#but like no matter the roles they end up playing

[mythalism]

i feel like all of my pondering and analyzing and criticizing veilguard over the past few months has actually truly given me a better understanding of what dragon age meant to me, what about it specifically was so meaningful, and why, as a result, veilguard felt so wrong. it took a while for me to figure it out. about three full months of relentless essay writing, actually. but i think if you had asked me a few years ago what the core of my love for dragon age was, whatever answer i gave would not have truly gotten to the root of it, because i think i had to experience the disappointment of veilguard to fully understand why i love dragon age. and ive realized that core is that i loved how the previous dragon age entries demand so much of the player, and deliberately prompt introspection and critical, often political, thought.

dragon age games have historically forced the player to be self-reflective and introspective about their worldview and beliefs. solas is obviously a fantastic example, as he was deliberately written to be a reflection of the player in order to prompt them to reflect on how they treat people, how our expectations of people influence their behavior, and how people are pushed to extremes and turned into monsters or saved by love and kindness. how do people become monsters? what drives them to blow up buildings or start rebellions or destroy the world as you know it? are they right or wrong? does it even matter? how did you contribute to this? are you innocent? it puts these insane, politically and morally charged situations in your face and forces you to confront them. slavery, a refugee crisis, poverty, class disparities, racism, foreign occupation, the list goes on, and you are not given the option to look away or be a bystander. you have to ACT. you have to choose, you have to make judgements, you have to take responsibility and explore your role in this world as someone with the capacity to act upon it, to make your will a reality, to fail, to make mistakes. i honestly can't think of any other video game that does this to the same extent? nor any media at all because the act of being IN the world as one of it's people through the act of role-playing is essential to how it provokes this experience in the player. its ballsy. they deliberately try to make you uncomfortable. these games are full of liars, deceivers, betrayers. the games themselves lie to you. its character try to deceive you. did you catch it? or were you fooled? what else might you be fooled by? who else might be lying to you? in the game? in real life? and then you get to play it again knowing the end, and what the game prompts changes with your new knowledge. now it asks, do you forgive them? what makes someone worthy of forgiveness? where do you draw the line? what do you think?

i dont think i realized until recently how impactful this was for me considering how i first got into dragon age at 16 years old. i dont think i had experienced anything up to that point that would put a situation like judging a war criminal who ordered the deaths of children or another war criminal who just left me to die and orchestrated a near-coup or a traumatized terrorist who just blew up a church right in my face, and said MAKE A DECISION. and i didnt know it at the time, but looking back i can see how valuable it was for me at that age to have what was effectively an avenue of exploration and self-expression of all of these moral and political issues that i was grappling with as a young adult. i played inquisition for the first time just months before i voted in my first presidential primary. i already had a political consciousness at this point, but it was nonetheless new and vulnerable and still blossoming into something more concrete. inquisition, then, almost provided a sort of political, moral and personal sandbox for me from ages 16-20 to better help me understand myself in relation to the world. the RPG-ness allowed me to put myself into these situations - like the mage-templar war and its metaphor for mass incarceration and police brutality - while i was also simultaneously grappling with and trying to understand these issues in real life. having dragon age to help me further unpack my own beliefs and conception of these issues was undeniably impactful. it provided a space, through a narrative i enjoyed and cared about, to make choices and judgement calls and better understand who i was, and what felt right to me. it asked, "what do you think?"

veilguard lacks this. completely. and lets be clear that the previous games did not always do a perfect job. many of these depictions are messy and harmful and problematic, but they at least, by extension of their own existence in a narrative that forces you to THINK and JUDGE and DECIDE, give me the space and opportunity to judge them as messy, as problematic, as harmful. i can confidently say that i think da2 is too sympathetic to the templars as an organization because the fact that da2 presents me with so many narrative conflicts regarding the templar organization allows me to not just make in-game decisions and play as a staunch advocate for mage freedom and circle abolition, but to form opinions on the game itself by extension. i can confidently say that i believe the qunari's portrayal is islamophobic because the game has prompted me so many times; what do i think about the qunari? what do i think about the oppression of the elves? what do i think about dorian being a seemingly good person but defending the practice of slavery? who should rule orzammar; the progressive asshole or the conservative traditionalist? do i forgive loghain? do i forgive anders? do i forgive solas? this in-world critical thinking about issues in thedas leads to meta critical thinking. further questions naturally follow -> what message did the writers intend to send through anders? how can i notice the echoes of how this story came into fruition in the shadow of 9/11? what do solas's endings tell me about the writers view of retributive punishment? how is bioware's portrayal of the dalish, as inspired by indigenous north americans, reflective of deep-seated anti-indigenous canadian sentiment? why did the writers stop prompting these hard questions at all in veilguard? did they only like it when it was about characters, not when it led to critical thinking about them and the company as a whole? through these processes of in-world interrogation, i am inevitably invited to analyze the effectiveness of their narrative portrayals and the writing itself. perhaps this is why dragon age is so famous for its discourse lol.

ive said before that im not sure that veilguard could ever have been as impactful for me as the previous games, partly because when you are 16 everything is more impactful because your brain is an eager sponge, unless it did something that really resonated with me as an adult. but what it should have been, at the very least, is something that could have been as impactful and formative on a current 16 year old that sees a gif on tumblr and decides to check out the game, as inquisition was to me 10 years ago. and im sure there are teenagers and younger adults out there playing this game and loving it and loving the characters and the world and thinking its great, good fun. thats great. however it fundamentally cannot have the same profound, developmentally catalytic experience it had on me because it simply does not challenge the player. it does not prompt them to question their own beliefs and the power structures within their lives. it does not prompt them to reflect on the political narratives they may have been fed all their lives. it does not confront them with the sorts of topics that get books on banned lists in florida and force them to bear witness, to think deeper, to feel guilt or horror at the outcome of your own poorly-made decision, to make moral judgements, to make mistakes, and to live with the consequences.

i think i now understand why veilguard was so disappointing to me and ultimately would be a failure in my eyes no matter if i enjoyed the combat or the exploration or whatever other shiny coat of paint sits atop it. veilguard does not ask much of you. it does not prompt any sort of introspection or interrogation of your presently held beliefs. it does not demand anything from the player except to dodge at the right moment. this is a fundamental, core departure from what made me fall in love with dragon age in the first place. if you love dragon age because you want "fantasy escapism" and fun characters to smooch, then i am happy for you. but i would remind you that can find fantasy escapism all over the steam library - farming sims, cozy games, a witch looking for her cat in the alps, etc. what you cannot find are games that are willing and brave enough to challenge and provoke the player into a better, more thorough understanding of themselves in relation to our world and it's many, complex and daunting political and moral issues. to have lost such a thing, when media like this has become so few and far between, and during a time when we need it more than ever, is a devastating loss.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act III

“Firstly, happy birthday. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Hint: Mis-Directed was released on February 4.

"’I’m making some changes,’ Hattie sipped from the glass. ‘And I’ve updated my skincare routine.’"

"‘Is that actor-code for hooking up with my costar,’ [Hattie’s] sister asked with great interest."

"And Hattie swallowed her drink, wincing as it burned down her throat. Looks like a liquified Barbie Dream House, tastes like one hundred proof vodka."

“’He’s the absolute bane of my existence,’ Hattie said.”

“’And I’ll stake my entire and beloved earring collection.’"

"Dee’s eyes went covetously to today’s selection. A miniature Victorian inkpot and quill.”

“’The entire family’s been reading the tabloids, have they?’"

"‘Reading, discussing, dissecting in a private WhatsApp chat.’”

“They’d touched each other before under the heat of cameras and watching eyes, but this was different. It was them and them alone. It was for them alone.”

“They watched where he entered her, where she enclosed him.”

“’I’ll never be a person who courts tabloid speculation about my private life,’ [Hattie] said at last. ‘But I understand the role that the press plays in this industry and the present attention is likely to be short-lived.’”

“’That might be true,’ he said in a slightly unreadable tone. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with in the moment.’ A point she couldn’t argue, especially since they’d remain hot headline property for quite some time yet, if their names were linked. The Victor and Iris affair hadn’t even hit screens yet. They were doing their first joint promo on Monday, at which point the speculation would fire up considerably.”

“’And when did you know it was more than a friendship you felt for Mr. Rafe?’"

"Despite everything, Hattie couldn’t repress the bubble of humor. ‘I don’t recall ever being friends with Mr. Rafe,’ she said, her gaze switching to her other side. Anthony was watching her with utter blandness in his expression and an emotion in his eyes sent all the butterflies in her stomach spiraling. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s infamously insufferable.’”

“But at last, the show’s PR manager stepped in and brought the prying to an end.”

“’I love you.’ They were Iris’s [played by Hattie] words but the slight crack in her voice wasn’t scripted nor was what she saw in Anthony’s eyes. Their fingers tightened on each other as he leaned forward, and his lips touched hers and the ground dropped from under them.”

“’Do I,’ her voice cracked again, ‘have your heart?’"

"‘Do you,’ his body was incredibly tense, ‘love me?’"

"Her eyes burning with sudden tears. She couldn’t speak. She simply nodded as he said with a thick rasp and as little composure as she’d ever seen from him, ‘For a long time now.’”

