#I will stan her until the day I die

[miwiromantics]

thinking about it but there shouldn't be Nancy Wheeler apologists because Nancy Wheeler did no wrong, and even if she did, she doesn't need to apologize for it

[sprnklersplashes]

I am going to say something that might piss people on this site off, and that is that the stabbing at a Taylor Swift themed event in Southport does not exist in a vacuum.

It exists in a world where a joke about bringing a nail gun to the Eras tour to shoot fans gets 400k likes on TikTok, or where a reel about crashing a plane full of Swifties gets 200k likes on Instagram. It exists in a world where, on this very website, the one that promotes itself as rational and reasonable, someone says that "Taylor Swift and her fans should all die violent horrible deaths" and people applauded it. It exists in a world where, during TTPD release week men were in Swifties' comment sections declaring they would beat their daughters and girlfriends if they ever so much as listened to one of her albums. And it exists in a world where this week, fans of a TV show (which I will not name because that is not the point) sent death threats to a girl on Twitter for daring to be a fan of both their beloved show and Taylor Swift.

I don't give a fuck what your opinion of Taylor Swift is. I don't care if you think her music is grating, I don't care if you think she is the worst thing to happen to humanity since Eve ate the god damn apple. This is the dark side of stan culture that no-one talks about; where dislike of an artist becomes so obsessive that it becomes normal, even funny, to joke about killing their fans, because "it's just online, it's just a joke". It isn't. It is rarely ever "just online".

And yes I am going to be That Person and say that you can complain about Swift's brand of feminism and debate her position as a feminist icon all day long, at the end of the day, her name is still synonymous with girls. It doesn't take a genius to work out who this event was geared at.

I am not going to sit and claim that by simply not liking Taylor Swift you directly caused this. I would encourage you to step back, look at the bigger picture of stan culture, including obsessive dislike of an artist, and ask yourself how much this culture has enabled this. If making jokes on tiktok about killing someone over a pop star is normalised, how much of a leap is it to attacking kids with a knife at a fan event?

and of course there is the fact that the british media didn't even wait until those kids were buried before using this event to spread their racist, anti-immigrant agenda despite the race of the attacker not being known. all I can say to that is I am sickened and disappointed but not shocked.

[noodles-doodles01]

Some Gravity Falls Stuff I Found

A lot of this could already be known, but I'm having fun and its a way to keep track. All is from thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

So for computer passwords:

Dipper- a letter from Bill (his handwriting + he calls him Pine Tree) telling dipper to stare into the sun

Mabel- Places stickers all over the lab until the screen says "lab fully Mabelized"

Stanford/Sixer- Gives a Medical report on Ford's hand taken at 18, the report censors the mention of kidnapping him for cloning

Stanley- eBay for brass knuckles

MatPat- a video of MatPat saying "hello internet, this time, you're on your own"

Cipher/Bill Cipher- Eye of Providence Wiki

Bill- Sesame Street Video

Wendy- A letter from Wendy saying that she wrote a way to ward off evil triangles at the bottom right of the book (I have two ideas for what this could be), also a 👌 drawn in the bottom right corner upside down.

Blind Eye- A seeing eye test that repeats the letters WKHBOOVHH (anagram maybe?) with a colour code at the bottom (I'll include this later in this post)

Robbie- Shows messenger messages between Robbie and Thompson. Thompson seems to be getting real tired of the bullying (He wrote out "If you keep insulting me one of these days I-" and then highlights it as if he's about to delete it, followed by Yea :(). They discuss going to a site to see Bill, and later freak out about seeing him and knowing how they both die (Thompson gets mistaken for luggage and Robbie chokes on a mini skateboard). The end is this photo with Bill in the background:

Pacifica- A letter from Pacifica herself warning against Bill, saying that she dumped old Tapestries with triangles on it off a yacht with an unnamed friend. She seems to be super uncomfy about mentioning who the friend is (Dipper maybe?). She ends the letter saying that you should follow her on Platinum Paz

Platinum Paz: Details a story of Pacifica having a nightmare about blood being on her hands and everywhere. She then has a conversation with a statue of Nathaniel NW, who asks about her anger. She tells him everything was better before the Pines' came to town, and he says he will help her if she does something for him: go to the Pines' place and grab a small snowglobe that's new (the rift). He is about to shake her hand before she stops and wakes up. She then adds Dipper's number to her phone and sleeps well. Most likely what leads to the tapestries being thrown off a yacht.

Oneeyedking: a hypnosis tape where there is morse code in the background while Bill says "you want to sell your soul to Bill Cipher" three times. I didn't do this but the morse code gives a series of letters (explained below)

If you spam Stanley: you are a taken to something called “the Wheel of Shame” and it is Bill explaining that he knows all of Stan’s shames since he was in his head. They are listed as follows: Ex Wives, Fears, Secret Shames, Unreported Crimes, Stan’s Failed Products, Lowest Moments, Darkest Thought (pin all crimes on Soos), and How Stan Beat Me (He didn’t! I’M STILL HERE SUCKER)

Now for Codes:

When you click on the book of Bill, there is a letter from Ford to Dipper warning against the book. On the last page at the bottom right corner, this code is seen (this is what I thought Wendy might mean):

I tried all the existing codexes, but they didn't work. Until I typed MASON into the compuer (Dipper's acc name), which gives a sheet where Dipper talks about learning how to make codes. Ford's writing comes in at the end, and the words CRYPTOGRAM CODEX are capitalized at the end. When that was input into the computer, a folder file was downloaded and gave me multiple codes.

I used CypherFontA and flipped the message on the Vertical Axis and reversed the message to get: PER ASPERA AD ASTRA, which means "through suffering to the stars" in Latin

There is another hidden code on the candle, visible through the lightning, and it uses the Runes codex, translating to CURSED. When input into the computer, you get this "Just Say No" campaign poster against drawing triangles (RAD), the words Cool and Parties are both randomly capitalized in this speech bubble from Nancy Reagan (not applicable to the passwords tho)

Carved into the wall (visible when lightling strikes) on the left is the Latin phrase "VALLIS CINERIS", which translates to "valley of ashes", you get this image and a creepy voice that says "why did you do it?" (a reference to bill destroying his home dimension)

The morse code spells out NAITSUAF, and when input to the computer, gives an offer to sell your soul. At the bottom is a button that asks are you ready, when you click on it, it shows a contract that has the following code on it

This is also a codex given in the previously mentioned codex file, and it is the theraprism file. It states: "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

Below the theraprism is more CipherFontA code, which I have not fully completed but seems to list out the terms of the contract. However, I noticed these rectangles near the words and am wondering if it means to take the letter closest to it or if it is a period. I am too lazy to work it all out rn so feel free to lmk what that all says :)

When you sign the contract, it says "pleasure doing business with you" and the flame on the candle is now blue. When you mess with the toggle on the computer, you get a backwards audio message in the same creepy voice as the Vallis Cineris code. When reversed, the audio says: " Someone help, the murderer’s name is Bill”

The prism that sits beside the computer has a code with the following symbols: #?&&!, which reads out as SORRY (this code is in the Book of Bill). When you input that into the computer, you get an image of college Ford and McGucket :(

That’s all I have for now! Feel free to reblog with anything else you might have found! I know of a ton more but I didn’t include them since this post would NEVER end.

