#already grieving the end of this season

[eliwatchesf1alot]

no race weekend:

realised we have a race weekend next week

then the week after that

and the week after that also

but then it will be over

all the exictement

whoever you rooted for will either win or lose

championships will be won

tears will be shed

losses will be greived

some drivers will leave

some will stay

some we'll meet again in different colours

and some we'll see another day

the practice runs

the team orders

the clashes and crashes

the expectations and the surprises

the broken hopes and the fulfilled wishes

the rain

the sun

we did it all

for it to come to this

for the fireworks

for the team hugs

for the smiles

through these miles

for the tears

through these years

for the trophy

for the story

for the glory

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie who kind of flop in life and end up poor, living in a trailer in a different small town living quiet lives of no import.

The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan all seem to take the small handful of opportunities offered to them by the government in the aftermath of the Upsidedown to take off and make something of their lives. They're off writing headlines, making news, and living their lives to the best of their abilities, but Steve and Eddie find themselves stuck.

Steve stayed in Hawkins until the kids graduated and left for college. By then Nancy, Johnathan, and Robin are all in their second or third years of college. John and Nancy have their own apartment in New York together and don't reach out all that often, only seeing the rest of the Hawkins crew on Holidays and some vacations. Robin is flourishing at an all-women's college in Maine and has a partner and a cat and plans for graduate school brewing. She's always saying Steve can come out and join her whenever he's ready, but when the time comes it feels like he would just be trying to insert himself in the middle of a life he doesn't know how to fit into, so he turns to Eddie instead.

Eddie is permanently disabled in a number of ways following the events of season four. He struggles with chronic pain, has breathing issues due to the loss of part of his right lung, and lost enough muscle mass in his left leg that walking will never be easy or done without the use of a walker or arm bar crutches. The doctors said he recovered as well as he could have. The kids said he would get better with time. Wayne said it didn't matter if he never got better, he could do anything he set his mind to.

Steve is the only person who tells him the truth.

Steve tells him that it sucks. Tells him that it will probably always hurt. Doesn't give him false hope when he's trying to grieve the loss of the life he wanted to live. The goals he wanted to reach. When he falls deeper and deeper into himself, stuck in the muck of depression, Steve is the only person he lets in. The kids try their best but their lives are moving fast, and taking care of someone like Eddie is exhausting, no matter what they try to say. Eventually, everyone but Dustin gives up on reaching out, the younger boy showing up every Sunday to try and get Eddie out of the house. He always leaves disappointed.

When Steve asks him if he wants to use what's left of their partly government payouts and Steve's equally meager Family Video savings to buy a truly shitty trailer in a town an hour and a half south of Hawkins in the fall of 1990, it feels like the first boon he's been given in almost five years. He'll never be who he could have been if he had ignored Chrissy that day in 86', but he's always thought maybe he could be more than a ghost between Wayne's walls if he could just get out of this god-forsaken town full of people who know too much and too little of what's happened to him.

They get the trailer, pack what little they have, let Wayne hug them close, and leave.

Steve has already transferred to their new town's Family Video, moving up to claim the dubious honor of being the opening manager. Mostly he just unlocks the door, signs into the computer, and makes sure nothing catches fire. Eddie hoped that moving would miraculously make him fit to enter back into the world, but he spends most of his days with a blanket on the front porch, watching people pass by. He does, though, finally accept that he needs to apply for disability to help Steve keep the lights on and the water hot. That last little bit of hope that he could be what he used to be dies, but he's learning to be content with what he does have. He starts taking a walk, just ten minutes around the loop of the trailer park saying hi and trading polite nods with his fellow residents. He's not ok, but he's starting to build a new community of people not too different from himself.

The new trailer only has one bedroom. Eddie sleeps on a fold-out mattress in the living room. It had been a major argument when they first moved in with Steve insisting that Eddie needed the bed. Eddie argued that it wasn't fair for him to take the room when Steve was the one working 40 hours a week to keep them afloat. In the end, Eddie was the more stubborn of the two. It helps that Eddie has absolutely no qualms about crawling into bed with Steve on the nights when the couch bed really won't cut it for his aching body. Steve never questions it, just shuffles over a little and lets the other man in.

Steve doesn't question a lot of stuff.

He doesn't question when all their effects are shared between them with no effort to distinguish between yours and mine, Eddie's and Steve's. He doesn't question it four months in when Eddie starts to get his feet under him and decides to take up cooking, always trying his best to have everything done just as Steve walks through the door. He doesn't question when a good chunk of Eddie's first disability check goes to buying Steve a sturdy, if not very fashionable, new watch for his birthday since his old one went bust almost a year ago.

He doesn't question it when Eddie holds his hand for the first time under the stars hanging above their front porch.

He doesn't question it when Eddie introduces him to one of his new neighbor friends with a hand resting comfortably on his lower back

He doesn't question it when Eddie starts sleeping in the bedroom every night.

Or makes him box mix cupcakes for Valentine's Day.

Or kisses him for the first time on the couch that's never a bed unless they want to spend the day binge-watching bargain bin films.

Because really, isn't this how it was always going to go? Wasn't this exactly what Steve was asking for when he asked Eddie to skip town with him?

Isn't this what Eddie was hoping for when he said yes?

[comicaurora]

You mentioned in a previous ask about Arcane that wanting to do something better can be a great motivator, but recently I've seen a lot of discussion about fanworks created out of "spite" like Spiderman Lotus or that Transformers fan film. Do you think these come from different feelings, leading to their end result, or that the motivation just needs to be handled carefully?

Ah, I see the confusion. When you have ideas for what a story could do, and then the story goes in a different direction and bypasses what you thought it would do, that can be an incredibly useful motivator for using that unused inspiration for telling your own story. Taking someone else's completed artwork and saying "move over, idiot, I'll show you how it's done" is a recipe for hubristic self-immolation.

Setting out to "fix" someone's work has to be approached very carefully. Artistic criticism is a complicated skill, but it isn't treated that way. Especially in the age of the internet, several wildly different things have been conflated under "criticism", and I think that's why spite-motivated "fixes" almost always end up tripping on their shoelaces and falling flat.

Art critique - "fixing" someone's work - is about figuring out how to make the art the most effective version of itself. Determine what it's going for, and make suggestions for how the artist could improve the execution of that goal. Clarify a confusing moment, change the score a little to be more emotionally impactful, break up the pacing with moments to breathe, tighten up the pacing to maintain the frantic vibes.

However, the broad perception of what art critique is has been bundled together with several other forms of criticism, including snarky reviews (a judgment of quality rendered after a work is completed and aimed at prospective audiences so they don't end up wasting their money), general knee-jerk mockery (it is easy and fun to score points off of other people's sincerity via a little casual bullying), critical analysis (taking apart how a story works to learn from it, a useful approach for other artists trying to improve their own skills) and, of course, fanfiction.

Ahh, fanfiction! If you don't like a story, you can just take the characters, setting, premise, worlbuilding, and the general shape of the plot - ignoring the fact that at this point you've borrowed about 80% of the work that went into building the original story already - and then you can just make the characters do what you wanted instead. If you think Spider-Man would be better if everyone was miserable and grieving a dead buddy the whole time, you can do that! Two hours of misery for everyone!

This approach is ostensibly trying to accomplish what art critique does - to make a better version of the story. But in practice, it's almost never interested in interrogating what the story was actually going for. In fact, it's actively scornful of what the story was going for. It doesn't take it apart to see what did work, it just says "I didn't like that and I could do better" and produces something trying not to be like the original it disliked.

I kind of think of it like this. If you ate a meal and you were like "there's not enough salt in this," you would not produce a better meal by focusing exclusively on loading it down with all the salt you could find, even if you were starting with all the same ingredients. Do you understand how they were put together to begin with? How the meat was brined, how the vegetables were cooked, what seasonings went where? Do you think all it needed to make it work was salt?

So you get fanworks that do indeed focus on the part that the fanartist thought was missing. You get Spider-Man Is A Sad Jerk For Two Hours. It accomplished what the fanartist wanted, but it fails in its true goal of being Like The Original But Better, because it never actually made the effort to understand what made the original tick. Why do people like Spider-Man in his other movies? Well, there's lots of reasons that work for different audiences - he's funny, he's good-hearted, he's graceful and well-choreographed, his fight scenes are fluid and exciting, his dynamic with the people of New York is lively and comedic, he's hapless and hurting but he always tries his best, he gets knocked down but he always gets back up-- there are many reasons to like these stories. But if all you can focus on is what you wanted them to add, you'll have a lot of trouble parsing out what functional elements you'll need to carry over into your fanfiction to not lose the core of what made it actually mostly work.

If all you focus on is accentuating the bits you wanted them to do without recognizing the parts that were working fine, you end up with a heaping plate of salt.

✨ as the ask states, this post is very specifically about spite-motivated "I can do it better than the writers" fanworks and not fanfiction in general ✨

[goldenwoods]

This post is about the gaiman situation.

Right off the bat, fuck him and his associates. It's rare for someone in a position of power to get what they deserve but I hope he joins that short list. And I wish the victims well. What a horrible situation to be abused by a man masquerading as a champion for inclusivity and human rights.

That said, I don't understand the vitriol put towards people who're trying to recontextualise their relationship to gaiman's media in light of the revelations. I'm talking about those posts and comments getting angry at people for grieving, accusing them of not prioritising the victims.

Which is such an unwarranted accusation. Obviously, if they're under a post or article about the victim's testimony and they go "my season 3 :(((" or "my poor characters don't deserve this :("in the comment section then yeah, they're pretty disgusting. But the same accusations shouldn't be levied at people trying to come to terms with the fact that their formative experience was written by a monster ON THEIR OWN BLOG.

This isn't putting fictional characters before victims, it's just that there can't be much said about such a black and white situation that isn't already said by a million other posts ("fuck gaiman, fuck his supporters, hope the victims get justice"), whereas how a reader themselves deal with the fall of someone they've put on a pedestal is a much more complicated and nuanced process that they have to think through. If anything, I think it's a sign of a healthy community who treat 'fuck gaiman' as common sense and not something that needs arguments about. I don't know if there are ways to help the victims yet beyond just showing support on social media (let me know if i've missed something), but I don't think going after any fan daring to talk about their own relationship to the text is helpful at all. And I can guarantee you those who're grappling with how they feel towards the text now –– those feeling betrayed and angry –– will be quick to rally to support the victims because they're only feeling conflicted because of how disgusted they are with the author.

(For context, I don't feel attached to Gaiman at all so this is not related to any personal stakes I have in this. I enjoyed GO the show, but never read or watched any of his works otherwise. I was planning to get a copy of GO the book but the allegations surfaced first so that didn't end up happening either. I am partial to David and Michael's acting but even then I'm just a casual fan and if they react in a disappointing way to the Gaiman situation, I feel like I could stop consuming their works without much emotional turmoil.)

