#You crazy little show

[rottiens]

i believe the first time you let (virgin) kakashi play with your pussy, it comes accompanied in an unusual way of talking on his part. it's almost like he takes notes to himself, almost like he doesn't talk to you. the tired gaze is set between your sticky thighs, watching carefully how your folds stretch as he puts his finger in and pulls it out, you exhale. 

"oh, here?" he slowly bends it and pushes, you cry out. "too much?" 

he doesn't even look at you as you gaze at him in raw adoration. you don't even know what expression he has because he refused to take off his mask. 

"you're squeezing so tight." his eyebrows draw together for a second before returning to his usual expression. with the thumb of his free hand he squeezes and strokes the bundle of nerves. "so wet." kakashi pushes deep, faster this time and your legs tremble, you call out to him and he ignores you with a hoarse throaty purr. "here. i like that sound." 

wet clicks fill the office. kakashi fucks your pussy with one finger and then adds another with perspicacity, careful of every step he makes next. 

"I think it's gonna cum for me." your looks become one, unbreakable as he massages you like someone with experience and makes you wet his knuckles, juices dripping down his fingers and wetting his gloves. you scream his name clinging to that intangible, rushing to hold on to his thick white strands pulling him further into you. 

kakashi do it, he's guided by your fingers leading him further in; to take a glimpse of how you open up for him, how you tremble, how you squeeze. "does it always get so swollen?" he asks, and you know once again he's not talking to you. he leans in and the tip of his nose brushes the lovely sore nub back and forth almost as if he's teasing, then he takes a deep, shameless inhale, and you forget to breathe. "cute. you can cum now, I have to try again to see your reaction one more time."

[laniidae-passerine]

positively obsessed with how Rockstar Lestat is the exact kind of guy one of my friends would show me a picture of and swear he’s really sexy and cool and brilliant. Whole time I’m thinking “oh dear GOD” staring at a trainwreck weirdo and wondering what’s happened to everybody else that is absolutely missing me. jesus christ he’s blond

[four-unwell-lesbians]

Thinking about the way dungeon meshi does queer horror. Using horror to tell queer stories is already subversive, but dungeon meshi subverts it even more

Normal queer horror is like. A monsterous desire and immortal love of something isolated/hated and the uncontrollable but suppressed need to consume someone to live and they only die if you break/pierce their heart. its great.

In dungeon meshi, the group is STARVING. they do things the way they're expected to and they're so deprived that eventually, one of them is consumed by that monsterous desire.

Then when Falin becomes a monster, she doesn't eat Marcille because she doesn't NEED to, Marcille already offered herself up as part of Falin by mixing her own blood with the dragon's for the resurrection.

Also Marcille is a monster too!! She doesn't need to be turned by Falin. She's a 'witch' doing black magic for one but she's also very vampiric

Her name is super vampirey especially given one of the translation spellings was Marcilla, an annogram of Carmilla*. And Marcille is very similar to Marceline from Adventure Time so it's a name with heavy connotations to me. Also her staff is Ambrosia which means immortal.

*ps Carmilla is the original modern vampire that inspired Dracula and also a lesbian. she used annagrams of her name (Marcilla, Mircalla, Millarca) to disguise herself across hundreds of years.

Marcille is like. a vampire in that death is a big part of her theme. She can breathe that immortality into someone else using her resurrection black magic and death is a huge part of her character. She wants them to live as long as she does. To make them immortal. Like. Like a vampire. Vampires which are unholy when her love interest is a cleric.

But once again this is subverted!! she doesn't 'turn' Falin, she makes her undead by giving her own blood instead of taking Falin's. Falin becomes a monster not because she's attacked or turned, but because her DNA, something INHERENT about her is now intertwined with the monster. so a god-like figure merges them. Then the only way to free her from that frenzy and grant her autonomy again is to finally consume her. something inherently lesbian about all that i think idk about you

[4pp13-ju1c3]

this ONEs a real doozy!! (i am ill and will not recover. this series has left me irreparably damaged)

[astralzeraphias]

“he was mentally ill. this monster was a- was a sick fantasy. a product of his dementia.”