[medusas-daughter]

I had to block so many Alicent stans bulldozing my posts lately but I need to vent. Yes, Alicent is a product of her father, yes her marriage to Viserys was traumatic, yes the way her council and her own son are treating her is awful.

Here's why I don't have a shred of empathy for her: she chose, actively, of her own volition, not manipulated by her father or husband, not pushed to it by whatever trauma, to slutshame Rhaenyra over and over, and chose, actively, to raise her sons to believe they are better than women simply because they're men. That is a choice. Don't tell me she was protecting her children because Rhaenyra would have killed them when she became queen. Rhaenyra said in front of all of ther father's council that she wanted her son and Alicent's daughter to marry. She wanted to bind both families even more. Kinslaying is a curse that Rhaenyra would have no reason to invoke if they hadn't stolen her crown. All those arguments of Rhaenyra hating her brothers stem from nothing. She literally ignored them 99% of the time, they're the ones who were obsessed with her and her kids because of Alicent's poison. Rhaenyra just saw her brothers as kids. If she hated them she wouldn't have let her sons near them. Alicent chose to torment Rhaenyra to the point where her sons only call their sister "the whore of Dragonstone" and that is not something that was imposed on her by a flawed system, that was a choice on her part.

She also chose to abuse Rhaenyra's sons for their birth. Bigotry against bastards still exists to this day. There are countries where bastards weren't allowed a last name until the last couple decades, that's how recent it is, GRRM didn't invent that. And that's just the legal repercussions, the social ones are worse. I don't take that hate lightly. Alicent chose to remind the whole of the Red Keep over and over to keep calling those children bastards. She made them feel unsafe in their own home. She chose to make her sons hate their nephews and torment them for being bastards. That was a choice that wasn't pushed on her, she did that all on her own.

I have been slutshamed and abused by women like Alicent my whole life. And guess what, the patriarchy those women suffered under? We're all suffering under it. Some of us chose not to take it out on other women. And some of us chose to pander to the man and uphold the patriarchy like it's their life's purpose. Is Alicent a complex nuanced character? I would argue yes actually. She was a victim of certain circumstances and guilty of others. She's quite realistic. She's every right wing woman I've ever met. And no I don't have empathy. She made her bed. She can die in it for all I care.

Also, I don't hate her anymore than I hate the rest of the greens. I'm just angrier at her because a man calling his ex a whore is like a dime a dozen there's so many of them. A woman calling another woman a whore? That stings. That hurts a lot more than anything a man could say.

[avengerphobic]

god another day of the avengers being stuck up bastards i hope they eat shit and die

#so apparently its illegal to rob banks now? #can't believe what this country is coming to

7 notes

❄️ lunasnowed Follow

you think they've no i shant say #dont come at me for shipping real people #they want us to #theyre practically begging us to

🌟dazzlestar Follow

God did you see how luna snow dismissed dazzler at the vmas...... she needs to learn some respect for the heroes that came before her

❄️lunasnowed Follow

kill yourself #sorry dazzler didnt come before her #dazzler is a never has been #luna is an actual popstar dazzler never actually managed that #plus luna has stated in multiple interviews that she doesn't know a lot of American artists #can yall just lay off of her for one minute

⚖️ superheropolls Follow

🧊 iceygirl Follow

LUNA SWEEP

#who even cares about dazzler irrelevant lol

2,657 notes

🧚‍♀️ pixie Follow

i just know that last luna snow song was shading dazzler

🎸lilacheneyfan Follow

thats what i thought 😭 i bet shes a mutantphobe

🕸️ snowspider Follow

yeah and did you jump to those conclusions from the two lines of english or did you both suddenly learn korean #yall will call anyone mutantphobic #obviously she's talking about her enemies in her songs #but yall dont even know korean so you wouldnt know that

1,567 notes

🌻 chulkstan Follow

he's so. 😳 #hi amadeus cho #Hiiiii Hello Haiiii

49 notes

⚡ msmarvelofficial Follow

these dazzler fans are getting so annoying..... luna snow doesn't even know who she is and yall are making things up out of nothing

⚡msmarvelofficial Follow

fuck

🔐 magnetosbitch Follow

??? wow ig that inhuman genes still active

⚡ msmarvelofficial Follow

love the unprompted racism on my post thanks :) #this is why its hard to be a dazzler fan when her stans act like this #anyway stan luna snow

854 notes

🐯 tigerdivision1 Follow

lol another member of x-factor died maybe if he stanned luna snow

84 notes

🎸 has-rick-jones-released-new-music Follow

no

4 notes

🌙 lunamoona Follow

i do think posting luna snow fancams under the x-factor death news on twitter is a tad bit tacky

8 notes

🧚‍♀️pixie Follow

👩🏼 dazzlerpinkhairera Follow

omg where did you get this!!!!!

43 notes

🗿 msthannnngggg Follow

all this beef between dazzler and luna snow fans. meanwhile the darla deering stans stay winning

#unproblematic queen

12 notes

🐺 theonlyrickjonesfan Follow

i dont care about kpop obv but i do find the way they all just stream a song until it's number 1 really weird like ? it should be natural or its not even worth it

🌈 aeropleasecallme Follow

rick jones fans mad they didnt think of it first

🐺 theonlyrickjonesfan Follow

actually you're right stream seduction of the innocent now

#this is how rick can still win

7 notes

[nowimjustastranger]

Omgg the dimension in the stcmo au where Stanley destroys his own dimension with Stanford and the dead twins in it is fkn killing me 😭 He was fully ready to die with the world, seeing that his world (the kids) had already ended anyway :(

How do you think Stanley died in the other dimension, where Stanford and the twins survived but he didn't? I also really wanna know what their reactions were to meeting each other again or if their memories were altered or not!

I love this AU to death and beyond, please never die 😔🙏

Honestly, the possibilities are endless in terms of how exactly Stan goes out (destroying Bill in the process).

And as for the relocated Stan...

Stan hit the ground and, for the first time in his life, he just stayed down. That tiny voice in the back of his head that had kept him going all these years had finally fallen silent, leaving him to drown in his overwhelming despair. He didn’t care to pick himself back up again. There was no point.