“Anthony also looked to the nosy reporter before his gaze returned to hers. She read the question in his eyes."

"‘I don’t care,’ she said and realized it was true, with no longer even the slightest twinge of anxiety or reservation. This was the right person. The right time. And she was ready for all of it and it was worth everything and anything. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. This means so much more.’"

"A last tear slipped free."

"‘This is everything. That’s just background noise.’"

"His arms tightened.”

P.S. “She just wouldn’t touch the fan fic or the fan art of Leicester Square with a ten-foot pole. The idea of people writing sex scenes while picturing her face or sketching not safe for work drawings in her image was unsettling at best.”

[waltwhitmansbeard]

i know some people are going to be upset by how much time vox machina and the mighty nein took up during this finale, so i want to say a couple of things

these campaigns have always been and will always be for the entertainment and enjoyment of matt and his players, first and foremost. their good time has always been and will always been more important than that of the audience, which has been invited in to watch something that existed before we even knew about it. we are of course entitled to our opinions about what we watch, but it's important to remember that those opinions will never, ever matter as much as those of the people around the table.

it is an unspeakable feat of storytelling, collaboration, creativity, and friendship for these people to have done what they just did. over ten years (well over, including the time they played pre-stream) of building a narrative that spanned decades and continents and planes and celestials bodies, of making decisions and seeing their consequences out to the fullest, of bringing to life characters that felt more genuine and real than anything one can find on the silver screen—this is the kind of expansive storytelling that marvel thought it was doing with the mcu. to be able to tell a story so powerful that it cannot reasonably contained within the confines of distinct d&d campaigns is a staggering accomplishment, and we're all lucky to bear witness to it.

it is no one else's fault if you only watched c3, or weren't caught up on c1/2 when you watched the finale, or if you didn't like c1/2 but did like c3. again, you're entitled to your opinions and to how you spend your time, but this story did not begin in jrusar, so it is unreasonable to expect it to end there.

no one, including you, benefits by being salty that these people were having fun. no one, including you, is made better by your dissatisfaction with how these people chose together to tell this story. i have read countless books and watched countless tv shows and films in my life, and none of the stories therein have been told exactly the way i would have told them, and that's what i love so much about being human. if i'd been at that table, of course i would have made different decisions, and of course you would have too. but we got to see these decisions, and these consequences, and the ephemeralness of that is so beautiful i could cry.

as i have i said eight billion times before, and will probably have to say eight billion times again, critical role is not a tv show. critical role is not a novel. critical role does not have a writer's room or a five-year plan. (well, matt might, but not in the moment.) critical role is a story that happens in the moment, a story built on matt's careful planning and the players' in-the-moment decisions and, of course, the rolls of the dice. if you are holding this kind of story to the narrative standards of something crafted for the sole purpose of entertaining an audience, you are always, always going to be disappointed.

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Talk

Paring: College!Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Two roommates— You and Jimmy—find yourselves caught in a whirlwind of tension, desire, and unspoken feelings. What begins as teasing and frustration between you evolves into a night of unexpected intimacy that blurs the lines between hate and attraction.

Tags: enemies to smutville😫, roommates, 18+, p in v, teasing, dirty talking, 9 incher jimmy uso, dickstressing, AND WHATEVER ELSE, ENJOY😋

You and Jimmy rarely saw eye to eye. It wasn’t that you outright despised each other, but the two of you had a way of constantly butting heads over the smallest things. Maybe it was because you were both stubborn, or maybe it was because neither of you ever backed down from an argument. Either way, there was always a tension between you—one that never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed.  

Both of you were college students, navigating your own paths, yet your lifestyles couldn’t have been more different. You poured yourself into your studies, determined to excel in every class, while Jimmy had an almost single-minded obsession with football—both playing it and watching it. If he wasn’t on the field, he was glued to the screen, yelling at players who couldn’t hear him or analyzing plays with the kind of intensity most people reserved for final exams.  

When he wasn’t fixated on football, he’d be locked in his room, spending hours on whatever video game he and his twin brother, Jey, were obsessed with that month. It was almost impossible to get a word in when he was deep in competition mode, his focus unwavering as he trash-talked through his headset. Sometimes, it felt like college itself was just a background noise in his life, something he did because he had to—not because he cared.  

But despite all of that, you knew Jimmy was smart. In fact, he was one of the smartest people you knew, even if he didn’t always act like it. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an ability to break things down in a way that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. The problem was, hardly anyone ever got to see that side of him. He didn’t apply himself the way he could have, and more often than not, he played the role of the carefree guy who only lived for football and video games.  

"I'm not going. I got lab tomorrow," you said into your phone, shifting against the pillows as you tucked yourself deeper into bed.  

Bianca groaned dramatically on the other end. "Girl, you always busy! Every time I call, it's the same thing—lab this, assignment that. And don’t even get me started on how you be stuck in that house with Jimmy all the damn time."  

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you. "First of all, I am not stuck with Jimmy. We just happen to live in the same space. Not like I have a choice."  

"Uh-huh, sure. And yet, every time I ask you to come out, you got an excuse, and he's always somewhere in the background, being annoying," Bianca shot back. "One day, imma just pull up and kidnap you, no warning."  

You laughed, shaking your head. "And do what? Drag me out in my pajamas? Not happening."  

"Don’t test me. I’ll snatch you right up, bonnet and all," she teased. "Seriously, though. You need a break. When’s the last time you had fun? Like, actual fun. Not school, not arguing with Jimmy—fun."  

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. It had been a while since you let loose, but between school, deadlines, and dealing with Jimmy’s daily antics, going out just felt like another task on your already overflowing to-do list.  

"Exactly," Bianca said, as if she could hear your thoughts through the phone. "Look, just think about it. Even geniuses like you need a night off."  

You sighed, glancing toward your closed bedroom door, where you could still faintly hear Jimmy and Jey shouting at their game. "I’ll think about it."  

"That’s what you said last time," Bianca huffed. "I ain't falling for it again. You better show up, or I will come get you."  

You smiled, shaking your head. "We’ll see, B. We’ll see."  

She let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t push it further. "Fine, but don’t think I’m letting this go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you better give me a yes."  

"Goodnight, Bianca," you said, smirking.  

"Mmhm, whatever. Goodnight, miss I got lab."  

You hung up, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. Maybe she had a point.

Your stomach let out an impatient grumble, loud enough to make you sigh in frustration. You hadn’t eaten in hours, and at this point, there was only one thing that could fix it—a slice of your favorite vanilla cake with extra whipped cream. The thought alone was enough to get you out of bed, pushing aside your tiredness as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

The house was quieter than usual, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant noise of the TV from the living room. Normally, Jimmy would be in there, glued to whatever game had his attention for the night, but the lack of his usual shouting made you pause. Maybe he had finally gone to bed for once? That would be a miracle.

But as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, that hope vanished.

Standing by the open fridge, fork in hand, was Jimmy—mid-bite, chewing your cake like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Wearing a fitted black shirt with yellow shorts that showed too much thigh.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your brain needing an extra second to process the sheer disrespect of what you were witnessing.

"You gotta to be fucking wit' me," you said, your voice flat.

Jimmy turned his head slowly, fork still in his mouth, his expression completely unbothered. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed, finally swallowing before answering. "What?"

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared him down. "That was my cake, Jimmy."

He had the nerve to glance down at the plate in his hand, then back up at you with a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You let out an exasperated breath, stepping closer. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that cake all damn day. It was the last slice!"

Jimmy shrugged, taking another slow, deliberate bite, as if to rub it in. "Was the last slice. Past tense."

Your jaw dropped. "You are actually the worst person I know."

He chuckled, licking a bit of whipped cream off his fork. "Damn. All this over some cake?"

You threw up your hands. "Jimmy, I needed that cake."

"You needed it?" he repeated, clearly amused. "You make it sound like life or death."

"It is!" you shot back. "I’ve had a long day, and all I wanted was to sit down, enjoy my damn cake, and go to bed happy. But noooo, because somebody just had to be greedy."

Jimmy leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. "Sounds like a you problem. You shoulda got here faster or sum."

"Or you could’ve just not eaten something that wasn’t yours," you snapped.

He shrugged again. "You ain't put yo name on it."

Your eye twitched. "We don’t do that in this house, Jimmy. Because normal people have respect."

Jimmy let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he scooped up a piece of cake with his fork. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled toward you, a smug smirk playing on his lips.  

“Here,” he said, holding the fork out in front of you, the fluffy vanilla cake and whipped cream practically taunting you. “You wanna bite?”  

Your arms folded over your chest, and you scoffed, giving him a sharp glare. “I’d rather die before I eat off of you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.  

Jimmy chuckled, tilting his head as he took another step closer. “Dramatic much?” he teased.  

You held your ground, eyes locked onto his, but the way he was staring at you—intense, playful, like he was daring you—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

He took another step, closing the space between you, his free hand lazily slipping into the pocket of his shorts. He was close now, too close. You could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sweet vanilla lingering on his breath.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice low, taunting. “Scared you’ll like it?”  

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to scoff again, turning your head to the side. “Please, as if.”  

Jimmy let out a soft chuckle, lifting the fork slightly. “Then prove it.”  

