#I mean it sort of does but not. really. exactly.

[runesinthenight]

There are so many ways that this is a different piece. Not only did they change how it is arranged and remove the context inportant to understanding the piece, but they changed "please take one" to an allergy warning.

The fact that they removed the "please take one" portion of it from a museum standpoint changes so much too. In a museum, you are not supposed to touch any of the pieces unless there is a sign which expressly says you can. The original sign expressly said that. That is the sort of sign that will get visitors to interact with the piece. I would take a piece of candy from that pile.

However, the new sign only has a warning on it. The first sentence is an allergy warning. That in it of itself isn't bad. Having an allergy warning is good if you're inviting people to take a piece of candy. The second line is a choking hazard. While this may be true, it feels more like a way for the museum to cover their ass.

Actually, that whole warning comes across as a legal message. It gives the feeling that the museum is putting all of the blame on you if you decide to eat the candy and something bad happens. It is not inviting. It puts off the visitor. I would not take a piece of candy from that piece.

Now, if in an ideal world where politics and political messaging were not involved and the change was purely for liability reasons, I still would have done it differently. I would have placed it under the "please take one" or on a smaller sign under the original sign.

Doing a little research, the signage for this piece has changed a few times over the years, some having the warning, some not, some mentioning AIDS, some not. But the main outcry has been when this sign does not mention AIDS because it is such an integral part of understanding the piece. This piece is meant to be interacted with and that interaction is meant to spark an emotional connection in the visitor. Taking and eating a piece of candy from it should make you think about Ross and his struggle. It should not just be "oh! Free candy!" That removes so much meaning with the piece. Especially to people who have never interacted with this piece or this artist before.

I am in the museum industry. This is my career. And signage is a critically important part of how a museum presents itself and interacts with the public. I really wish there was a way I could see all of the itterations of this sign and see how they've changed over the years and across institutions. Because this piece is on loan to the Smithsonian from the Art Institute of Chicago and I am curious about what aspects were or were not included as part of the loan agreement. But I also want to see when exactly the first sign was from. As doing a quick search shows that the Art Institute of Chicago aslo got into some hot water in 2022 for not including AIDS in the interpretive portion of their text (which is excluded altogether in the Smithsonian sign).

Signage can be difficult. It's a balance between too much text and not enough. You have to make signage that appeals to a wide range of visitors, especially visitors not knowledgeable about the subject. Art museums tend to lean on the shorter side of signage text with the curator often largely in charge of what does or does not go on. The second sign is an example of what I, in my professional opinion, would consider too little text as important context to understand and connecting with the piece is left out.

the david zwirner gallery and the felix gonzalez torres foundation in the smithsonian removed the descriptive plaque for portrait of ross in la by felix gonzalez-torres. the old plaque explained portrait for ross' origins as the artist's partner's aids related death, and replaced it with a plaque with absolutely no information about the piece itself, who ross was, or who gonzalez-torres was either. portrait of ross was also reeranged to lay on the floor long ways instead of in a pile as it typically is situated, and the plaque outside the exhibition FOR GONZALEZ-TORRES omits his sexuality, as well as his aids related death. i'm in utter disbelief

[passmethatcokezero]

hot and bothered... (18+ // woozi!friends with benefits au)

jihoon x fem!reader 2.7k words warnings: smut. minors dni! bff!woozi is hot and bothered at work so bff!you came to the rescue, dry humping, blowjob, needy jihoon cos why not, made so quick cos I was missing him and he has been living in my mind rent free since the day i saw him on the carts ( i wasnt same since then and thoughts have been thunk so here's a fraction of those thoughts ), just a short one, but thinking of making a part two continuation. enjoy!

“You alright?” The silence breaks, as the words from your mouth betrayed yourself. You didn’t really want to speak first, although you did feel the air has now gotten a little lighter compared earlier.

It was Seungkwan’s stupid plan; the guys had been sick of staying up all night after hours of practice for a few days now just to please their dear producer. No one can seem to thaw him, moreso pinpoint where the tension is rooted from. Obviously, it was self-inflicted pressure. Jihoon can’t understand why nobody seems to meet his expectations lately and it got bad to the point of Seokmin blaming himself for what seemed like delays but aren’t as they still got plenty of time before the next comeback. Seungkwan, hurt, seeing his talented friend’s self-esteem chase tears down his cheeks, stepped up by calling you over because “maybe you can do something about your best friend,” as he said.

Jihoon sighed as he slumps his body deep in his chair. You’ve made your presence known since earlier when Soonyoung was trying to ease the tension but you kept your mouth shut or else Jihoon might explode knowing you’re just going to take the poor boy’s side who was even more in tears brought therein by your comforting strokes on his arm. “You came here for what exactly?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed at his words. “Seungkwan called me. For some reason I thought I was coming for a celebration and yet…”

Silence takes over once again. The boys had long been gone since Bumzu initiated that everyone should take a breather first, and secretly asking you to stay and maybe help clear up your friend’s mind. “I don’t even know why the boys kept on doing this, okay? Suddenly all the pressure’s on me whenever you’re acting up.”

You did not want to say it, but it had been a long day at work and hearing his snarky voice ticked you in a bad way.

“I am just tired.” Jihoon says almost immediately, as if not wanting you to say anything more. He massaged his temples and continued, “...tired as fuck.”

“But that does not excuse that kind of attitude!” you stood from the couch, rising with the tension inside the room. “You’re being too hard on the boys and yourself. Again.” You cursed under your breath, realizing the cringy tone that just left your mouth. The last time the same exact nagging tone came out, Jihoon’s anxiety was having a field day in his brain just like earlier, and you did not expect what happened after.

And then it came to you. Soon you were flooded with flashbacks from what happened that night: Jihoon aggressively pinning you by the door, meaning to actually open it and let you out, when all of a sudden you pulled him into an embrace in an attempt to calm him down, crashing your lips to his after a long eye-fucking, breath kissing when you caught him off guard, blushing from the sudden warmth. Not long after he responded, kissing you hard as if you were not just shedding tears arguing with him over his sharp words when you were just asking him to simply breathe during a heated exchange with Soonyoung over the phone. The kiss went wild yet slowly turned comfortable as he kept on apologizing, feeling your hot tears meet his burning red cheeks. You figured he needed it that time, like a de-stressor of some sorts, and so you let his mouth conquer yours as a way to help.

That kiss went longer than what friends could actually share. But if it's the only way to keep your friend sane that moment, you suppose you can let him use you as long as he is not going to be weird about it right after. Which he did, or so you thought.

Because that day never left his mind. He was not sure why you let him kiss you like that that night, nor why you did not even bother to ask about it days, weeks after. A bit hurt that it seemed like a casual thing for you, but for him it meant healing, washing away the anxiety clouding his thinking. That moment stayed on his mind unhealthily long, almost turned into songs he would never write and let you hear, even causing him to get wet dreams for quite a while. But of course, no one could know. Not about the kiss. Not even his budding feelings towards his best friend.

“Jihoon-ah…” you exhaled, turning his swivel to face you. “I can help, Just… tell me how..”

Both of you had the same thing in mind, he needed you just like that night. But why does he find it hard to admit it? 

The guy blushed in pink, avoiding your eyes at all cost, acting as if in deep-thought. “I…”

“Look at me,” he obeys in a second, but his eyes can't help but fall into your lips inches away from him. “Do you want…. my help?”

He nods subtly as an answer, but you can’t just accept that. You needed him firm, an answer to also clear your doubts about the way his eyes are glued to your lips, his ears blushed to the reddest of red, and the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down when you leaned in closer: is he nervous because he’s uncomfortable? or was he nervous because you suddenly make him be?

“Yeah…” his breath hitches, the side of your lips upturns.

“Then say it—”

“I need you,” he reveals his innermost desire as he scrambles to his feet and catches your lips like he has been waiting for it for centuries.

Just like the first time, the kiss deepens instantly as you two found a comfortable position on the couch, you settling on his lap, arms around his shoulders. You two couldn't even care less if the door had been left unlocked when the people had left. It’s just your mouth sharing warmth with his; tongues dancing together in harmony. Just like the first time, he was craving for more, and he was able to relay that message when his teeth grazed at your lower lip, causing a moan to escape your lungs. He too groaned and by then you realized he is now rock hard underneath your heat, his thin shorts revealing himself to your clothed mound. 

“Fuck…” you did not expect yourself to be so turned on knowing you made your best friend erect just like that. All you did was wet kissing and well, maybe sitting right above his cock was what it all took.

You arched your back when you felt him squirm underneath you. He was definitely trying to move and find his rhythm, you thought, so you matched with his and rolled your hips against his erection.

“Damn….” he moaned so deeply with his hoarse voice. The friction between your clothed pussy and his bulge was enough to send you dripping to your core. Not even him, the most rational person you knew, can think straight at a moment like this: does he want to kiss your neck or pull you for another tongue wrestling? Does he want to tear all the annoying garments away from you? Does he want to set his cock free and let you sit on it, ride it if it’s too tempting for you? There’s one thing he knows though, he does not want to stop humping for now. The kind of pleasure the friction is giving him, plus the fact that he was doing such an erotic activity with not just any person but his best friend he had been fantasizing about lately was enough to send him nuts. He cannot even fathom what would happen if this escalates to something more, just having your warmth and your equally heightened libido had his focus on the now.