“…i saw it too. does that make me disturbed? demented? does… that make me sick too?”

[poppitron360]

Just saw a video complaining about the British!Thalia casting saying that “Rick isn’t being faithful enough to the books” but like??? Clearly her nationality just isn’t that important to the character?? Not all changes are bad and actually one (very small) issue I have with the books is that they’re too Americanised. Tamara is a great actress first and foremost, but it’s a perk that this change might actually make PJO more appealing to international audiences!! Much like how British characters are FREQUENTLY Americanised in adaptations to make it sell in America (e.g Anathema Device in Good Omens).

Thalia’s nationality is not core to her character in the books. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a very minor change. The show was never gonna be exactly how you imagined it anyway.

Also, for anyone wondering if this means we’ll get British!Jason? Not necessarily. Jason was raised at the Wolf House and then at Camp Jupiter, and Thalia was born six years before him and their mother could’ve easily moved to the US in that time. In fact a larger emphasis on the differences between the siblings could serve as a good metaphor for the Greek/Roman divide- and play into the fact that Jason is not quite the “All-American Golden Boy” that he seems and how he never seemed to fit with the expectations everyone had of him.

Also imagine how all these goofy British quirks would really throw a spanner in the works for Jason in TLH. Like there’s all this weird stuff with Roman gods and speaking latin but also? He’s got a British accent that seeps through when he’s caught off guard? Weird familiar feeling that drinking tea gives him? How cute and confused would he be as he’s trying to figure out where his “home” is and he keeps getting all these mixed signals? There’s potential here, guys!

I’ve got a post in the works about British!Jason hcs, but my point is that y’all should think about how much potential something has to be great before signing it off as rubbish.

I think the movies traumatised us, and now we all think “different = bad” but this might bring some positive change, and make some people in the audience feel a bit more included and represented.

[n4rval]

your gaster looks very friendly. i would pat him on the head but im too short

i know what you want anon dnw i got u

[cloudysarts]

FOLLOW ME,

I'M ON THE BRINK

OF VISUAL EPIPHANY!

LIFE IS A COSTUME AWAY,

OH, LIFE'S A WARDROBE CHANGE!

[fakeusernamelol]

Human Stan finding bunny ford 🥺

you're lucky i actually already have made something with normal stan and bunny ford...

But as I suppose you expected something from normal Stan and Bunny ford but in a more-human version, I offer you this. 😉😉

stan isnt as amazed as ford is for his bunny brother, but he thinks he's a good pillow 🥴🥴

[oxymoronicdumbass]

you think i’m crazy about this show now? HAH you should see my AO3 account! …but on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t…

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 5

cw: the ocean, begrudging kissing done for practical reasons, discussions of drowning, blood, malnourishment, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 3k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Simon wretched. He wretched in front of them and it burned his throat and stung his ego as he emptied his stomachs of human food in front of his human and your awful little friend.

Finn had brought him this. Maybe if you'd brought him food it wouldn't make him feel this awful.

Probably not, but maybe.

He didn't like being brought food by this man anyway. It felt too much like courting. 

He would preen at the idea of you bringing him food if he weren't currently emptying his stomachs in uncomfortably shallow water

Shallow water he bore for you. Not for him. Stupid little man.

He hated that he needed him. Needed him to bring him fish and these horrible toxins they’d decided to try. 

“Probably not bread then,” he heard you say and he shook his head

No. No more of this bread. Not if he had anything to say about it, thank you very much.

“Okay,” your stupid little human said, still looking nervous. As he should be. If you hadn’t stood between them, he’d be dead. Even in the state he was in, he could lure him right in past the rocky shore and into deeper waters. 

But he wouldn’t, for reasons he didn’t like to think about, his stomachs turning again as he did. 

The two of you exchanged words once more, ones he hadn’t been paying attention to, before the stupid human left again. 