EDIT: since this is getting a fair bit of attention, i want to summarise my midnight ramble a bit: the crux of the problem is that lots of people treat this blogspace as a mega-conversation, which is how the 'you're not focussing on the victims enough' accusation come up. Think if you're in a conversation about how person A had been hurt by B: OF COURSE your response should be 'gosh that's fucked up. hope A's doing okay', and if your response ON THE SPOT is 'ohhhhh shit i don't know how to feel about the fact that I used to really like B lemme monologue about my complicated emotions out loud' then yeah you're the problem. But if you respond compassionately but spend a sizeable amount of time afterwards in your own head ruminating over how you used to think B was a really good person? ...then you're just a normal human being with a moral compass. Tumblr is the latter and not the former. It's the collection of dumping grounds for people's thoughts, not an online forum that give you a measure of where people's priorities are.

[sepublic]

“And Luz, thank you, for being in my life.”

-

“Luz, I’m so happy I had you as a big sister.”

-

“Looks like we’re gonna be split up again. I feel like I should be used to this feeling by now, but... I still don’t know what to say.”

“Oh. I know what I should have said. I should have thanked them.”

“Eda, King. Thank you, for everything.”

The fact that all three of them had to say goodbye to each other at the end of their respective seasons, resigned to their fate as they thanked them. But it's Luz who breaks the tragic pattern of pain, in this case not being able to say thanks as a goodbye... Only to be able to say it as an affirmation of their bond when they are reunited! Likewise...

-

"But we're a family! Us weirdoes have to stick together, remember?"

"You have a family already. Go back to them."

-

"We gotta stick together. We gotta stick together!"

"I'm sorry, not this time."

-

"Weirdoes?"

"Weirdoes."

At the end of each season, Luz repeated "Us weirdoes have to stick together" only for a grieving Eda and King to refuse it. But the last time Luz says it, they finally get to return and affirm the bond they taught her.

[sennerixx]

What bugs me most is when people say Stolas is "falling out of love with Blitz" just because he's not smooching Blitz to death or reciprocating the affection Blitz is giving to him in the final two eps. No.

Love doesn't magically cure depression, no matter how much love someone can be given, unfortunately.

His life before "MASTERMIND" was already a shit hole, in the throes of losing Blitz and the Stella scenario, the only good thing that ever happened to him was his daughter, Via. He says in "SINMAS", "You have always been the only good thing in my life," he's desperate at this point, desperate not to lose something so precious to him and a reminder he's probably not taken his medication since he was "exiled" so he's probably already "unstable" in the sense he's not what Via is used to.

After the scene with Via and Stolas, Stolas is most likely dead set on thinking Via hates him. He's crushed and is blaming himself for everything, especially after not being able to explain. He feels that he's completely lost his daughter, forever (while I'm hoping this isn't the case) at this moment it feels like it.

Perhaps it might've gone better if Stella allowed the phone call (though we all know that was never going to happen) and Stolas had a chance to explain himself.

While yes, it was his choice to save Blitz and take the blame. Stolas didn't do it to get away from her, he didn't even know how she'd act to it, it was an in-the-moment choice that Stolas didn't get time to think through and bear in mind, Stolas went to save Blitz with the idea that this was it, he was going to die to save Blitz, he wouldn't even be around to apologize to Via.

Going back to my first point, love doesn't magically cure depression, it takes a lot of time and can be very draining to deal with. Throughout the episode, we can see how exhausted Stolas is.

As a person who's suffered with this myself, depression is different for every person but I do know it won't magically go away just because you're in a relationship. While it can make you feel better, it's not a miracle cure.

Depression is something that lingers and takes patience, time, and a lot of gooddamn resilience to conquer, and even then, people still have their shitty days, who doesn't?

It annoys me when people have such black-and-white views on things or only see what they want to see, if some people took a moment to take a step back and actually reevaluate the situation, they'll find what I'm saying.

I'm not surprised Stolas didn't return the hug at the end because he's still grieving the loss of his daughter and Vias grieving the apparent loss of her father, he's still feeling like the shittest person in hell, still processing all these feelings and everything that's happened all while dealing with depression and an already serious shitty lack of self esteem, motivation and confidence in himself.

What im trying to say, Stolas isn't falling out of love with Blitz, he just needs time to heal, recover, and readjust to the new lifestyle he's been thrown into.

And with fingers crossed, work things out with Octavia in the next season.

[devilmademewriteit]

Let Me Love You Like A Woman (Let Me Hold You Like A Baby)

part 3 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you’re in his place. you’re in his bed. will joel ever be anything more than your dad’s friend who occasionally fucks his frustrations into you, or will you always be strangers?

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [m receiving] fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long hair; pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel); dubcon (power imbalance); age gap; dbf!joel; angst; mentions of murder and torture.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites loml forever

word count: 4.1k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click here to read part 1, Dark but Just a Game. 

Click here to read part 2, Pretty When You Cry. 

(neither are totally necessary if u just wanna read some filth, fluff, n angst, all u rly need to know is that they’ve fucked twice before & he’s dad’s best friend lol).

a/n: thank u for all the support on this series. i’m literally so obsessed with all of you it’s not even funny. enjoy this while we collectively grieve the end of the season, & i’ll be here writing fic in the meantime. Don’t forget to join the taglist for any and all upcoming work! -em <333333

—

It had taken all of ten seconds for you to lose your shirt, your jeans, and your most beloved pair of (now ruined) panties after stepping foot in Joel Miller’s apartment.

“‘Fuckin’ soaked already—been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

And those tantalizing fingers. They were third on the list of things you thought about when you touched yourself, right after his cock and the insatiable look that haunted his eyes when he was inside you. Joel’s talents were wasted as a smuggler—he’d have made a fantastic pianist or maybe a guitarist with the way that index and that damned thumb conspired to make you sing for him.

“Anyone else touch you here since me?“ “No, Joel—just you—only you.” “Attagirl.”

He’d gotten you fully naked (something he’d never bothered to do before) and writhing in his grip in a matter of seconds, laying rough kisses down your spine with patience and attention. Every single one was a spoken promise: I’m coming back for you.

“Look at you, baby, takin’ a real man all by yourself.”

Hands on your hips, knees pressed to the worn-in mattress—every other word in the English language omitted itself from your vocabulary as Joel drew his name from your lips over and over and over again, the thick length of his cock easing you to oblivion with every gratifying stroke.

“Gonna make this pussy come til’ you’re begging me to stop, sweetheart.”

Feeling his cum drip down your thigh, barely having a second to breathe before being manhandled onto your back, hands searching your body, mapping you out like a foreign land before taking him in again. “It aches, Joel.” Crying softly into his neck, tears of pain and ecstasy leaking down your cheeks. “M’jus’ breakin’ you in, angel.” The smell of his hair anchoring your senses to right here, right now as release washes over you again and again and oh, Joel’s hands on the outsides of your thighs to steady your shaking legs.

“Eyes up baby, wanna see ‘em while I’m comin’ on that pretty face.”

Joel tasted like salt and sin and his stickiness on your cheeks felt warm like a late august sun. Watching you blink your lust-filled and trust-filled eyes, grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair, Joel memorized the way your pouting mouth looked painted with his seed. Thick, dark eyebrows creasing together as a groaned ‘fuckin’ hell’ fell from his open lips—with you, he became an artist, and with him, you were a blank canvas.

Now, the moonlit room was quiet; with every primal need purged from both your systems, your exhausted bodies lay entangled, empty and content. Joel’s heartbeat had settled a few minutes after yours—you’d made note of it with your ear pressed to his chest. But every twitch or fidget from the hand resting on the curve of your waist had your own rhythm picking up double-time, sending hot blood coursing through every now-aching limb.

“You should go,” he grumbles after a while, eyes still closed, body still at rest. Fucking you had basically rendered the man comatose. “Your dad’ll raise hell if he sees an empty bed.”

You scoff. “It’s not like he’s ever cared before—remember when Emma and I snuck out to the old mall and I radio’ed him to get us out?” Joel chuckles, remembering the fond memory. After all, it had been him and not your old man who’d shown up to kick down those crumbling cinema doors, partly rescuing you but mostly reaming you out for being such a careless, stupid teenager.

“And either way, Miller, I’m an adult.”

This time, it’s Joel’s turn to scoff. “Jus’ ‘cause you’re legal, dun’ make you an ‘adult.’ You still whine like a kid.”

You giggle softly as he mocks your indignant tone, feeling the lungs beneath you rumble subtly, too.

Joel was always softest and at his most vulnerable after sex. Well, aren’t all men the same? You figured it was just the nature of the act that left its participants a little more tender and a little less inhibited after its completion. It was strange to remember that Joel was a man like any other.

And the man that you’d allowed to ruin you so skillfully, to burn himself on the archives of your mind, somehow remained a complete mystery to you. He was a tangled web of stifled emotions, unspoken sentences, and chilling stories you’d heard from your inebriated father.

If there was any time to untangle him, it was now.

Joel’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat, and yours, too. What a shame that he hadn’t removed it earlier. He was so very impatient when it came to fucking you, and despite having enough patience this time to get you naked, he didn’t bother to give himself that same treatment. At this point, you felt too self-conscious to ask, pretty well certain that he’d turn down your request, anyways. Peeling your profile from the navy blue fabric, you gaze up at him inquisitively, a steadying hand pressed tentatively against his broad chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your voice sounds small, like that of a scared child. It makes you cringe.

“Hmph,” he grunts, eyes firmly closed.

Better than nothing. A start.

“Well,” you begin, painfully slowly, tracing timid circles under his collarbone, “Sometimes, I think—”

“S’great, sweetheart,” he interjects in mock earnestness. “Good for you.”

“Knock it off, Miller,” you slap his shoulder playfully. A sly, amused expression teases his features.

After a long, heavy pause, with only the trickling and creaking of the old building occupying it, you soldier on.

“Sometimes, I think that when you’re… well, fucking me… you, well, you kind of use me to—vent.” There. You’d said it. “Like, your frustrations.”

A long exhalation escapes Joel’s lips as he mulls over your words, choosing eventually to respond with cautious and dismissive humor.

“This your way of askin’ me if you’re more’n my human Xanax?”

“No, asshole.”

He hums quietly. The distant sound of a gunshot travels through the open window, dragging you both back to the present moment.

A forced sigh. “I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to get off your mind.”

Joel tenses almost imperceptibly underneath you, an air of seriousness collecting around him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grumbles, amusement fading from his tone. “M’not really interested in talkin’ about our feelings together.”

The harshness of his words only entices you to push him again, to understand the man who so clearly understood you. There was something there–likely many things there–that he had fucked into you. Things that you now need to know. Things calling to you like an abandoned childhood home.  

You want to pull him into yourself, crawl under his very skin and exist there for a minute or two. In his bed, in his place, and you’re still worlds apart.