His kids were gone. Snuffed out before they could even live their lives. His brother, who he had just brought home, killed with the press of a button. He was pathetically thankful that he hadn’t been the one to activate the doomsday device, he didn’t think he could’ve lived with himself knowing that he had killed his big brother with his own hand.

Not that he had been planning to survive the explosion, which was another matter that he was just too worn down to address. Honestly, he didn’t really give a shit about the mystery man or his intentions. Even so, he should be furious that the mystery man kept him from joining his family, but he was hollowed out by the realization that he was the only one left.

Why was he always the last man standing?

He couldn’t bear to go another day without Mabel’s smile. The girl had bullied her way into his heart and carved out a space for herself, bringing enough love for the both of them with her. His sweet girl who loved glitter a little too much and drew trouble to her like a magnet, the girl who saw a sad old fuck and reminded him that life was worth living with every joke, every kind word, every laugh, every hug.

How could he possibly face another day without Dipper’s laugh? The boy had snuck into his heart not long after his sister had gotten comfortable, settling down like he had simply always been there. His brave boy who reminded Stan so much of his brother and himself, a strange amalgamation of both of them. Their best qualities put into one body.

Had he told them that he loved them? Even once? Had he ever uttered those words to his kids?

Did they die unsure of how much they meant to him? Did they die doubting that Stan loved them more than anything in the entire universe? Did they die quick or slow? Did they die scared, wanting their Grunkle to protect them from a cosmic bully? Did they die wishing that they’d never met him? Did they die cursing that they ever came to Gravity Falls–

His kids had to know that Stan would’ve given anything, struck any deal, endured any torment, killed anyone he had to so long as it meant that they got to be happy.

Stan didn't even realize he was crying until he pressed his forehead against the ground, shocked back into his own body by the soft rasp of greenery against his face. His shoulders heaved with the force of his sobs, hands fisted into the grass as he wailed his grief into the soil.

Grief for not telling Soos that he was like a son to him. Grief for not thanking Wendy for putting up with his shit. Grief for not telling Dipper that he was proud of him. Grief for not putting Mabel’s insecurities to rest before they could fester. Grief for waiting for a fucking ‘thank you’ instead of just hugging his damn brother like he had longed to do for the past forty years. Grief for not spending more time with all of them while he could.

As Stan’s pathetic tears finally dried up, a sound was carried on the breeze, every muscle in his body locking up as he raised his head. His brain stalled like an old engine, wide eyes staring off into the thick foliage. He was half convinced that his mind had finally fractured and he was hallucinating even as his body moved, scrambling to his feet to race through the forest.

Even if it was just a cruel trick of his mind, he couldn’t just ignore it. Not when it was his kids. And certainly not when his kids were crying. In no world could he ignore the sound of the niblings' distress. If they needed him, he’d be there. Easy as that. He would sooner light himself on fire than let them think that they couldn’t come to him with their problems, his discomfort with feelings and emotions could fuck right off.

As he got closer to the origin of the sound, he could actually make out words. His heart stuttered in his chest as he pushed himself faster and faster still because they were calling for him. They were wailing his name like two scared little kids lost in a big world that was too cruel for the likes of them. So, he answered their desperate call, just like he always would.

“Kids!”

Stan charged through the brush, erupting into a small clearing with three people standing in it. The first figure he recognized immediately as his brother, whose arm was raised to aim a triangular gun at Stan’s chest. The niblings were hidden behind him, clutching the fabric of his slacks as they peeked at Stan with huge wet eyes. Stan stumbled to a stop, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Surprisingly, no one in the clearing broke the silence, a voice ringing out from a sturdy branch in a nearby tree.

“It’s not a trick, Stanford.” A heavily modulated voice spoke as a dude in flashy getup stared down at them from his perch. In the blink of an eye, another gun was drawn from Ford’s trench coat, pointed at the man that Stan had been manhandled by earlier. His face was set with grim determination, but there was a telling shake to the hand that aimed the gun at Stan.

“You better start talkin’ or I’ll come up there n’ beat some answers outta you.” Stan demanded, sparing a glare for the stranger. He must’ve followed Stan here, which meant that he had also seen Stan blubbering like a pansy earlier. Great.

“The Stan of dimension F9-2 took his own life to defeat Bill, leaving your dimension without a Stanley Pines. Stan from dimension C40”0 was the only one to survive Weirdmageddon, his world destroyed by his brother’s last-ditch effort to kill Bill, leaving him without his family.” The stranger explained, gesturing to each brother in turn as he addressed them.

“So, you… brought him here?” Mabel tentatively piped in with a sniffle, poking her head out more, and Stan had to swallow the urge to tell her to keep out of sight. Now that he was getting a good look at the trio, he was noticing the differences, like how Ford was wearing the same suit that Stan himself currently had on, except it was far less tattered.

“I did.” The stranger confirmed with a slow nod and the niblings shared a look, communicating with just their eyes. Stan remembered when he used to do that with Ford, way back when their only worry was if they could get one last game of pirates in before they were called home for dinner. Stan hadn’t been that close to Ford since middle school, back before a yawning chasm of distance opened between them.

“Who are you?” Ford growled, his eyes narrowed as he shifted most of his attention to the stranger, who tilted his head in a predatory manner that made the hair on the back of Stan’s neck stand on end. Stan let his arms slowly drop down to his sides since the gun that had been aimed at him had been lowered slightly, Ford clearly prioritizing the bigger threat.

“A concerned third party.” The stranger said, not missing a beat before he shifted his weight to fall backward. He disappeared in the blink of an eye only to reappear right behind Stan, who squawked in alarm and outrage as one hand seized the back of his neck while the other pointed a weird gun behind them to open another colorful gateway. Stan threw an elbow back at the stranger, who caught it with practiced ease after swiftly holstering the gun.

“But if you’re unwilling to house him in your dimension–” The stranger began, before being unceremoniously interrupted by two small bodies darting out from the safety that Ford's body provided and throwing themselves at Stan.

“No! You can’t have Grunkle Stan! Please don’t take him away!” Mabel wailed with no small amount of terror, her tiny arms struggling to fit around Stan’s waist, clutching fistfuls of his jacket. Dipper was no better, quite literally sitting on Stan’s shoe in order to cling to his right leg with all four of his limbs while he begged the stranger to let Stan stay with them.

“Hey, hey… I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Stan soothed, voice lowered to a low rasp as he abandoned his effort to get the bastard behind him to let go in favor of getting a hand on each of the kids. One of his hands went to Dipper’s head while the other pressed against Mabel’s hitching back, the two pressing into the contact like they were starving for it. Stan turned his head just enough to level the visor of the stranger’s helmet with a dark look, daring him to disagree. “Right, pal?”