“You’re so hard, Jihoon.”

It felt so good and ego-boosting at the same time. Is he having a good time as well? He seems to like it as much as you do. His erection and hip movements to meet yours say it all: he wants you so bad and you feel proud someone actually desires you that much. When even was the last time you got laid? Was it a very long time ago? You aren’t sexually active yourself, and surprisingly, you’ve never been in a serious relationship as well. Maybe it wasn’t your priority, but having this heated session with your friend, you realized, you also craved to be touched, and be wanted. You wanted to be kissed deeply and ravenously, to be held possessively, and to be wanted as hungrily as how Jihoon was making you feel. Exactly as how Jihoon is obsessing for all that you are right now.

“Touch me. Please, Jihoon��” 

The dry humping must have had a drug, you thought. How come having all these annoying barriers on your skin makes all these way hotter than you thought it could be? Especially when Jihoon’s feisty hands made their way from your waist to the insides of your shirt while his sloppy kisses made their way to your neck. His cold hands cupping your breasts send electricity to your spine, causing you to moan out his name as dirty and needy as possible. Who could blame you, he was making you feel so good. His hands that created masterpieces are now invading your privacy, so sweetly yet so heavy with emotions. It was as if he was milking out lyrics to an explicit love song out of you, to match the melodies coming out of your lungs that harmonize with his.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” he managed to say between breaths, as he enjoys playing with your now slightly free breasts that had slipped out of your bra. He is still a boy, you found that out long time ago, when you’ve caught him subtly staring at your chest during that one listening party night you were his plus one at a bar hosted by a producer friend and you just had to wear something skimpy and rather revealing, something to match the R&B vibe of the album. He did catch himself as well staring that time, and proceeded to lend you his suit because “the bartender was having the time of his life flirting with you," - went his alibi.

“Yeah? That’s why you wanted me so bad huh?—oh shit!” you moaned out loud when his hold on you became heavier, pushing you down to his hardened cock as if there were anymore spaces left in between.

Mouths agape, together you humped against each other's heat, only moans were resonating inside his studio alongside a minute sound of the friction cause by the fabrics.

“Fuck I think gonna cum, fuck,” Jihoon cursed, while his eyes were shut and his teeth gritted to concentration. “Fuck,” he humps against you harder as curses kept on rolling from his tongue, while your hips rolled faster to meet his tempo, moans pitched higher and higher. You were also close, and suddenly you were reminded this isn’t about you. You were helping your friend. And you gotta do what you gotta do.

“Wai-wha—what are you doing?” his voice sounded annoyed but you know better than to answer him. Legs folding on the floor as you positioned yourself in between his, not wasting time in pulling twice the constraints that were his shorts and underwear. His cock sprung healthily, all pink and angry, veins bulging out as if wanted to be traced by your tongue.

He hissed out of breath, confused if he wanted to surrender on the couch or look at you in a position he had only dreamt of once. 

No words need exchanging as you started sucking him off right there, mixing his precum with saliva, coating him down until your mouth can take. He had praises for you behind his teeth but all he could let out were needy guttural moans that translated how good you were making him feel anyway. You let his moans and the sight of him all sweaty and consumed fuck your system as the pool in your south continued to dampen your undies, the insides of your thighs getting ticklish, missing the attention it has gotten from him. Oh how badly you wanted him to fuck you right then and there, how badly you want him bucking his hips and drilling you so deep, how badly you wanted this thick cock of his inside you, stretching you oh so painfully yet so pleasurable.

“fuck… cant… anymore…” his shaky words were almost inaudible from all the dirty noises he was making, sounding even more gibberish while his body moved erratically to fuck your mouth, hands glued to your head to try to get his momentum, which did not take long as strings of cum exploded inside your mouth. You were quick to swallow, but most of his loads were still overflowing, racing down to your chin straight to your neck. It was one heck of a view, he thinks, as his chest heaves chasing his breath while appreciating a bit of the scene: his softening cock popping out of your mouth, before almost passing out.

“that was… really good.” it was probably an understatement to the euphoric climax he just had; his mind was still hazy from the release so he cannot find the correct words to tell you. But you were fine, the moans already sounded like praises to you. “That feels much better than I do with my own.”

“Of course it would,” you gave him a peck on the corner of his lips, and then dusting off the wrinkles on your clothes and adjusting your bra. “Takes two to tango.”

Confusion was then plastered on his face when you began fixing your hair and proceeding to face your back to grab your bag you left by the table. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving?”

“Who said you are?”

Somewhere in the room, his phone rings which he attentively checks. The name wasn’t supposed to annoy the hell out of him, but right now it almost spelled like a curse to him.

“You’re not leaving, please.” he grabs your hand as he takes the call from Bumzu. He knows you did not have your release, and he doesn’t want you carrying all that unreleased tension inside you when he himself had the best one tonight. 

You heard the other line asking how he was feeling now and that he had left something inside the studio and if it’s okay to go and get it. Jihoon agrees, not without a defeated sigh and a click of his tongue only you can hear.

“You know the passcode right? I think I’ll take my leave tonight, I don’t think I can wring anything out of my mind at this rate.”

You looked at him while shaking your head as a smirk forms on your mouth, furrowing your eyebrows at him as if asking him what he was saying.

“Sure, actually we’ve been meaning to tell you that.” Bumzu seconds him, and asks about you right after. You heard him say Seokmin and Seungkwan had been asking if you weren’t busy and maybe hangout for a while as a way to thank you from earlier. Both guys had always been the sweetest among the bunch and although it was only out of courtesy, Jihoon can’t help but fume in jealousy, making himself lie to keep you in his (and ONLY HIS) sight for a while.

“She just left, I think she said she’s going for an early appointment tomorrow,” and ends the call soon when Bumzu bids his farewell and hopes of him getting well.

“I didn’t know you can lie to your brothers,”

“For an emergency yeah,” he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, and now he was already leading you out of his studio to the elevator.

“You could just say you’re sending me home, that would sound a lot better,”

And then what, you finding out about how the guys had been teasing him about you since day one? Of course, he won’t let that happen. Not until he finds the time to finally be honest with himself and to you.

“So… my place or yours?”

-

stay tuned for part two for the hoo-haa ;)

[bomber-grl]

Kusuo Saiki Dating Headcanons

Pairing(s): Kusuo Saiki x Gn!Reader

It takes a really long time to get to the point where the two of you are dating. Like 100,000,000 words, slow burn, they finally kiss at the end– sort of fanfic. Honestly, I think Saiki’s a bit hesitant about relationships in general because they seem like a hassle. Everyone else is on thin ice already, the thought of putting effort into a relationship is exhausting enough.

Like with everyone else, he’s pretty indifferent toward you at first, and you only move up to "mild annoyance" status if you stick around long enough. Especially since he’s probably hearing all your thoughts, so there’s that.

Now, onto the actual headcanons. Saiki isn’t exactly the affectionate type. You two probably started as friends, mostly with you bothering him. Even after he realizes he likes you (though he really tries to hide it), nothing changes much. The difference is, you’re the only person he seems to tolerate. Everyone else wonders why you even bother with him.

Sometimes, Saiki gets... freaked out? There’s really no other way to put it. He’s used to being around people who are idiots, so when someone like you comes along—someone who’s rather perceptive—that’s a bit much for him. It messes with his head. Despite being able to hear your every thought, he starts wondering if you’re psychic too.

You can tell what he’s feeling, what he wants, and even do things for him. Sure, he could do all those things tenfold in just under a minute, but for some reason, he finds himself smiling. He even starts thinking fondly of you.

If you were another Nendou, though? He’d probably avoid you, and your relationship would be a slow burn that takes another 100,000,000 words and even worse edging (Not like that). But I digress. Saiki shows affection in subtle ways. Like remembering offhand comments you’ve made about your favorite snack or color.

He’s the type of guy who’ll subtly push your chair out of the way when you’re about to trip or pick up a dropped pen without you asking. He might not say much, but he’ll do whatever he can to make your life a little easier, even if he doesn’t directly tell you that.

I know it might sound like I’m painting him as a deadbeat bf, but honestly? He’d probably be a great boyfriend. He can literally hear your thoughts. He knows what you want, even before you say it. He’s seen (and heard) men ruin their relationships because they thought they knew their partner. So, when you want to grab a treat or have been wanting something that relates to an interest, he’ll know.

He’ll also know (and hear) if you slightly even think he’s good looking on a particular day. He’ll never admit it, of course, but if you get embarrassed thinking about it (since you know he can hear your thoughts), he secretly enjoys that. Seeing you flustered is one of his guilty pleasures—even though he’d never show it.

And yeah, Saiki’s protective. He won’t say it, and he won’t make a big show of it like other people would, but he does care. If something’s bothering you, he’ll subtly step in. Like if someone’s making you uncomfortable, he’ll use his telekinesis to, throw something at them or trip them up—whatever works, as long as no one knows it was him.

He doesn’t like people messing with you, and he won’t hesitate to shut them down, even if he keeps it minimal to avoid drawing attention to himself.