“I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings, Miller. I just want to know that I’m not letting, like, a total, raging maniac climb between my knees.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes flit open, and as soon as they do, you recognize the vacant, apathetic expression that had characterized him for you all these years. He grunts, pushing himself up on his elbows, and you sit up, yanking at the tangled sheets to cover yourself.

“Ever been outside the QZ, sweetheart?” He asks, his poorly restrained temper slicing through his words.

Looking down at your hands, you trace the cream-colored creases stretching along the blanket, shaking your head no, side to side.

“S’right. Not a single man on this planet that’s not a total, raging maniac. Enough fear, thirst, or hunger…” something truly terrifying creeps onto his expression, a vision of darkness, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Not with soldiers, not with your father, not even with Joel.

“Everyone’s a killer.”

You swallow slowly, trailing your eyes up to meet his charged gaze. The room feels cold.

“Are you?”

His shadowed eyes narrow with irritation. “Am I what, sweetheart?”

“A killer.”

Then it’s regret and violence corrupting his features, and before you know it, Joel Miller is somewhere else. It takes a long time for him to come back to you (if you can even pretend to claim that Joel had ever been with you in the first place).

He hesitates, huffing quickly with frustration and looking away for a brief moment before focussing back on you—conceding to your question with a quick nod.

An acidic taste collects on your tongue, but his answer isn’t surprising. You’d always known in some way that Joel had taken lives. Still, it felt strange to hear him acknowledging it, to see the pain that admitting to it caused him. His actions actually bothered him. That meant he had a soul in some jagged, twisted form and that certain things could affect it. Thinking about that made your temples hurt.

“For what reason?”

You can’t help it—you’d come this far, and it felt like failure to quit prying. It doesn’t matter that Joel’s a grenade with no safety lever. You know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes, but you’d grown up diffusing your father daily. Bombs were your specialty.

“Does it matter?”

Upstairs, the floorboards creak softly. It almost makes you jump.

“I think so.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with irritation. Otherwise, he stays surprisingly level. Some hopeful part of you tries to whisper that some softer part of him actually wants you to get under his skin.

“Alright.” You stare at him, stunned at his forfeiture, as he breathes a dark, humorless laugh. “But you’re gonna hate me for my answer.”

There’s a loaded pause as you gape expectantly at him. His head falls back, eyes fixed to the chipping, washed-out ceiling.

“In the early days of the outbreak, before FEDRA had the QZs figured out… things weren’t easy. You gotta understand that.” His gravelly voice cuts through the room’s silence, vibrating through your stilled body. “I’ve killed, tortured, n’hurt more people’n I can count. Sometimes to save myself, sometimes someone else, ‘n other times… other times jus’ because. And,” he groans, laying his back against the pillows as his harrowing monologue comes to a close, “It wasn’t always life or death, either.”

You pull the sheets in close to your chest, shuddering partly due to his words, partly due to his delivery. As if he was warning you. As if he wanted you to hear the truth and…

And punish him for it.

With his eyes shutting again, he can’t see you studying him. He’s probably assumed that a look of abject horror has poisoned your complexion. As you angle yourself to view his resting body—the pained expression causing his eyebrows to furrow, lips pressed tightly together—an overwhelming rush of adoration expands in your lungs, swelling inexplicably and uncontrollably in your chest. Your thoughts blare at full blast inside your racing mind.

Joel was capable; he had blood lust and an inner violence that meant he felt, deeply, and he’d die—or even better, kill—for those he loved. He was…

Joel was perfect.

Maybe it was a fucked up thing to feel—maybe it meant that you needed to be studied by a team of psychiatrists. Either way, the thought of his agonized soul, carrying on out of sheer spite and a reluctant desire to protect his own had you melting at his side. Joel wasn’t static, unfeeling, or a ghost, he was real, and he was alive. Growing up in a near-dead world haunted by once vibrant cities had made that trait alone extremely precious.

He remains still while you move his arm, wiggling next to him to sit back on your calves and looming over his unyielding form. Maybe he thinks you’ve pulled a gun on him and is just giving you a chance to pull the trigger.

Dropping the pale sheet from your breasts, you caress Joel’s harsh jaw in one hand, sneaking the other down, down his stomach and under the waistband of his briefs.

His eyes surge open, finding yours and filling with confusion. You burn with affection, a kind of fierceness that wasn’t there before.

Brow creasing, eyelids fluttering as he hardens in your grasp. You wordlessly entice him once again, bowing down and over to press tender kisses to his neck.

“I could never hate you, Joel Miller.”

He whimpers softly as you stroke him—tantalizingly slow in big, long pulls—it makes your heart flutter to hear him whine for you. 

A refreshing reversal of roles.

You ease your way down, trailing your lips down his scarred side and over to his front, exploring the strip of grey hair marking the center of his abdomen.

Joel watches you, longing on his lips, but the uncertainty still lingers. You need him to listen.

“I’d kill and torture if it meant survival—” you arrive at his hard length, pumping it in your hand right next to your softened features.

“And I would kill and torture for you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you part your lips around the tip of his cock, drinking in his fascination as you take him in slowly, wholly. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses the back of your throat. 

Once again, you’re filled with Joel. 

A soft hiss, and then his face becomes a symphony of pleasure, disbelief, and, finally, hunger. His large hand caresses the back of your head, capable fingers tangling softly in your hair as you glide up and down his length, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and your own acidity on his satin-smooth skin.

He only parts from your stare when you draw lazy, adoring circles around his tip, throwing his head back and grinding out a ‘Jesus Christ.’

It’s almost too much for him when you start using your hands, making it your life’s purpose to eagerly please every inch, every square millimeter of him. You drag your tongue from the base of his length all the way up to the top, silver-lined eyes boring intensely into his own.

“Shoulda let you do this sooner,” he breathes, gently pushing your head down until your nose brushes against those dark, curly hairs. “Look so fuckin’ pretty with a mouth full of cock.”

There he is.

You pull off him, strings of saliva trailing down from your lips to the glistening tip of his length. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

In a haze, perfectly slowly, Joel throws his head back with a low growl. You stroke him affectionately, spit and his own salt collecting between your fingers as you wait patiently for his reply.

Then he pushes himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his rough hands around your upper arms and easing you up off his length. “Not this time, baby.” You’re straddling him, taking in the unfamiliar care spoiling his tone and softening his hard features when he leans forward, locking you in place like a missing puzzle piece he’d spent his whole damn life searching for. His cock rests between your bodies, pressing exquisitely against your abdomen.

“Only got one more in me, sweetheart. M’not plannin’ on wastin’ it.”

He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks between them like some kind of priceless, fascinating object. It all feels so paradoxical: innocent despite the filthiness of his words, gentle despite the forest fires blazing in his gaze. Searching your eyes, he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. 

And he kisses you.

It’s not bruising at first—it’s a soft, curious question, an experiment. The grey-flecked hair of his mustache brushes the crescent of your Cupid’s bow, and the feeling almost brings you to tears. So you lean into it, deepening the kiss with hard pressure, searching for the answer on his tongue. That’s when his hands tangle in your hair, and his lips steal the oxygen right out from your lungs as he reciprocates fiercely.

It’s like watching a prisoner take his first steps out into the sun after being held in isolation for a decade. You wonder if it had been that long for Joel.

Without breaking away, you trail a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt. Then, you’re grabbing it from the bottom and hitching it up his abdomen. He pulls away just a half-inch to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, his own marked with apprehension.

“I want all of you,” you plead breathlessly, sliding off his starved lips.

Joel ducks his head, staring at the meeting place between your fingers and his cotton.

“If…” he tries, words clumsy, voice gruff. A bit of bashful humour underscores his tone, too. “F’I let that happen, you’ll see that I’m really jus’ an old man, angel.” You begin to protest, having come prepared with another I-like-them-old-and-decrepit speech, but he cuts you off, anticipating your reaction. “Jus’ been a long time since I looked fit enough for somethin’ like you.”

It’s almost too ridiculous. Joel Miller, worried about how you’ll receive his appearance after you’d deep-throated him for admitting to Geneva-convention levels of violent crime.

This time, it's your turn to cup his face, cradling him reverently between your hands with passionate devotion.

“You and me might be different on the outside,” you begin, surprising yourself with the conviction dripping from your own tone. “But deep down? I’m just as rotten as you.”

His mouth breaks into a genuine smile, and he chuckles, creases lining the corners of his eyes as if carved there by God’s own hand. Nodding with concession, he shrugs his shirt off; you reach out to help him to pull it off entirely.

Scars, definition, and tan skin stretch with every shaky breath he takes. Fuck. The tips of your fingers explore him, honoured by the feel of likely being the first in ages to claim this spot, and that one, and this one here, too–Joel’s turned you into a conquistador, a crusader.

“You’re so, so handsome, Joel.”

It’s not enough to see him, wholly exposed, flesh-blood-skin-scars-and-muscle. Nothing’s ever made you feel so safe and so warm; Joel is a worn-out, hand-me-down jacket that you can’t seem to part with; he’s candles during a thunderstorm, a thick blanket begging you to wrap yourself in it. You want him on you, against you, inside you.

So you take the man, and you kiss him—ardently.

His breathing hitches when you grasp his length, and it stops completely when you slide it between your slick folds, pulling every inch of him inside yourself appreciatively. You swallow his groan as he inhales your gasp.

Your hips move together in tandem. Rocking against his thighs as his hands anchor into your hair, or on your breasts, your ass, your waist—Joel holds you as close to himself as physically possible, threatening to crush you between his arms, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a starving kind of need.

Old habits die hard. Joel gets swept up in the way you start struggling to kiss him back, the involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your helpless fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Sliding his hands under your ass, he holds your hips steady. Then, he’s spreading you open to receive him more readily, dictating the rhythm, the angle, and the brutality of how he fucks you.

Ruining you to completion was quickly becoming an addiction.

He smiles against your mouth when you give him a muffled “mmm,” releasing your lips to watch, a captivated audience, as your eyebrows knit together, relishing the sound of your lungs filling with short, pleading gasps.

“Gonna be bruised inside n’ out, baby.” Joel’s promise barely registers over the clap of his skin against yours and your own wanton moans. A thoroughly cock-drunken expression and the worship of his name on your tongue win you some hard-earned praise.

“Taken me so many times tonight—been such a good lil’ toy.”

Your lips slide down the stubble and the rough skin of his cheek, limp body giving out with every punishing snap of his hips. Still, you attempt speech, stammering out a “Joel, I-I want—” that’s mostly unintelligible.

“I know, baby,” he coos, words muffled by your hair, hot breath fanning out over the valley of your neck. “S’hard to use your words when you’re jus’ so full, huh?”

After finding the strength to straighten up and face him, your mouth moves from its permanent ‘ah’ shape to string together a pleading, desperate sentence. Joel doesn’t make it easy for you, picking up the intensity of his strokes, dragging you to the edge of bliss.

“I wanna—I want you to show me how to ride you—to take you—please—let me make you come.”