“Depends on him.” The stranger retorted, pointedly nodding at Ford, who had taken to aiming the gun directly at the stranger’s helmet. Thankfully, the portal had closed on its own, shrinking out of existence, and as a result, Ford’s posture had visibly lost some tension. Stan figured that it was because the kids had been in danger of going through with him had the stranger followed through with his threat.

“My brother stays.” Ford bit out through clenched teeth, something bordering on manic in his eyes. Stan noticed that Ford’s hand wasn’t shaking this time, his aim perfectly steady. Stan wasn’t sure why this stood out to him until he recalled that Ford’s hand had been trembling earlier when he had the gun pointed at Stan, which was far more shocking than it should’ve been.

“If you ever hurt Stan… I’ll be back and you will never see him again.” The stranger warned, drawing the weird sci-fi gun in a dark blur and firing it off to the side, smoothly stepping into the swirl of colors before both the stranger and the portal were gone. Stan stood there dumbly, staring at the empty space where the portal used to be until his attention was redirected to the warm body that crashed into him.

Stan yelped as he went down in a heap of flailing limbs, instinctively struggling as strong arms wound around his body. However, Stan froze when he heard a choked sob, blankly staring up at the cloudless blue sky in utter disbelief as Ford broke down in tears. Ford’s face was buried in the crook of Stan’s neck, his glasses digging into skin, but Stan didn’t care because he was clinging to him and the kids just as tightly.

And if his eyes were wet and his cheeks damp, it was just allergies.

[silverflameataraxia]

I hate when I see Nesta stans apologizing for Nesta's behavior by saying she had no right to be mean.

Respectfully, Feyre had no right to murder innocents, destroy an entire court on the cusp of war, benefit the enemy, displace innocent Spring Court citizens from their land, use Lucien to make Tamlin jealous, torture Ianthe, harm innocents, shape-shift into Illyrian form, have sex in a war tent while her soldiers are dying outside, have sex in the sky above Velaris, buy her fifth mansion while the citizens in her city are struggling after the war, destroy Nesta's apartment building and displace all those innocent citizens, and lock Nesta up in the HoW.

Rhysand had no right to beat up Cassian for sleeping with Mor, force Feyre to wear clothes she wasn't comfortable in, drug and sexually assault Feyre, twist a bone in Feyre's arm until she agreed to his bargain, harass Tamlin, get off on the image of his son, have sex in a war tent while his soldiers die outside, have sex in the sky above Velaris, buy his fifth mansion while the citizens in his city are struggling after the war, destroy Nesta's apartment building and displace all those innocent citizens, lock Nesta up in the HoW, frequently threaten to kill Nesta, and withhold the truth about Feyre's pregnancy.

Cassian had no right to slaughter an entire village, get into a fight that destroyed an entire building, sleep with Mor when he knew Az had feelings for her, beat up Az and make fun of him, insult and belittle Nesta, disrespect Nesta's boundaries, harass and stalk Nesta, verbally abuse Nesta, lock Nesta up in the HoW, take her on a punishment hike, and hide the truth of Feyre's pregnancy from her.

Mor had no right to use Cassian for sex without telling him the consequences of those actions, directly lie or withhold the truth about what happened with Eris, fling herself over Cassian for 500 years, and get all handsy with Nesta's dress right after Nesta had been violated.

Az had no right to torture his brothers, pine after Mor for 500 years, withhold the truth of Feyre's pregnancy from her, be complicit in Nesta's punishment hike, feel entitled to Elain since he's the third brother and she's the third sister, and threaten to kill Lucien or say Elain's not interested in him when Az doesn't know her thoughts on the matter.

Amren had no right to verbally abuse Cassian, Az, and Nesta; to use racial slurs when talking about Az and Cass; to insult Nesta; to talk about using and manipulating Nesta; to lock Nesta up in the HoW; and to withhold the dangers of Feyre's pregnancy from her.

If people can stan the members of the IC, despite how horrid some of them are, then we can stan Nesta. She's flawed, but she's still one of the least problematic characters in this entire series. She challenges the IC, she puts them in their place, and she doesn't let then control her, and I'll stan that any day.

[sehtoast]

Rebirth (Homelander x OC)

18+ | heavy descriptions of gore, s4 e4 spoilers, the bad room, mentions of sexual abuse/trauma, torture, they're making each other worse in this one actually and homie deserves that kind of ride or die vibe | Fic Directory

“So, how do you feel?”  

Such a simple question for such a… gruesome task.  Benjamin had gone with Homelander to his moment of reconciliation.  Even helped him pipe sloppy icing writing onto that ugly little Carvel cake.

He knew everything.  Long ago, after busting into Stan Edgar’s personal terminal, Ben found the tapes and files on Homelander’s childhood.  Watching them had been sickening at best, but hearing the personal account as described to him by his lover over the years?

Even the do-no-harm bug himself couldn’t find a reason to prevent Homelander from following through.  He’d found John crying in front of that shattered mirror and pulled him out of his stupor once the banter ended.  Benjamin held him on the couch as he sobbed as he often did after run ins with the different facets of his psyche.  Used to be that there was no one to hold him at all, but the bug changed that.

Homelander would crash, but he would have somewhere safe to burn.

He thought about John’s various accounts of his childhood on the flight to the compound.  The incinerator, the bad room, how on edge he always was under the all seeing eye of big brother.

Usually the violent details emerged after nightmares.  Babbled words and cries for mercy as he tossed and turned until he’d shoot up in bed with his eyes primed to protect himself from his own memories.  Benjamin always held him afterward and listened.

“Sometimes I can still feel it,”  John would say, eyes glassy as he’d fight to keep those little shakes from turning into sobs.  No signs of weakness, no reaction.  Part of his conditioning– he cannot let the world know it hurts.  He cannot be a disappointment.

Ben would all but beg him to let it free anyway.  “You don’t have to be strong with me, pumpkin,”  he would always whisper.  “I love you even when you’re not.  Promise.” 

“But I– I have to be,”  Homelander would reply.

Benjamin always asked why.

John could never give an answer.

The worst were the more… intimate details.  Benjamin knew less about these, but there’d always been a sneaking suspicion that things along the lines of that happened.

Homelander spilled the beans after a panic attack during foreplay.  Stuttered out the details of masturbating during the security guard’s breaks. Doing what young boys do, he’d said.  Failing to finish in time and finding himself subject to mockery day in and out.

The resulting body image and self confidence issues, and the occasional difficulty with performance were all the consequence of some jackass further torturing the boy who never had a safe moment to feel what he described as the only good he could find in that awful room.  

Each time, Ben held him.  Promised him he was safe.  There’s no judgment, no mockery, no humiliation, and certainly no name-calling.  With kisses pressed to John’s knuckles, the two would talk it out until the world became steady again.