You swallowed, glancing at the fork, then back at him. His eyes held something unreadable—dark amusement, challenge. You could feel your own stubbornness warring with the stupid, undeniable craving in your stomach.  

Your eyes flicked back to the cake, the whipped cream looking way too good to pass up.  

He smirked, sensing your hesitation. “C’mon, I ain't got all night,” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing.  

You clenched your jaw, irritation flaring, but your hunger was stronger than your pride. Damn it.  

With an exasperated sigh, you snatched his wrist, steadying his hand as you leaned in. You hesitated for half a second before finally parting your lips and taking the bite off the fork, your tongue barely brushing against the metal.  

Jimmy stilled.  

Your eyes flicked up to his as you pulled away, chewing slowly, the sweet vanilla and cream melting on your tongue.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke.  

His expression darkened just slightly, his smirk fading into something slower, heavier. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he stared at you, watching the way your lips closed around the fork before you finally pulled back.  

Something about the look in his eyes sent a heat crawling up your neck, your stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the cake.  

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “Happy now?” you muttered.  

Jimmy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave.  

“Could’ve just said you wanted a taste,” he murmured.  

Your breath hitched, but you quickly covered it with an eye roll, shoving his wrist away as you stepped back.  

“Shut up, Jimmy.”  

He let out a low chuckle, his smirk never fading as he twirled the fork between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark amusement mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made your pulse tick faster than it should have.  

"You act like you hate me," he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his body heat now palpable. "But here you go, eatin' off my fork."  

Your throat felt dry, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. "I was starving, Jimmy. Don’t flatter yourself."  

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, his smirk deepening. "Mmm, nah. I think you just wanted to see what I taste like."  

Your breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs.  

"You are so full of yourself," you muttered, stepping back, but you barely moved an inch before he closed the gap again, this time with purpose.  

The air shifted—suffocating, electric. You could hear the faint drip of the kitchen sink, the hum of the refrigerator, but it all faded beneath the way Jimmy was watching you. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.  

"You sure about that?" he murmured, voice low, velvety smooth.  

His free hand brushed against your hip—not fully touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your shorts, enough to send a shiver through you.  

You should have stepped away. Should have said something cutting, something to kill whatever this was. But your body wasn’t listening.  

Jimmy noticed.  

His smirk flickered into something darker, his fingers grazing up your waist, featherlight, testing, waiting for you to stop him.  

You didn’t.  

A slow, knowing hum left his lips. “Thought so,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower.  

Your breath came a little quicker, your skin tingling beneath his touch. Your body was betraying you, leaning into the heat of him.

His fingers finally landed on your chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable—dangerous, teasing, but there was something else simmering beneath them. Something that sent your stomach twisting in the worst, best way.  

"You wanna taste somethin' sweet?" he murmured, his thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. "I can give you more than just cake."  

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening at your sides.  

You just stood there. Frozen. Trapped under his gaze.  

Jimmy leaned in, slow enough for you to stop him, to push him away, but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, his presence consuming every inch of space between you.  

Every nerve was alight, your breath coming shallow and uneven as Jimmy inched closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing. The scent of vanilla and his cologne wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.  

"You gonna stop me?" he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low, teasing.  

You should’ve. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.  

His thumb dragged over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for any sign of resistance. When he found none, his smirk deepened, and then—  

His lips brushed yours.  

Not a full kiss, just a whisper of contact, enough to send a sharp jolt straight through you. Your breath hitched, and Jimmy noticed.  

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers grazing your ribs, your waist—barely there, but enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.  

"I’m n-" You swallowed hard, but the words died in your throat.  

He took advantage of your hesitation, closing the distance entirely. His lips pressed against yours, slow at first, testing, teasing. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his body heat seeping into you, his hand tracing up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.  

The moment you responded, the moment you gave in and let your lips move against his, it was over.  

Jimmy deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping past, claiming your mouth like he had every right to. His grip turned possessive, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the counter.  

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and he groaned in response, swallowing the sound like it belonged to him.  

"You taste better than that damn cake," he muttered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make your stomach flip.  

A shiver ran through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.  

"Jimmy, we cant—" you breathed, but it came out weak, needy, nothing like the warning you meant for it to be.  

"Shhh," he murmured, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I got you, baby."  

The nickname sent a new wave of heat through you, your body arching into him before you could think twice about it. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.  

"You still wanna act like you hate me?" he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.  

You should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him this was wrong.  

But the only thing that left your lips was a soft, breathless whimper.  

Jimmy chuckled, dark and knowing.  

"Yeah," he muttered, his teeth grazing your skin before he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. "That’s what I thought."

You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but still, you couldn’t stop. The feel of his lips against yours, the way he held you close, the pressure of his body pressing against yours—everything felt too good to resist.

You’d always found ways to make excuses, to stay just out of reach. The random times you’d bug him when you needed something opened, pretending it was just too difficult for you to handle on your own. You'd act annoyed, making a big show of how "helpless" you were, even though it was never actually hard. It was just an excuse, a reason to get him close to you. He’d always tease you about it, calling you out on how dramatic you were, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when he did, something you’d always ignored or tried to explain away. 

Then there were the times he’d bring girls over, just to sit around in the living room, loud and carefree, as if they didn’t matter to him. The jealousy it stirred inside you was a dangerous thing. You’d play it cool, roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t care. But you did. You cared so much that it burned. It wasn’t about them, not really. It was the way he’d be with them—too casual, too friendly, not even a hint of what he shared with you. He’d stay in the living room with them for hours, laughing, talking like you weren’t there, almost like he was flaunting it. 

Every time he brought a girl around, he’d still somehow find ways to be around you. He wouldn’t let you slip away completely, not with the way he’d casually touch your arm when passing by, or the way his eyes would seek you out in a room full of people. It was almost like he wanted you to be jealous, wanted to see that spark of emotion flash in your eyes when he paid attention to someone else. But he never made a move on them. Not really. You had to wonder if he was testing you, pushing your boundaries to see how far you'd go. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he was giving you the space to make a move of your own. 

Now, there was no going back. 

His lips pulled away just long enough for you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to steady your racing hearts. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, and his other hand had drifted to your lower back, pulling you closer into him. You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You could feel everything.  

“You know this is crazy, right?” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were asking him or telling yourself. 

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, and he gave a small, crooked grin. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip again. “Maybe it’s what we need, ma.”

That was the problem. It wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about you. It was about both of you. And maybe you both had always known this would happen. Maybe you both had been waiting for the other to make the first move.

His hand slid up beneath your oversized tee, fingers trailing against your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up. And god—he looked so damn good in those glasses. He rarely wore them, but when he did, it did something to you, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way they framed his sharp features, or the way they made him look even more intense. It was the way they added to that quiet, confident arrogance of his—the way he knew exactly how they affected you.

Your lips parted, and without even thinking, you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the rush of anticipation flooding through you. His eyes darkened at the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, deep and intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process it, he moved—swift, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with no effort at all. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he set you down onto the cool marble countertop. 

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every hard line of his body pressing into you. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to earn another groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need. His hands roamed your sides, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as your hands moved instinctively to the hem of your shorts, pushing them down until they slipped off your legs and pooled onto the floor.

It had been over a year—too long since anyone had touched you like this. And yet, a single kiss from the one man you swore you couldn’t stand had you wetter than anyone ever had. It didn’t make sense. It was crazy. But you didn’t care.

Jimmy broke the kiss, his gaze trailing down your body until it settled on your yellow lace thong. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened—it sent a rush of heat straight through you. You didn’t even have to look down to know how hard he was. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he undid his pants, never once breaking eye contact.

“You hate me for real, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but thick with something deeper, something desperate.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you forced out a soft, defiant, “Mhm.” But it came out as a whimper, betraying the war raging inside you.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Yeah?”

Before you could say anything else, his pants and boxers hit the floor, and your breath hitched.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your fingers twitching against the countertop as anticipation curled low in your stomach.

And that’s when you felt it—the hard press of him against you, only the thin lace of your thong keeping you apart. A sharp gasp slipped past your lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you locked in place. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging in as a shudder ran through you.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but rough, his breath hot against your lips.  

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, clouded with a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. “Ye—yeah,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.  

His smirk was slow, knowing. His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your hips. “Bet”  

Before you could say anything else, he stretched you—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of his dick claiming you. Your mouth fell open, a soundless moan escaping as your body arched into him. His forehead rested against yours, both of you caught in the moment, breathing each other in.  

Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging along his skin as he pulled you impossibly closer, filling you to the hilt. The heat, the tension, the months of unspoken rivalry and buried longing—it all exploded into something neither of you could stop now.  

And you didn’t want to.

Jimmy moved slowly, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching with every deep, calculated stroke. You were used to men who rushed, who chased their own pleasure without thinking about yours. But Jimmy—he took his time, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of what he was doing to you.  

A shaky breath escaped your lips as your fingers curled against his shoulders. “J-Jimmy…”  

His grip tightened on your hips, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. “What, baby?” His voice was thick, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.  

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you arched into him. “I—” Your words faltered, another breathy whimper slipping free as he rocked into you again, slow and deep.  

He chuckled lowly, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. “You always talk back, always got somethin’ smart to say,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing under your oversized tee. “But look at you now… all quiet for me.”  