He laughs softly into your shoulder: the sight and the sound of a woman begging to do the work was a kind of rarity (albeit an appreciated one, at his age) in his experience. Acquiescing, he lowers you back onto his broad thighs, slowing his rhythm, and giving you a chance to catch your shallow, uneven breath.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

Like a true cocky bastard, Joel leans back against the mess of strewn pillows, casually tucking his hands behind his head and leaving you to steady yourself on top of him, velvet walls still fluttering and squeezing adoringly around him.

You hold yourself up with your palms pressed flat against his chest. Rock slowly and carefully against his hips, observe the sight of your fingernails pressing into his unyielding chest. A whimper tumbles from your sore, parted lips as Joel’s tip nudges your inner-most sensitive spot.

“Eyes on me.”

Hardened hands reach out to circle your waist. “You look at me when you’re riding,” he instructs.

“Show me how grateful you are for this cock.”

His voice is strict and firm but gentle all the same. Joel relaxes underneath you. It feels good—so good—to watch your body undoing his own; it feels even better when he flexes involuntarily inside you, stretching open your sore, aching, and somehow still needy cunt. Locked into his lustful, dominant gaze, you speed up, throwing your hips back to grind enthusiastically against him. He watches first your eyes and then your breasts, palming them, teasing your hardened nipples roughly.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

Low and gravelly and filthy, his question looms over your body, only adding to the soft thud drumming inside the eager bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

He makes you realize that you really, really do.

You nod eagerly at him; Joel gives you a knowing expression of sympathy.

He never could help his condescension at watching you crumble so easily from so little.

“Show me, angel.”

So you do–Joel holds you steady as your hand falls to your clit, drawing clumsy circles over that one aching spot. Your fingers are frustratingly unskilled compared to his, but at this level of arousal, you’ll do anything to ease that mounting pressure. You focus hard, multitasking through your euphoria.

Him watching as you pleasure yourself excites you. Squeezing him harder, riding him with newfound passion—Joel groans as his long-awaited orgasm builds between his thighs, watching you bounce up and down his tense, throbbing length. His darkening eyes beckon you to keep going, to tip him over the edge.

You want to fall into them when he comes inside you.  

He knocks your hand away, replacing your index and middle fingers with a broad, calloused, impatient thumb against your grateful bud. “Ohmygod–Joel–” and the rush worsens, his fingers acting as catalysts for the all-too-familiar sensations spreading across your core.

“With me, baby,” his voice is gruff, restrained by need, want, lust. “Lemme feel you comin’ when I fill you up���s’it, good fuckin’ girl–”

Tears collect on your lashes, and a sob heaves from your throat. You reach your climax for him, the ache from your clit spreading to overtake every inch of your body. Joel comes too. He tucks your head into the soft, damp skin of his neck and fists the hair at the back of your head. Your legs ache with absence the moment he pulls his fingers away from your core. Still, his only instinct as his seed spills between your walls is to pull you into himself as tightly as possible, to intertwine himself wholly and eternally with your young, devoted soul.

He doesn’t let you move after it’s over. One arm circles your waist, the other snakes up your back; it feels like standing at the base of the pearly gates of heaven. When his laborious exhales brush the top of your spine, it’s those damn angels sighing.

And it feels like he’s here. It feels like you’ve landed somewhere together, no longer strangers but something else. Something new. Something stronger. Sweeter. And worlds more dangerous.

Joel Miller running his thumb up and down the plunge of your neck. Joel Miller cursing himself for allowing you to take a hammer and chisel to the walls he’d spent painstaking years putting up, eternities before you were even born.

Joel Miller realizing that he can’t find it in himself to let you leave.

“For the record, sweetheart—I’d torture n’ kill for you, too.”

You have no trouble believing him, smiling softly against his shoulder.

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @daydreamerblues @spacelatinos4life @totallynotastanacc @honeycovered-bandaids @daddy-din @cedricbitch @tiredbuthappy @sweetpea99 @ghostfanwriter @daixylie @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @inkedells @ayehomo @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett

—

Tumblr on mobile loves to destroy my fics by screwing with the last few hundred words SO here are the lyrics to Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana Del Rey lmao <3

I come from a small town, how about you? I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want you to come Eighty miles North or South will do I don't care where as long as you're with me And I'm with you and you let me

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in poems and songs Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me hold you like a baby

I come from a small town far away I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want (need) you to come I guess I could manage if you stay It's just if you do I can't see myself having any fun, so

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity

We could get lost in the purple rain Talk about the good old days We could get high on some pink champagne Baby, let me count the waves

Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman

—

[la-muerta]

[ENG SUB + Translation] Hou Minghao's farewell message to Zhao Yuanzhou, 16 Nov 2024

"There's always a breeze or two in the mortal world that can send me on beautiful dreams for 18,000 miles."

This trip in the mortal world is a journey that I, Zhao Yuanzhou, had to make.

A one-word spell: Dream. Now, let me tell you a story...

In the Great Wilderness, everyone knows me, and everyone sees me as the Great Demon that has committed every evil deed, deserving of death. But I made the unexpected choice to enter the fray with sworn enemies, old friends, and new acquaintances, embarking on a new path investigating cases and hunting demons together. To voluntarily sign a contract that decided my death date... most people would think that is an ill-omened beginning. But to me it was a relief, to finally be free of the prison that was of my own making...

Fate bound our demon hunting team together, and as we solved cases together, we got to know each other's true hearts. Some amongst us conquered might with gentleness, some amongst us were full of righteousness, some soft-hearted despite our tough exterior, some are lively troublemakers, some holding on to a true heart. Such a motley crew coming together and the only thing they seemed to be able to agree on was: that I wasn't to be trusted. They know me as Zhao Yuanzhou, but they can't forget all the evil I did as a Great Demon. But it didn't matter since I didn't hold much hope for myself as well, so all these other emotions didn't mean anything to me.

If you asked why I came here, I would tell you it's because I am the Great Demon Zhu Yan, forced to bear the burden of being born as a "vessel". I lost control and made an unredeemable mistake, and only death can eliminate the pain in my heart. Living is torture; Death is the gift of relief. However, I also wanted to give myself a chance at redemption, a boat rowing against the current.

Along the way, the demon hunting team encountered many complicated cases, but we worked hand in hand to solve them and the blades that we had pointed towards each other were turned towards the outside. Sworn enemies became comrades in arms, and as we took one step closer to saving the world, we also uncovered wounds that had already scarred over. As we saw each other's past wounds more clearly, we saw the past laughter that was used to hide the pain. Those who had a responsibility to protect found themselves unable to, those bearing the burdens of upholding the family's honour were just trapped in a dream, and those should have grown up with no worries found their world turned upside down overnight...

If you have a nightmare, someone might comfort you by saying don't worry, everything that happens in a dream is inverted. But what if it's a beautiful dream? Everything I'd experienced felt so real to me. As I journeyed on, I began to get lost in the dream. I started to wonder, what was I going to do if I was the one who lost everyone else in the end? I have to confess, I began to feel reluctant to part with everyone...

The lonely boat travels across the bitter seas, but friendship caused waves to rise in a heart that had died. Along the way, we mended each other bit by bit. What I have experienced is too beautiful for the other "me" to ever understand. The wish to enjoy the passing seasons and happiness of an ordinary life held great hidden strength, so that even though I already knew the ending, I did not give up the struggle. Because of all of you, I was driven not just by my thoughts of despair, but by my desire to protect all of you.

Be it the Great Wilderness or the mortal realm, everything must return to its original path. If you grieve over the fact that Zhu Yan did not get a chance to choose, then I will tell you that it was only a dream. If you are looking forward to embarking on a new journey with Zhao Yuanzhou's companions, then you have to wake up to hear the rest of the story. By the way, don't forget what I said – in the future, when it rains, that means I've come to accompany you. Turn the boat around and think of it as a big dream. On the other shore, someone is searching for me. A one-word spell: Wake.

The days I spent with Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, confining myself to my shell and experiencing a life seeking an inevitable end, but I also felt the redemption in the countdown. For an actor, this was a very special creative process. The director's help, encouragement, and trust played a huge role in letting me experience this unique and meaningful role of Zhao Yuanzhou. He gave me a lot of room to interpret the one and only Zhao Yuanzhou, and with this support, I was able to accompany Zhao Yuanzhou through this journey, and finally entrust him to you, the audience, with peace of mind.

Also unforgettable were our companions who were with us every step of the way, and the process of everyone coming together in the creative process is very enjoyable, very satisfying, very worthwhile, and I will remember those scenes vividly. I will miss the Great Wilderness, the Demon Hunting Bureau, and the Kunlun Mountains... places where we left our joys and sorrows. Thanks to Wen Xiao, Xiao Zhuo-daren, Pei Sijing, Xiao Jiu, Ying Lei – because of our little demon hunting squad, Zhao Yuanzhou left knowing he was loved. Thank you to my ride-or-die Li Lun, we didn't forget our oath to protect the Great Wilderness. Thank you to my dear friend Zhao Wan'er, and Grandpa Yingzhao, who gave Yuanzhou the rare warmth of familial affection! Last but not least, I would like to thank all the crew behind the scenes for their hard work over the past few months. I have woken up from the dream, but my heart will always remember.

Signed, Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, with remorse but no regrets

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Joe Cool

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): fighting, brief mention of physical abuse, aggressive cussing, angst

The comeback fic long as fuck so I’m not proofreading more than once :)

—————————————

Halloween was my favorite holiday. A time for spooky movies and fall decor. Fun candies and dressing up to party. Nothing was better, especially when the leaves began to change and fall from the trees. And in New Jersey, it was one of the most beautiful times of the year. At least I thought.

The leaves bad barely begun to change before I could feel my season turning sour. Will, my boyfriend, had never been a great guy, but the last slivers of hope I’d been clinging to were beginning to slip from my hands. He insulted me in front of his friends, called me names, grabbed me too hard. I kept telling myself it was just the way he was. That we played hard. That he’d learned it from his father. He just needed time to fix himself. But the longer I stayed the worse it got.

Our last argument was over Halloween costumes. I’d given him weeks, and countless ideas to choose from. I couldn’t say why it was the straw that broke the camels back, but when he kept saying nothing sounded good, I had finally lost it. We fought long and hard the night we broke up, before I had finally kicked him out of my apartment. Will was an awful human anyhow. My best friend had always told me as much. I just never listened.

Weeks passed, and I kept myself distracted with the friends I had close. A few of my girls came over, as well as Jack, from time to time. Well… especially Jack.

“So, I know it’s still a little early and stuff but..” Jack paused as he picked up a slice of pizza and set it on his plate, swiftly returning to my living room. “You plan on going out for Halloween?”

I shrugged at the question.

“All my girl friends already coordinated their costumes. I don’t wanna fifth wheel any of them.” I really wasn’t too worried. The breakup had killed my excitement for the holiday anyhow. I waited for Jack to sit before I stretched my legs across his lap. “What are you going as?”