It’s why Benjamin doesn’t mind watching John laser that piece of shit’s dick clean off.  He doesn’t bat an eye to any of it.  The torture they face is but a fraction of what they’d done to that little boy– a drop in the lake of the things they swear up and down they don’t recall.

The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.

After listening in on Barbara’s account of Homelander’s conditioned obedience and the nature of his birth, he finds he has no problem holding her steady as his love slaughters the rest of them before her eyes.  

Bit by bit, he dismembers them.  Split them in two and paints the room with their remains.  He laughs and laughs, grinning wide and proud as he pries a man’s jaw open until his neck splits just to rip the tongue from his gullet and chuck it at her face.  He doesn’t stop until they’re no more than unrecognizable piles of flesh and viscera. 

True to their perfected teamwork, Ben webs Barbara to the wall to feast her eyes upon Homelander’s good work, and John?

Well, lasering the door and melting it forever shut was ingenious.

She will die in there, nice and slow. It’s no less than she deserves.

It’s heartbreaking to see how little it did to soothe Homelander’s pain.  Revenge, as Benjamin had told him many times, never quite worked out the way people wanted it to.  It’s potent for as long as it takes for the elevator to reach the surface.  It simmers during the flight.  Fades by the time they touch down at the tower.

And then turns to deep, lurching sobs as they shower it all away.

Release, yes… but not enough.  

It could never be enough.

“Johnny–”

“Homelander,” he chokes through tears. He’d been correcting people all day about his name.  “I’m– I just–”

Ben shushes him softly, thumbs swiping away the odd gooeyness of blood and tears.

“H-Homelander… just–” he tries again.  “Just for now… please…” 

Because Homelander was safe.  Homelander had the strength to overcome.  Homelander was the ideal and the power to protect himself.

The arms around Ben’s abdomen pull him impossibly closer.

“Homelander,” Benjamin murmurs, still stroking softly at his love’s face.  “I love you.”

Maybe not the best thing to say to the man claiming to be casting off the shackles of love, but certainly something always worth reminding him of while he crumbles.  There’s a million promises behind those three little words.

I love you when it hurts.  I love you when it doesn’t.

When it is ugly.

When it is beautiful.

As long as it is you.

His love succumbs to more cries, but Homelander knows, deep down, that it’s okay.

He is safe.

He is loved.

There will be no mockery. No humiliation.

Here, in the arms of his little spider, he need not be strong.  Here, he may simply be.

[yourlnterlude]

One of my friends had requested this but she doesn’t have tumblr but I thought I might as well post it on here.

IN WHICH,

the greasers/gang reacts to how you hug them out of no where.

!! WARNINGS !!

Just a slight bit of cussing and a lot of fluff. Enjoy!

Darrel Curtis

- oh lover boy

- would kinda freak out ngl

- but he enjoys your hugs

- he’s not really affectionate himself but he can and also will hug you back if he had the meaning too

- he thinks it’s really sweet of you to just give him a hug like that

Sodapop Curtis

- he is probably DYING to get a hug from you

- once he did, he was happy, like very very happy

- he couldn’t explain it

- just like Darry, he enjoys your hugs, a lot

- not to mention but bro is the type of one to have you in a death grip, and won’t let go until you can’t breathe

- Stan Sodapop, he’s the type of one to grab YOUR ass while hugging you 😭

Ponyboy Curtis

- just a hug of reassurance would be good for once in a while

- but this time it wasn’t out of reassurance

- it was out of love actually

- that boy was shocked

- he loves your hugs, he wishes he can stay in your arms all day

- but, he can’t:c

Johnny Cade

- this boy would do ANYTHING to get his hands on affection but he is somewhat scared someone is going to hurt him after what his parents did to him

- you hugged him and told him that everything was going to be okay, and that you weren’t going to let no one hurt him anymore

- he struggles to show how he feels so you randomly hugging him out of no where lets him open up a bit

- he loves your hugs too much to be honest, he’s so affectionate starved

- but is careful around other people when you hug him because he doesn’t want to get you NOR him jumped because that’s his biggest fear

Steve Randle

- god, can you handle the Randle?

- I sure as hell can’t

- giving this man a hug is like asking for a death wish

- he’s just like soda, he’ll hug you back but when he hugs you, it’s like you’re gonna die from suffocation

- but he’s really sweet about you giving him random hugs

- he thinks it’s adorable

Two-Bit Matthews

- hehe you like giving hugs to Two-Bit Matthews

- he’s so sweet and passionate about it, you can’t get over it- what???

- craves your touch fr

- he’s always talking about you to the rest of the gang about how you just give him random ass hugs out of no where and he won’t SHUT UP.

“You know, my girlfriend gives me hugs randomly- and I love them so much, just like the feeling of her on me makes me wanna scream- and I can’t explai-“

“SHUT UP TWO-BIT, YOU TALK TOO MUCH, WONDER WHY WE DIDNT CALL YOU TWO-SHITS 🙄😒”

“🙁🙏”

- yeah and it goes a little something like that

Dallas Winston

- Dally, Dally, Dally.

- he hates affection. (No he wouldn’t have a soft side for you. Unless it’s out of character.)

- but he likes them, somewhat.

- it’s kinda confusing to tell if he likes them or he’s just cringing

- sometime he needs that hug too no matter what he’s going through

- but he doesn’t like the feeling, of love actually after what happened with him and Sylvia.

- there’s a slight 5% chance he’ll hug you back but most of the time he will just wrap an arm around you or he doesn’t hug back.

A/N: thank you for reading this as it my first headcannon post. Normally when I post these, it’s on Wattpad or something else, but this one just kinda felt special with me, you know? anyways, bye!!!

[nqueso-emergency]

I've been a 911 fan since it started, but have only joined the fandom since S7 (what can I say, BT reeled me in). I've been in various fandoms over the years, and seeing/hearing a lot of what the toxic buddie shippers have been up to reminds me a HELL of a lot of the toxic Lena/Kara shippers from the Supergirl fandom. Like Buddie, they interpreted a romantic relationship that didn't exist from the most obscure stuff, they harassed anyone who shipped (mostly Kara) with anyone else, and they sent abuse, death threats etc to the actors who played rival LI's as well as the writers.

