#especially like real people do or from eden

[dramaticmotionblur]

i know it’s unlikely BUT IMAGINE they play Unknown / Nth in good omens s3 and it’s during a scene where aziraphale is going back to/already with crowley KDHSKSHSKDJJS

[mimpinightmare]

Oh Eden, Dear. I hope you know how wonderful you are~ (Saying this Lovingly, and Platonically-)✨💜💛✨

REVAMPED EDEN REF WE UPP🗣️🗣️🔥🔥

For anyone who doesn’t know, Eden Harlow is a busy and tired scientist at Invincible united, living w her two best friends/sisters; Akira and Nalani. Although she can be a bit chaotic sometimes, She’s generally a very chill and quiet person, mostly interested in science and technology, in fact she spends most of her days working in her lab at the fitness institute.

Her relationship w IU is pretty positive, and although she doesn’t condone their aggressive play and cheating, she doesn’t get paid enough to gaf LMAO. She’s neutral w the team players and gets along w them pretty well, but she’s especially close w dingaan cuz he’s a silly cutie and skarra cuz he’s her bf<3, She’s neutral w vince but sometimes can’t stand his bullshit.

[minswriting]

No Higher Being Than You - Spencer Reid x Reader

about: for all my girlies who love munch spencer, here is a one shot about spencer worshipping you like you’re a god

warnings: NSFW content, minors do not interact, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, religious comparisons, not an accurate depiction of religion whatsoever.

word count: 0.6k

Ever since Spencer was a young boy, he had never really believed in a higher power. His mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and his father was never really around. Religion was never a topic of his childhood. How could it be? Spencer had to raise himself. And by doing so, he read many books, one of them including the Bible. When he read the Bible, he didn’t believe any of it to be true. It was all fictitious, nothing of real value that could explain how the world came to be. The scientific theories about the world had always made much more sense than a silly book. So it was safe to say that religion was not something Spencer believed in. He was a man of science.

Until he met you.

When you had walked into the coffee shop that Spencer frequently went to before work, he was completely mesmerized. The Boy Genius didn’t care for beauty most of the time. He wasn’t really too interested in people as a whole until he had met Maeve. But as he saw you, took in your appearance, he couldn’t help but thank the Lord above for blessing him with such a sight. And he had thanked the Lord once more when you had given him your number that exact day.

And ever since then, the two of you had clicked.

Not only were you the most beautiful person Spencer had ever laid eyes upon, you were the kindest and sweetest person ever. Your smile radiated the room each time you walked in, your laugh was music to Spencer’s ears. You were a mixture of funny, sarcastic, intelligent. You truly were a divine being. Spencer was completely and utterly enamored by you. He never failed to make sure you were shown just how much he adored you. Especially right now.

Spencer’s tongue lapped around your cunt, taking in the sweet essence that were your juices. You tasted magical as though derived from the Garden of Eden. The forbidden fruit that was worth every drop. Spencer took his time eating you out, savoring each and every moment. His nose rubbed against your clit as he tongued your hole. If premarital coitus were truly a sin, God wouldn’t have made it so lovely.

You were whining and moaning beneath him, your hand tugging his brown curls. Your sounds were beautiful, everything Spencer could’ve dreamed of. The hitch of your breath, the arching of your back, the curling of your toes, all because of Spencer’s touch. It was a blessing to be with you and his reward was making you feel good in any way he could.

“S-Spencer!” You moaned, tugging at his hair.

Spencer replied with a moan, burying his face deeper into your cunt. The vibrations of his voice sent tingles into your pussy, causing you to whine in pleasure. He moved his mouth to suck on your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. You let out a high pitched moan, relishing in the pleasures Spencer was giving you. And Spencer could tell just how close you were.

You were his muse, his higher being. If God were real, you were it. You were the divine entity from the Heavens, blessing the Earth with every fiber in your being. When you came, thighs clenching around Spencer’s face, he felt praised by the skies. And he didn’t stop there. He made sure to make you cum multiple times.

Spencer Reid isn’t a religious man. But meeting you had given him a new meaning of religion. You were his higher being, his one true God to worship. And you absolutely knew it.