In this following scenario you're another Nendou. He hardly ever gets surprised. I mean, hearing everyone’s thoughts kind of ruins surprises, spoilers for a new tv show, honestly anything for him. But maybe—just maybe—the only way to startle or fluster him is by turning the tables on that. Maybe it’s the first time you show affection in your relationship.

Saiki’s not big on physical touch– we all know that much. If you want to hug him, go ahead, but he’ll probably just stand there like a statue. So, let’s say you somehow convince him to come over to your place, and then you, attempted subtly, suggest that you kiss him out of nowhere.

He’d choke on his drink and immediately try to cover it up. Forget not hearing your thoughts, he literally didn’t think you’d want to kiss him anytime soon. He won’t show it (obviously) but deep down, he’s definitely a little shaken.

Now, in the chance that you two do kiss, (which is chapters later– in fanfiction terms) he’s very hesitant? Like sure, he can destroy the entire Earth if he even wanted to but the idea is still startling. He thinks it over and once he agrees (which is the only kiss you’ll get until the next blue moon) he is admittedly worried.

He’s never kissed anyone, he never planned to so he tries to be collected like he always is. If a satellite suddenly went offline somewhere in space, well that’s nothing to do with him.

Also, an extra that isn’t a dating hc is that Saikis mom and dad love you so much, his dad literally asked if you were actually real which earned a side eye from Saiki. It does get annoying for Saiki, but he’s pretty glad you all get along.

[00valentina-writes00]

Please i need Ambessa visiting Reader's apartment and seeing that she has a huge room dedicated to being her personal library, slightly the largest personal library Ambessa has seen in her life. Ambessa looking at Reader like "did you really read all that?" and Reader saying with a proud smile "yup, ma'am! And at least twice every book you see there". Thankssss :]

A War Room of a Different Kind

Warnings: None! Except for being a damn bookworm

Ambessa Medarda was not easily impressed. She had conquered cities, commanded armies, and stood in halls where history itself had been decided. She had seen war rooms with towering maps and strategy tables carved from the finest stone, libraries filled with dusty tomes that whispered of bloodlines and power.

And yet—nothing quite prepared her for the sheer size of your personal library.

She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, taking in the endless shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. The scent of aged paper and leather filled the air, a quiet, scholarly sort of authority lingering in every corner. There were books stacked neatly, books left open with annotations in the margins, books arranged by genre, subject, and—judging by the meticulous order—some personal system only you understood.

Ambessa let out a low hum, stepping further inside. The room was larger than some council chambers she had seen, filled with enough knowledge to fuel several lifetimes.

She turned to you, arching a sharp brow. “Did you really read all this?”

You grinned, standing a little taller as you clasped your hands behind your back. “Yup, ma’am! And at least twice every book you see there.”

For a long moment, Ambessa just stared at you. Not in disbelief, but in something bordering on… admiration.

Her dark eyes scanned the shelves again, fingers trailing idly over the spines of well-worn books, the touch almost reverent. “Twice,” she mused. “You read all of these twice?”

You nodded, unable to keep the smugness from your expression.

Ambessa huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “If only my generals had half your dedication.”

You shrugged. “Well, reading is a battlefield of its own.”

She smirked at that, finally turning her full attention back to you. There was something different in her gaze now—something considering, assessing. She had known you were sharp, but this? This was a weapon she had yet to see in its full force.

With slow, deliberate steps, she closed the distance between you, standing just close enough that the heat of her presence made your pulse tick up. “And what exactly,” she murmured, “does a woman with a mind like yours do with all this knowledge?”

Your smile widened. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Ambessa chuckled, a low, knowing sound. She reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before stepping past you, already plucking a book from the nearest shelf.

“Then by all means,” she said, flipping through the pages, “impress me.”

Ambessa Medarda did not idle. She did not waste time in places that did not serve her. And yet, here she was—settled into the worn leather chair in the corner of your personal library, one leg crossed over the other, a book in her hands.

It had been nearly an hour since she first sat down, flipping through pages with a quiet focus that was, quite frankly, surprising. You had expected her to make some teasing remark, maybe humor you for a moment before moving on. But no—Ambessa was still here, brow furrowed as she studied the text, utterly absorbed.

You leaned against the nearest bookshelf, arms crossed, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Didn’t peg you for a history reader.”

Ambessa didn’t glance up. “History is strategy,” she murmured. “Every war, every betrayal, every rise and fall—it’s all a lesson.”

You tilted your head, amused. “And what lesson are you learning from that book?”

She finally looked at you, dark eyes sharp with something unreadable. “That you may be the most dangerous woman I’ve met.”

You laughed at that, pushing off the shelf. “Oh? And here I thought you liked dangerous women.”

“I do.” Ambessa set the book down, resting her forearms on her knees as she watched you approach. “But this?” She gestured at the towering shelves around you. “This is another kind of battlefield entirely.”

You smiled, letting the compliment settle over you like armor. “Books are just another form of power, Ambessa.” You reached for the book she had been reading, skimming the page she had left off on. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Ambessa’s gaze flickered over you, her expression thoughtful. Then, with the smooth ease of a woman who had spent her life commanding, she gestured for you to come closer. “Tell me,” she said, voice low, inviting, dangerous, “if you had to choose one book—one text to outthink me—what would it be?”

You smirked, plucking a different volume from the shelf. You turned it over in your hands before handing it to her, watching as she read the title.

Her lips twitched upward. “Clever girl.”

You met her gaze, stepping between her knees with a quiet confidence. “You said you wanted to be impressed,” you murmured. “Consider this my opening move.”

Ambessa chuckled, low and approving, fingers skimming the edge of the book before pulling you down, down, until you were settled onto her lap, caged by the sheer weight of her presence.

Ambessa was warm beneath you, the solid weight of her presence a reminder of the sheer power coiled beneath her composed exterior. She held the book in one hand, fingers lazily flipping through the pages, but her attention was entirely on you.

“You look awfully smug for someone who just handed me their best weapon,” she murmured, amusement curling at the edges of her voice.

You tilted your head, letting your fingers trail along the spine of another book on the nearby table. “A weapon is only as good as the person wielding it,” you mused. “And I highly doubt you’ll use that book the way I would.”

Ambessa hummed, resting her free hand against your hip, a touch that was neither possessive nor idle—just there, like an anchor. “Is that so?”

You smirked. “You’re a warlord, Ambessa. You read for battle, for conquest. I read to know people. Their fears, their desires, their mistakes. That’s why I’ve read all of these—twice.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh, setting the book aside. “You’re a dangerous little thing,” she mused, fingers tightening slightly at your hip. “You might be the only one in this city who could outmaneuver me.”

Your smirk deepened. “Might?”

Ambessa let out a low, appreciative hum, her eyes scanning your face as if recalculating some hidden equation. Then, without warning, she shifted, gripping your chin between her fingers and tilting your head just enough to hold your gaze captive.

“You want a war of minds, little wife?” she murmured, voice rich with challenge. “Fine. But know this—when I play, I play to win.”

You swallowed, your pulse betraying you even as you refused to look away. “Then I suppose,” you whispered, leaning in just enough that your breath brushed against her lips, “you’ll have to keep coming back.”

Ambessa’s smile was slow, knowing. “Oh, I intend to.”

[milk-and-trickery]

"Remember to at least take breaks between each, okay? Running yourself ragged does no one any favors." Blueberry looked over the healer with actual concern. He didn't want them overworking themself in any capacity. It was a lot, far too much for a single cookie but.. He really wished this place didn't layer so much responsibility onto Pure Vanilla's shoulders.

'Uhgg.. yes yes, I won't. I promise I'll be 'good'.' Though that may depend on the situation at hand. He wasn't exactly going to stay silent the entire time. Especially if those two they plan to meet start poking and prodding at them like some sort of animal.

"We'll see you later, my vanilla diamond." Blueberry walked over to the Healer and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I should be fine.. We're not going far in the castle." Meaning that hopefully the bond won't be pulled taut like it had the day before. But with the little good morning kiss out of the way, he'd leave the room to at least go get his things from his own room.. and properly get ready.

Which included a lot of time getting his icing brushed out and braided back up again. What a hassle.

"While you have your experiments with expresso I need to write letters.One to White Lily from yesterday to ask for help with watching over the spire.Another to keep Clotted Cream in the loop.And write to Golden Cheese and Dark cacao to see how they are fairing in their kingdoms after the attacks they endured....Meeting wise I have to finish the conversation with the representee from yesterday and look over the reconstruction details with the village cookies.."

His plate sounds like alot...There was just so much to do,even if he wasn't the ruler of this place anymore it still felt like he was managing all the affairs.Hopefully things get to die down soon... He's still alittle ansty on the potential council meeting...With how things went last time he can only be wary on how they will react to Blueberry. Getting up on the bed he picked up the pillow that was thrown at Jester.Right they both needed to get ready first...He needed to see what he can juggle to spare time for the other.Needed to plan things out so Blue doesn't get shaken again.

"....Do I trust that now you are free you won't fight Blue for control in my absence?....."

[temporary-joyride]

Thoughts I am Thinking about after Bridon finale

In love with the frame of unimpressed LG and distressed CXS after the latter thinks his friend signed him up for sex work

Episode name fits. A perplexing one indeed.