And the show suffered for it. One by one, the male cast members who were copping the abuse left the show. Kara's main LI (played by the actor Melissa Benoist (Kara) eventually fell in love with and married in real life) who appeared in S2 left in S3, and the writers seemed too afraid to give their MAIN CHARACTER a LI arc until the final season (who they then promptly killed off). Melissa Benoist chose not to renew her contract after S6 (thus ending the show) and I can understand why, considering the toxic shippers were saying things like they wished her husband and FATHER OF HER CHILD would die, all because his CHARACTER remained the only viable contender for Kara's LI throughout the run of the show. And while some of the actors tried calling these "fans" out for their behaviour, saying "hey, we're human too, please be kind", it didn't help that they had some of those shippers in the media, spinning the tale about this "great romance" (that never existed) and thus never calling these people out (instead boosting their delusions that one day, their ship would be canon - and boy were they pissed when it never did, feeling like they had been "cheated" and "queerbaited").

And then these shippers would justify their actions by saying they wanted to see "representation" with a f/f ship rather than the main ending up with a "straight white guy" while completely ignoring that a) the two characters in their ship were canonically straight and b) there already WAS representation! Kara's sister, one of the main's, was a lesbian! But in an episode where Kara's sister got married to a woman, some of the biased "media" declared that the episode "could have been gayer" if only their pair had got together.

Hmm, doesn't all of this stuff sound kind of familiar...

Thankfully, the 911 actors and writers seem to be handling all this a little better because so far it looks like they aren't caving to a toxic minority and have started shutting it down when it pops up. But these people are only human, and I just worry that one day this hate is going to get to them and we might see the show suffer as a result, whether it be from actors choosing to leave or writers taking the easier option and choosing to no longer tell the stories they want to tell. I know shows don't last forever, but when 911 eventually does end, I'd like it to be able to end organically, not forced to an early end because a bunch of people can't handle their pair not getting together

Thank you for sharing this with me!! Omg it's the exact same shit we're seeing!!

Tbh, I'd say this is the exact reason why Oliver and Ryan don't really comment on the treatment of their LI. It would just add fuel to the fire.

And if you don't think people who were associated with Supergirl talk to 911 people... you're extremely naive.

The real issue here is IF an actor were to leave the show, it would most likely be Ryan seeing as a majority of the problematic people are Ryan/Eddie stans first.

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way. 

A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster. 

Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.  

When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would. 

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift. 

Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts. 

Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’  You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?  

You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”

You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.

“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”

Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.” 

You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”

Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”

Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse. 

You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”

Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation. 

“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.” 

You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.” 

The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning. 

Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.” 

Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do? 

“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”

Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.

You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass. 

The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes. 

The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall. 

“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.

You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused. 

“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”

The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”

Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”

Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised. 

The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears. 

When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.

You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson. 

You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad. 

You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground. 

Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”

“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike. 

You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?” 

“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped. 

Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”

Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”

“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?” 

You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.

“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin. 

Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”

The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”

Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”

Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”

“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.

“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath. 

Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”

“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice. 

Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew. 

Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”

You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever. 

“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”

“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”

You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.

“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction. 

“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.” 

Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it. 

You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward. 

You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.

[triple-to-stag]

i think this is always so silly

she warmed up that day but she did not contribute one (1) score during that AA session, so how can you be favored if you didn't even compete

can she stop mentioning Ragan being “favored” to win 2017 worlds. she fucking didn’t. move on. 

[sad-scarred-sassy]

tamlin “trapped” feyre after all negotiations broke down with the certainty of knowing feyre would endanger herself and others temporarily

from the wu this fandom talks about it you’d think he’s mother gothel but like. it was only until he came back. it wasn’t like he had her isolated, restricting access to who got to see her. he offered to invite her sisters - she was the one who said no! i really don’t see how it’s comparable to feyre + the ic making nesta stay on a remote island for what it’s worth with two near strangers who she has little to no positive associations with if they can’t be considered the cause of all her trauma in the first place (in that they are fae etc)

whereas nesta’s sentence (bc let’s face it she was sent to azkaban as punishment with a fun caveat like “you’re free if you can cross the sea! and manage to maintain a sense of identity while around guards who remind you how terrible you are of course!”) is indefinite and it’s pretty obvious from everything that comes after that it’s just something she’s expected to make the best of as opposed to something that can get better with time.

and cassian being her jailer whose amicability she has to earn by performing rigorous physical activity she had no interest in even if she grew to love it.. i wonder if she’s had that experience before

sorry, i’m not disagreeing with you, i saw your post + i just die a little inside every time someone’s like “ew tampon” “wow i wish i had a cassian” like no. they’re not the same, you (not you, ily) just have the attention span of a gold fish on catnip

You know I restrained myself from posting more on this because I’m such a hater sometimes lol, gotta focus on more positive things sometimes but... I’ll get this out of my chest.

I wanna preface by saying I do not care if people like Cassian/Nessian, truly. I even like fanon Cassian and fanon Nessian. I also have seen very little people that like Cassian bashing Tamlin (probably bc of my filters and just the type of blogs I follow bc I do love them all) BUT☝🏼 what I do see is a lot of “Disclaimer: we know Tamlin is an abuser” on Tamlin neutral posts (when no other character gets that treatment) or using Tamlin as a cautionary tale of how he treated Feyre and then praise the other “mates” for being “the right ones” and treating them correctly or something, which does annoy me a bit, but alas.

In my opinion yes, you are right, what Cassian and the Inner Circle did to Nesta is a million times worse than what Tamlin did to Feyre, but nobody, nobody considers Cassian’s actions in Silver Flames as bad as they actually are. Nobody considers him an abuser like Abusive Tamlin™️. When talking about what Nesta has endured in SF people put all the blame on Rhys and Feyre (which yes of course) but they forget Cassian was also there, willingly.

I’ve seen people use the argument that both Nesta and Cassian treated each other poorly in their relationship, but I have to ask… what did Nesta do to him that’s worse than what he did… intentionally. She was mean to him and called him bastard like four times? And only when he trespassed her boundaries. Somehow this is comparable to him being her jailer, taking her to train in the middle of Illyria, being a dick when he knew she was struggling, telling her everyone hates her and he cannot understand why her sisters love her, controlling her food intake as if she’s a gym bro or something when she clearly had an eating disorder, not telling her that Feyre was not mad at her and letting her BREAK while making her carry a huge backpack and forcing her on a hike not talking to her for days, to the point she fainted and fell on her face near a cliff?? (this because she made Rhys mad). Anyway the list goes on.

And you know what I don’t care if people like this guy after all this, but it is just funny how somehow Neris shippers are the “morally dubious” ones lol (and don’t get me started on Tamlin stans aka the devil worshippers), because Nesta said she “deserved Eris” (as a punishment), babygirl your WHOLE relationship with Cassian has been a punishment, for what sins you ask? Being mean (as she should) and spending the High Lord’s coin.