[lazy-ahh]

Haiii !! Me again lmao >:3 I dooo have a request I fear - idk how to explain it tho but I have songs that gave me the ideas, hopefully when you /if you listen to then you'll get what I mean !! I just think the way you write would be perfect for this

the songs =

Like real people do, from Eden, Nobody's soilder, cherry wine, it will come back

All by Hozier lol, if I find a proper way to explain it I will!

Thanks again!! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ

IT WILL COME BACK

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

twenty five times jason todd warned you not to love him, and one time he begged you to stay.

this is the first of two! (i'm sorry, but i only have the time to write two of the songs and those two songs were the ones that clicked for me and i just NEED to write about them) i listened to this song first and immediately searched up the meaning of this song. and then i read someone's interpretation of the song and I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE ABOUT IT, especially with emotionally repressed jason who worships reader, who doesn't think that he deserves them but with the way reader teases and encourages him and showers him with love, to let him not be afraid of showing his true feelings, then how could he ever say no? hopefully you enjoyed this one!

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

jason knows you know. he’s a mess of scar tissue and bad decisions, a boy who clawed his way out of his own grave only to keep dragging the dirt behind him—so why do you look at him like he’s something worth loving? like he’s not just a ghost wearing a man’s skin? you shouldn’t. you know better.

but then you grin at him, all sharp edges and softness, and say, "what’s that face for, jay? thinking too hard again?" like it’s that simple. like he’s not a loaded gun and you’re not pressing your finger to the trigger just to feel the danger of it.

the way you look at him, all mischief and molten affection—you know what it does to him. he’s not stupid. you’re not subtle. (he’s memorized the exact shade of your smile when you tease him, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at his scowling.) but god, he loves it anyway. loves you anyway. even when he doesn’t think he deserves to.

than to look at it, look at it like that

your eyes drag over him like you’re starving, like he’s something worth devouring—and fuck, maybe he is, the way you touch him like you can’t get enough. fingers tracing the ridges of his abs, nails scraping just to hear his breath hitch. teeth sinking into the curve of his bicep, just hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to make him groan. lips pressing hot and open-mouthed against the back of his neck while your hands slip under his shirt, greedy, needy, like you want to memorize every scar, every shudder you pull from him.

"jason," you sigh, voice dripping with something sweet and sinful, "you’re so tense, baby. let me help."

he should scowl. should shove you away before this goes too far, before he loses what little control he has left. but then your tongue flicks over his pulse point, and his head falls back against your shoulder with a ragged fuck.

he never does push you away. never could.

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

he’s warned you before—voice rough like gravel under tires, that low growl he gets when you’re pushing all his buttons just to watch him unravel. "don’t," he mutters, fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but won’t let himself. "you shouldn’t poke the beast, sweetheart."

but you just tilt your head, all faux innocence, lips quirking into that grin that makes his pulse stutter. "beast?" you echo, stepping closer until your breath ghosts over his jaw. "where? all i see is you, jason." and god, the way you say his name—like it’s something sacred, something yours—it wrecks him.

his hands find your hips on instinct, grip tight enough to bruise, but you don’t flinch. you never do. instead, you press closer, all warm skin and teasing fingers tracing the scars on his knuckles. "see?" you murmur, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "just you."

he should argue. should remind you he’s not something to play with, not something gentle. but the way you look at him—like he’s yours, like you’d fight the whole damn world to keep him—steals the words right from his throat.

than to talk to it, talk to it like that

your voice drops to something slow and syrupy, honey-thick with teasing—the kind of tone that curls under his skin and lingers there, sticky-sweet. "jason," you sigh, dragging out each syllable like you're savoring the taste, and fuck, it's not even his name anymore. it's a blade between his ribs, a match to gasoline, and you wield it with devastating precision.

he tenses, jaw clenching as he pointedly stares at the ceiling instead of you. "don't," he grits out, but there's no heat behind it—just that rough, frayed edge that means he's already losing.

"don't what?" you hum, all false innocence, fingers walking up his chest like you own every inch of him (you do). "i'm just saying your name."

"yeah, like that," he mutters, finally snapping—one hand catching yours mid-taunt, pinning it against his heartbeat. it's racing. you can feel it. "like you fucking mean it."

don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul

he doesn’t want half-measures, doesn’t want the tentative brush of your fingers like you’re afraid he’ll break. if you’re going to touch him, he wants all of you—your laughter tangled in his sheets, your stubborn mouth biting back moans, the way you dig your nails into his shoulders when he fucks you just right. he wants the way you press your cold feet against his calves just to hear him yelp, the way you gasp his name like a prayer when he pins you down.