"Why is it every time you look at me you have this murderous intent in your eyes?" is such a killer line I love it

The whiplash I got from Vein speaking perfectly normal Chinese only to bust out "what a pity!' in the most British accent ever

No way it means literally anything but I just found it interesting how Vein and LX say the same phrase in this ep. Different circumstances, same conclusion. What a pity.

"They say she can see right through someone in just 5 minutes" really great psychologist? Ranpo-level detective? Got some sort of other supernatural shenanigans running amuck? Only time will tell

THINKING SO HARD ABOUT "I know I can't stop you. But I can make you stay a little longer" SHAKING LINK CLICK BY ITS SHOULDERS- WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WHAT EXACTLY DOES HE MEAN BY THAT???

The FUCK do you know, LG? It's ok you can tell me

So much to talk about but I'm 100% caught up on this. "But I can make you stay a little longer" I'm gonna leave the Xia Fei and CXS mom stuff to you guys, I'll take care of this one and think about it every waking second for the next two weeks dw

Allowing CXS an extra few moments to connect with his mom? Mmmmm sure. It's not like CXS promised to drop it all and not get anyone else involved, not like LG would have any way of knowing mother and son were talking unless son broke that promise

Genuinely not even joking I thought LG was trying to delay Vein by a few moments to get him hit by a bus or something

What exactly happened is even crazier. What was that, man. What was that. My guy's doing voodoo over here when did he learn that.

"I don't want to change the past. I just want to lead us all to a new future.." not entirely sure those statements are all that different but go off

LG screwed as hell Xia Fei was so serious about finding his boss's killer.

Or... non-killer? How long do you think until he learns Vein is still alive?? Imagine Xia Fei killing CXS in their photo studio in Vein's stead. Picture it. I'm having a vision here.

Pretty fun season but maybe a little awkward? Perhaps just because of the fandom on tumblr but I feel like I was so freaking immersed s1&2 but Bridon felt so silly at times I couldn't take it seriously

hrnngh one timeline, he says. over and over. what does it all mean. how does fate play out. if we're looping only one timeline multiple times then why does it feel like it's slipping through my fingers. the clock is melting right here in my palm. ripples in the stream at my feet. im not sure where the present even is anymore-

time's up!

[mrspiastri]

filmy dialogues 🎞️

pairing: oscar piastri x desi! reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.5k words

an: ty anon for this request! i loved writing it!! <4

.° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡

"And which one is this again?" Oscar asked as he settled in to watch the movie Y/N had picked out.

"It's a Bollywood movie! You're gonna love it—it was my favorite growing up."

"Is it one of those romance ones?"

Oscar was a bit of a bore when it came to movies. His favorite genre was sci-fi, while Y/N's was rom-coms. Naturally, choosing a movie to watch was always a challenge.

"Well… yes and no. It's like a heist movie, but it has a bit of everything in it, really."

"I don't trust your judgment since you made us watch that movie with those nepo babies."

"That was a mistake on my part, I agree. But this one is so good, I promise."

Movie nights were a staple of the couple’s routine, especially since Oscar was usually busy on weekends. Each week, they took turns picking a movie and rated it based on what they liked most about it. Last week, Oscar had made Y/N watch one of the Star Wars movies. While she wasn’t completely floored, she did agree that Hayden Christensen was a cutie.

"I've got the perfect one. It's called ‘Happy New Year’, and it’s iconic.”

"Very well, bring it on."

🎞️🎞️🎞️

The movie started. They skipped through the opening credits and got to the scene where Charlie's father gets framed.

"How did they just put him in jail? Wouldn't there be a formal investigation? Plus, he remembers being drugged. This is quite unrealistic," Oscar said, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N let out a sigh, already used to her boyfriend's antics.

"I'm sure they had one, but he was up against a really powerful guy, you know?"

Oscar nodded, not entirely convinced but not completely dismissing the explanation either. They continued watching, Y/N snuggling further into the couch and against her boyfriend's shoulder. It was an unspoken ritual of sorts—she would gently bump her head against his shoulder repeatedly until he laughed and wrapped his arms around her.

"How did he just hack the voting polls? This is part of a global competition. They have to have better firewalls. Also, Team Diamond was terrible—they got booed off stage! How is everyone just accepting that they won?"

Oscar was a yapper, especially during movies.

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her (his) Sprite. "I mean, they have a hacker on their team. It’s possible."

"Yeah, he's like 19, doing all his hacking from a laptop. A regular DELL laptop. Not even a good computer with a proper processor," Oscar grumbled, stuffing some popcorn into his mouth.

She giggled. "Well, maybe he's just that good. Besides, you don’t even know how to hack."

"That’s beside the point, and you know it."

Eventually, they reached the movie’s climax, with things heating up for the team. Y/N sat staring at the screen like she didn’t already know exactly what was going to happen next—despite having watched the movie six times before.

"Wait, so they just enter the vault with him? How does that work?" Oscar continued, pointing out the movie’s logical flaws.

"I mean, they’re lookalikes, so yeah."

"But that fingerprint probably wouldn’t work. It’s been tampered with, so it should come across as invalid."

"Why are they exiting through the sewers? They could just leave normally. This makes no sense."

"Why are they returning?! Now they’ll get arrested!"

If there was one thing Oscar would do, it was interrupt a romantic date with dumb questions.

"Maybe you shouldn’t focus so much on the movie’s accuracy, you know?" Y/N teased. "Think instead about how good Deepika looks in that saree." She winked at him.

"You’d look better anyway, and this movie’s too stupid for me not to point out everything wrong with it."

"But that's the fun, right? You don’t need to think too much while watching. Just laugh at the funny stuff and roll your eyes at the dumb moments. It’s still enjoyable. Also, I never look that good in a saree. That’s why I don’t wear them anymore," she said.

"I think you need to stop choosing the movies from next time. And yes, you do look good! I've seen the photos where you wore that blue one!"

Oscar turned Y/N’s body, which had been leaning against his chest, so that she was facing him.

"That was taken when I was in the twelfth grade! I wore it for my graduation, and it looked dumb then too."

"Well, I think you looked beautiful, and you should wear one to that Diwali party we’re going to."

She looked away, cheeks pink.

"I don’t know… it’s such a hassle to drape one. I can’t even do it without my mom’s help."

"I’m right here, aren’t I? I’ll help." He cheerfully tugged her closer to his chest, resting his head on top of hers. She could hear—almost feel—his heartbeat quicken. It was a subtle reminder that even after all this time, Oscar still got butterflies around Y/N.

"It’s super tricky, especially with the pleats. You sure you can help?" she asked, doing her best to speak from where she was trapped under him.

"I’ll try my best, darling. You’ll look better than Deepika too." He chuckled, making Y/N laugh as well, feeling the vibrations of his laughter through where her head was resting.

"Now, forget about that. I wanna watch them dance and win at the finale!" She wriggled out of his hold, reaching for the remote to unpause the movie.

"Hey, no spoilers!"

"You knew that was going to happen!"

🎞️🎞️🎞️

The movie played on, the sounds of Bollywood music filling the room as the final dance number unfolded. Y/N, grinning, hummed along while Oscar groaned dramatically.

“I swear, if they win despite all the cheating—”

“They will win,” she cut in smugly.

Oscar rolled his eyes but didn’t complain further. His arm tightened around her, absentmindedly playing with her fingers. Y/N glanced up at him, finding that—despite all his so-called complaints—he was watching the screen with a slight smile.

"You're secretly enjoying it, aren’t you?" she accused playfully.

"I am not," he denied immediately, though the way his foot tapped to the music betrayed him.

Y/N smirked, scooting closer. "It’s okay, you can admit it."

Oscar sighed dramatically. "Fine. It’s slightly entertaining."

"Aha! I knew it!"

She leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Maybe next time, you’ll actually pick a Bollywood movie yourself."

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves," Oscar muttered, though his cheeks were pink now too.

They spent the rest of the movie in comfortable silence, save for Y/N’s occasional giggles and Oscar’s inevitable complaints. But when the credits rolled and Y/N stretched, ready to turn the TV off, she felt a pair of arms tighten around her waist.

"Five more minutes, let’s watch the final song,” Oscar mumbled into her hair.

Y/N smiled. "You like cuddling more than watching the movie, don’t you?"

"Maybe."

"That, I’ll allow," she whispered, settling against him once more.

As grand finale song played, Oscar let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples.

"I don’t know how I just sat through two and a half hours of absolute madness,” he grumbled. "They danced their way into a vault, Y/N. A vault!"

Y/N, completely unbothered, swayed along to the music. "And they looked fabulous while doing it."

Oscar turned to her, suddenly dramatic. "You know what? Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe I need to embrace the bollywoodness of it all."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?"

He dramatically placed a hand on his heart, took a deep breath, and, with all the seriousness he could muster, attempted a line he had definitely not practiced enough.

“Pyaar… dosti hai, Y/N. Aur agar woh… sabse… accha dost nahi ban… sak—wait, what’s the word?"

Y/N blinked. "Ban sakta?"

"Yeah, that. Ban sakta… toh main usko… kabhi love nahi kar sakta!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Y/N burst out laughing. "That was the most accented Bollywood line I’ve ever heard!”

Oscar groaned. "Oi, cut me some slack! Hindi is hard!"

"It is," Y/N giggled, still shaking her head. "But you get points for effort."