Your nails dug into his back, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.  

Jimmy smirked against your skin, his grip tightening. “Nah, you love this shit,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody ever taken their time with you, huh? Always quick, always rough… but that’s not what you need.”  

You bit your lip, refusing to admit how right he was.  

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression dark, hungry. “When a man really wanna fuck a woman, he don’t rush it. He wanna feel that pussy. That’s the whole fuckin’ point, mama.”  

A shudder ran through you, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. He was ruining you, and he knew it.  

“Tell me you still hate me,” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he rolled his hips just right.  

You wanted to. You wanted to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But all that left your lips was a shaky, breathless moan.

His grip tightened as he leaned in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he murmured, voice thick with control. “Tell me you don’t hate me, baby.”  

Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body on fire. “I—I don’t hate you, Jimmy,” you panted, barely able to form the words as his dick hit every sweet spot in your body.  

He hummed in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted. “Mmh, I know,” he rasped, his dark gaze locked onto yours. “You just needed some dick, didn’t you?”  

Your heart pounded, fingers digging into his shoulders. You didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it.”  

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your head nodding before you could stop yourself. His smirk deepened, his grip tightening as he watched you unravel beneath him.  

The tension coiled tighter, every inch of your body wound up and desperate for release. “Jimmy—Yes…” Your words trailed off into a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built.  

He read you instantly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Cum on this dick, baby. I got you.”  

And just like that, you shattered, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as your body gave in. He held you through it, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“Damn,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. Jimmy didn’t let up. His grip on you was firm as he pulled you down to your feet, spinning you around with ease. His hands guided you, pressing your front against the counter as his body crowded you from behind.  

“Arch that back for me,” he murmured, voice thick with command.  

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers gripping the cool surface as he slid inside of you, teasing, taking his time. Your breath hitched, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.  

“Damn,” he groaned, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Knew you just needed me to take care of you.”  

Your head fell forward, your lips parting. “Please…”  

He smirked at the way the word rolled off your tongue. “Yeah, baby?”  

You couldn’t form the words. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled in the heat of the moment.  

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down your spine. “Mmh, all that attitude, all that ‘I hate you’ talk—where it at now?”  

You bit your lip, trying to hold on to whatever fight you had left, but it was useless. His fingers slid lower, finding your clit with ease. A sharp gasp escaped you, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Thought so,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His fingers moved faster as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “And you ain’t done yet, baby. You gonna gimme another one before I let up.”  

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips. “Yeah?”  

He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers working fast but firm, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “And you gon’ take it.”  

Your body tensed, heat pooling low in your stomach as the sensation built higher, stronger, consuming every part of you.  

“Jimmy—” Your voice broke, your grip on the counter tightening as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his arms holding you close as he followed, his breath heavy, his hands still gripping you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.  

“fffuuuckk,” he muttered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl.”  

Your knees felt weak, your breath shaky, but he held you steady, his lips ghosting over your skin as if savoring the moment.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing, smug.  

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to even pretend anymore. “Shut up, Jimmy.”  

His chuckle was low, knowing. “ight.”

The night unfolded in a blur of tension and connection, each moment between you and Jimmy pulling you deeper into something unplanned. You moved through the apartment together. His dick was inside of you in the living room, slow and intense, his hands exploring with a mix of desire and tenderness. Every room, every new position felt deliberate.

It wasn’t just about the heat between you—it was the quiet tenderness in his touches, the way he’d pull you close, his hand brushing through your hair. With each passing moment, it became clear: this wasn’t a fleeting thing. Whatever had sparked between you two, it was something deeper than you’d expected. And as the night ended, you couldn’t help but wonder where it would lead.

[imissa3en]

TWST X FE3H

Heartslabyul here!

Notes:

On the left we have the academy phase outfit, and on the right we have the war phase (after a 5 year timeskip)!

I feel like the arrows should be self explanatory, up for good at, red for bad at, and the stars are for budding talents (things they could be good at)

Class explanations and extra notes under the cut!

Leona:

If he gets recruited he comes pre-promoted as wyvern rider

Easy wyvern lord choice honestly

Actually, every savanaclaw member is pretty easy to turn into a wyvern lord in end game

Personal skill would be either royal lineage (multiplies unit experience) or cat nap (restores hp if he doesn't do anything during player phase)

Not sure which one tbh

High strength growth, poor resistance?

Pre-timeskip he acts as sort of leader in training students into wyvern riders

During the war he acts more as strategist, only going into battle when things are looking dire

Ruggie:

When recruited, he comes with all the skill necessary to be reclassed into thief

Although his personal skill would probably be lock touch (can open chests without keys) so reclassing him into thief isn't too necessary

Probably better off in brigand to help his strength growth?

Can easily be turned into an assassin for the high speed and dex

DODGE TANK

His clothes are leona hand me downs

During the war he kinda replaces leona's position as a leader on the battlefield, which is why he also gets leona's armor

Jack:

Starts off as a fighter since he's a first year

Gameplay whise, he'd probably be turned into a war master

Which explains the MASSIVE GAUNTLETS I've chosen to give him

I picked gauntlets as his "canon weapon" since they kinda look like claws

But he wouldn't be too hard to turn into a wyvern lord in end game with his budding talent in flying

I think it'd be kinda cute if every savanaclaw member can be easily built into an army of wyvern lords

Like leona, he has poor resistance

But he has massive defense growths to help

Personal skill would be lone wolf (+5 attack without battalions)

Story Notes:

You(yuu) fill(s) byleths role as a "tactician"

They meet ace, deuce, chenya and neige in the woods while the four are attacked by bandits

After they show off their master strategies (a.k.a hiding in bushes for evasion), the four invite them to nrc and rsa's shared monastery)

At the monastery, Crowley and Ambrose (that's his name right?? The rsa principal? ) make you(yuu) join one of the two schools

No matter which school you pick, 2 of the four from the earlier battle join your side and you make another choice in picking one of two dorms to fill your roster

Yknow how when you first play twst your free ssr is always either from heartslabyul or savanaclaw? Kinda like that

If rsa is picked, cheya and neige join you + 3 other people the dorm you chose ( twst hasn't revealed any rsa dorms im sorry, idk??)

If nrc is picked, ace and deuce join you +either heartslabyul (riddle, trey and cater) or savanaclaw (leona, ruggie, jack)

You(yuu) first gets to show off their tactics during the mock battle where they fight with their team against either rsa/nrc(depending on which school you chose) and 5 dorm leaders from the school you chose.

[bithcisweartogod]

“lu guang?”

“hm?”

“do you believe in parallel universes?”

they’ve been sitting quietly for a while. it was an overall normal evening, except for the gloomy weather that’s been hanging around for some time. raindrops were hitting against their window in a steady rhythm and everything around looked rather grey, save for a little lamp on the table. lu guang sat on the sofa trying to read a book, but he’s been stuck on the same page for a while now, his focus hazy. cheng xiaoshi, after playing a game for about an hour, was staring into the window. rain oftentimes got him into this sort of mood. pensive. more quiet than usual. 

“why are you asking so suddenly?” - lu guang looked away from his book, grey eyes studying cheng xiaoshi’s hunched frame.

“just. dunno. so, do you?” - he asks again, gaze not leaving the window. 

silence was suddenly back between them, but it didn’t feel pressuring. lu guang had to think. scientifically speaking, the existence of parallel universes wasn’t totally in the realm of fantasy. yet still, it remained too complicated of a concept to grasp and even harder to fully believe into. though the same could be said about their powers, so, well, touché.

“probably don’t. but i wouldn’t reject the idea altogether”.

lu guang’s eyes caught sight of two droplets slowly making their way down the window. as they moved forward, the distance between them grew shorter and soon enough the droplets collided, merging into one. 

“and you?” - he asked cheng xiaoshi. 

a low hum followed.

“don’t know. i suck at physics and all that, but…the thought that somewhere out there, far far away through space and time, there’s one more me living a totally different life…it’s kinda interesting”.

he was looking at lu guang now, familiar glint in his eyes. it felt right. his eyes should always glow like that. as much as lu guang complains about cheng xiaoshi talking too much, prolonged periods of silence are way worse. they make lu guang shift in his seat uncomfortably, stealing glances at him, trying to understand if everything’s alright. 

“maybe there’s a universe where i’m an elite basketball player!” - cheng xiaoshi continues, actively gesticulating. - “or where i’m an actor, or— wait, what’s that expression? you think i don’t fit the role?”

lu guang chuckles, putting his book away. he’s not coming back to it any time soon anyway. not like he was immersed into it in the first place.  

“or maybe there’s a universe where you take your studies seriously and end up pursuing your masters degree like shanshan-jie”, - he says jokingly.

“no, no, no” - cheng xiaoshi waves his hands in protest, expression twisting in disgust. - “ew. what a nightmare. it’s like if…” - he looks up, as if searching for the right example on the ceiling. then he snaps his fingers. - “like if there was a universe where you’re an idol. dancing, singing, modeling, constantly in the public eye, no—”

“alright, i get it” - lu guang cuts him off. the description cheng xiaoshi gives actually unsettles him. 