"jason—" you pant, arching under him as his teeth graze your throat.

"tell me," he growls, hands mapping your skin like he’s memorizing every beauty mark, every scar. "tell me you’re mine."

you laugh, breathless and bright, even as he steals the sound with a kiss. "always," you murmur against his lips, fingers twisting in his hair. "you know you’ve got me."

and he does. he does. your soul is already his—has been since the first time you looked at him like he was worth something. but he’ll still take it again and again, greedy and desperate, until neither of you can remember where he ends and you begin.

honey, make this easy

it should be simple. he should be able to push you away, to stay in the shadows where he belongs—where he can't hurt you. but then he sees you on that rooftop, outnumbered and backed into a corner, and his body moves before his mind can catch up.

the takedown is brutal, efficient. he doesn't let himself linger, already turning to disappear into the night—until your hand catches his wrist.

"jason."

his name on your lips is a punch to the gut. he freezes, heart hammering against his ribs. you shouldn't know. you shouldn't see him.

"you're dead," you whisper, but your fingers tighten like you're afraid he'll vanish. "i watched them bury you."

he should lie. should shake you off and run. but the way you're looking at him—like he's your only salvation, something precious, something real—makes the words stick in his throat.

"make this easy," he rasps, voice rough from disuse. "pretend you didn't see me."

you laugh, sharp and wet, and suddenly your arms are around him, holding on like he's the only solid thing in the world. "never," you breathe against his neck. "you don't get to ask me that."

and god, he's so fucked. because he should pull away. should run. but your warmth, your scent, the way you cling to him like he's worth keeping—it ruins him.

leave it to the land, this is what it knows

he was made for violence—knuckles split on brick walls, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, the way pain sings through his veins like an old friend. survival is coded in his bones, written in every scar. but you—you with your stupid jokes and softer hands, with the way you trace his scars like they're something precious instead of proof of how broken he is—you make him want. want mornings tangled in sheets, want lazy kisses pressed to his shoulder blades, want things he has no right to ask for. it terrifies him.

"stop that," he grumbles when you catch his hand, turning it over to press your lips to his bruised knuckles.

"stop what?" you murmur, all innocence, but your eyes spark with mischief.

"this." he gestures vaguely between you, at the way your thumb rubs circles into his palm. "acting like i'm—"

"like you're what?" you interrupt, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his lips. "worth loving?"

he flinches like you've struck him. "that's not—"

"too bad," you whisper, and kiss him before he can protest further. and god help him, he kisses back, hands clutching at your waist like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

(he was made for blood and brutality. but maybe—just maybe—he could learn to be made for this too.)

honey, that’s how it sleeps

the nightmares come less often when you’re there—when he can feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against his chest, when your warmth seeps into his bones like sunlight through cracked blinds. he’ll never say it out loud, but he sleeps deeper with your limbs tangled in his, with your head tucked under his chin like you belong there. (you do.)

one night, after a particularly bad mission, you catch him staring at you in the dim light, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

“what?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking up at him.

“nothing,” he mutters, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer.

you smirk against his collarbone. “you’re such a liar.”

he huffs, but doesn’t deny it, just presses his lips to your forehead in a silent confession.

don’t let it in with no intention to keep it

his hands are rough when they grab your wrists, pinning them to the mattress as he hovers over you, breath ragged. "this isn't a game," he grits out, eyes dark with something dangerous. "i'm not some fucking toy you can pick up when it's convenient and toss aside when you're bored."

you tilt your chin up, defiant even as your pulse jumps under his grip. "who said anything about tossing you aside?"

"don't," he warns, voice dropping to that low growl that makes your stomach flip. "don't act like you don't know what you do to me. like you haven't always known."

your smile is all sharp edges and sweetness. "maybe i like what i do to you."

he exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "then you better be prepared to deal with the consequences, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. "because if you let me in, i'm not leaving. ever."

(he means it. he'll ruin anyone who tries to take him away from you—including himself.)