Oscar leaned back into the couch, shaking his head. "I swear, your movies make it sound so easy. Everyone's just casually breaking into song, dropping poetic love lines, hacking government servers with a budget laptop—"

"That’s the magic of it."

He turned to look at her, her face still lit up from laughing, her eyes sparkling as she hummed along to the credits song.

Oscar sighed, shaking his head. "You know what? Maybe I should start watching more of these. Get my Hindi right. Who knows, I might actually end up enjoying one of them."

Y/N gasped. "Wait—are you saying you’ll finally watch ‘Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham’ with me?"

Oscar groaned. "I walked right into that, didn’t I?"

"Absolutely."

He sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips as he pulled her closer. "Fine. But I’m allowed to complain."

"You always do."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Fair."

And as the music played on, he had to admit—maybe Bollywood wasn't all bad, especially if he had her next to him singing along to all the songs.

my first request!! i was so geeked about this lol. also im sorry if you haven’t watched happy new year but it is unfortunately one of my favourites so go watch it rn its so stupidly good haha <4

[all-pacas]

I finished nobody’s fault & chase and I couldn’t understand why chase wouldn’t forgive house. Like obviously he’s traumatised and couldn’t walk but it feels like I’m just missing sth crucial. Chase did reason it with his doubts…but I don’t know if he honestly believed them. Any thoughts?

In a lot of very interesting ways, Nobody's Fault/Chase reads to me like a pretty direct continuation of Teamwork. Of S6. Cameron leaves the show talking about how House is poison, how he ruins people and ruined Chase specifically: House is reckless, House makes people act like him, House has ruined Chase's life. And… it's unfair, but it's not entirely wrong. Chase has become a worse person over the years. He has become a lonelier and more bitter person.

Nobody's Fault makes it fairly clear that legally, the stabbing was not House's fault. Chase fucked up, Adams fucked up, everyone made mistakes. House wasn't really even involved, but at the same time, none of it would have happened if not for House. This is Cameron's "poison" speech come back around: House spends years encouraging recklessness and results and defiance, and eventually it's going to backfire and hurt someone. House never told Chase to murder Dibala, but House taught Chase to act and not care about laws or consequences.

HOUSE: She blames me for Dibala's murder, not you. CHASE: You were barely involved in that case. She knows that. HOUSE: But I created the big, bad, evil climate that allowed it to happen. (teamwork)

CAMERON: You did kill Dibala. By playing God and teaching us to do the same. HOUSE: I taught you to think for yourselves. (teamwork)

COFIELD: You brazenly defied your boss. Now that happened either because Dr. House has established that that's okay in his world, or his prank war distracted you, or House makes medicine a game, and you just wanted to beat him. Whatever the reason, it boils down to the fact that you may never walk again because House created an atmosphere that promotes recklessness. (nobody's fault)

This is actually kind of a theme. We even see shades of it in The Mistake, in House Training, in Wilson urging 13 to work for House because she alone is immune to his influence, in Masters and Cameron leaving entirely: House changes people. Not for the better.

So, does Chase truly blame House for what happened? No. At the end of the day, Chase's loyalty to House did win out, and he defends him pretty strongly to Cofield; in fact, he's also able to point out that House was, despite his appearance, wildly concerned and worried and Chase knew it (let's not forget, Chase has always been very good at reading House). He seems to blame himself (using the same "I would do it again" language as he used in Teamwork). But that doesn't mean he isn't angry at House.

Chase is very similar to Forever, Foreman's reaction to his own near death experience. Foreman almost died, and is putting on an act of being a new person to try and give meaning to the event. Chase does sort of the same thing — except he comes to the opposite conclusion. He almost died, and it seems to have made him realize how completely miserable he is. House isn't to blame for the stabbing. He kind of is for that.

That's kind of a theme with Chase in S8 in particular. He takes a year off and is bored and waiting for House. In a later episode, he wonders why he's still working for House: he's in year seven of a three year fellowship. Foreman is the Dean of Medicine; Cameron is running an ER in Chicago. Chase is exactly where he started. His entire life is working for House. And he kind of hates it. Not House, but… his life, you know? He picked House over his marriage. He picked his fellowship over his very successful surgical career. What has he gotten for it? Divorced, lonely, bitter… stabbed. He's thrown his morals away. He killed a man in cold blood. Is he happy? Probably not.

Chase is unhappy, he feels (somewhat fairly) that his life is not what he wanted, and like Foreman years earlier, he's trying to make changes. He wants out of House's orbit. He's reflecting on what he wants, and his arguments against Moira joining her convent are… pretty telling: She's missing out on getting married. Having kids. Having a successful career. He tells her later he was married once, that he wants a relationship with her. We know these things are true; only two years ago Chase was absolutely convinced he had it with Cameron. But at the same time, he's grasping at straws. He wants to escape, to start over. He blames House for how his life turned out.

CHASE: I need to get away from House and everything that reminds me of him. ADAMS: By breaking the rules, not caring what anyone else thinks. You're gonna get away from him by turning into him? (chase)

CHASE: This has nothing to do with the truth. You don't like that I'm reassessing my life, that I want to change it, that I can. HOUSE: Anyone can screw up a life. I never said that wasn't possible. CHASE: You're incapable of human connection, so you want everyone to be like you. (chase)

And the thing is, Cameron must be rolling in her grave right now, because. This is what she was saying. House ruins people, he poisons them: he has influenced Chase and not for the better. Chase now, finally, agrees. He isn't happy with his life, and he's blaming House the same way Cameron did. He's angry with House and can't forgive House, not because Chase really blames him for the stabbing, but because he's in his words reassessing, he wants to change, he sees House (correctly, mind you) as the symptom of all these changes: it's not fair to blame House — House wasn't sitting and doing this intentionally — but it's inarguable that a decade with House has done this. (And I love how Nobody's Fault underlines just that point. Chase has been here the longest. He has known House the longest.)

But House is right, too. Chase wanting to change is sincere, but it's also a reaction. He is unhappy, but jumping straight to I will live happily ever after with this random lady isn't a solution. And implicitly, Chase agrees: the fact that Chase has spent half the season with very short hair and stubble, then these episodes limping, is not an accident. Nor is the fact that at the end of Chase and going forward, Chase is clean shaven, back to his usual hairstyle, and no longer limping.

I also think their argument at the end of Chase was. Important. House telling him it's okay, even if not in those words. That he isn't an idiot, that he didn't make a mistake or do something wrong (when Chase from his language and unhappiness over the past few years doesn't seem to agree). They've long since left the days where Chase was slavishly seeking House's approval, but that doesn't mean it didn't mean something to finally get it. I think House telling him you didn't do anything wrong was what Chase really needed: not just the words, but hearing it from House, in a moment where Chase is feeling lost and wanting to change and wanting to blame House (for being miserable, for not connecting to others, for being lonely and alone like Chase fears himself)? That mattered.

And we see going forward that Chase actually does change. He becomes close to Park, he stops sleeping around, he leaves PPTH on his own terms, finally (even if it doesn't exactly stick for long). Cameron was right all along that House changed Chase for the worse… but House and Chase seem to realize that doesn't have to stay that way, and that Chase can still change and be happier going forward.

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - reader is very shy

As you cling to Billy’s arm, one hand in his and the other grasping his elbow, you think — with undeniable yearning — of your armchair by the hearth, your book resting on the worn leather cushion. You can even picture the piece of ribbon you’ve been using to mark your place. You imagine a fire crackling merrily in the grate, warming your feet as you immerse yourself in the safe, familiar world of the printed page. 

Billy squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the moment. “You alright, darlin’?” he murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. 

You nod, peeking up at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m okay.”

“We won’t stay long, I promise,” he says, as the two of you approach the front door. “It’s just that Mr. Tunstall invited me — well, invited us — personally, and I didn’t wanna put him off.”

Your brow furrows. “He invited me?” you press, nibbling on your lip. Billy knocks on the door, so in a rush you whisper: “Not-just-you-he-specifically-said-me-too?” 

He smiles. “Specifically you,” he says. “He likes you.” 

You’re torn between delight and anxiety at the news. On the one hand, you do like Tunstall. You like to think you’re good at reading people, at sensing who they really are, the way some can scent a rainstorm coming in the air. If Tunstall is rain, he’s a gentle spring shower. Kind, warm, with a soft way about him that belies the strength underneath. He’s exactly the kind of man Billy needs in his life. 

On the other — 

You have no idea what you did to make Tunstall like you, and that makes you nervous. If you don’t know what you did, how are you supposed to keep doing it? And if you don’t keep doing it, does that mean he won’t like you anymore? If he doesn’t like you anymore, will he take it out on Billy? You don’t think he will — he doesn’t strike you as that sort of man, but what if—? 

“You with me, sweetheart?” Billy says softly, ducking his head to look you in the eye. “If you really wanna go home, we—”

You shake your head firmly. You don’t want to go home, not least of all because you know Billy really wants to stay; it’s hard for you, to be around people you don’t know very well, but Billy is the type of man who has never met a stranger. He likes parties like this (at least ones that are given by his friends, rather than — for example — a selfish, self-serving smarmy slimeball with an Irish accent and a proclivity for taking what doesn’t belong to him). 