“Haven’t decided. I was gonna go with Luke but he got sick so.. I’m solo this year.” A soft chuckle fell from the boy’s lips. “And Nico is doing some weird thing with Timo.”

“Poor Jackie,” I teased, earning a playfully scolding look from him. We’d put on some Disney Halloween movie, but neither of us had paid much attention to it. We sat in silence for a moment before Jack looked up from his plate, watching me.

“You know Nico said you could come to the Devils party.” He offered.

“Jack-“

“The girls miss you. They haven’t seen you since you got with that Asshole. And I miss partying with you too.” The mention of Will made my eyes fall back to my plate.

“I don’t have anyone to dress up with.” I gasped as Jack pinched my ankle in response. I leaned forward and swatted at him in retaliation.

“Me!” He shouted through laughter, trying to shield himself. Once his words registered, I relaxed. “Me! You can dress up with me.” His concerned expression shifted into peace once he realized I was done attacking him.

“I don’t know.”

“Look, you don’t have to go, but I’d love to see you there. Everyone would.”

I sat in silence and mulled over the idea. What if it was too early? What if I ended up crying halfway through the night? How would I find a costume?

“Jack.. what would we even go as?”

“Easy.” His quick response surprised me. “Your favorite Halloween movie.”

“Huh?”

“Snoopy and Woodstock.” He spoke as if it was obvious. “Charlie brown?” I felt guilty about how quickly my eyes lit up. Like I wasn’t even grieving the loss of a dear lover.

“I have always wanted to do that.”

“I know.” Jack knew. Of course he did. He always did.

“God. I should have dated you instead.” The words slipped from my mouth as a joke, and my eyes fell back to my plate, completely missing the sad look in Jack’s eyes. I took a small bite of pizza, still considering the idea. “If I did go, I’d get to be Woodstock.” I laid out my only condition, half expecting Jack to say no. As if he was anything like my ex.

“I like snoopy.” His easy agreement took me by shock once again.

“You’d really let me be Woodstock?”

“Yes, of course.” Jack smiled. “You’ve got me all excited now, which means you have to go.”

“Okay, but-“

“Nope. You’re going.”

And just like that it was decided.

——

Jesper’s girlfriend had joined me in my apartment to get ready for the party. She was busy doing her makeup to be Jewel from Rio, while I dusted on a light layer of yellow eyeshadow with some bright blush. We’d had a bottle of wine open somewhere, though I couldn’t remember where we left it. Our glasses were more than full, and our hearts were just the same.

“The boys will be here soon. Are you ready to get dressed?” Nicole questioned as she dug through her various lipstick options.

“Yeah. I’ll run into my room and do that now.”

Over the week, I’d gone shopping different times to find the perfect Woodstock outfit. Jack and I had agreed to surprise one another, which only added to the excitement of actually going out. I shut my bedroom door the minute I was inside, rushing to my dresser to pull out the pieces of the costume I had laid out the night before. A yellow body suit, and a matching yellow mini skirt with layers of frills. I had bought a pair of yellow socks as well. I had never imagined myself wearing so much of the color, but once I got the outfit on and peeked in the mirror, I had to admit, I looked cute.

I rummaged through my room to find my white converses, sliding them on and grabbing a pair of sunglasses and the yellow boa I’d bought. It was a simple look, but it worked well. I performed any small adjustments on my hair in the mirror before stepping out. Nicole had already been dressed, though she wore a robe to get ready considering there wasn’t much to her outfit. Not that I blamed her. Jesper would be drooling all night, and that’s exactly what she was going for.

“Nikky!” I called as I walked down the hall into the living room. The woman quickly emerged from the kitchen, the half empty bottle of wine in her hands.

“Oh. My. God.” Her lazy grin turned into a wide smile. “You’re adorable! Jack is gonna love this!”

“Yeah?” Her reaction fueled my confidence. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She took a swig from the bottle before placing it on the coffee table. She walked over to ruffle the boa around my neck, laughing.

“Birds of a feather we must be.” She smirked at her own joke, plucking a yellow feather from my boa and a blue one from her own costume. She laid them on the table together. “A keepsake. It’s cute.” I had to agree, it was. Our phones both went off within moments of each other. Our cue to get moving. I sat on the couch to lace my shoes while Nicole ran off to find her own. We met in the kitchen to take a quick shot before rushing out the door and out of the apartment.

When we got to the car, I found Jack standing outside with a wide grin. And I must admit, his costume brought a grin to my lips as well. Big black puppy ears hung from either side of his head, connected by a small headband barely noticeable through his thick ruffles of hair. He wore a white t-shirt with a little red choker as a collar. And someone, god knows who, had drawn the black nose on for him.

“You look- adorable.” I couldn’t help but reach out for a hug. Jack met me halfway, wrapping his arms tightly around my midsection and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Thanks. Nico’s girl helped me.” Jack giggled, holding on for a second longer than anticipated. When we parted, I couldn’t help but stare. He was so cute like this.

“Come on! In the car!” Nicole opened the passenger side door, climbing in the front with Jesper.

Jack was kind enough to open the back door for me, allowing me to climb in before he did.

“Someone smells like alcohol.” Jesper commented as Nicole shut the door. She and I laughed softly.

“Nothing wrong with a little pregame.” Nicole reasoned. “Now step on it sexy.”

——

When we arrived, my nerves went through the roof. I had sobered up fairly quickly. I hadn’t seen the Devils or any of the girls in so long. I didn’t know where to start conversation, or how to even fill anyone in. But when I stepped out of the car, Jack grabbed my hand, and every single worry flew out the window.

“Everyone is gonna be so excited.” Those were the last words I remember before we walked around the house into the back yard. Then it became a blur for a while. People asked how I was, what I was up to these days, where I had been. It was all a lot. So much so that I’d felt myself slip into autopilot at some point. Though I quickly fell out of it when the excitement of my arrival calmed down and I was able to join Jack at the pong table.

“Snoopy!” I heard the familiar voice of Nico call, both Jack and I turning for only a moment to see the Swiss man approaching. Drunk off his ass.

“Hey, Nico!” Jack had been fairly tipsy as well. Hell, we all were. The only difference was Jack and I could keep our clothes on when we had alcohol in our systems. The same couldn’t be said for Nico or Timo.

After much consideration, Jack and I had agreed that we were certain they’d gone as dumb and dumber. It was only hard to tell because all they had on were the blue and orange pants. All of their other clothes were missing.

“Timo and I play you next!” Nico called, earning a nod from Jack.

The music was loud, and people were yelling louder. A never ending issue of noise. Couples ran in and out of the house, some were in the pool, others at the small homemade bar, and others around the food table. But Jack and I hadn’t moved from the pong table in around 15 minutes. We were the best. We had been since high school.

“You know you look really good tonight?” I called toward Jack, fishing a ping pong ball out of a solo cup.

“Huh? Oh! Thanks! You look pretty too!” We went silent.

“Pretty?” I asked.

“Of course, beautiful.” Jack downed the shot from the cup I’d taken the ball from. I stared at him, surprised. Shocked?

“You don’t mean that.” I brushed the comment off nonchalantly, though Jack quickly looked at me and smirked.

“Yes I do. Of course I do.”

“Jack, stop.” I shook my head, trying to act dumb. Trying to ignore how my heart fluttered. As if I hadn’t crushed on him since high school.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeming to realize finally what he was saying. After the exchange, I threw the game, and Nico threw a fit because now he wouldn’t get to play Snoopy.

I was quick to step back from the table, announcing my need for water before I rushed toward the back door to the house. Compared to the coldness of the night air, the indoors was much warmer. As I shut the door behind myself, I let out a soft sigh, hearing voices in the living room. The girls.

I followed the sounds right to the culprits, all curled up with pillows and blankets in a circle on the floor, chatting their lives away.

“Everything okay?” Timo’s girlfriend questioned. Did I still look distressed?

“I’m alright. Just.. Jack-“ I paused. They didn’t need to know. And yet somehow the looks on each of their faces said they already did.

“Sit down. It’s chaotic outside.” Timo’s girlfriend opened a spot on the floor for me, and I made myself at home in the safety of the women.

“It’s still early.” Nicole commented. “Jack just doesn’t get that.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous.

“Nico tells me.” Anna, Nico’s girlfriend spoke up. “Jack just doesn’t wanna lose his chance that’s all.”

Lose his chance? I felt overwhelmed.

“Just don’t rush into anything you’re not ready for.” Timo’s girlfriend reasoned.

What was happening. I had been staring at the floor so long I didn’t even realize I had a room full of eyes on me. Until I looked up.

“He likes me?” I earned a nod. “And you guys knew?” Another nod.

“He hated seeing how Will treated you.” Anna spoke softly, as if that would ease my stress.

“All this time?” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I needed time to think. To process. To- fuck. Anything. I had waited so long for Jack only to assume he didn’t see me the same way. So I moved on with another man, only to be told he did feel the same.

A knock on the wall brought me from my thoughts. I sat up slightly and spun around only to spot Jack in the doorway. He looked stressed, and his body was swaying back and forth in the slightest.

“Hey can we talk? Upstairs?” Jack’s soft voice broke the silence. I don’t know why but I nodded, stood, and followed him up the steps. Into what I assumed was a guest room. Jack shut the door. “I’m sorry-“

“Why did you wait so fucking long?” I asked, exasperated. My tone caught Jack off guard.

“What?”

“You! You waited!” I raised my voice. “I went through all of that shit because of you!” I didn’t want to be angry. Why was I angry?

I stopped in my tracks the moment I saw the look in Jack’s eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Shock. Then it fueled my anger, my bitterness.

“That’s not my fault..” his soft voice pushed out.

“If you would have said something I would have fucking dated you! Instead of fucking around with that asshole!” I snapped. “God damnit! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“That’s not my fault and you know it! What the fuck is wrong with you? I was there for you through everything! Every time he yelled at you and called you names! When he didn’t come home some nights or when you needed a place to stay!” Jack raised his voice, “and somehow it’s my fault?! How about it was your bad judgment!”

A mutually hurt silence fell between us. Snoopy wasn’t supposed to yell at Woodstock. They were best friends. But Woodstock had never blamed Snoopy for his hardships and suffering. I felt every emotion in my system come crashing down to sadness. Heartbreak. My body seized up, muscles so tense my arms went numb. My eyes turned glassy and I drew my lip so hard between my teeth that I tasted blood.

“Jack,” his name came out in a whisper.

“No. Fuck it. No. You said what you said. If that’s how you feel then forget it.” Jack took a backwards step toward the door. “Go home.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I ever did shit for you.” He swung the door open, almost running face first into Nicole, giving her a sideways glance before he stormed off down the steps. The tension in my body released in that very moment, my shoulders falling with a broken sob.

What had I done?