"who says i'd let you out?" you answer, voice just as raw, just as wrecked, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you loosen your grip. the look on his face mirrors yours—something desperate, something starving—and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. "i lost you once before, i'm never losing you again."

jesus christ, don’t be kind to it

your kindness is worse than cruelty. the way you cup his face like he’s something precious, the way you press feather-light kisses to every scar—each one a silent i love you, i love you, i love you—it undoes him completely. he knows how to take a punch, how to bleed and keep fighting, but this? this tenderness? it terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.

"stop," he rasps when you trace the jagged line along his ribs—a souvenir from a fight he barely walked away from. his voice cracks, rough with something too close to vulnerability. "you don’t have to—"

"i know," you interrupt softly, lips brushing the raised skin before you look up at him, eyes warm as sunlight. "i want to."

and that’s the thing that wrecks him most of all—that you choose this, choose him, even when he’s all sharp edges and broken pieces. your fingers card through his hair, gentle as a summer breeze, and he leans into the touch before he can stop himself.

honey, don’t feed it, it will come back

he always comes back. no matter how many times he tells himself this is the last time, no matter how many miles he puts between you, his feet always find their way to your doorstep—bruised, breathless, and aching. tonight is no different. the second you open the door, he’s on you, hands rough as they pin you against the wall, his mouth hot and desperate against yours.

“told you not to let me in,” he growls between kisses, teeth scraping your bottom lip. “told you i’d come back.”

you laugh, breathless, arching into him as his fingers dig into your hips. “like you could stay away,” you taunt, dragging your nails down his back just to hear him groan.

he nips at your throat in retaliation, sucking a bruise into your skin as his hands roam, claiming, possessive. “fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “you ruin me.”

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

you smile at him, all sunshine and sharp edges, and he aches—not just with want, but with something terrifyingly tender that coils tight in his chest. he knows better than to reach for it, knows better than to let himself believe he could have this. but then your fingers brush against his, tentative and warm, and something in him cracks open.

"jason," you murmur, thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles—the same hands that have done unspeakable things, now trembling under your touch. "you can hold my hand, you know. i won’t break."

he hesitates, breath catching, before his fingers finally—finally—intertwine with yours, clumsy and unsure. "...this okay?" he mutters, voice rough, like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

you squeeze his hand, grinning up at him like he’s just given you the world. "more than okay," you whisper, leaning in until your forehead rests against his. "perfect, actually."

than to smile at me, smile at me like that

like he's something precious. like he's something yours—a secret treasure you found buried in the wreckage and decided to keep. it makes his chest too tight, makes his hands shake with the effort of not reaching for you, not crushing you against him until you can't tell where he ends and you begin. he wants to bite that smile off your lips, wants to swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever.

"quit it," he grits out when you catch him staring, your grin widening like you've won something.

"stop what?" you tease, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his mouth. "smiling at my boyfriend?"

the word—boyfriend—sends a jolt through him. his fingers twitch toward you before he can stop them, catching in the fabric of your shirt. "you know what you're doing," he accuses, voice low.

you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feather-light. "yeah," you admit, laughing when he finally snaps and drags you in. "and you love it."

you know better babe, you know better babe

he’s told you. he’s told you—with rough words and scowls and hands that push you away even when they tremble with the need to pull you closer. but you still curl into him like you belong there, still press your cold nose against the pulse point in his neck like you’re memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat. and the worst part? he’s starting to let you.

tonight, when you burrow under his arm with a sleepy sigh, he doesn’t stiffen. doesn’t grumble. his breath hitches, just once, before his arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this all along.

"...comfortable?" he mutters, voice gruff but lacking its usual edge.

you hum, nuzzling closer. "mhm. you’re warm."

his fingers flex against your side, hesitant, before they start tracing idle patterns on your hip—his version of an apology, a confession, a please don’t let go.

than to hold me just, hold me just like that

your arms around him are a vice, a salvation, the only thing anchoring him to this world when the memories threaten to drag him under. he should pull away—shouldn’t let you cling to something so broken, shouldn’t let himself believe he deserves this. but then your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again, and something in him cracks open.

"...you’re gonna suffocate me," he mumbles, but there’s no bite to it, just a rough edge of something tender he’s still learning to name.

you laugh against his collarbone, warm and bright. "liar," you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "you love this."

he should deny it. should shove you off and retreat to the shadows where he belongs. but instead, his arms tighten around you—just a fraction, just enough to feel the way your breath hitches—and he ducks his head to press his lips to your hair.