And what makes it worse is that the narrative will always favor the Inner circle, Cassian will never pay for what he’s done the way Tamlin has (and still is) he will never even apologize because he was “holding out his hand” or whatever bs that was. (Honestly if I get proven wrong and he does pay and apologize then I may give him a chance, but I highly doubt it)

I won’t even pretend that I think Neris will be canon as much as I wish it was, even if I know that if SJM wrote it, it still would have had its problems but at least Nesta wouldn’t have ended up with the people who treated her like a criminal just because she wouldn’t kiss their ass. And on top of all, with a mate that doesn’t even have the balls to stand up for her. Holy shit.

Okay I got it all out of my chest I think, I’ll try not to hate so much but this shit bro makes me seethe. I’ll go touch some grass.

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

I’m sorry if this has been asked, but what Jedi (besides Yoda) represents the best of what a Jedi could be in your opinion?

That's… a complicated question 😅. Very hard to answer, considering I love them all 💕.

The answer is that… well, the best of the Jedi is the Order itself. I know it sounds ridiculous but… they are all awesome 😍.

Shaak Ti is… the clones' mom, basically (or close enough). She also took ✨baby Ahsoka ✨ on her akul hunt. She's kind and compassionate, she stands up for the clones and doesn't stop pushing the Kaminoans until she saves Fives' life (who at the time was believed to have gone rogue).

Plo Koon adopts/mentors every curious being he comes across (which we stan) ♥️, and loves the clones so much. Do you still think about the "we are supposed to be expendable" "not to me" exchange, or ✨baby Ahsoka✨ trusting him immediately because she knows he's safe to be around? Yeah, me too 🥺.

Ki-Adi Mundi is the most stern out of the Council (save for perhaps Mace), but that doesn't stop him from goofing around with the kids (Anakin and Ahsoka) and caring a lot towards his men (and people say he's an emotionless robot and proof of everything wrong with the Order 🙄).

Mace Windu walks close to the Dark Side every day yet chooses not to Fall every single time ✊. He has a temper, but keeps it under control and doesn't let his anger outweight his kindness. In TCW he's shown putting himself in danger for his men in nearly every moment he's on screen, and is even compassionate towards Boba after he's killed his men 🥺. He loves the Republic, loves Depa, and holy fuck he defeated Sidious!

Even Ima-Gun Di, the guy who's literally named "I'm gonna die 😂", seems to be a good Jedi. He's close with his men and dies protecting Ryloth (the Twi'leks owe him their planet, their freedom and their lives!).

But the Jedi who exemplifies the best of them? It's tricky, but I'm gonna pick Obi-Wan and Luke.

Obi-Wan remains kind and compassionate even after his whole family, culture and way of life is burned to the ground by the men he fought three entire years to protect and his Padawan/brother at the lead. He, even when dirt poor, gives some money to a veteran of the 501st! Anakin's legion! The same legion that stormed the Temple! This man is amazing 😍🥹.

And Luke 🥹, what hasn't been said about Luke? He overcomes his difficulties, he finds a present to stand on, he sacrifices himself to save the Rebellion and his father, his kriffing Sith-Apprentice-Jedi-Killer-Emperor's-Fist father, and he succeeds! He tells the Emperor to fuck right off and that he's a Jedi and will die a Jedi before he becomes a Sith. He offers Jabba the Hutt the opportunity to surrender and get out of the situation without bloodshed.

But anyways 😅. Luke and Obi-Wan are, along with Yoda, the representation of the best of the Jedi, but everyone else is not so far behind (except Anakin and Ahsoka).

[deadchannelradio]

i'm cutting roy out of every story i got him in with jason sorry jayroy stans i still believe in the joyfire dick grayson emotional thunderdome he just doesnt belong in the architecture i am crafting for jasons life nor does Jason belong in his. roy has his own life that is largely batboy free other than Being Weird With And About Dick Grayson. as such jasons stupid little dog Princess Monster Truck's inception (she is staying forever, but this particular inception is going away) i noodled at the beginning of is being put in the trash compactor to die forever. crunch crunch. so you can have it here instead. in my fanfiction abortion morgue.

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason says as Roy walks in the door, foregoing a ‘hello’ or an ‘I missed you’ or a ‘was the mission fun? It looked like you had fun when you shot the enormous bird-thing in the back of the neck with an explosive arrow and blew its head clean off’. He’s scrubbing a very clean pot with the maniacal focus of a man on the brink, up to his elbows with suds. 

Roy sets his bag down on the floor and tosses his jacket on the chair beside the door, toeing his shoes off. Jason points at the jacket without looking. “Do I look like your maid?” he asks. “Pick it up.”

“I would be a very happy man if you did,” Roy says, briefly transported to a world of short skirts and little aprons. He shakes himself off, then hangs his coat up properly before Jason gives in to the conniptions that are clearly bubbling under the surface. “Hi honey, I’m home, I missed you, we’re getting a dog?”

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason repeats darkly. They don’t talk all that much about Jason’s therapist or what he does in therapy, but all her best ideas that Roy’s heard about- starting prozac, getting an apartment and living in it full time instead of a rotating to a new squat every couple of weeks- have been accompanied by this tone of voice. “I shouldn’t get a dog.”

“Why the hell not?” Roy asks, coming up behind him to kiss the back of his neck and wind his arms around Jason’s waist, his shirt damp with dishwater. Jason backs up from the sink slightly to give him room, but doesn’t stop washing the soup pot. “You’re an adult. You have adult money and adult time. We can get a dog.” Roy likes dogs, conceptually. He hasn’t ever owned one long-term, but he enjoys them walking down the street and tied up outside of little coffee shops, and Haley and him hang out when Dick goes out of town and Barbara is unavailable to spend time with her dog-goddaughter. 

“I’m a felon,” Jason points out.

“Do no felons have dogs?”

“No good dog owners are felons.”

“Do you personally know every felon with a dog?”

“What if I have to go on the run again? Or something happens and I can’t take care of a dog?” The sound of the steel wool on metal is getting more grating by the second. “What if someone finds the apartment? Or-,”

“How many of these did you bring up with Laurie that she didn’t have a response for?”

Jason does not have an answer to that, given his silence and aggressive increase of scrubbing. Roy bites his shoulder until Jason flails a wet hand up into his hair and pulls him off, accidentally beaning him in the face with a soapy lump of steel wool. They’re totally getting a dog.

“We’re not applying for anything,” Jason says a few days later, tucking himself into a black jacket and grey scarf that he’s wrapping practically up to his ears. “I don't need a dog. This is a free zoo. We’re just looking.” 

“Of course,” Roy says, pulling on gloves and smiling serenely at the dog filled future yawning open before him. Jason gives him a suspicious squint, intensity ruined by the way that his knit hat is pushing his hair in every direction like a smacked dandelion. In spite of his claims, Jason is visibly nervous the entire monorail ride to the ASPCA, jaw clenched and tunneling into his coat like a turtle. Roy links their elbows as casually as he can when he has to pry Jason’s arm away from his body and scrolls his phone mindlessly. He’s been having visions of dog ownership- flyball, bitesports, long morning jogs with a scruffy heeler or blocky bully breed, agility classes and obedience courses. Admittedly, Roy knows very little about most of these things, but he’s willing to learn. 