“see!”

cheng xiaoshi looks at him, laughing, and it suddenly doesn’t matter that it’s pouring outside, because their photo studio is warm, filled with cheng xiaoshi’s laughter. 

“the changes could also be very small, you know”, - lu guang prompts, unexpectedly for both of them. - “like if you were shorter and i was taller”.

“you wish”, - cheng xiaoshi scoffs in return, but continues the train of thought. - “what if my hair was white and yours black?”

he shifts closer, picking a strand of lu guang’s hair and trying to put it on his head. lu guang hisses at a slightly painful tug. 

“how do i look?” - cheng xiaoshi inquires.

“idiot, how am i supposed to tell from that?”

he shoves him away, but cheng xiaoshi’s persistent, so he pulls his hair tie down and picks a long enough strand of hair, lifting it to lu guang’s face. 

“yup, that’s a no”, - cheng xiaoshi declares after a minute of careful consideration. 

lu guang fails to hide his surprise, eyebrows flying up as in asking really? that bad? 

“sorry, guang-guang, black’s not your colour. white suits you best”.

cheng xiaoshi ruffles his hair, ignoring lu guang’s annoyed protests completely, and pulls him closer, arm settling over his shoulders. and even though a second ago he was more than annoyed, now lu guang can’t find it in himself to try and wriggle away. so they both just seat there, eyes closed, listening to the drumming of rain drops against the window. suddenly cheng xiaoshi’s voice breaks the silence. lu guang turns to look at him.

“what if there’s a universe where my parents never left?”

the question hangs in the air, half-rhetorical, half-genuine. lu guang wonders how many times cheng xiaoshi thought about that. wonders if this question was the root from which this entire conversation stems. he wants to say something reassuring, but no words come to mind.

“then everything would be different”, - that’s what lu guang settles for instead. 

“yeah…”

cheng xiaoshi stares blankly at the ceiling, little bittersweet smile on his lips. he turns his head then, gaze catching lu guang’s.

“but you know what? even if there is a universe like that, and even if i had a chance to go there and leave this one - i wouldn’t”.

lu guang doesn’t dare to take his eyes off of him. no amount of timelooping could ever be enough for lu guang to study cheng xiaoshi through and through. a moment ago he was joking like a kid, and now he looks mature beyond his years. 

“you know what’s funny, i barely remember them. mom’s more clear in my memories, but dad just feels… blurry and distant. it’s like i don’t know them, not truly. and then i thought, what if in that universe i’d never get to spend my childhood with qiao ling? what if i’d never get to meet you?”

it’s rare to have cheng xiaoshi talk about his feelings so openly, and something tugs and pulls inside lu guang’s chest, aching with the love he has for him. “i’d never trade a life with you for anything too”, he wants to say. but it feels like too much. he hopes his face can tell everything for him. words were never a necessity between them anyway. and for some reason he feels that cheng xiaoshi understands everything. everything lu guang’s eyes scream about, everything his lips don’t allow to let out. they’re partners, after all.  “how sappy”, - he says instead, smiling, eyes locked on his. that surely destroys the intimate atmosphere between them, and that’s for the best, lu guang tells himself. he’s not sure how long he’d be able to bear it without doing or saying something stupid.

“how can you be so cruel, lu guang!?” - cheng xiaoshi exclaims, flailing his arms. - “i’m baring my heart out for you and that’s what you tell me? seriously, you—”

[biorust-art]

Take a bow Bells Hells!

Cus wow what a show... I'm going to miss them so much, I am so fond of each and every one of them. This was a group that fought so many inner demons (and real ones) a group figuring out who they were and who their family was, a group that ran through the forest full of deadly things 100% naked. Ya'll remember that??

Through the laughs and the joys, the ceiling crawling, moon magic, fae shenanigans. Through the tragedies, the deaths, the goodbyes. I enjoyed their story. So, not a goodbye to Bells Hells, but a thank you.

Love is a vine, it'll grow and entangle not only yourself but the others around you. Pull your pieces back together and keep someone's hand close to hold. Love is a vine, and no matter the damage, it will always continue to grow.

[Image Description. A drawing of Bells Hells from Critical Role. They all stand on a wooden stage in a cast bow like after a play and smile. From left to right, Ashton holds his hammer in one hand and holds Fearne's hand up in the other, victorious. Fearne looks joyously into the light and keeps Laudna's hand close. Pate hovers over Laudna's shoulder as she smiles at Imogen with sharp teeth, holding her girlfriend's hand. Imogen smiles back at her while also holding Orym's hand. Orym looks up dreamily at Dorian, and has a hand on his lower back while Dorian has one on Orym's upper back. Dorian cheeses at the lines with his other hand in a flourish. Chetney stans below him with his hands on his hips and Braius, awful hoove hands that he possesses, has one hand up like he could hold Dorian's hand but isn't, and the other on his hip as well. Blue lights float around them, the purple curtains are halfway drawn and in the black of the stage behind them, the words 'en fin' float above Imogen's head. END ID]

[navillee]

i'm curious, how do you see xavier as a sub? i'm a switch/vers myself (and a xavier main) and even /i/ have trouble seeing him as a sub

Xavier as a sub - an introduction

˚★⋆｡˚. ⋆ ⋆ ★⋆

Don't worry, I can help you

With the wonderfuls of

Sub Xavier.

★⋆ . ˚

˚★

The abandoned crown prince:

I've been playing lads since the release, and my first five star card was Xavier's fluffy trap, and that card engraved the first impressions of him on me. I didn't read his entire lore (now we have 5 guys it got too overwhelming to keep tracking of everyone, so it may not be thaat accurate. But since it's just headcanons and that's a safe space, let's goo);

He gives off the vibe of cat that lives in the neighborhood and probably have an owner that spoiled him rooten with food, toys and everything Xavier could ask for, but still, every opportunity it gets it will running down the stairs and meowing at your door to be your guest for days and have fun with your cardboard boxes;

"Running away" from a dying planet where he was a prince because his star has left him and his home to succumb into deepspace. Until he knocks at your door to be your guest for a unknown period of time. Maybe until he remembers he actually has an apartment himself;

He didn't mind to left his home and his position as the crown prince to go to the ends of deepspace to reunite with you once again. Xavier is so very dedicated that he even ended up being selfless into the process;

That's the trick when we talk about Xavier as a sub: it's a matter of lighting up (ba dum tss*) the shadows hiding under the entire trajectory of him as a crown prince, the role you played of singlehandedly keeping him an all he knew as a home alive atop of him desperately searching for you to the point he almost died several times;

The fact that Philos needed to be powered by the Aether core, that's by itself it's enough to set up some power dynamics where Xavier knows – and approves – he will be under;

That's why he started his searching after all, Xavier isn't a ruler without you. He claims that "my star has left me" as much as the kings from empires long ago vanished by time claimed that their goddesses have abandoned them;

That's why once he finally finds you, he shows that possessive and jealous behaviour, beefing with everyone that approaches you. "How dare them?" You're his star, his dearly adored goddess, showered by every sacrifice royalty privileges could ever offer you, center of his heart, life and soul, so how dare them trying to get you divine attention with bread?!??? "Like, hello? I'm a prince and the ultimate sacrifice from my own people lying down just by your side at any moment you ask. May I have your attention back?" *Makes a scene to get it back* "yeah, much better now."

Back to the present and +18 aspects:

He's a mix of everything he has seen during and being during the decades alone looking for you: from social etiquette he has at events that bring both of you back once again to a ballroom dance at Philos, making everyone around both of you sigh, to the modern sexual freedom that made him let go from the strings of being a nobel to be more bold and show you how much he wants and needs you;

He demands like a spoiled prince sometimes because he can't help but be one. It's just a matter of time until he remembers he can't fight back his god;

Then, like a spoiled loyal knight, he'll act possessive and jealous, but that's until he gets your attention back;

Then, you'll get a spoiled bold sub that will tease just as much as he will adores you. A power dynamics that will be playfully challenged, but ALWAYS respected;

Xavier will challenge you, as the spoiled nobel he is. That's why he seems a dom sometimes at the first glance. But don't let the crown prince of Philos fool you, his ultimate goal is your pleasure, to prove he's the only one dignified enough to occupy that position within the dynamic of power, loyalty and adoration you two have.

Expect to find him wandering at your apartment with his hoodie only. It's so easy for you to have access to him when he's only wearing it. You can run your hands from his lower back up to his nipples via his abs while he fights for his life to keep the dinner from burning (poor boy, always losses and made a mess in the kitchen, not only with the food);

Like a empty vessel waiting to be filled with life once again, he trembles and sighs once he gets your hands on him;

The type of sub that also put verbally action, encouraging and teasing you to go further, to hit harder, to posses him like the ancient gods used to do through dominating the mind and bodies of the rulers using them as a receptacle of their own divine presence on earth;

"hmm~! I know miss enjoy touching there. I wonder why...while miss have all the meat she could ask for at her home, she still giving attention to a peasant offering her moldy brea- nnhg! Yes, there, miss! Again, p-please!"