You sat on the shore beside him and he pulled himself out of the water next to you. 

His gills ached a little as he shifted so frequently from water to air but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to lay beside you. 

You stared out at the sea, eyes a little distant and yet still warm. Even when they weren’t looking at him.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous, not when he got to look at you like this. Even if that look wasn't directed at him. 

You spoke softly and contemplatively when you did. “They were together. Finn and Isobel. She was my sister, I don’t know if I ever told you about her.”

He shook his head, wishing he knew more of you. Wishing you’d share more of yourself with him.

But he couldn’t really blame you, what had he told you of himself?

“She’s smart,” he said, contented at the fact that Finn had apparently already been rejected by one of your own. 

“Smart?”

“You said were. He is not a suitable mate.”

You shifted on the rocks, something he’d come to realize you did when you’d been made uncomfortable, usually by him. He could rarely understand why, despite how frequently it happened. This was one of those times and he waited, patiently, for you to make it clear to him what he had done. 

“She never left him. They were together until she died.”

“Oh.” A horrible sense of dread overwhelmed him. “How?”

“She drowned,” you said, picking up a rock and throwing it out into the water. 

He was glad you weren’t looking at him, eyes locked into the horizon as you spoke. He was certain the worry was written across every feature on his face. 

Did he do that? He didn't know. That felt worse almost, that someone so dear to you could have been so insignificant to him that he may have killed her without even knowing

“Simon?” you asked, words fading in past the intense, buzzing panic. 

He wasn't sure how he felt when you called him that. A foreign, half-remembered name. You'd seemed displeased the first time he’d told it to you but you continued to use it so it couldn’t have been that bad. 

He’d caught himself calling himself that in his own mind, of late. It was easy to when your voice was the only thing that filled his head. 

He wished he had a name like you did, one he’d been given at birth so that when you said it it felt as if you were speaking him, like you could pour his essence out of your mouth with the affection he often heard in your voice. 

As he focused once again he saw the horrible human, holding a fish this time. He looked worried too and Simon wanted to snap at him for the look. How dare he pity him, he wasn’t to be pitied. He could swallow him up, could fix this problem easily, all on his own. 

And then your panicked eyes under choppy water filled his vision. 

He lowered his head, violence seeping out of him, sufficiently cowed, and took the fish. 

They’d been dead a while and he took no satisfaction in sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. 

Eating above the water was messy. The blood clung to his jaw, dripping down his face as he tore a chunk out of the creature.

If he weren’t so hungry he might’ve cared. 

A ravenous force took him until all he was left with was stubborn meat stuck on bones. 

Only then did he look at you. You looked disgusted with him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He shied away from your gaze, tears welling up in his eyes. 

It felt like everything he did was wrong, displeased you and made you look at him like that. 

He slid wordlessly back into the water, not emerging onto the shore until all the blood had seeped into the water.

The concern was back on your face when he returned. 

“Was that okay?” you prompted him gently as he stared up at you. “You feel a little better now?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. 

A soft sigh escaped you, lips barely parting to let it leave you. He wanted to feel it, the gentle air passing over his skin, the soft lips he’d felt against his before. 

“Good,” you said, and your smile reached your eyes. 

It didn’t take long for you to depart, leaving to sleep far away from him. 

He did his best to rest and then he did what he’s begun doing most days, he milled about in the water, lonely and near the shore.

He felt an intense panic when he didn’t have eyes on you. If he could get his hands on you, cold and vulnerable in open waters, so could someone else. 

He wondered what he’d do if someone pulled Finn under. He liked to think he’d be noble and protect him, save someone so dear to you. Or at least that he’d turn and choose to let him go, allow him to be dragged under.

He knew that in all likelihood, he would freeze. He found himself doing that a lot lately. It seemed to come alongside the panic more often than not. 

Later, you came to the shore with your soft eyes and he did what he always did. He fought down overwhelming urges to pull you under, to drown you and feast, to protect you as his mate, to beg you to hunt for him as his body became more and more convinced he had lost the ability to do it himself, to do any number of things you’d despise him for wanting. 