Gotham ASPCA’s dog kennel contains pit mixes by majority, most rather unhelpfully labeled as lab or hound mutts, fooling absolutely no one beyond maybe a few landlords. The worker- Safia, on her name tag- who’s leading them around is looking at Jason out of the corner of her eye, as visibly nervous as Roy knows Jason is. He doesn’t look it, a hulking, silent presence over Roy’s shoulder, communicating with Roy mostly by eye contact and shifts in his stance. The biggest scar on his face lifts his upper lip in an accidental snarl, showing teeth, and his winter layers don’t make him any less bulky. She’s trying, at least, in that way that people do when they know they’re making a rude judgment based on little evidence but can’t stop themselves from feeling it. Roy’s sure that Jason isn’t picking up on that, though, just that he’s making her uncomfortable.  Roy puts a hand on the small of Jason’s back as they look at a lanky, blonde shepherd named Snuggles Friday, and Roy watches Safia relax by a few degrees. Friday licks at Jason’s hand through the wires as Safia talks about her, whining, her ears so huge they flop over for a second when she shakes her head. Jason’s fighting a smile. Roy gives Safia a conspiratorially hopeful grin and crosses his fingers, startling a real smile out of her. 

“I think all of our play rooms are occupied at the moment,” Safia says apologetically. “But I have a few more dogs I think would be a good fit for you if you want to look around and then decide who you want some time with?”

Roy looks at Jason, who shrugs, which is probably as good as they’re going to get right now. Friday is still licking his fingers enthusiastically, and Jason pulls away with some reluctance as they move along. 

He stops a few steps later, so abruptly that Roy walks into his back. 

Someone has accidentally left a swiffer duster in the kennel in front of them. It’s barking, a high and snappy thing, and it’s doing a little dance on its tiny feet, like it’s tip toeing in place. Its eyes are unsettlingly large. Roy laughs, looks over at Jason to make a joke about how it’s just not a dog if you can use it like a football, stops. Jason’s fists are clenched by his sides, his face going slowly red.

“That,” he growls through gritted teeth, “is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Roy sends a mental goodbye note to Snuggles Friday. “That’s Caramel,” Safia says as Jason speed-reads the note attached to her kennel with the clinical efficiency usually given to an autopsy report. He drops to his knees, pauses, then gingerly presses a hand against the wire as though he’ll break it. Caramel leaves off the barking and begins licking Jason’s hand like it’s the last scoop of ice cream in the truck on a 100 degree day. Its hind end seems to be undergoing a seismic event.

[lonelylittledot]

Wicked

~ a Wicked scholar's thoughts on the movie

Okay. I had detached myself from any feelings about the movie truly years ago, and so I walked into the movie theatre with really low expectations.

My overall opinion: it was not a bad adaptation. I'd expected to give it 3/10, it turned out as a solid 6.5/10.

Here are just a few things that stuck out to me:

The landscapes - didn't hate them but didn't like them.

The costumes - amazing. Pretty much every outfit slayed. I feel like they could have been even a bit more extravagant, but they were great as they were. - As for Elphaba, I think my favorite outfit was the first Shiz dress and the post-Popular outfit. - Glinda's bubble dress was exquisite, and I really liked her Emerald City ensemble, although I do miss the yellow dress, I feel like it doesn't get enough love

I liked Ariana's G(a)linda surprisingly a lot. Maybe it's because I know she's a huge Wicked fan, but I felt like her love for the source material really showed.

I wasn't really sold on Cynthia. Don't get me wrong, she has a truly fabulous voice, and she absolutely did shine in the big, loud parts - but overall, I wasn't a fan of her versions of the songs. She looked and acted great, though.

Michelle Yeoh, the woman you are. Fantastic casting, no notes.

Jonathan. Oh, dear, Johnathan Bailey. Looks? Hot. Vocals? Gorgeous. Vibes? Flawless. I wish he'd played the role a decade ago, because he does look forty and not college-age, but I think everything else about him truly makes up for it.

Speaking of - I liked that Fiyero got just a few tiny little additional scenes/lines, really helped to flesh out his character more.

Grammar-nazi Elphaba, my beloved.

Listen, I have shipped Fiyero and Elphaba since I was 14. And I'm not going to stop now. I stan them, I loved their chemistry in the movie, I will ship them until the day I die.

The direction on G(a)linda/Elphaba - hella gay. But I didn't quite feel their chemistry, neither friendly nor romantic. It was okay, but didn't blow me away.

IDINA AND KRISTEN???? love love love love my og queens

The movie dragged on. A lot. This is my only really big criticism, unfortunately it's a really important one. I think they could easily have made the whole musical into one 3h long movie, and it would have been much better for the pacing. - there weren't even that many added scenes; and a lot of the additions were pretty good, actually - some were totally unnecessary though. like the guards chasing Elphaba and Glinda and the whole balloon shenanigans? - similarly, many scenes were just unnecessarily stretched out; with the camera staying too long in one place or one moment being dragged out way too long - some of the songs just had slightly longer (like 2 bars?) breakes between the choruses added for no reason

Defying Gravity. This is the same thing as one of the previous comments, but I feel like it deserves its separate mention. The pacing in that scene (or, here, more like a collection of scenes) was extremely off, the song losing all of its momentum by being chopped up into pieces. And the way they made us wait for the iconic vocalization at the end; I honestly thought I'd die of boredom.

Sometimes I felt like the movie couldn't decide if it wanted to be more stage-y and theatrical, and lean into the whole campy vibe, or more cinematic and "naturally" acted; and sometimes it switched weirdly between the two.

There was one single thing that looked way better onscreen than onstage. The Lion cub. In the movie, he looked extremely cute, tiny little adorable darling baby kitten. Way better than the creepy-ass puppet they use in the show.

There were many more tasty little details that I simply couldn't remember/write down, or else I wouldn't have been able to pay any attention to the movie. Once it's available, maybe I'll rewatch and dissect it in more detail (I should also finally watch the 1939 Wizard of Oz, it's a CRIME that I still haven't! I'm sure people who know it well could also see many references in the new Wicked - even I noticed the ruby slippers in Popular, for example!).

Summing up this unnecessarily long rant:

It was not a bad adaptation; although I doubt it will make many people into Wicked fans. At the end of the day, it's clearly a story made for the stage, and even though it was transferred to the big screen fairly well, I think it still belongs in the regular theatre, not the movie one.