"...shut up," he mutters, but it’s ruined by the way his voice cracks, by the way his hands tremble where they rest against your back.

i know who i am when i’m alone

alone, he’s sharp edges and old blood, the metallic taste of violence thick on his tongue. alone, he’s the red hood—a monster stitched together from Gotham’s rot, a ghost wearing a dead boy’s face. sometimes, in the quiet, he thinks maybe he should’ve stayed buried. maybe the world would’ve been kinder if he’d never clawed his way out of that grave.

but then you’re there, your warmth pressing against his back, your fingers threading through his like you’re trying to pull him out of his own head.

"jay," you murmur, soft but insistent, "come back to me."

his breath hitches. he should shrug you off, should snap that he’s not something you can fix. but instead, he turns his hand over, palm-up, an unspoken invitation. your fingers slot between his like they belong there, and he exhales shakily.

"...’m here," he mutters, rough but honest.

you press a kiss to his knuckles, gentle as dawn light. "good," you whisper. "stay."

(he will. for you, he’ll try.)

i’m something else when i see you

with you, he’s just jason—not the red hood, not the ghost, not the boy who should’ve stayed dead. just jason, who loves too hard with hands that have known too much blood, who wants too much when he deserves so little. it terrifies him, this fragile thing between you, like one wrong move could shatter it all. and you—god, you’re just as broken, just as scarred, always waiting for the day he doesn’t come back, always counting his breaths like each one might be the last.

tonight, he finds you curled into yourself, knees to your chest, staring blankly at the door like you’re already mourning him. his chest aches. he doesn’t know how to fix this—doesn’t know if he can. but he kneels in front of you anyway, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch.

"...hey," he murmurs, voice rough. "i’m here."

you look up, eyes red-rimmed, and your breath stutters. "for how long?" you whisper, the question hanging between you like a guillotine.

he doesn’t have an answer. doesn’t know how to promise something he might not be able to keep. so he does the only thing he can—he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, holding you so tight it almost hurts. "long as i can," he breathes into your hair.

your fingers clutch at his shirt, desperate. "that’s not enough," you choke out.

he knows. god, he knows. but he presses a kiss to your temple anyway, slow and lingering, trying to pour every unspoken i love you into it. "i know," he admits, voice cracking. "but it’s all i got."

you don’t understand, you should never know

you don’t realize the power you have—how one touch from you could bring him to his knees, how he’d carve out his own ribs if it meant keeping you safe. (he hopes you never find out.) but that night, with your lips on his and your hands tugging at his belt, he’s not thinking about hiding. he’s not thinking at all.

"jason," you gasp as he pins you to the mattress, his body covering yours like a shield, like a prayer. "are you sure—?"

his answer is a growl against your throat, teeth scraping your pulse point as his hands map every inch of you, desperate and reverent. "shut up," he breathes, but there’s no heat in it, just a raw ache. "just—fuck, just let me have this."

you arch into him, nails dragging down his back, and he swears he sees stars. "you have me," you whisper, voice breaking as he finally, finally sinks into you. "all of me."

(and that’s the thing—he doesn’t have you. you have him, heart and soul, and he’s too far gone to even care.)

how easy you are to need

it’s pathetic, really. the way he craves you—not just in the heat of battle or the dark of night, but in the quiet moments too. the way you hum off-key while making coffee, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the way you sigh in your sleep like the world can’t touch you here. it’s too much. it’s not enough.

tonight, he watches you bathed in moonlight, fingers tracing the slope of your shoulder like he’s memorizing his favourite verse of a poem. you stir under his touch, blinking up at him with sleep-soft eyes.

"why’re you staring?" you murmur, voice thick with drowsiness.

his thumb brushes your cheekbone, reverent. "just thinking," he admits, quieter than the rustle of sheets.

you turn into his palm, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "about?"

he swallows. "how you’re like sunlight," he starts, haltingly, "even when you’re not trying to be." it’s clumsy, poetic in a way that makes his ears burn, but it’s true—you warm him from the inside out, melt the frost in his veins until he’s just a man, just jason, just yours.

your smile is slow, sweet. "say that again," you tease, but your eyes are shining.

"shut up," he grumbles, pulling you closer until your laughter vibrates against his chest.

(he’ll never tell you how easy it is to need you. but he’ll show you, every day, in every touch, for as long as you let him.)