He lay on the shore, frozen, until he felt his mind come back to him. 

The fish had helped, he thought. It didn’t take quite as long for the urges to leave him. 

You came bearing more of them. 

Well, you didn’t. Finn did. But he could pretend, think that maybe he was just carrying them to the shore, that really they were from you. 

He knew that they weren’t but he was no stranger to trying to read intention into the things you did. 

It was so easy to slip into, to pretend every action was a secret message of adoration, just like his were for you. 

But they weren’t and when he allowed himself to pretend all he’d done was hurt you, so he needed to be done with that now. 

If you wanted something from him, you’d tell him. 

If you felt something for him, you’d tell him. 

But you hadn’t, and that was fine. He wouldn’t push. 

But he couldn’t quite stop himself from pretending. Surely it was fine, so long as he didn’t act on it. 

Finn dropped the fish on the shore and Simon dove for them. 

It was unseemly but he couldn’t help it. The hunger had left a steady ache inside him and he would take any chance at relief. 

The basket held a few fish, five or six of them strewn inside. 

It was enough to be full. He could’ve cried at the sight. 

But he had more important things to be doing and so instead, he grabbed the basked firmly and slid back into the water, dragging them under. 

He flipped the basket as he immersed himself in the water so the fish wouldn’t escape him and rise to the surface, holding them protectively to his chest. 

He’d wanted to tear into them on the shore but he’d seen your face the last time. He could not see it again, the revulsion that had painted itself there. 

So instead, no longer dissuaded by your presence, he devoured them.

Blood clouded the water as he ate, swallowing mouthfuls of flesh one after the other.

It wasn’t the safest way to eat, could surely attract attention from other hungry creatures, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d done as much caring as he was capable of. 

When he was done, he returned to the two of you. 

Some of the foam lining the gentle waves ran red, stained by remnants of blood washing to shore. 

You both had the decency not to comment on it, though he watched your eyes flick down and then quickly back up. 

He wondered if you’d begrudge him this too. Your food wasn’t quite as messy as his was, was further from the creatures you ate, even when you ate meat just as he did. 

He’d seen it before, basically unrecognizable, no blood pooling or ripping out bones as you ate. A more seemly affair. 

Finn’s eyes lingered longer on the red, something quietly sad in his eyes, before they darted up to Simon. 

As you sat, fawning over Simon and ensuring he had enough to eat, he found it difficult to bask in your attention the way he wanted, that gaze remaining steadily on him. 

He tried not to notice Finn as often as he could. He brought about feelings that were better avoided, especially in front of you. 

Currently, that was difficult, due to the fact that he was staring Simon down, some horrible thought forming behind his eyes. 

“What’s it like?” he blurted out, cutting you off in a way that made Simon want to snarl at him. “Being under the water like that?” He sounded eager.

“Horrible,” you said with a little huff, your words turning bitter. 

He did not begrudge you for the harshness of your words. He would move to land if he could, to prove to you he held no loyalty for the ocean. 

“No,” Finn tried to clarify. “Not just swimming, actually being able to stay down there, to breathe it and live it.”

“I know,” you insisted. “I’ve been down there. It’s awful.”

Finn’s eyes flicked between the two of you like he was trying to decipher something. “How do you… please tell me you're human. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

You reeled back a little at his words, like the thought of you being like him had never occurred to you. He supposed maybe it hadn’t, maybe the possibility of what things would be like if you were the same hadn’t haunted you as it did him. 

“No,” you said with a swift, decisive shake of your head. “Nothing like that. He just does this strange thing where you can breathe underwater. It’s happened a few times now. It’s awful, I don’t recommend it.”

Your unfavorable words did nothing to snuff out the excitement blooming across his face. “Could you do that to me?”

Simon’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “I’d have to kiss you.”

“Oh. Well, it wouldn’t mean anything, it’s just practical.” 

A spike of panic shot through him at the thought that you believed the same about the kiss you had shared with him. That second one that changed his life.

