#I may not make any sense

[soukokumychildren]

I cannot describe how much this is literally me.

anyway,. back to your usual queue'd posts.

[casscainmainly]

Jason and Cass' opposing views on murder is so interesting. Their conflict is not purely moralistic - that is to say, it's not purely that Jason thinks murder is okay, and Cass doesn't. It's their identities, their original and most fundamental worldview. Jason is a murder victim and Cass is a murderer. Yes, Jason kills people as Red Hood, and yes, Cass dies multiple times, but this never truly erases how they see themselves. Jason will always have been murdered, and Cass will always be a murderer. They are unable to fully extricate themselves from those roles, and thus will never approach life or death the same way.

[egophiliac]

So,I read silver's relaxation vigente and now I'm sad for the poor boy. If lilia broke up silver's curse why is it acting so strongly on him?

to be fair, the chronological placement of his birthday story just doesn't make any sense in general. like, it can only really take place during his second year, since Ace and Malleus are both there...yet we have seen pretty definitively what Silver was doing on the evening before/morning of his 18th birthday, and it was very much NOT his history homework. this myth?

jk jk I think it's just one of those card stories that's meant to be more...perpendicular to canon, if that makes sense? 😅 like a lot of them aren't really supposed to fit into a specific point in the timeline; instead all the characters and relationships tend to be somewhere vaguely post-episode 1 (occasionally with a bonus post-6 Ortho) except Yuu is already friends with everyone and nobody is surprised to hear them call Malleus Tsunotarou.

mostly they can get away with it, but it starts getting a bit weird with the cards that are supposed to be set at specific times. :T for those I think you gotta just kind of suspend your disbelief and take 'em as, like...little what-if AUs, or something like that! it's not exactly not canon, but more like. this is Silver's birthday if none of the narrative development happened and so his curse is still in effect, or something. 🤷 uhhhh basically Twst's timeline is an eldritch thing that cannot be perceived by mortal eyes, to try will lead to nothing but suffering, down this path dwells only madness.

that said I do 100% accept the presented canon that Silver's roommate is in eternal torment. this is the real victim of Twst right here.

[ilium-ilia]

He always says that—someday—he’ll get you without the cameras. 

It’s a vow he whispers to you between gritted teeth one day on set when he’s got your legs tossed over his shoulders. Your feet play peek-a-boo behind Kyle’s head, wiggling with each thrust he makes deep into your cunt, relentlessly forcing himself inside as the crew records the debauched imagery, burning it into film for it to be viewed by thousands of strangers online. 

But Kyle likes it better this way—up close. Having you all to himself; almost. Every millimeter that your lip parts, the very creasing of your brows as he pushes deeper and deeper, the unobstructed symphony of your moans falling across his ears, soaking into his psyche, burning, burrowing, growing. Shockwaves ripple throughout your body, forcing your hands to grip his shoulders, holding on lest you deliquesce into the bed. 

That’s exactly what he wants—for you to melt beneath his touch. For you to let go of the synthetic lights in your face and the pounds of makeup smudged on your cheeks—for you to stop the nervous glances in the corner of your eyes as you follow prying footsteps and a bored crew as they twiddle their thumbs and scroll on their phones. 

“Gaz…” Your voice breaks in a gasp, a pathetic moan separated by the sharp thrusts of his hips against yours, breath stolen away before it could properly expel. 

But this isn’t his real name. Just the facade he wears for the videos. For the fans. For everyone. 

Everyone but you. 

“That’s it, doll,” he croons, hips rolling, tenebrous eyes boring through you like a stake. 

He witnesses you—eyes unblinking—but you’re not looking at him. No, you’re staring just over his shoulder. In the distance. Eyes caught up in the lens as you make faces—forced faces, something for show, something that’s fake, faux, disgusting. It’s not real. All a performance. So caught up in your own head and thoughts that he no longer feels the fluttering of your cunt as strongly as it was just a moment before. Distracted. Severed. 

“Hey-” 

His voice is strong, but not sharp. Firm fingers dig into either side of your jaw as Kyle forces your head to turn, for your eyes to focus on what’s important—him. Your pleasure. Not the hulking camera behind his toned shoulders, but the way his cock bullies deep into you, each kiss of skin against skin the backtrack to the melody of your gasps. 

“Did you hear me, doll?” he whispers. You see the way his grin pulls at his lips, ever soft like velvet against your neck. “I’m gonna get you without these cameras someday. I promise you.” 

Then—it snaps. Fractures. Uncoils so deliciously, licking down the back of your legs and through your core until your stomach and cunt are both left fluttering. This time when your eyes leave him, it’s not to focus on some malevolent camera, but to roll into the back of your head with shaky legs and nails digging into his deltoids. Head falling into the side of your neck, he smothers his grin and mirth into your skin. He lets it bleed. Lets it fester. 

“There we go, just like that, doll. Just like that,” he murmurs. 

As the roll of his hips slow, allowing you to ride your orgasm out without burning your synapses too much for the next round, he repeats his mantra. This promise to himself. This oath to you. This will fade. There will be no microphones, or equipment—just you, him, and the melding of your skin. 

One day, anyway.

[peachducy]

picarats

[ryllen]

and some extra unused stuff while they are in affectionate mood

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Thinking about how Natalie has become Shauna’s new Jackie. Natalie being appointed the new leader is a replication of the invisibility and deep-seated resentment Shauna felt living in Jackie’s shadow, the original Queen Bee. Shauna was the best player on that soccer team, and yet Jackie was the Team Captain. Shauna has endured and sacrificed more than anyone in the wilderness, and yet Natalie is the one who gets to wear the crown.