You’re determined to stay at least an hour for him, maybe two if you can manage it. You know you’re going to be exhausted by the end of the evening, wrung out like a rag hung on the line, but you want to stick it out for Billy’s sake. 

It does help that he looks good. You love to see him in his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat, the string tie — which you helped knot — around his neck, his hair neatly combed and smelling faintly of the apple-scented pomade he uses to make that sweet little cowlick he has lay flat. As if he’s reading your mind, Billy leans down further, his lips brushing against your ear. 

“Everybody’s gonna be jealous of me, walkin’ in with you on my arm,” he says. “Stick close to me, honey. I don’t want anyone stealing you away.” 

You only have time to giggle before the door is swinging open, revealing one of Tunstall’s maids. She gestures for you to come inside, and by the time you’ve flashed her a small, tight smile, people have already come up to Billy. You relax a little when you realize you recognize some of them — Manuela and Charlie, Tom, Mr. McSween and his wife, Susan. 

“You look lovely,” Susan says, smiling softly as she cups your elbow.

Your heart gives a little uneven thud, and you swallow. “Thank you,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth flickering briefly in return. “So — so do you.” 

You don’t let go of Billy’s arms as Charlie and Billy start talking about the last herd of cattle they moved for Tunstall, with Manuela and Susan chiming in every now and then — how Charlie came home late one evening, a cow pie smeared all over his boots and the seat of his pants; how Susan remembers one summer when she stayed with her uncle, who raised cows, and she gave them all flower names. 

You have a story yourself, one about your father trying (and failing) to get a cow up a flight of stairs to play a trick on a friend of his, but you can’t quite get your mouth to work. 

Even though you know these people, your throat still feels a little tight, the pit of your stomach going hollow, like you’re balancing on a tightrope. A part of you knows you’re being ridiculous. It’s the part that sounds an awful lot like your mother, when she would tell you to speak up, to enunciate, to stop hunching your shoulders. 

You wish you could explain it to her — to anyone — but it’s so difficult to put into words. 

Sometimes you feel as though who you really are is wrapped up in all these layers, wound around and around you, bound up so tight that it can be suffocating. You have to fight tooth and nail to drag out the same words, the same smiles, that seem to come so easily to everyone else. 

It takes time, to get through those layers, and not many people seem to want to put forth the effort. Certainly not at a gathering like this, where they’re just trying to have fun. And you can’t really blame them for that. You yourself have often wondered if what they find is worth the effort. 

Then, of course, there’s Billy. He’s never once made you feel like getting to know you, working through the awkward pauses and nervous huffs of laughter, the uncertain silences, is anything less than a pleasure. As if all that is nothing but a treasure map, and you’re the fortune waiting on the other end.

He doesn’t seem to mind acting as your interpreter, either. Walking around the party, he steps in when you stammer answering a question, or bends down so he can catch your words, lightly and easily as if he’s catching a snowflake in his palm. That’s how it is with him, when he’s guiding you through an evening like this. He never lets on, even for a moment, that he’s annoyed with you, that he finds it tiring or remotely taxing that he has to be your voice.

“You look familiar,” a man is saying to you. “Do you work at Tunstall’s store?”

You hesitate, as if this isn’t a straightforward question. “Um,” you say. “I — yes, I do.”

Billy presses his shoulder against yours, a wordless gesture of comfort. “She sure does,” he confirms. “Lucky for me, too. That’s where we met.” 

You smile. Lucky for me. Lucky for you, more like. You’re entirely convinced that Billy could have anyone he wanted — not only is he gorgeous, but his heart is just as lovely, if not lovelier. Not that you’ve ever told anyone this, because you would rather die than admit to harboring such maudlin thoughts, but he’s often reminded you of leather. 

Masculine and tough, sure, and sometimes bearing scars and damage right on the surface, whether it’s a gunfire flash of temper (never, ever directed at you, but at people like his stepfather, at Riley or Murphy) or guilt written in his eyes. But he can also be incredibly soft, his very touch a luxury, wrapping you up warm and making you feel so safe.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when the man clears his throat, making you give a little jump, as if someone has unexpectedly turned a corner down the hall ahead of you, coming right for you. “Do you know if there’s any jobs available down there?” he says. “My son-in-law is lookin’ for something, and I understand Tunstall is a good boss.”

“Oh—” Your tongue immediately finds itself in knots, and you feel the pit of your stomach tilt away as if it’s about to drop to your feet. “I mean, I — I think — I could ask…”

At your side, Billy smiles. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall could always use help at the store,” he says. “Or if your son-in-law is any good with horses, the gang would never say no to another pair of hands. Y’never know when an extra man would come in useful herding cattle.”

You have to fight the urge to bury your face against Billy’s shoulder. Your cheeks are unbearably warm, and you can’t bring yourself to focus on the man in front of you, who smiles back at Billy and ambles away. You don’t even have to say anything. Without thinking about it, you tighten your hold on Billy’s arm, and he knows.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says softly, reaching with his free hand to turn your face toward his, gently grasping your chin. “That was a lot to ask of you out of nowhere. I didn’t mind steppin’ in.”

You curl your fingers into the material of his sleeve, offering him a small smile. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Billy tightens his grip on your chin just a little, so you can’t look away. “You don’t gotta thank me,” he says. “I would do anything for you, I hope you know that.”

“I do,” you tell him. 

He turns to face you, taking you by the waist and tugging you closer. You can’t help but giggle, even as you flush and look around. “Billy…”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” he reminds you. “I’m just holdin’ onto my girl, that’s all.”

“I know,” you murmur, absently smoothing down his collar. He smiles, shrugging one shoulder as though to bump your hand back in that direction. You brush your fingertips over the curve of his neck, tentatively caressing the curls at his nape. “I just don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Billy gives your hips a little squeeze. “The only one I care about bein’ uncomfortable is you,” he says. “Are you?”

The truth is, you’re once again of two minds. You certainly don’t want to let go of Billy; you never do. Before, you weren’t really one to feel particularly comfortable with physical affection, but with him, it’s different. It just feels so…natural, as if your body is the tide and his is the shore. Being in his arms soothes you and softens you, even now, when nerves are crawling and pinching in the hollow spaces between your ribs. 

But the idea of people noticing you — of drawing attention to yourself, even if it’s positive, like playful ribbing from one of the boys — makes you feel as if you’ve been holding your breath for a moment too long. 

“No,” you murmur finally, pressing against him. “I just wish…”

Well, frankly, you wish nobody else was here, that it was just the two of you. But you usually wish for that. Or if it was just the two of you, at home, with the Bowdres and the McSweens. Since you’re more comfortable with them than you are with strangers, in the comfort of a familiar environment, you would actually be able to talk to them. To relax, enjoy yourself. 

Tunstall is well-liked — as he should be — and so nearly everyone on the guest list appears to have shown up tonight. With so many people here, you can’t help but feel like you’re waiting in the wings for a performance you didn’t expect to be putting on. Which means you’ll just end up being embarrassed in one way or another. 

Billy frames your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know,” he says. He offers you a smile. “Why don’t I go get us something to drink? Maybe some ginger ale to settle your stomach?”

He must see it when your heart gives a little leap of alarm in your chest, like a hare startling in the grass a fox gets closer. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Just…look, why don’t you wait for me in here?”

With his hand at the small of your back, he turns you toward an open doorway, which looks into Tunstall’s little personal library. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall won’t mind,” he says. “You can see how many of these books you’ve already read. He’d probably like someone to talk about them with.” 

You manage to smile. If this was coming from anyone else, you would feel like a child being pacified with a piece of candy; but you know Billy means well, and besides, the idea of spending a few moments in this oasis of a room strikes you as perfectly fine. 

Still — 

“Hurry back,” you murmur, bracing your hands on his shoulders. 

Billy leans down and presses his lips against your forehead. “I will, honey, I swear.”

There’s a certain comfort in being known so well, you muse, as you step into the little room. You already feel better with the brunt of the party behind you, and the sight of the wall-to-wall shelves, filled with beautiful leather-bound volumes, makes you feel at home. There’s even an overstuffed armchair by the hearth, not too different to the one you have. 

You drift over to the shelves, brushing your fingers over the spine of a forest-green book whose title is printed in gold leaf: Leaves of Grass.

“Have you read it?” 

You would scream if not for the fact that your throat has suddenly narrowed to the width of an apple stem. A strangled squeak manages to escape as you whirl around, your hand to your pounding heart. You manage a deep breath when you see it’s only Mr. Tunstall.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry,” he says, his face creasing in concern as he crosses the room toward you. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

You nod, massaging at the base of your throat, where you can still feel your heartbeat fluttering like a trapped hummingbird. “I — yes,” you say. “I didn’t realize…”

Mr. Tunstall smiles. “It’s getting rather rowdy out there,” he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the party behind him. “I needed a little bit of a break.”

You smile. “Me too,” you say. “Billy thought I might…”

“Wait in here?” Tunstall smiles again. “Yes, he told me. I hope I’m not intruding.”

A small laugh, more like a huff of air, escapes you. “Mr. Tunstall—”

“John,” he corrects gently.

You nibble on your lip, a shy little grin brushing against your lips. “John,” you say, fighting the urge to giggle again, like a child who swears under her breath in church. “It’s your house.”