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[pzychojinx]

so, jinx in act one of season two. see, for three years i expected a full on descent into chaos and madness beyond any repair. i'd made peace with that, too. so i'm surprised - pleasantly, joyfully surprised.

very long analysis ahead on where they're taking her and how it speaks to me.

we first meet her again during silco's eulogy sequence - a beautiful sequence, halfway between dreamlike and real. "just like when vander shoved off", she says about his death. except it's not. after vander's death, after vi's perceived abandonment, everything jinx could feel was self-centered. she would say "she's not my sister anymore". she would devalue these people entirely. in fact, every single reaction to any action done by her loved ones would be self-centered and extreme. that is very much how her mental process works, how her trauma caused her to work. and more so: when silco would ask of her any work, any mission, she'd do the job purely for his sake, his affection, his approval, never caring about the cause.

in short, she was never able to get out of her own head for as much as a single minute. now, she starts the funeral off with "chembarons warring for control of the lanes. wannabe street thugs squabbling over scraps. just like when vander shoved off." and it's not about her abandonment anymore. it's not about being left alone. it's not about her. she's talking to silco about his city, his legacy, his world, his chembarons, his lanes. she's out of her own head, and it's the first time we ever see it.

"because someone put all those holes in you", she says then. and this is so interesting because there's obviously a dissociation here, as well as a very intense grief and sadness. we are obviously still dealing with someone who's deeply traumatized and unstable, but let's compare this with powder after the deaths of vander, mylo and claggor. powder had a full breakdown, both turned into a complete de-evaluation of vi as i was mentioning earlier and full desperation. "i only wanted to help, i only wanted to help, i only wanted to help".

this chaotic desperation is something jinx kept within herself throughout the entirety of s1 up until - the tea party. which i'm getting at, in a minute. point being, for now, that the jinx we see during silco's eulogy is grieving and lost and rootless and asking herself "what am i supposed to do with that?", but she lacks the chaotic full-on desperation that would lead her to acts of explosive destruction and/or self-destruction in s1. in fact, she's incredibly quieter. she's more grounded, more present in her movements, in the way she fights, in the way she talks.

in retrospect even her final action in s1, the infamous missile, already had the energy we're seeing now. it wasn't instinctive, driven by hallucinations or trauma or rage or an unrestrained trigger; it was silco's legacy and it was calculated. silco's death, i think now, left jinx as rootless as she's ever been, but it also left her with an acceptance of who she is. "don't cry, you're perfect". the tea party ends with her 'choosing' jinx and if you'd asked me before season two, i would have said with full certainty it meant she'd be going to be a loose cannon. entirely and with no possibility of ever being anything else. that's not what i think now.

i think she came to terms with who she is. i think now that the seat at the tea party wasn't a symbol of complete derailing, it was in a way a symbol of acceptance. "here's to the new us". she's fought her fight between powder and jinx and the tea party has permitted her to gain, in some way, a sense of closure. very importantly, having lost what she perceived as vi's acceptance, and having lost a father, she has also been able to shed the constant and desperate need to be in their favor.

during the 'sucker' sequence, we see her going through the lanes with a hood on her hair, very low-key. loose cannon jinx would have never, ever done that. loose cannon jinx would, quite simply, not have cared. she would have been extra, and explosive, and in everyone's faces. she's preserving herself not to be found, and that's new. again, i think she's still lost and rootless and grieving and really asking herself what she's supposed to do now that she's entirely autonomous and i also think there's definitely still a lot of bitterness and rage when it comes to vi which we obviously get to see during their fight and in no way is she magically ~healthy or anything like that - however.

she is still walking those streets in a way that indicates self-preservation. it would have been very, very easy for jinx to be captured by any of those goons and/or got herself killed. and for some reason, whether that be an apathetic, mourning state or mind, or whether that be some gained peace in who she is, or both - she didn't.

given all this, the new element that season two act one has introduced for her that truly moved me and made me feel... healed in a sort of way, is the introduction of human bonds for jinx that defy her historical, co-dependent mechanism of idolization and de-evaluation. ergo, sevika and isha. this is incredible for her and most of all, it's realistic. it's a chance at something, but it doesn't feel forced, nor fairytale-esque, nor does it resemble your usual ~redemption arc.

sevika and isha function as people who she's building some bond with, and since she's a little bit less in her own fucking head, and since she's not clinging to them as idealized protectors / saviours and neither is she refusing them as betrayers, and since she's not constantly fighting between what she perceives as her double identity anymore, she finally has the possibility to experience healthier bonds. sevika functions as somebody who still ties her to silco, possibly the closest thing she has right now to any root she might have left, and it works: reminiscing silco with her, gifting her the arm, doesn't leave her utterly alone but neither does it let her fall into the trap of clinging onto yet another figure from whom to fully depend.

and isha, very obviously, functions as the possibility of healing her inner child which is a goldmine for her storyline. her bond with isha could clearly have a narrative tie to jinx & silco, to jinx & vi, and most importantly to jinx and powder herself - this is all quite obvious but again, it's not executed in a way that feels like a forced 'redemption arc' or whatnot. the idea of this little street kid who just imprints on her like a lost little duckling, which is in no way jinx's decision, simply feels natural and heartwarming. does this mean i presume such healing of her inner child is going to come easy to her? no. but it's something. it's something very different from anything she's ever experienced before.

even through the loss, the rootlessness, the grief and confusion, the panic attack we see her experiencing through the lanes as a consequence of the moment she sees vi and caitlyn's enforcer squad, even through the brutality of the fight with vi, - and this is all to say, she's still a very traumatized individual, which is important because it would have just been senseless to have jinx somehow get fully stable like a switch had been flipped - we're seeing something new for jinx here. i've seen many posts related to "i'm glad it's you", and i might be unpopular here but while i do think jinx still has an element of suicidality, i also think she was at least half bluffing there. comparing her micro-expressions with the ones back on the bridge fight with ekko, i'm under the impression she was testing vi, at the very least partially. "poisoning us with gas?" is also an interesting line because even in her attack at her sister, she's less focused on her own trauma and more on something that we've hardly seen from her before - belonging to the lanes.

all of this to say, i'm loving the path they're taking for her. it's still very much jinx. it feels like jinx. but she's not just about to wreak senseless and desperate havoc in order to be seen by either her sister or her father, because there's no one to be seen by anymore. she's not fighting a desperate battle between her identities either, because she's accepted her place. she's not loud and erratic, she's quieter and coming to terms with herself. closure is truly the word that comes to mind, for me, in how i see her arc right now. closure, and unexpectedly, possibility.

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 702

The time has finally come for me to talk about my boards for the last season of the Dragon Prince! Wow, time flies!

To be honest season 7 was such a hard season to make. Telling a good story is always a challenge, but ending one, oof! that is an herculean job!

I remeber everyone being super stressed during the production of this season, because time was always in short supply, and it is really hard to produce great art with little time, haha.

Also, I think that after a year and a half working non stop doing boards for the show, most of us where starting to feel exhausted, and you can see it on my boards, they are much less polished than usual.

But, no matter the context and circumstances, we always try to deliver the best we can and tell the ending of this arc in the most satisfactory way possible.

Lets start with my sequences. First one is the one with Ezran's council in the Banther Lodge.

This one starts with the little exchange between Soren and Corvus, I really like these two. I think they grew on me as a duo during my time in the show. Soren was already one of my favorites, but by the end of season 7, Corvus and Soren was a top pair for me, too.

I think that, whatever you think their relationship is, physical touch is a thing between this two, they are always touching each other, there is some vulnerability that they allow with each other that is endearing.

If you read my comments about my boards in season 6, one of the things I was talking about is how sometimes the expressions we draw in boards don't translate that well to the final animation (This happens in a lot of shows, and it's because of limitation on the face rig of the characters, nothing related to the talent of our crew, because they are all super talented) This little shot is another case, I wanted Callum to feel like "Oh boy, shit is hitting the fan!"

I think this scene is mostly about the conflict between points of view, Callum and Rayla wanting for Ezran to free (and forgive) Runaan as soon as possible, while Ezran is struggling with his emotions. It's a hard one.

To be honest I understand Ezran 100% and I know that the right thing for him would be eventually to forgive Runaan, but is not something that could happen inmediatly. Grieve and angry are feelings that can get poisonus really easily, and they need time to heal and allow perspective.

I think Ralyla made the wrong choice bringing Runaan to Katolis.

Anyway, I wanted to play this sequence (and the next one) a little as a power play between the brothers. There are two forces pulling Callum rigth now, and the tension is growing because of it. I like this shot, I think, is cool.

My next sequence is the continuation of the Banther Lodge Council scene. Rayla is out of the building right now, and Callum is deeply distracted.

But we start with a little coment of comedy with Soren "testing" the bread. This shot ended flipped, but the idea is still the same, I am glad the keept the moment of Soren putting the bread on his mouth, haha.

Again this scene mix two trains of though or conflicts together, in one hand you have Ezran trying to figure out how to lead his people in a way that makes sure a tragedy like the burning of Katolis doesn't happen again. And in the other hand the struggle between Callum loyalties, and his inhability to be what Ezran needs him to be right now.

This is not hate to Callum, I think that his desicions are pretty ok taking in consideration that is he still a teeneager. But I feel that he gets tunnel vision when things are related to Rayla, and he failed miserably as a brother and member of the council during this time.

While I think Callum is right, Ezran should forgive Runaan, he should be there to provide love and support to his brother, and advice and perspective to his king. Space for Ezran to come to the conclusion that forgivenes is the right path.

Anyway, I had this gesture boarded with Ezran hitting the air, but they ended adding the cup there for him to toss. I don't know how I feel about it, It's fine (specially if you talke into consideration that the Anya pick up the cup and give it back to Ezran) but feels a little off to me. Not sure why, tho.

I like Anya and Ezran relationship. I think I would appreciate it if she also took the place that Callum was failing to fulfill and gave some space to Ezran to grieve and process his sadness in a more intimate level. Like as friends more than as "heads of state". But anyway, she is cool, I am glad Ezran had someone as his side during this time.

I remember that one of the instructions I got for this sequence was to make sure that Ezran feels like a mob boss. Hahaha. Funny, tho. But besides that, I think that something that I was glad to see and board was Ezran taking more action and having more agency.

Maybe we can disagree with his point of view, but it was great to finally see him taking the reins of the kingdom, being active and assertive with his actions.

My last two sequences in this episode were the talk of Callum and Ezran close to the fireplace. I think this was an instance of Callum trying to be Ezran brother, giving him support and love and helping him to see the erron of his ways.

BUT, and this is a big but, I feel that all of this feels empty and, from Ezran point of view, manipulative; because after this talk Callum right away decides not only to "betray" Ezran but also to leave him alone. And that was not pretty wise of him, imo.

It is always a pleasure to draw any character making a suspicious face, hahaha "I don't trust you":

I think during the first part of the talk, the sibilings are on pretty opposite sides, there is a rift between them, and it is hard to close. But then there is more space for vulnerability and trust.