Huge fan of oral, both giving and receiving, but cums faster when it's eating you out. Xavier can't get enough of your taste to the point you have to pull his hair to get him off of you to properly breath and from overstimulating you;

Obsessed with public play. First opportunity he finds with no wanderers at sight, he's bringing you to an empty alley at Linkon to have your juices mixing with his saliva again;

It doesn't matter if he's hard with pre marking his hunter uniform, all he's focusing on is making you cum on his mouth;

His stamina is something scary. Can fuck you all night and is invested in finding your favorite positions. People at hunter's association will ask themselves why he seems so sleepy while slightly smirks while he watches you pass by;

He lights up when he's about to cum (literally). There's smalls specks of light when he's about to orgasm: around his face to show of the sweaty reddish pretty traces of him, with a open mouth letting slide moans and words of adoration, and around his cock – when you're pumping his cock with your hands – also to show of how much he can cum for you. Again, he's a shown off, for you, his star.

[jomiddlemarch]

such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face

Being a divorcée in post-post-Voldemort England wasn’t all bad, Hermione née Granger-formerly-Weasley-once-again-Granger supposed, but that was only because she’d finally figured out a spell to allow her to run her vibrator in the bath and because Harry had given over being The Boy Who Lived in favor of The Most Doting Uncle Who’d Ever Lived and was willing, nay, eager to have Rose and Hugo stay over when Ron was on assignment and Hermione could not play one more gaming of Exploding Snap without exploding herself. 

Ginny generally dropped off a bottle of very dry Sancerre and a copy of La Nouvelle Revue Française with a wink when she came to pick up Rose and Hugo and Hermione thanked her lucky stars that Ginny’s rebellion against Molly’s trad-wife lifestyle had not merely been adolescent and that Harry, unlike Ron, had very much embraced being a wife-guy. 

Or rather, she thanked whatever might be in lieu of lucky stars, since those always made her think of constellations, which meant at best Sirius and the Veil and at worst Bellatrix, the chandelier, and the look in Draco’s eyes when she’d wished, most ardently, for death and had known he’d known and could do nothing about it even if he’d wanted to, which to this day, she wasn’t entirely sure he had done.

It wasn’t as if the immediate post-war period gave her much to go on. He’d survived the Battle of Hogwarts through a set of circumstance she was still rather fuzzy on and then had devoted himself to his mother’s defense once his own life and magic had been definitively saved largely by Harry (of course) and Hermione’s own determined and exhaustive submission from the WHO on child soldiers, acute trauma, and juvenile forensic work she’d sourced very carefully to avoid it being turned against him. Ron had never quite understood why she hadn’t wanted him Kissed, though to his credit, he’d never suggested she’d wanted to kiss him, which on the unequivocal far side of forty, she could admit had probably played a role. Before she’d ended the Grangers and made the Wilkins, her mother had been fond of that saying about love and hate being two sides of a coin and to that end, Hermione liked to keep a Galleon in her pocket, though it was also a Portkey, because one didn’t live through a near genocide without keeping an emergency exit handy; Ron hadn’t quibbled overmuch when she’d insisted on tattooing the children with a Sumerian sigil that linked to said Portkey, allowing her to ensure their safety, and so she hadn’t made a huge fuss when he’d finally admitted he fancied blokes and that he and Theo Nott had a love-nest in Sintra. 

(Blokes and Theo and the love-nest which Theo had bought and had professionally decorated made So Much Sense to Hermione that she also hadn’t made a huge fuss when it turned out the decorator had doubled down on the English Rose theme for the guest room they’d set aside for her. She’d had to break out her Tocharian grammar to gin up a spell that stopped the unrelenting sneezing the intense pink color scheme triggered but then she’d been able to write a paper about the spell and had gotten a coveted invitation to the conference in Uppsala out of it, which Theo couldn’t resist referring to as the “up-side” frequently enough that Ron topped off her glass of white without asking.)

If she ever got inside a Malfoy property, she doubted she’d have to worry about an excess of pink or any pastel, for that matter. Draco had dressed as conservatively as possible since leaving the house-arrest Harry had wangled for him instead of a stint at Azkaban, and if Hermione didn’t know better, she’d wonder if Draco was in mourning. That’s Muggleborn, Ron had said when she made a remark along those lines, and Theo and Ginny had nodded along. Purebloods didn’t wear black for mourning or at least, not unrelieved black without ornamentation, which Draco had stuck to as his fair hair went grey instead of silver. Occasionally, it seemed like the black was a very dark shade of green or indigo, when seen in certain lights, but she wondered whether she was tricking herself or had some Wizarding equivalent of presbyopia setting in; as no witch or wizard or magical creature appeared to suffer from Muggle presbyopia, it was difficult to suss out and she’d yet to meet anyone who shared an interest in these sort of inter-species biologic variations.

It was at the gala celebrating the opening of the newly renovated and expanded Janus Thickey Ward, Draco on the sidelines and only partially lit by the massive chandelier of the ballroom, when Hermione, having already had the last of the Sancerre before she’d Flooed over, too wise to risk Apparating while tipsy, allowed herself to ask.

“Are all your clothes black, Malfoy?”

He blinked at her and yes, he might well have a right to, as she had not offered anything resembling a conventional Wizarding and/or Muggle greeting or some anodyne comment about the event itself, his role on the board of directors, hers as a consultant to the construction of the Nous chambers. She had not spoken with him since the death of his wife Astoria and might have offered belated condolences, though the elapsed time since Astoria’s passing, nigh on three years, would have made that a possibly more awkward opening than the inquiry about his wardrobe. She wondered briefly whether she had lost track of the spell for her updo, whether there was an errant, experimental mpingo wand emerging from the mass of braided curls or the post-Battle-of-Hogwarts white streak she usually Glamoured had eluded her in the twenty-nine-step casting of the charm, given Draco’s silence and the bemused expression in his eyes.

“Good evening, Madam Granger. I’m glad you were able to attend tonight’s festivities, as the work you contributed to the hospital was critical for the success of the project and will lead to both higher quality care for those suffering from brain injuries and illnesses as well as new research and magical discoveries,” he replied as politely as if they’d never met before. Had never attended the same school for close to a decade, been rivals and enemies, had never fought in a war and barely survived it. As if he hadn’t watched her nearly die at the wandpoint of his mad aunt, his face a study in anguish she’d only been able to recognize because of the excruciating torment she was subject to, the sound of Ron’s choked-off cries the most distant backdrop.

“I beg your pardon—” she began.

“It’s easier,” he said. “If everything is black, or nearly black, it’s easier to get dressed. To look put-together when I don’t feel anything like that. It creates a persona for others to relate to, gives them a template to relate to. And it’s nothing like my father’s flamboyance, it’s a signal of what I’ve renounced. That I’m not like him.”

“I’ve never thought you were,” she said, all her lovely tipsiness gone as if he’d cast a spell, when it was the truth he’d spoken, she could hear that. It was disarming, the truth, especially when you didn’t expect it and who’d expect it from the former Prince of Slytherin himself?

“Yes, you did. Or I failed all through school, because I wanted you to think I was until I didn’t and it was too late,” he said.

“Are you this open with everyone now? Is that another way you’ve differentiated yourself from your father?” Hermione asked.

“No,” he said and his expression changed to something that quite resembled a smile without actually being one, a feat Hermione knew herself and every other Gryffindor incapable of achieving. “I decided to make an exception for you.”

“I don’t think my contributions to the ward renovations were that significant,” she said.

“They were, but that isn’t why. If one considers what I owe you, the odd completely candid conversation doesn’t remotely come close to making things right between us. I can see you mean to argue the point with me but you needn’t. I shan’t be convinced and you’ll be annoyed. I’d rather get you a glass of wine. You’re far too clever to want the signature cocktail,” he said.

“Tincture of gingko harvested during the new moon is far too volatile for any gin based mixed drink but no one on the event planning committee would listen,” she replied.

“Pansy wouldn’t listen. She can be such a cow, though I’ll deny ever saying that if you repeat it,” Draco said, Accioing a glass of white wine from a passing server with the same elegant grace he’d used as a Seeker. He cast a wordless, wandless Leniter gelidus before he handed it to her.

The first sip was exquisitely chilled, though it wasn’t her preferred Sancerre.

“Pinot grigio to please the crowd,” he shrugged. 

“Are you a wine snob, Malfoy?”

“It’s the most acceptable type of snob for me to be and the Sacred Twenty-Eight consider it a way of keeping up the side,” he said, properly smiling now. She would have thought him prone to a wry grin or a sly smirk, but it was simply a warm and sweet curve of his mouth.

“You care about them?” she asked.

“I can’t afford not to. Not when I have my son to protect and to a lesser degree, my mother. Aunt Andromeda does what she can but the taint of the Death-Eaters lingers—”

“It shouldn’t have anything to do with a child,” Hermione said. She didn’t let herself think on it much, how it had been for them when they arrived at Hogwarts, already cast in their roles by Dumbledore even more than Voldemort, not when she could see Rose and Hugo, Victoire, Louis, Teddy, Albus and James and Lily and know what Dumbledore would have expected of her own children and what that would do to them.

“And that’s why I answered you with the truth,” Draco said. “Because you’ve never shied away from it, no matter what it cost you.”

“If I’m being honest, I think I’m simply not a terribly good liar and I don’t like to do anything I’m not good at,” Hermione replied.