It was practical, he supposed. At least the first one, underwater with panic in your eyes. The second couldn’t be. He couldn’t make sense of it, refused to accept it. 

But this one could be, he supposed.

He turned to you, unsure what he was looking for. 

You seemed just as uncertain as he felt. You spent a while searching for words, mulling them over, before settling on, “It hurts like hell.”

He was quick to reassure you both that it was fine and he didn’t mind. Simon didn’t much care what he minded. 

But then you sighed, slow and resigned, and gave him a look that if he was reading your expression right, which he’d discovered he often wasn’t, was saying ‘please.’

And he couldn’t disappoint you. 

With a huff and a frustrated look directed at you, he grabbed Finn’s hand and began yanking him back into the water. 

Of course, it would have been easier to simply lure him in, but he had a feeling you would not have approved of that.

So instead he yanked him, slowly but surely, into deeper waters. 

The brush of his lips, however brief, revealed rough lips, not like yours, not soft and sweet and so dear to him.

He did his best to lose the touch in the scramble of pulling him into the water. 

He watched the fight that went on in Finn’s eyes as he tried to convince his brain that he was allowed to breathe, saw the moment of panic when his breath could be held no longer and his body forced him to inhale a heavy breath. 

He knew it was wrong to feel a little swell of satisfaction now that he knew that it hurt to suck in water where air should be, and yet he couldn’t quite muster the shame that should follow such a feeling. 

Only as he saw the pain in his eyes did he realize how horrible of a decision this was for Finn. He’d put himself in so much danger, offered himself up to a siren, for what? To be able to see under the waves for a few more minutes? Surely the man could just go for a swim. 

He didn’t know the truth, that he was probably safer with Simon because at least this way, he’d be left alone by other creatures. He didn’t know that his devotion to you kept him from pulling him down and calling it a freak accident. 

All he knew was that he’d put himself in the water with a starving siren. 

Finn left him behind pretty quickly, moving to investigate the floor of the ocean, trying to look at fish before they swiftly swam away, leaving him behind in cloudy water. 

It felt like an uninteresting affair to Simon but Finn seemed to be getting something from it. 

Some amount of time passed, slipping away as Simon distractedly followed the irritating little human around. 

Eventually, after far too long, he appeared to be done. 

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe Simon pulled him to shore without a signal. It was hard to read body language when one was irritated. 

With another burst of satisfaction, he pulled Finn onto the shore and watched him heave water from his lungs, some of the embarrassment from the human food incident sinking away. 

Strange. He’d never thought it embarrassing when you’d done it. Now, watching Finn deposit ocean water onto the sand with wet hacking noises, he thought that it was a shameful affair. 

“That was incredible,” Finn managed to gasp out after a few minutes of heaving. 

It didn’t feel right, that he’d taken him down there. That his lips had touched Finns.

He turned to look at you, sitting beside him on the shore, a sympathetic grimace on your face as you watched Finn. 

And then he leaned in and kissed you. 

Not a practical kiss, with no intent to put you anywhere near the water, but one born of only affection. 

It was a brief thing and when he pulled away, you looked almost panicked. 

His heart sank at the realization he’d messed it up again, done something strange and wrong and made you afraid of him. 

But then the tension began to fade from your body, panic shifting into confusion.

“Why did you do that? Am I going into the water?”

He shook his head, face still inches from yours. “I just needed to. I’m sorry if I was wrong.”

He heard something from Finn and refused to turn and look at him when you were so close. It sounded almost like a cough, but not the painful, wet coughs of breathing air once more. It was a short stunted thing. 

Simon, without turning, announced in response to this strange noise, “You can leave.”

A fit of laughter escaped you at his words, burying your head in your hands as you giggled.

He hadn’t been joking.

That was fine though. He liked it when you laughed, even if it was at him. It was never cruel, always soft and with nothing but shining amusement in your eyes.

He wished he was better at making jokes.

When he tried you just stood and stared and when he did not you laughed.