“And, at the moment, this part of it is your refuge,” he says, with a courtly little bow that actually does get another giggle out of you.

“You aren’t intruding,” you assure him. “I was just admiring your books.” You gesture at the Whitman sitting on the shelf behind you. “I have read this one. I love it. I usually…” You smile self-consciously as one hand worries absently with a tendril of hair that has escaped your coiffure. “I usually read histories, but Whitman’s verse is so beautiful.”

Tunstall nods thoughtfully, another smile warming his face. “History is your milieu, is it?” he says, and his interest seems so genuine that you actually feel a little wriggle of excitement. “Any particular era?”

You feel a little silly admitting this to a proper Englishman, but you say, “The Tudors. And the Plantagenets, the Wars of the Roses.” You pause. “The Stuarts, a little.” You seesaw your hand from side to side to indicate that your interest in that scion of the royal family isn’t solid. 

“Ah!” Tunstall moves to another section of shelves, pulling a book from its place among its fellows. “I assume, then, you’ve read A History of England by Hume?”

You smile. “Oh, yes,” you say. “I think it’s fascinating, especially since he doesn’t really seem to see a particular difference between the Tudors and the Stuarts.” 

“You do?” Tunstall says, perching on the edge of a table tucked up into the corner. 

“Well, sure,” you say. “There has to be. For one thing, until Edward’s reign, the Tudors were essentially Catholic — even Henry VIII only diverted religious policy from the traditional doctrine where it suited him. Some of his advisors wanted to go farther, maybe, and they played on his — well, he was a bit full of himself — ”

Tunstall smiles again. “A bit,” he agrees.

“And they played on that, making it seem like he was like a Moses leading his people to the light,” you say. “But not only was James I a Protestant, he had something that the last three Tudor monarchs didn’t have.” 

“And that was?”

“Heirs,” you say. “A nursery full of children. That alone means he was in a very different place than either Edward, Mary, or Elizabeth.”

Now that you’ve run out of steam, you feel a warmth creeping over the nape of your neck, climbing into your face. “I — sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sure you didn’t…”

“Oh, no, no, don’t apologize, my dear,” he says. “I agree with you, for one. And for another, it’s always a pleasure to talk with you. You’re very clever.”

Your blush only deepens, and you immediately duck your head in an undoubtedly futile attempt to hide it. “Thank you,” you murmur.

When you peek up at him again, Mr. Tunstall is looking at you with a thoughtful, gentle expression. “And I think,” he says, “you’re exactly what Billy needs. I’m enormously fond of that young man, and I like to think I know him quite well by now. He’s a good man, exceptionally so, but he can be…impetuous. Reckless. There is a fire in his belly, which is an admirable quality. But sometimes, it can burn him.”

You nod. You certainly agree. 

“He needs you,” Tunstall goes on, smiling softly once more. “You have a gentle nature. You are thoughtful, and you measure your words. The two of you — well, I would say opposites attract, but perhaps you are not so dichotomous as one may think.” He smiles again. “I believe you have plenty of fire yourself, and Billy has a gentle heart. I know all he wants is peace.”

“He does,” you murmur. Your throat feels rather full, but you find that you don’t mind it. Not really, not about this. “I so…I so very much want to give that to him.”

“Oh, my dear,” Tunstall says softly, and he moves closer to you, reaching out to take your hand. “I can assure you that you do. I have never seen him so happy, or so content with himself. I have no doubt that you are the reason for that.”

You feel like you might cry, but in the happiest way possible. “Thank you,” you say again. “That means…” You swallow. “That means very much, coming from you. I hope you know...” You smile, clearing your throat. “I hope you know how much you mean to him.”

Before Tunstall can muster any answer besides a smile of his own, you hear the door creak and you turn to find Billy filling the doorway, a glass of ginger ale in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Only Tunstall still grasping his hand in your own prevents you from flying across the room to him. 

“You’re not makin’ any moves on my girl, are you, sir?” 

Tunstall chuckles and lets go of your hand. “I would never presume to think someone so young and so lovely would ever look twice at an old man like me, even if she were available,” he says, and the flush in your cheeks returns full force. “In any case, even if I were a young man, I know when I am beaten. The two of you are made for each other.”

Your face might actually, at this point, be on fire, but you don’t mind all that much when you look up to see the way Billy is smiling. He hands you the ginger ale, slides his palm one or twice against his shirt to rid it of condensation, and slides it around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Well, I think so, too,” he says, the smile still on his face. 

You press close to him and hopes he understands you feel the same. Judging by the kiss he presses to your hair, he does. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tunstall says, giving them a little bow of his head, smiling softly. “I’m sure I’ll see you two out there later.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy promises. 

Tunstall closes the door behind him, and as soon as it clicks shut, Billy has set his own drink aside and he’s taken hold of your waist again. “Have I mentioned lately,” he murmurs, “how very much I love you?”

You giggle. “I’m sure you have,” you say. “But I do like hearing it.”

You don’t protest when he takes your un-sipped ginger ale and puts it on the same little table as his scotch, nor do you demur when he kisses you softly on the mouth. “I love you,” he says. 

“I love you, too,” you say, winding your arms around his neck. “Very much.”

He kisses you again, lingering so that you can’t see anything else except his face. Which you certainly don’t mind. “Thank you for comin’ out with me tonight,” he says. “Everybody is real glad to see you.”

You blink, your intent to say he doesn’t have to thank you dissolving on your tongue. “They are? Who?”

Billy chuckles. “Everybody,” he says again. “Mrs. McSween was sayin’ how she thinks you’re just about the sweetest girl she’s ever met. I had to convince her not to ask us over for dinner tomorrow night, so we could have the time to ourselves. I think we settled on Saturday instead.”

It’s such a little thing, this consideration that you would like to have a night at home after this party, but it means the world to you. And only Billy would think of it.

You lean up to kiss him. “I love you,” you say again. 

He places a hand against your cheek, thumb sweeping over your skin. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs. “I love you.” 

Eventually, after a few more kisses and sweet, whispered words, the two of you head back out to the party. You keep hold of Billy’s hand all night, but you don’t think he has any complaints — he laces his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles every now and again, as if to reassure you that he’s right here. 

You keep hearing his words in your mind — everybody is real glad to see you — and it loosens you up, just a little. You even manage to crack a few jokes, making the people around you laugh. Most importantly, you hear Billy’s sweet, warm chuckle in your ear. 

By the time the party winds down, and it’s time for everyone to go home, the stars are out and the air has grown cool. After handing you up into the wagon, Billy grabs a blanket from the back and wraps it around your shoulders, making you giggle. “You don’t have to swaddle me like a baby,” you tease.

He grins at you, giving the blanket a playful little tug. “I just want you to be warm,” he says. “I gotta take care of my girl.”

As soon as he’s beside you in the front seat, you snuggle up to him, your head on his shoulder. “You do,” you assure him, thinking of the way he never hesitates to speak for you, or speak up for you, how he always thinks of your peace of mind and your comfort.

Clicking his tongue and giving the reins a little flick to get the horses moving, Billy leans his cheek against your hair. “I told you, honey. Anything for you,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.” 

[rennymayflower]

One thing I've only recently started to notice abt Gametoons' Sprunki series is the subtle ways they utilize the "unreliable narrator" trope

Specifically I've noticed this in the Lily episode and the "Battle for Gray's love" episode, starting with the former:

Notice how during the "flashback sequence" it immediately sets up that Black's POV is warped, because it shows Wenda very clearly ANGRILY attacking him in one frame,,,,

Yet, in the very next frame, it shows her with this smiling expression that, clearly, she never fucking had-

Already setting up that sometimes we cannot trust certain characters to give us the proper story.

And now here's the fucking kicker: when they show THIS flashback scene of Wenda seemingly avoiding Black's attack gracefully,,,

EXCEPT she doesn't. Judging by the mask, laser, and how Wenda supposedly "dodges" the attack, I'd sat it's safe to assume,

THIS scene from "The end of Sprunki" is what Black is flashbacking to here, where Wenda ONLY survives because of Oren sacrificing his life for her, meaning that Black's memories of the event are clearly distorted, either consciously or subconsciously.

And that's not the only example we get of unreliable narration in this series, because now we have the more subtle but equally disturbing case of it in the "Microwave Lily" episode, (NOTE, THIS IS NOT TARGETED TOWARDS THE ORIGINAL OC OR ITS CREATOR, THIS IS SCRICTLY TOWARDS THE GAMETOONS CHARACTERIZATION OF HER.)

Okay starting right off the bat, the episode starts out with a huge fakeout, opening immediately with this scene where Gray saves Lily from falling out of a tree, and supposedly gets all blushy and flustered,,,

At least, he does from LILY'S PERSPECTIVE.But, later in the episode when this scene is flashbacked to...

Gray does not, in fact, smile or blush or anything of the sort, instead just looking generally uncomfortable with the situation.

And AGAIN, at the photo booth we get another instance of a frame randomly changing when looked back upon.

Once again, it starts with Gray smiling and seemingly at least trying to have fun with the whole photo booth thing,

But when they roll back through the photos, clearly he isn't. COINCIDENCE I THINK NOT, FUCKERS

So clearly, Lily seems to have a VERY warped view of events here, as from her perspective she thinks Gray is enjoying her company, either not noticing or possibly intentionally ignoring his discomfort. Which, judging by how she acts around him the whole episode, would actually make a ton of sense.