“If I may be so bold, you are a bloody delight, Madam Granger,” Draco said. 

“I’m Madam Granger again though,” she said.

“You haven’t given me leave to call you anything else,” Draco said.

“You called me Granger at school,” she said. “I’d answer to that—”

“What about Hermione?”

“Try it,” she said.

“Hermione, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Draco asked.

Being a divorcée in post-post-Voldemort England wasn’t all bad, Hermione née Granger-formerly-Weasley-once-again-Granger supposed, but that was only because she’d finally got over her hang-ups—she didn’t look a mumpish fool dancing in public (a comment which was later repeated back to her incredulously by a Draco she’d managed to completely astonish and provoke into a rather lengthy discourse on her myriad graces), she wasn’t relegated to being either a dowdy mummy or frumpish civil servant (a comment which was later repeated back to her bemusedly by a Draco who pointed out that her hang-ups apparently rhymed), and most delightfully, it was entirely possible for a wizard to wandlessly cast the spell to run her vibrator in the bath, leaving two sets of hands blessedly, magically free.

(The positively filthy look Draco gave her rubber duck might well engender its own hang-up, but not one she couldn’t unburden herself of with sufficient chilled Sancerre and Ginny’s undivided attention.

Or free run of the villa in Sintra, Theo and Ron taking all three children on a camping trip Hermione would never, ever have agreed to go on.) 

For @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy who a while back had asked for some Dramione comfort-fit. After the week we've all had, I'm offering this fanfic and whatever you drink in lieu of Hermione's Sancerre.

[pbballer456]

i don’t rlly usually do like think pieces cause i feel there are enough of those on the internet any way and no matter if they lose every game or go undefeated imma ride with this huskies team but here we go

okay so i feel like there were a lot of issues individually, ice out obviously, paige azzi and ashlyn’s shots weren’t falling, general foul trouble from key players but i honestly feel like most of it is a usage/ overall coaching issue kinda

like it just feels like there aren’t a ton of clear roles and overall aggressiveness isn’t where it needs to be (the amount of times a tennessee player lost the ball and i watched our team stand still and stare at it)

like you have kk and kaitlyn running point which just straight up isn’t beneficial for the team and then i think paige can’t play to her full potential

then if paige runs point there’s more success but i feel like then kk and kaitlyn don’t rlly know they’re roles and are just chucking up shots or driving to the rim even tho they’re undersized

mainly it feels like geno just throws them out there and theyre strategies are hope the shots go in, have paige and sarah pick and roll, and hope paige or azzi clutches up in the end, which sure that works in big east play but when you’re playing real opponents you need an actual game plan especially since ngl other than sarah our bigs STRUGGLE in the paint

you can’t just throw your amazing players out there with the plan of hope our guards can make shots and our bigs don’t foul ITS DEEPER THAN THAT U GOTTA PLAY WITH SMART DECISIONS

and i think that’s where the aggressiveness issue comes from, the players don’t have a clear plan so they’re always hesitant and play like they’re scared, the whole team has to play like they want it and as much as i LOVE THEM especially paige and azzi gotta get outta they’re heads and play smart basketball

obviously goes with out saying but i love my huskies and every player on that team and at the end of the day win or lose sports are a positive fun thing so imma move on and hope they grow from this lol 💙

[shakespeare-big-bang]

How does this Shakespeare Big Bang work?

A Big Bang is a fandom creation event where writers and artists collaborate to create new fanworks. Classic Big Bangs often require a minimum word count of around 50.000 words for writers, with artists claiming writing projects once first drafts or outlines exist - our Big (or Mini) Bang is going to work a little bit differently.

We want to center fun, lower the barrier for participation and spark collaboration more than anything, so:

*  no minimum word count or minimum anything

*  no drafts/outlines needed for the “claiming” process

*  both artists and writers will put themselves out there (personal ad style) with as little or as many ideas or wishes as they have.

They can approach each other in the matching period. We might suggest matches and help where we can to make sure everyone ends up with a match.

We haven’t done this before and this setup is a bit experimental, but given that we’re a relatively small group of people, we trust that it will work out somehow and be fun.

Timeline

(subject to change as we go)

Sign-Ups Open:   NOW - February 22nd 

Matching Period: February 23rd - March 8th 

Creation Period:  March 8th - May 1st (not a hard deadline) + Regular Check-Ins

Posting: First week(s) of May

The Stages

SIGN-UP

Fill out the Google Form and let us know what you want to work on and how many projects you have time and capacity for as an artist and/or writer. All this information will be channeled into an overview over everyone who has signed up and made available to the other participants. It doesn’t matter if you’re an artist or a writer - matching will be possible in both directions. Maybe you have a concrete idea for a great image you want to draw and it inspires a writer who didn’t have a prompt so far?

Don’t worry about making your responses perfect - if you want to edit them at a later point, because you got a great new idea or you have less time than you originally thought, you can always message us and we’ll adjust!

MATCHING PERIOD

We make the “personal ads” of everyone available to all participants. Message each other on tumblr and see if you want to work together - as soon as a match is formed, let us know and we’ll lower your number of available matches or mark your “personal ad” as taken entirely and log your match. Congratulations! You’re welcome to start working on your projects whenever you’d like to!

Towards the end of the matching period we might start to talk to people individually, suggest matches or (with your consent) shout out your ideas and wishes to see if additional people want to get involved or existing participants want to take on another project. Maybe an unconventional artist-artist match makes two people happy? The world is (y)our oyster.

CREATION PERIOD 

Time to write, draw, paint, collage, embroider… We’ll check in with everyone frequently on Discord and Tumblr.

If you need to drop out or lower the amount of matches you’ve committed to, let us know as early as possible so we can find new matches for people or get pinch hitters involved. Or let us know that it will simply take you a bit longer. The deadlines are supposed to help all of us have something to work towards, they’re not supposed to be an obstacle or source of stress!

POSTING

The results of our hard work will be posted on ao3 and added to a Big Bang specific collection. You’re obviously welcome to post fic links and art on tumblr as well so we can share and promote each others’ work! 

We’re currently planning a posting schedule spread out over 1-3 weeks, depending on how many works we’ll end up with, but this is still subject to change.

What can I write/make art about?

Any Shakespeare play is game! Closely related stuff (like Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead, Motive and the Cue) is allowed as well. It doesn’t have to be directly related to a role DT has played, but keep in mind the more obscure it gets the harder it might be to find a match! 

If you’re unsure feel free to shoot us an ask or DM one of the admins (see end of post) before signing up and if you don’t have any concrete ideas yet, don’t worry! You might just find the idea you want to work on in the “personal ads” during the matching period, or you can brainstorm from scratch with your match once you’ve found each other!

We’re also hoping to get a bit of a prompt and idea economy going on this blog… Stay tuned!

How do I get on the discord server?

Once you’ve signed up via the form, send us an ask with your discord name on tumblr or DM one of the admins (see end of post) with the same account you’ve put into the sign up sheet and we’ll send you a link! 

Please change your server specific name to your tumblr handle as soon as possible, so we can all find each other!

Who is behind this?

@tinysartorius, @elsinore-and-inverness, @thedemonraym @halfaninchofwater, @ancient-lesbian and @geese-villain at your service!!

[myinterestsvary-writes]

@fegafegafega :

Yet, their relationship does feel forced because of the lack of proper buildup to make their relationship have more emotional weight as I said in this post. I don’t like that it feels so casual and less serious given the multiple reasons that I’ve listed. It would’ve served the narrative better if there was more of a follow-up to the upsetting tone set at the end of season 2. I wouldn’t have felt so off with the season’s opening and wasted time being angry about it. I said in multiple other posts that the dialogue (not specifically) between them and about their relationship doesn’t feel earned because they’re telling instead of showing, even if I can feel Mark’s genuine affection for her all throughout the series so far. Eve and their relationship was far too sidelined especially last season for many viewers to truly believe what Amber and Eve talked about in the cafe in 303. There was some tension, I felt it, but it wasn’t enough for me to accept that conversation without question. I did not want to be annoyed watching their scenes the first few times but I was because of these very reasons. I just want their relationship to have more depth and given more room to breathe, and most importantly given MORE CHEMISTRY as you can absolutely write already established characters with an established relationship to have it and my suggestions could aid that specific complaint (character chemistry is described sometimes as the tension, energy, and audience engagement two or more characters have with each other; one is always reacting genuinely to the other, playing off one another).

Also, Mark and Eve are actually entwined not only by the narrative but literally by the universe it seems as even in alternative dimensions, there’s romantic undertones between their counterparts and with the Future Eve scene no matter how much they try to make sense of it and be ashamed and dismiss it, it goes to show how significant their connection is to each other. There’s even more to support my perspective from the comics but that’s spoiler territory.

I honestly appreciate more and more the way they got them together, however the main reason they feel so casual together is because of the lack of exploration of what their dynamic truly entails on many fronts including serious conflict resolution with inevitable struggles between two flawed people, they can’t help but be drawn to each other. That’s what I wanted more of. It doesn’t matter if either of them have been through enough, people will do what they do best which is mess up and underperform despite themselves.

