with someone in the first place.

"once you stop looking it will present itself to you"

"you can't force anything to happen, just go with the flow"

yes i understand that these things worked out really well for you but they clearly have not worked for me. i love my friends dearly and even the boo'd up ones are coming from a loving place, but it just gets old after this long.

i just daydream of a nice, chill boy with long hair and a beard. maybe a deep voice but definitely a warm, hairy body. he wakes me up in the morning and drives us to get coffee together. when i hug him i smell his signature smell and when i kiss him i taste his beer breath. he surrounds me with his body and we fall asleep listening to chill music and sharing horrible memes with one another. when we snuggle i grab his ass and bury my head in his chest and listen to his heart beat. we take occasional cute photos together but only post one on socials every once in a while, careful not to overshare on social media (the irony) but when one is just too cute you can't not. i want him to help me fully believe in myself and overcome my insecurities as i hope to do with him. i want him to think of fun, spontaneous date ideas, with cute little detours before or after. we can walk and hold hands, arms brushing up against each other, and we scratch each other with our beards when we make out. i just want an easy-going, down-to-earth boy to be cute and think i'm cute and hold me and keep me warm. i really don't think its fair i've had to wait four years for that, and i really hope its not much longer til something comes my way.

i know you're out there, please i hope we find each other soon ✨