I think a really significant momen is for Ezran to remove his crown. "I am not talking as the king, but as your brother" kind of moment. Humanizes him a lot and shows the sincerity of his words.

He is confesing here, how he is tired, how this dury felt on his shoulders even when he was not ready for it, and how much he is trying to carry the burden, but oh boy, how heavy is the crown!

And I feel that this is the part when Callum made a mistake. Instead of listen to him, to recognize his pain, to offer his aid and support, some kind of "you don't need to do this alone" kind of thing, he brings the topic back to Runaan.

And then he shots the shot: "You forgave Zubeia" And ouch! I mean, he is right, that is something that Ezran did, but I don't think this is the moment to bring it. But again, the conflict here is that none of them can see the other right now. Callum is too worried about Rayla and Runaan, and Ezran is too hurt and overwheelmed.

And I wanted to make the shift clear, so Callum literally points fingers at Ezran. He demands action, he expect his brother to do what he wants him to do, not what Ezran needs to do. In an ideal world there would be a trial for Runaan, one where we can hear both parties, where Ezran can express his feelings his doubts and grieve, that could end in him finding forgivenes in his heart.

But it is not an ideal world. Things are falling apart, and the struggles between the needs and wants of characters are in conflict. So, people make bad decisions. That is good writing if you ask me.

Then Zym intervines, he wants Ezran to forgive Runaan, not for the same reasons than Callum, tho.

I think in Zym's mind is more an attempt to get "the old Ezran back". So Callum and Zym try to make their point together. I wanted to paint it as if Zym has this naive approach to the stituation, while Callum is a little more manipulative (I don't think that on porpouse) being like "look, even Zym agrees" failing to see why Zym is agreeing. I think the sin of Callum in all this episode is blindness (or tunel vision as we said before)

And kinda works. Not because Ezran is ready to forgive, but because I feel that there is something inside Ezran that thinks like Zym too. That maybe there is a way to go back to be like he was before.

And that is the thing, pain and grieve change you, and accept that change is part of growing up. Aaravos talk about that a lot this season. So there is a little truce, a moment of "maybe" from Ezran. I really like to draw this two together.

Sadly this moment gets interrupted by Soren asking for help. And from here is downhill. I think Callum's actions after this point did not help at all to Ezran to heal or change his mind.

The fact that Callum decided to leave probably made Ezran wound worst, and any hope that this conversation could bring for the brothes to get back together gets shattered.

Great setting up of their conflict for this season, imo.

Well that was my work for 702. Thanks for reading this brickwall of text! Hope you like this! And feel free to ask if you have questions about the storyboard process!

See you for 705 boards soon!

[queenstarscream]

Nah i need to talk about Earthspark Starscream for a sec.

I'm so, so so very angry about it btw. First, they gave us inplications that he could MAYBE change. Maybe not entirely good, but maybe not quite as evil as before. Not only that he had someone that tried to care about him genuinely, and still did.

Secondly, while it was tame- Megatron and Starscream still talked. It was so important. They should have gotten another chance.

I'm not saying Starscream in any universe has to forgive Megatron, but Earthspark could have made a really emotional and valuable scene between those two. They NEVER ever give a chance for Megatron to mourn or grieve the other Decepticons? Even if he hates Starscream still? Thats a lot of change for someone.

In season 2 they want Starscream to be the big bad and its just.. why? They could've done that but had him help in the end.

And then finally.. season 3. Where they tease us a lot- which i will admit i thought they wouldn't ever come back to him and just tease. And when they finally show him- he's "crazy", AND his supporter stabs him.

I'm sorry, what the actual fuck? As someone who is psychotic, and an abuse surviver, this is absolutely disgusting writing and i don't want to hear "they had limited time and new writers" as an excuse.

You know what you do? You have him help vaguely, and then he fucking leaves, if you can't be bothered to properly redeem him or anything else.

And since we are here, Earthspark s1 was good. Thats it. It focused too much on the humans ( which i DO appreciate and find it beautiful that the main humans are non-white. ) and not enough on the robots. I'm rewatching G1 and even though it spend a lot of time with humans- it still mainly focused on the robots.

Same with Transformers Prime and Animated.

I am so tired of series like this almost making me feel emotional and then its flat. Its like- Almost there, and then its like the producers are like "Oh remember this is a kids show and also only for kids. Btw this is a kids show. Dont be too emotional. Throw in a joke".

They could have had Megatron at least be the one to go get Starscream in the end to start that road of "i want to try to help you" PROPERLY.

The IMPACT of it all. The emotion it would have had. Not that Starscream is emotional nor is Megatron, but if they had written it right. They could have done it in a way where the abuser isn't forgiven, but they both help each other become better people within the moment. Or fuck- even a dangerous fight between the two ( worse than the first one ) with Starscream PROPERLY calling Megatron out with an audience of the terrans, Decepticons and autobots, maybe even Dottie.

Make it an emotional episode for lore and implications that are good enough for kids to understand ( see The Owl House ) and make it an episode about Growing as a person/bot and that its okay to be hurt, you don't have to forgive people that have hurt you + you don't have beat yourself up for being a bad person, you just keep working on yourself.

But also this has the Decepticons REALLY realize how bad it was, as well as the Autobots ( though i feel like Optimus and Elita already would know ), and Dottie could talk to the Terrans about it, and thats how it could've been "a kids show lesson" or whatever.

Sorry i rambled i am just so. We could have had it all.

[v0idhaert]

scott smajor with number 7 for your spotify asks?

omg anon sorry it took me so long to get to this, but here: Scott smajor with number 7, Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance!

textless and bgless under cut, as well as really long ramble caption vvvvvvv

I hope this is alright! If nothing else, I’m so so proud of drawing hair braiding, that took. So. Long. lol, anyway yeah I also really like how Scott’s hair came out, and I’ve never made a third life Jimmy design before so I came up with this on the fly and I really like how it looks. But yeah, I saw which song it was and thought of them immediately, Scott was so distraught at Jimmy’s death in third life, (prepare for ramble that is mildly unintelligible if you are not really geeky about MCR lore lol. The main stuff you need to understand is that mcr has four albums, I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, The Black Parade, and Danger Days: The True Lives of The Fabulous Killjoys, and all of them have a lot of lore) like they are so demolition lovers coded, especially because of the whole back from the dead thing where Jimmy is alive and well in later seasons but Scott is still grieving him and the memory thing with winners remembering which means Scott remembers third life and Jimmy doesn’t, reminds me of like (from my understanding of the story, which is different from other peoples because MCR lore is very vague) the inner turmoil of the lover from the three cheers lore who went to hell, and his lover is in heaven and on one hand he wants to reunite but on the other he knows his lover doesn’t even know he’s alive (-ish. Not sure how much his situation qualifies as “living”) and feels guilty, thinking that she probably won’t even want to see him again, because he’s killed so many people and he doesn’t want to ruin her paradise (I mean she misses him too and wants to see him again but he doesn’t know that, and also he rightly recognizes that he is an actual sociopath. I’m not saying c!Scott is crazy (well, as not-crazy as you can be in life series death games. Everyone is at least a little bit off their rocker. Woah, parentheses within parentheses, what is this!?), but I am saying the guy demolition lover absolutely is. I am also saying that c!Scott has self worth issues. At least in my headcannons. I also have a similar headcannon for Joel. Maybe that’s why they hate each other, their mad that they can’t sacrifice themselves for each other and then decided a murderous rivalry was the only option/j ) but yeah so the torturing themselves over a lover who is both dead for them and also at the same time alive and well but unreachable and in a better place than them and wanting to be with them but holding back for fear of hurting them which ends up hurting them anyway (which is also a theme in the black parade, so ig you could also kinda compare Scott to The Patient, but patient always felt more Joel or Pearl coded to me. Also yes I know I already made a post about smalletho demo lovers au, but idk I can have both smalletho and flower husbands demo lovers I just like projecting my interests onto,,,,also my interests ig lol) is something Scott and the sinner demolition lover have in common. Also this song makes me cry. So much. Could barely even draw this through the tears lol/silly, and I’m exaggerating but less than you’d think. Unfortunately I am a crier. I also cry at Summertime from danger days, pretty much all of three cheers but especially I never told you what I do for a living, demolition lovers from bullets (btw for non MCR fans these are album and song names. Also the demo lover’s story starts in bullets with the song titled for them, and then is continued in three cheers for sweet revenge) as well as I don’t love you, wttbp, the end, mama, and famous last words from black parade. And those are just the MCR songs, not counting all the other sad songs from other bands. I am a CRIER lol. But yeah, thank you sm for the ask anon I really enjoyed drawing this!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

How would you think the whole dynamic within the gang would be if ponyboy instead of dally dying

Ok I've been sitting on this one for a few days because I'm drowning in exam season and I wanted to answer it properly.

So, I'm gonna disclaimer this and say that my previous posts hold true. In canon verse if Pony had died, Johnny would have died too and Dally can't survive without Johnny, but this is a fun thought experiment so lets dive in!

Ok so there's a few scenarios I could see that result in Pony dying but not Dally, but I'm just gonna write the one I think is most likely because this is gonna be LONG. This version is the one where Pony is the one whose back gets broken in the church fire and he succumbs to his injuries, the way Johnny does in canon. In this universe there is no bittersweet Curtis brother reunion in the hospital. Instead, you have Johnny alone in the waiting room, pale faced and shaking, who only left Ponyboy's side when the doctors threatened to kick him out of the hospital (i've said it before and I'll say it again- Johnny is PROTECTIVE AF over Pony). In this universe you have Darry and Soda stumbling into the hospital looking shellshocked, and Soda is sobbing already, and Darry looks so lost and so scared and so guilty. In this universe you have a Darry and a Soda who don't leave the hospital, refuse to leave Pony's side, a Darry that begs Ponyboy for forgiveness when Pony is conscious and who is granted it even though it never feels like enough, a Darry that tells Pony over and over that he loves him, and who watches the doctors with young, terrified, hopeless eyes, that are grieving what he already knows and refuses to accept. You have a Soda who promises Ponyboy over and over that he'll be okay, that refuses to speak to the doctors or even Ponyboy when it becomes clear that Pony won't survive this, who leaves in a fit of tears when he can no longer ignore it and returns just in time for Ponyboy to croak out a final I love you as he takes his last breath. After that its chaos. The rumble still happens, but since the Curtis' didn't leave the hospital until now it happens after Pony dies. Soda is too inconsolable to fight, and Darry refuses to, grieving and cold and unable to, unable to do anything anymore, unable to even hope. Johnny doesn't fight either, and Dally calls him a pussy for it, tells him to do it for Pony and Johnny refuses, knowing it's not something Pony would have wanted. They get into a fight none of the rest of the gang ever expected to see, and Dally goes to the rumble along with Steve and Two-bit, he goes to the rumble but he doesn't fight fair, he pulls a blade and gets arrested, because he couldn't handle Pony's death any better than he could handle Johnny's he just handles it differently. Since he's already up on murder charges he takes the fall for killing Bob, protecting Johnny one last time in a final effort to preserve Pony's legacy or maybe just try and keep Johnny gold, despite their argument. Dallas Winston's story ends there, as effectively as it did in canon, and he spends the next twenty years behind bars. The fallout from Pony's death throws Johnny Cade into an even deeper depression, and (because he can't die in this au) after Pony's funeral, in which he delivers a eulogy that is a modified version of his letter in canon, he runs away from Tulsa, for good this time, leaving behind the only family he ever had, splintered, cracked and then broken beyond repair. He never comes back and no one ever hears from him again.