“Your criticism for Eve is kinda like ‘she’s too mature let’s make her more insecure and irrational for the sake of drama.’ Have Eve be wary of Mark not only because of the future Eve dilemma but also because she’s been cheated on before why exactly? There’s no indication that Mark would ever cheat, and Eve has never been written as someone who projects her past onto others. Why should Eve feel guilt for having feelings for Mark? Amber and Mark are done. Amber isn’t in love with him anymore.”

For the sake of drama, yes, and also cohesion to what they already established with the character. I don’t mean projecting her past onto others, I mean making Eve confront her own past experiences with the men in her life up until Mark, that way it’ll be easy to see how she can appreciate the role Mark has in her life even more.

Regardless of whether or not Eve should feel guilt about it, there’s friendships and feelings involved. Mark and Amber had lots of love for each other and a break-up they struggled to come to making a decision on but I can believe them accepting it eventually and being okay moving on from each other, even if three months seem a little too short they can recognize it was for the best. There was time to heal but I didn’t see it all too much and wasn’t allowed to feel it or given more time to emotionally adjust to Eve and Mark being together even as someone who’s been hoping Amber and Mark would break up permanently from season 1.

“But the part I really don’t like that you said was saying, ‘Eve is way too healthy of a communicator…’ It’s so rare to see a female character in a superhero show who actually talks about her emotions and sets boundaries, and somehow you’re like you don’t like it cos it’s not messy enough?? And lastly A love triangle? For what?? A love square? Why?? A love pentagon? WHY?! Again loved the rant!”

It is not rare for a female character to do any of that, it’s rare for it to actually be respected by the narrative, which it has been so far. However, with someone with a tragic childhood and persistent stressors as the one Eve does have, letting her be a little more understandably messy (yet still being the chill Eve we know) would add more charm to her role as the main female lead outside Debbie. I enjoyed her arc in the second season, her having her own struggles that affect primarily her relationship with Mark and the plot (her being the co-protagonist in a way to Mark) would strengthen her writing and make her and their relationship less vulnerable to accusations of being boring and disengaging. It would be more nuanced and compelling, alongside her new goal of becoming an architect/engineer this season. Overall, I just want more quality character work for this powerhouse girly specifically.

eve talks, thinks, and acts too much like a psychology major. thanks, britta perry.

beware: rant below

the teenaged romantic relationships are not messy enough to be interesting. there’s a fine line among annoyingly boring - messy - and annoyingly messy. invincible, write your characters like fucking humans. they talk way too much with each other in a healthy way, there’s a lack of emotion that makes it feel bland. sure, we didn’t need cheating but i need more of an actual portrayal of complicated feelings among the cast. not just telling us, the audience, that it’s complicated. maybe it’s nice to the writers in contrast to amber and mark’s relationship to have a relationship without true obstacles to overcome, who just fit perfectly together. however, mark and amber were compelling with chemistry because their interactions related to one of the central themes and was tense because of external conflicts they had to face head on, and not just talk through. plus, they had chemistry because they got along among other reasons, so you get the sense in another life they’d still be together which hits harder and sits with you better.

another thing, mark and eve don’t just work as a couple because they’re superheroes. this was the perfect time to demonstrate the dynamic the two will have, to sell them as a couple worth screentime and ultimately endgame. it’s obvious as fuck the show is written around the two to be together from eve’s special, to their parallels, similar values and goals, and the fact that the audience could catch onto their chemistry that was apparent from the first season (and shockingly lacking later). mark and amber never felt like endgame to me yet them having more chemistry, tension, and intrigue so far is frustrating. (yes, I know their story is complete but imagine if mark and eve weren’t portrayed as teens just casually trying to date each other like they are in the third season. their feelings for each other do not feel profound at all as i feel it should be and like they’re truly destined and that a force they can’t truly comprehend brings them together blah blah blah. like they’re truly birds of a feather who understands one another on a whole other level. it’s so fucking wack.)

explore more of mark’s melancholy that his last relationship ended because he didn’t want his gf to get hurt. show more of mark’s avoidance of eve and him being nervous and reserved around her but also evidently contemplative and wistful. show more of their attraction to each other.

show more of eve’s reasonable understanding of healthy boundaries but also her disappointment in mark avoiding her, feeling insecure about it (because the one who should be insecure about stuff like this should be eve, who has dated a serial cheater as her first love). have eve be wary of mark not only because of the future eve dilemma that wasn’t even that big a deal unfortunately, so wack, such a missed opportunity but also because she’s been cheated on before, and that her dad does not like her so she’s insecure about her taste in men and doesn’t know why mark would like her. have them tiptoe around the other but make the tension palpable, not played almost entirely for comedy and quickly resolved with barely a microcosm of interpersonal conflict. have eve feel guilt when she confronts her feelings for mark, mainly because she’s friends with amber and mark too! show eve is way too healthy of a communicator and it freaks me out. she doesn’t even have to be completely like her comic counterpart, just make her feel young and human like they all were in the first and second season, making mistakes and acting on impulses.

build up the emotion to where when important beats happen, it feels significant and satisfying. like them getting together for the first time, or kissing, dating, making love etc. that way we as an audience connect with them more on an emotional level when something bad happens hint hint and it won’t feel like you’re trying to force it out of me. make us want to root for them and not lazily put them together based on a history the two share that wasn’t even mainly focused on in favour of another love interest. make us understand truly why they want and love each other instead of making it feel as casual as it does.

i would’ve loved a semi-love triangle/square/pentagon with mark, amber, eve, rex, and/or rae. anything to spice things up!

[dykedvonte]

Curly not immediately punishing Jimmy for assaulting Anya is something I don’t think a lot of people are viewing in the complex context for Curly as the superior to both of them and closest confidante they had.

Like I am in no way saying he didn’t under react or fail Anya by not being harsh or direct with Jimmy but it really is the case that he really couldn’t. Imagine being stuck in such a confined space with very little areas to genuinely hold someone if they commit a crime. It’s not like this was an event that occurred before they departed or that they have easy communication with The Pony Express to ask for how to proceed when something like this arises. Not to mention, Jimmy’s relative power in relation to Anya as the co-pilot and second in command, he has the knowledge and access to do something to her had Curly directly punished him in this setting.

They were also Curly’s friends. It’s not just the case of him mediating something between his subordinates but people he is personally invested in don’t want to see spiral further in Anya’s case while also not wanting believe his friend go that bad in Jimmy’s actions. They were both suicidal and Curly putting Jimmy’s stability first is both out of bias but also the fact he’s aware at some level Jimmy is a danger to himself and others if not constantly placated. Combined with the fact he was in denial or just not piecing together what Anya said it’s hard to say what he buying time for and what he had treat as urgent. This isn’t even saying he doesn’t care about Anya but he’s not going jump to the worst conclusions about his friends even if part of him acknowledges the evidence saying so. It’s a complicated thing but he’s still human and needed to process it on top of trying to keep a ship that already took on a lot of water from further sinking, metaphorically.

I just personally think that while Curly failed Anya, it was a scenario where there wasn’t much he could do to the best thing by her safely and like Jimmy, we are underestimating what a good leader would do in a very fragile and tense situation like he was in. By the time he may have been ready and had a plan, things were much too late.

[silver-horse]

bioware really said "let's release it on halloween... it's so terrible... it's gonna scare the shit out of everyone...the perfect halloween"

[ceramicbeetle]

btw Still thinking about the moment where Tula first realizes she's literally, mechanically unable to keep up with / catch Jaysohn when he bolts and runs his full speed. That revelation that she's not fast enough to stop him, or get alongside him, much less get in front of him to protect him if he needed it. The dread terror of it. :(

[ficmeouttahere]

I'm here to agree and further my Switch!Agatha agenda bc yes she will bottom and that woman will be babied like imagine the pillow princess treatment she deserves ugh

Eve, Rachel, Chris, Carla and, Agatha

In your mind explain, in excruciating detail, why each is either a top/bottom/switch.

We’re going insane. Mutuals look the fuck away.

MUTUALS LOOK AWAY!

OK this is going off of what we get from their shows/movies so people cannot be in here arguing! 😤

Eve: Switch. She is legit down and in for anything and everything as long as she gets what's in her dirty little head out (and I love that for her❤️) I mean we see it with the spanking scene, she changes the pitch of her voice to be the dom and sub during her act-out fantasy!

Rachel: This one is kinda hard because with her shit ass husband she was mostly a bottom BUT, if she and McKenna actually hooked up? Hmmm no I think it would be the same. I think when she realized what she was missing during that lap dance like, someone who could be in control and make her feel that good? 👀

Chris: TOP. You gotta let her; she has to. She is in her zone when she's in charge. She gets an idea in her head and she has to run with it and you are not gonna change her mind or knock her down a peg (hehe peg)

Carla: Carla, my beloooooovedddddd ❤️ I know the obvious answer is top because of her personality and how she carries herself, but I can see her bottoming for the right partner. Switch, but it's gotta be on her playing terms.

Agatha: I KNOW EVERYONE SAYS SHES THE TOP, AND I GET THAT, BUT HEAR ME OUT....I'm straying from the facts on this one... She is SO fun to write as a bottom. Like, truly. Most of my fanfics she is, and Rio is the one with all the power over Agatha, and I like the dynamic, but yall out here saying it's Agatha topping so 🤷🏻‍♀️