Conclusion? Yea I don't really have one actually, just wanted to point out examples of the unreliable narrator trope that I thought were really interesting lol

PS this is honestly exactly why im rewriting the episode with my OCs to make it so Gray ISNT getting objectively harassed cus honestly I don't have the heart for it </3

(REMINDER: THIS IS NOT TARGETED TOWARDS THE ORIGINAL CREATOR OF THE MICROWAVE LILY OC, AND (probably) NOT ACCURATE TO HOW THE ORIGINAL CREATOR WOULD CHARACTERIZE HER.)

@6mysterybook9 @frownyfoxlover1286 GAMETOONS CLUB MOOTIES ARE YA WITH ME

[emthephantom]

Wednesday-T.N (Part 4 of No One Noticed)

Theo Nott x F!Reader Something happens with the boys and you're the only one who can help, will you be successful? Warnings: Some angst (tiniest bit) Words: 827 A/N: This is definitely an ooc Mattheo but it adds to the story, I hope you enjoy :) Series Masterlist

Wednesday classes were finally over and you were glad to retreat to your dorm. Your feet dragged all the way, your robes begging to be taken off. When you finally enter your dorm, you’re met with a small gift box on your bed. 

Suddenly your tired energy vanished as you rushed to open it. Inside was a note that read ‘thought you’d enjoy having some decorations in your room, meet at my dorm later, Theo x’ Your interest was piqued at the mention of a decoration, so you didn’t hesitate to open the tissue paper. Once revealed, you find a photo frame with a picture of you and the boys from yesterday. You were proudly wearing the crown while Mattheo and Enzo were laughing, and Theo- well he was looking at you, clearly enthralled with your wide grin. After staring at the picture for a few moments, you were drawn to the inscription at the bottom, ‘you are not alone.’ The simple sentence almost brings you to tears, how could someone care so much.  

You place the gift on your desk, making sure it was visible from all angles- it was nice to have the reassurance. Putting on fresh clothes, you make your way to the boys' dorm, knocking softly. 

A panicked Theo opens the door, pulling you inside, ‘Thank Godric you’re here, you need to help Mattheo.’ You match Theo’s energy immediately, worrying immensely about your friend.  

 ‘What’s wrong, is he okay?’ Theo leads you towards the bathroom door where you can hear muffled sobs. Your heart breaks as you recognise the feeling- you knew what was happening.  

‘Okay you go, I’ll try sort this,’ you softly say to Theo,’ take care of yourself too Theo, go get some food from the kitchens.’ He hadn’t noticed his grumbling stomach, his worries pushed away all his needs. He nods and turns away. 

You knock and slowly open the door. Mattheo is cradled against the bathtub, tears falling from his eyes. A similar state you were in just a few nights ago.  

‘Mattheo? It’s Y/N.’  

‘Don’t call me that,’ he sobs, 'Call me anything but that.’ 

You inch closer, sitting across from him, 'What do you want me to say?’ 

‘Anything that doesn’t remind me of my father. I’m just his monster.’ 

‘Matt, come on, you’re not a monster,’ you grab his hands, pulling them away from his eyes, ‘We can’t choose our family and you’re nothing like him.’ His tear-filled eyes look into yours, telling you a thousand stories. 

‘I heard them say I’d end up like him, worse if that’s possible. Can I ever be my own person, Y/N, if all everyone does is assume I’m like him?’ 

‘Of course you can. I don’t know you well but I know for certain you’re nothing like him.’ you take his hands in yours, speaking sincerely.   

He takes a deep shuddering breathe before speaking, ‘This is so stupid. It’s be hurting for a while but today, it just snapped. It’s hopeless I can’t talk to anyone about it.’ 

‘Hey don’t say that, it’s valid to be upset about something like this. You can always talk to me about it, I, uh,’ you stop, hesitance lacing your voice’ I understand how you feel. It’s a loneliness that no one can change so you feel like there’s nothing for you anymore, right?’ you look down, fidgeting with your fingers to avoid Mattheo’s gaze. 

Mattheo breathes out a sigh of content, ‘Yeah, exactly like that, I have Theo and Enzo but do I really have them? I mean I refused to let them help, it’s only a matter of time before they stop trying.’ 

‘You guys are best friends; they wouldn’t leave you like that. You just need to let them in, like you let me in.’ 

‘Theo said you’d understand so I decided to try.’ Mattheo whispers. 

‘You’re not alone Matt.’ you bring him to his feet, brushing his curls out of his face 

‘Same goes for you, Y/N, thank you.’ 

The two of you emerge from the bathroom and you lead Mattheo to his bed, sending him a look of encouragement. Theo and Enzo look at you like you’re a hero, wonder painting their faces. You join Theo in his bed, sitting crossed legged in front of him, ‘He’s going to be okay’ 

Theo’s blue eyes drop to your lips for a split second before he regains his composure. ‘Thank you, Y/N, we were getting really worried.’ Your eyes drift towards the other two, who are in a quiet conversation, Enzo nodding his head every so often and Mattheo slowly returning to his usual self. 

‘Third reason, you care about others before yourself.’ You feel Theo’s breath near your ear and turn to face him. The thought of kissing him flashes through your mind; instead, you grab his hand, your thumb tracing over knuckles.  

‘You know, I’m starting to look forward to these.’ you admit. 

‘That means they’re working.’ 

Taglist: @nottinmyheart @minhlajenni

[skyward-floored]

I once again am looking at comments on a fic and wondering if people will be mad at me for the ending

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[squorttle-pox]

idk if it means anything really, but i think it's interesting how after all their time together as a couple in a christianity-adjacent world, lucifer and lilith only had one (1) child, and it was only 200 years ago at that

[vaguely-concerned]

I've been trying to figure out a dynamic between neve and rye that I find more compelling, because right now there's not much of anything there for me to sink my little teeth into. but I think I've landed on something delicious with the idea that especially after minrathous gets fucked, rye looks at neve and sees myrna -- someone he feels he keeps letting down horribly no matter how hard he tries not to and can't quite achieve the approval of/connection with that he wishes so it's better to just pull away completely and disengage rather than stay in that unshifting shame. neve is (very understandably) measured and distant with him after what happened, and he's flashing back to his student days of myrna gazing at the perpetually hungover heartbroken heap of a person of him on the other side of her desk every time he missed the deadline of a paper or project like '...can we at least both agree that this is. a bit disappointing. especially considering your potential.' (and him all smudged black eyeshadow and numb ruefulness being like 'sure that's a very kind way to put it myrna thank you'.)

aside from the 'if I let him get too deeply into this he'll go the way of brom and it'll be all my fault (again)' element, neve thinks rye is dismissing her and her city/being a bit callous in the same way he was after varric's death (listen. how fucking wild must rook's reaction to losing a beloved mentor seem to the rest of the crew who aren't seeing the blood magic paper doll ghost varric the whole time, especially those who got to see them interact. you WOULD think 'there's something wrong with this guy. putting the job first is one thing just not seeming to react at all is another this is fucking freaky', wouldn't you, especially after seeing the warmth in that dynamic in action beforehand.) perfect storm of two people who grit their teeth and turn inwards in pain deciding that not talking about it is their best bet (NEWSFLASH: IT ISN'T) lmao

(rye spent his last year of watcher training on a mostly joyless bender and then got it together enough to finish the eternal orb project last moment in a fevered near-sleepless week instead of the half a year that was intended. emmrich is both astounded and distressed to hear this. "a week? but -- but that is an astounding accomplishment rook!! and also why in the maker's good light would you ever do that to yourself?" ("well you see there was no one to stop me from doing it like that but me. and under those conditions these things tend to happen".) rye was working through/looking up stuff around transitioning and doing every kind of OTHER high level watcher research through that whole time, but ultimately he's an excellent watcher and a terrible student, at least under traditional methods. adhd from here to the fucking moon. touched by something akin to divine inspiration in moments of high tension that pulls all the threads into one coherent unbreakable cord, a bit of a frayed mess in most other settings. in our world he'd be dropping out of a masters program at the very last hurdle in this moment maker bless and protect him)

[mad-hunts]

i like how barton went from being like... a hippie in terms of how he viewed sex in his early twenties, then kind of abstained from it for a few years / became sexually repressed, which... definitely isn't such a good thing. BUT then he became even more of a freak (and i do mean that in the good way this time LOL) around the time he started residency because WOW is that shit stressful. though that was also unfortunately around the time when he really started to spiral as well 😬 but we don't need to talk about that ahahhh

like the way this man learned how to express his sexuality REALLY came full circle in the end considering he was like 'yeah, back in the early days that i was in college, i was a freak. but now i'm not anymore... though do you want to see me do it again anyway?' like 💀 JSJSJ if he weren't so demented, i'd almost be inclined to say good for him, y'all LMAO feeling comfortable with your sexuality and perhaps even having a bit of fun with it (though maybe too much in barton's case, because he literally weaponizes it in order to lure in his victims. BUT once again, we don't need to talk about that right now psshhh. i actually fully intend on talking about that in the tags NGL) is more often than not a good thing after all