Darry and Sodapop return home, wracked with grief, and grief. Soda blames Darry for Pony's death, and Darry can't even argue. He blames himself too. They plan the funeral, bury Pony beside their parents just a few days after he took his last breath. At the funeral they're approached by a social worker. The death of a kid under his care has Darry Curtis under investigation for child abuse and gross child neglect. Whether he's convicted or not doesn't matter- in any case Sodapop Curtis is removed from his care effective immediately, as Darry is declared an unfit guardian. It doesn't matter that Soda wants to stay, he doesn't have a choice. Sodapop Curtis spends just over a year in foster care, not allowed to have any contact with his brother, apart from what he hears from Steve and Two-bit at school- which isn't much. He tries not to think about Johnny Cade who left without saying goodbye, or the little brother that did and never should have had to, and eventually takes a leaf out of Two-bit's book and starts drinking until the thoughts become hazy and the world gets quiet. He's had enough of noise to last a lifetime. Steve Randle stays by his side and tries everything he knows to bring back the version of Sodapop Curtis that Ponyboy knew, the one he loved. It takes about six months before he accepts that version of Sodapop is dead too, had died with Pony, and this husk of a man is the only real Soda that is left.

Two-bit Mathews left the hospital the night Ponyboy died with a bottle in his hand and hatred in his heart. He fought alongside Dally in the rumble, beat some kid soc barely bigger than Ponyboy until his knuckles were bruised and the socs face was more blood than skin. He watched Dally Winston give up, watched the fight in him burn bright until the cuffs were around his wrists and it was gone. Two-bit raised a can to the end of the hoodlum, toasted to the end of another east side kid who never had a chance, and hadn't stopped drinking since, stuck celebrating the bruised up tragedy they'd all never escape day after day. Some days, when he thinks maybe he could try it again, the thing called living that felt a lot like dying, he checks in on Darry Curtis and remembers there isn't any sort of point to that kind of trying.

Darry Curtis is a broken man. He's found not guilty on all charges, and Soda's eighteenth comes not two weeks later. The remaining two Curtis brothers reunite, the youngest one not the one who's supposed to be. They get up. They go to work. Darry Curtis works hard and watches the world around him and sees nothing. His eyes are shadows, his hands are regret, and his being is grief. Most folks don't talk to Darry much these days. Darry doesn't talk much either. He thinks sometimes, about his friends, about where Johnny might be, how Dallas might be doing, but usually he thinks of Ponyboy, of the brother he killed through his pride and his fear and his own stupid anger, and he wishes he couldn't think anything at all.

Darry comes home to too much dinner made in too normal colours and a brother whose eyes are far too foggy. Soda is home, and things should be better but they aren't, they never are, never will be again. There are liquor bottles in the cupboard that never used to be there, and a space in the bedroom down the hall that never should have been empty, and the house isn't full of anything anymore except grief.

Ponyboy Curtis died and everyone else survived. But none of them lived.

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

i kind of hated the end of arcane. hear me out.

i don't wanna rain on anyone's parade but we can all agree season 2's pacing was super breakneck. not a lot got explained or was given the proper time to develop or be addressed (at least in front of us, the audience, that is - but even then, some things could've been hinted at better) and this goes for both lore, motivations and interpersonal character relationships. (and i can give many examples such as the black rose, maddie's true motivations, caitlyn and vi's fight, jinx rallying up the undercity, viktor and ambessa's plans diverging, etc. but instead, i'll tell you what i think went wrong with what we got to see in the last three eps)

seeing where ep 7 left us made me think "okay ep 8 will start from the same exact spot and we'll see from there" and ofc my expectations were defied but that's not my main problem. i needed to know what happened to ekko, jayce and heimerdinger but even more than that, i wanted to see jinx grieve isha in her own way (by herself and not through being asked or guilt tripped to help someone else's agenda bcuz she clearly had little intrinsic motivation to unite the undercity over a common goal after silco's death) and internalize what she'd meant to isha - and that becoming jinx's catalyst to rally up the undercity. i wanted her to understand why this orphan from the undercity's mines sacrificed herself to save jinx - the symbol of a cause greater than her. i needed her to see what unifying zaun and making tangible institutional change to the undercity would mean in a way sevika never would've been able to show her. it would mean no more powders, no more ishas. not one more. breaking the cycle of violence, poverty, oppression, somewhat like what silco said in ep 9 (which she interpreted as 'you're the problem, so kys' and she attempted to until somehow ekko convinced her to help. how, why and did she even unite the undercity at all or just make her big hot air balloon late-to-the-party entrance with the firelights to a stray kids banger while sevika did all the work down in zaun?).

anyway, ep 8 threw us in for a loop in an alternative universe (and i loved it, don't get me wrong, but considering there were only 2 normal length eps left, it scared me just as much). instrumentally to the plot, we got to see ekko's main ability develop, and we saw jayce's reasons for shooting viktor. the main conflict of the show, the piltover/zaun one, if those 1,5 seasons so far were anything to go by, just got set aside for the time being. over halfway through the season, we've got a new big bad - the possibility of everyone getting possessed by the viktor/hexcore and becoming part of The Glorious Evolution™. it felt like a movie about racism and police brutality added aliens in the last 5 minutes to force oppressed and oppressors to (not all that successfully) work together, massive losses were suffered by everyone, and then the overarching motif wasn't about love or humanity or rebuilding (things that have come up repeatedly in other episodes, including the one ep literally called 'the messege hidden within the pattern'), it was "bad things happen sometimes, but good things happen sometimes too. it is what it is. i guess." like. duh?? as a viewer, this was quite the disappointing ending takeaway from such a masterpiece of a show but more on that in a second.

narratively, we saw a butterfly effect situation in ep 8 that answered the question of 'what could've been?' but even that answer confused me. the undercity was already oppressed and in socioeconomical peril before jayce's hextech - vi's death during that last job (which makes me believe zaun was the same in both universes because why else would they be poor enough to steal from piltover?) prevented it from being invented and thus stopping other things in piltover from happening but how did it lead to progress in the undercity? what happened and what was the key to it all along? why did shimmer not get invented, how did zaun and piltover seemingly unite, why were zaunites all of a sudden seemingly so much materially and culturally richer and better educated in just a few years? (that aside, i love ekko's determination to get back and save his universe's zaun. i loved the alternative jinx and i loved how everyone was wearing vests 10/10)

then, ep 9 felt like a bunch of confusing things happening one after the other to the point it almost overwhelmed me and i was left thinking i didn't understand a single thing from it (except maybe that one scene - that, i understood spiritually). and the first maybe 90% of ep 10 felt like i was just repeatedly getting hit, and again - no time to breathe, no consolation, no resolve, just receiving bad news after bad news, like getting beaten to the ground with stones.

and at the very end, after some of the ends get tied, caitlyn has her speech, which to me, sounds more depressing and hollow than anything else. she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either (and i'll make a separate post examining why it felt that way to me and a separate one abt how i interpreted her conversation w/ vi at the very end). i was left a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and very, very sad.

did anyone else feel that way too? what did i miss, did i misinterpret or misunderstand something? please i'm going insane i had two different friends tell me they had no idea what i was talking about and that the ending was everything they wanted and more

[earthytzipi]

I actually loved the writing of caitvi this season for a few reasons:

1. I was very fortunate to meet and consistently date my lovely wife. Having observed other adult lesbians... that shit is MESSY. It's so so so so so common for lesbians to date, break up, date again, break up again, accuse each other of abuse or of being toxic, then date again, break up another time, date another person in the friend group, and so on and so forth. This season felt very honest to me in that way. If everything had been smooth sailing for Caitlyn and Vi, I don't think I would have bought it, especially with all the conflict they set up in s1. I agree that Caitlyn is toxic to Vi in Act 1. I just also don't think that's a deal-breaker for an adult relationship as long as amends are made, and I think that Cait's decision to let Vi release Jinx is a HUGE way that she made amends. I don't think she needed to grovel (nor would that have fit her character)- it demonstrated SO much character growth for her and so much trust in, and love for, Vi.

2. I've seen a lot of displeasure with Vi's writing this season, mostly centered around Vi's loss of agency and relative passivity. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, so, you know, grain of salt. It's just that, in my experience with trauma, you hit a breaking point where nothing matters to you anymore. You can't be resilient anymore. You've lost everything and you're grieving literally everything about the life you thought you had. (For the record, my trauma didn't even involve anyone dying, just abusive friendships, people cutting me off, and conversion therapy, and I *still* got there in my early 20s.) Vi shows a remarkable ability to push forward for Powder in s1, but by the first episode of s2, her resiliency is already breaking down. To me, it made complete sense that she showed more and more passivity and alcoholism as the season went on.

I think there's a misconception that trauma causes people to become strong. That is NOT what it does. It builds these insidious negative pathways of thought in your mind that wear you down over time. Eventually, it's too much. You can't take anything in stride. Everything becomes part of this pattern of hurt.

I think Jinx firing that missile was the breaking point for Vi. She lost her parents, she lost Vander, she lost her formative teenage years to prison, and the only reason she was still going at all was for Powder. That moment is the moment she decided Powder was gone, too. Imagine the grief of losing the last person you thought you had from your old life and not even being able to share that, because that person just killed a lot of people. In that light, the decision to join with the person who still cares about her and has been there for her makes sense, even though she hates the enforcers. I think that decision causes her a lot of pain and self-hatred which is reinforced when Cait leaves her, pushing her into the absolute pit of her trauma. Then all the events at the commune happen. Throughout the season she gains and loses hope about Jinx again and again, but when she's in that prison cell, from her point of view, she's just lost Jinx all over again after finally having her back for a while, and now Caitlyn, who she loves, for good.

In the end, when Cait says she engineered the whole thing to let Jinx escape? She gives Vi hope again in that moment. If Jinx isn't tried, she's still out there and Vi can still find her and try again. If Cait knew she would let Jinx escape and still be there for her, Cait still loves her more than she cares about revenge. Given how Cait almost killed a child to get to Jinx before, I think for Vi, this represents almost a complete 180 and demonstrates that Cait is sorry. I think their actions in that moment make perfect sense.

Anyways! To me, while I think s2 was definitely rushed as hell and had some other pacing issues, I loved the storyline for Cait and Vi.