But then, he was never the best at knowing when to laugh either. There was a kinship in that, at least.

When he thought he might be laughing out of turn too much, he suppressed it. You didn't. He thought maybe your smile was too bright to keep down, that maybe it would hurt you like keeping in your air did.

His heart sank a little as he remembered.

Hurting you. The horrible realization that he'd hurt them all.

Maybe some of them laughed out of turn too. He'd never know.

Maybe your sister had.

He turned to leave. He couldn't stand to be here any longer.

He should tell you. He knew he should. But his jaw felt locked shut and his body felt like it was being pulled away, out of his control. 

And so, like a coward, he fled, the water drowning out the sounds of laughter that he left behind.

[timothyslucy]

i'm sorry, but there have been too many innuendos hinting that lucy already has, or will have a little bradford bun in her oven by the end of the season, and if you're not on board that's totally fine, but where are my real homies at who want to discuss this possibility with me??? show of hands????? 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

[myoonmii]

Uh oh here comes the half blank- half apocalyptic look

[rosurie]

tw: gun wounds, blood, dead parents

Noé...? no one at the orphanage seems to really know how he ended up there.

no one but Damsel, of course.

this was drawn specifically because @wreckowafer asked me to lol. I hope you enjoy, wafer !!!

BONUS CUTE DOODLE

the moment Damsel was dropped at the orphanage, she adopted Noé like you adopt a pet ♡

[wistfulwatcher]

in an era where every show without record-breaking ratings gets axed immediately, i would just like to say how deeply grateful i am that crazy ex-girlfriend managed to air for four whole seasons and tell one of the most beautiful and moving stories of self-acceptance and love i've ever seen.

i just finished rewatching it (yet again) and every time i do i just think what an absolute shame it would have been if it had been cancelled after one or two (or even three) seasons. because, while it was clever and fun from the beginning, rebecca's mental state required the show to be so boy-crazy that it was a little tough to believe that the show would end up seeing the story through to where we eventually end up. the audience certainly got hints as to its final message early on ("love doesn't need to be a person, it can be a passion"). but because rebecca was rejecting those messages, the audience sort of had to, too. and if the show had been cancelled while rebecca was obsessed with josh? certain that her only path to happiness was romantic love and validation from a man? if we had never seen her truly understand and acknowledge ghost!akopian's words? i'm sure there would have been articles speculating on where the series could have ended up, acknowledging with resigned tones that the show had potential, with the seeds that had been planted.

but god, discussion of "the potential" of the show would have paled in comparison to what we got. because hot damn, did cxg end up doing character growth better than the vast majority of other series. (and not just for rebecca! almost every character in the large ensemble got to grow in a very organic, subversive, and meaningful way!) for a show that was consistently in danger because of their extremely low ratings, it was pretty ballsy of cxg not to rush through rebecca's story to prove its intention. for them to let rebecca be as frustrating and unlikable and unhealthy as she was for so many episodes, simply because they knew how necessary it was to show us the depth of rebecca's mistakes and struggles before she finally sought help and began to heal and grow. and the story was so, so much better and poignant for it. rebecca's season four growth feels very earned, and her end of series resolution to pursue her passion (her true love!) is so satisfying because it feels realistic. the audience has spent four years seeing her love for theater (and how it got tangled up in josh/the idea of romantic love) and when rebecca eventually realizes the same it's such a satisfying sense of finally.

it's an experience that has become painfully rare lately; too many series feel as though they're trying to cram as much into the first season as they can for fear of cancellation, and allowing no room for characters or relationships or story to grow naturally. they don't allow for anything other than the bare minimum plot. their characters can't breathe.

cxg didn't do that. they continued to tell the story they were telling, at the pace at which it needed to be told. and the series was truly phenomenal because of that choice. because of that trust in its own story and characters. cxg is a perfect example of what television can be, how powerful it can be, when it's allowed to be treated like the long-form storytelling medium it is. and i am so grateful for that.

[kagooleo]

doodlin some joh’s