From the sidelines, Shauna watches history repeat itself, the group once again gravitating toward someone else, giving Natalie the same admiration Jackie always seemed to effortlessly command. Recognition still eludes Shauna, except through fear and intimidation. Where Natalie earns loyalty, Shauna can only seize control. Even when Shauna is appointed as the new leader, the group still naturally listens to and follows Natalie’s lead after the arrival of the scientists, which causes the resentment Shauna has been burying to officially reach a breaking point.

It’s no coincidence that the first command Shauna gives as the new leader is for Natalie to butcher Coach Ben’s body. Natalie was always the hunter, she got to bask in the glory of bringing food home for a hungry, cheering crowd, while Shauna was left with the gruesome, thankless job of butchering the meat— a job equally as necessary, but never recognized. This mirrors Jackie and Shauna’s old dynamic on the soccer field— in the pilot we see Shauna doing all the hard work in the midfield so that Jackie can score the winning goal and stand in the spotlight. Now, just like she once turned on Jackie, Shauna forces Natalie to switch roles—to step into her shoes and feel the burden she’s carried all this time. She’s making her wear the weight of being invisible, of being the one who’s always needed but never celebrated.

Beneath all the resentment, Shauna harbors a quiet, reluctant admiration for Natalie—the same way she once deeply admired Jackie. Natalie manages to hold onto a kind of moral clarity that Shauna lost long ago. There’s a goodness in her, a stubborn integrity, that somehow survived the brutality of the wilderness; a goodness Shauna knows she lost a long time ago (“And you don't have to act like such a fucking saint”). And so, just like with Jackie, that admiration curdles into jealousy—and with it, an overwhelming urge to assert control, to posses it, to own it.

[allpiesforourown]

"Op is Binghe" this "who gave Binghe a tumblr" that

NO!!!! I AM NOT LUO BINGHE!!!!

Luo Binghe is a BITCH baby masochist submissive omega looking ass. No game. No skill.

And I am the super cool troubled alcoholic that people consider dating to get back at their parents AND I know how to use lube at least. Unlike SOME dumbass shizun married

"Ohh I treat shizuns body with care" well thats your mistake binghe put me in the same room as shen yuan and I am violating him ways that cannot even be conceived . I should be married to shizun it'd so unfair

[secriden]

Oh-- oh I get it now. The scene in Style's bedroom is Style's gift to Fadel: an encounter designed to give Fadel as much of a chance to lay himself as bare as he could (further explanation here) with the layers of deception still between them.

But the garage scene -- this is Fadel's gift to Style.

Fadel presses against Style's lips delicate and soft, peels his shirt off all careful and slow, and nuzzles against the juncture of his neck as he slides into the narrow space between Style's legs. Everything about how Fadel is moving feels tender, because it IS: Style has granted Fadel's request, has let him into Style's space not only physically (in that this is where most of Style's life is) but also emotionally (because Style just revealed some very intimate and vulnerable pieces of his past to Fadel).

But even as this tone remains, the dialogue shifts into cheesy porn territory. Yet the delivery is still very intimate; Fadel is whispering his lines, slow and purposeful, gaze fixed intently on Style to see his reaction. Because this is something Fadel is creating for Style.

It's sex that is fun and playful and a little bit silly, and it's exactly the kind of romp that feels designed for Style. It's laughter and tenderness and comfort and sensuality and maybe kinda risky but oh so very intimate. It's a melding of pleasure and absurd frivolity that feels perfect for who Style is as a character. And it's orchestrated with such flawless precision; like the perfect, most wonderful gift.

Is it any wonder, then, that Style reacts this way?

[redfirefox-55]

I’m actually losing my mind guys

[copperrook]

Eugene? Twogene? Redgene? Bluegene?

I care not who he is, I want his robe.

So I made a pattern breakdown.

And honestly it looks simple enough to make, so I'm making it.

Edit: i made it.

[needlewielder25]

idk there's just something in the idea of the difference between dick and bruce's loss. dick's is...transient? I'm not sure if that's the correct word but it's like. the blood on the sawdust of the temporary circus floor, seeping into the ever-changing field, washed away and not a trace is left. Being stranded, away from all you've ever known. Bruce's is more like, grounded. There is a spot in crime alley where the blood was scrubbed till there is a visible spot that is noticeably smoother than all the other bricks. Dick's loss is constantly moving, while Bruce is stuck. Bruce will never move on, in his parents home, all their mementos kept, that brick always there. Dick will move again and again. His home is community, and newly orphaned, without that, he's a ship unmoored. he has nothing of theirs to tie him down like bruce does- after all, the circus will keep moving, and the next stops temporary floor will not be stained with blood. But how could he ever leave when his parents bones anchor him to Gotham?

[helgethas]

heyyy shoutout to the selfshippers who struggle with feeling lovey-dovey about their f/o(s).

maybe you don't think about them very often. maybe you can't imagine being affectionate with them. maybe you don't gush about them, or you find it hard to articulate how you feel about them. maybe you're not very active on your selfship blog, or maybe you don't have one in the first place. maybe you're neurodivergent or somewhere on the ace spectrum. maybe you're just independent.

for any reason at all, your f/o(s) would understand.

they know that affection is only one aspect of the feeling of love, and they would never assume that you "don't actually love" them just because you're less dependent on them. they would try to understand how you express your love in your own unique way, and they would give you all the space you need without crossing your boundaries or forcing anything on you. they would be patient and work with you to make sure both of your needs are met.

(pro/comship please do not interact.)

[nocofamilyau]

you see, if I didn't see this image right, this fucking image right here when I was like 11 or 12,, my life would have been normal and not have had any demons

[yoosung-ah]

So nobody ever saved V...

[autism-swagger]

I really feel like at least one person on base legitimately thought May and Coulson were Daisy's biological parents.