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me

he’s not asking. he’s warning—voice rough like gravel, hands trembling where they frame your face. if you let him in, if you peel back his armor and see the broken thing beneath, he’s not leaving. he’ll carve a place between your ribs and make a home there, ruin you for anyone else, love you until it hurts.

"you sure about this?" he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaky. "i’m not—i don’t know how to do this right."

you kiss him anyway, slow and sweet, fingers carding through his hair like he’s something precious. "good thing i don’t need you to be perfect," you whisper against his lips. "just yours."

his breath hitches. he kisses you back like he’s drowning, like you’re air, hands sliding down to grip your waist—gentler now, but no less desperate. "...mine," he repeats, testing the word, and it sounds so right.

jesus christ, don’t be kind to me

your kindness is a knife, twisting deeper every time you look at him like he’s worth something. your love is a live wire, sparking through his veins until he’s breathless with it. he can’t take it—the way you reach for him first, fingers lacing through his without hesitation, the way you press kisses to his scars like they’re something holy. but god, he’ll take anything you give him.

tonight, it’s him who initiates, catching your wrist as you pass by and pulling you into his lap with a quiet grunt. you yelp, then melt against him instantly, laughter bubbling up as his arms tighten around you.

"missed me?" you tease, tilting your head to nuzzle against his jaw.

his nose brushes your temple, inhaling the scent of your shampoo like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. "shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no heat in it—just a rough tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you pull back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing the dark circles under his eyes. "you’re so pretty," you murmur, hopelessly, helplessly in love.

he flushes, scowling, but leans into your touch anyway. "you’re such a sap," he mutters, before kissing you—soft, slow, and so painfully sweet it steals your breath. as if he hasn't said cheesier things in his head about you.

honey, don’t feed me, i will come back

he always does. no matter how many times he grumbles about needing space, no matter how dramatically he flops onto the couch complaining about your terrible taste in movies, he always circles back—drawn to you like gravity, like his bones know they belong wherever you are. and now? now he doesn’t even pretend to resist.

today, he catches you mid-eyeroll as you reorganize his haphazard stack of books (alphabetized by color, what the hell—), and before you can protest, he’s lifting you clear off the ground, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"jason!" you shriek, kicking halfheartedly as he carries you toward the bedroom. "i was fixing your chaos!"

"ruining my system, you mean," he counters, giving your thigh a light smack just to hear you squawk. "besides, you’re way more fun when you’re not judging my life choices."

you pinch his side in retaliation, grinning when he yelps. "oh, so now you admit i’m fun?"

he dumps you onto the mattress, looming over you with a smirk. "shut up," he mutters, but he’s already leaning down to kiss you, swallowing your laughter like it’s his favorite flavor.

it can’t be unlearned

he’s tasted your mouth, your skin, your laughter—memorized the way you arch beneath him, the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze that spot just below your ear. he’s ruined for anything else, addicted to the way you fall apart in his hands, and now? now he doesn’t hesitate to take what he wants.

tonight, he pins you to the sheets with a hunger that borders on desperation, hands roaming like he’s mapping a religion he’ll never stop worshipping. “mine,” he growls against your throat, and the way you shudder—like the word alone is enough to undo you—sends a thrill down his spine.

afterward, when the air is thick with sweat and the scent of you, he surprises even himself by pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“...okay?” he murmurs, voice rough but softer now, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

you hum, nuzzling into his chest with a contented sigh. "more than okay," you mumble, already half-asleep. "you?"

he huffs a laugh, tucking the blanket around you both. "could go for a few more rounds," jason teases, voice thick with exhaustion but still grinning as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

you laugh—soft and breathless, the sound curling warm in his chest. "oh my god, jay."

"alright, fine," he concedes, already pulling you closer as his breathing evens out. "sleep it is." but the way his arms lock around you, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish by morning, says everything his voice won’t.

i’ve known the warmth of your doorways

your home is his—the creak of the floorboards, the way your sheets smell like that cheap lavender detergent you swear by, the half-empty coffee mugs left scattered on the counter because neither of you can be bothered to clean up properly. your bed is his, with its too-soft pillows and the way you always steal the blankets, leaving him to grumble and pull you closer just to steal your warmth instead. your heart is his, beating steady under his palm when he wakes from nightmares to find you already watching him, fingers carding through his hair before he even has to ask. (he’s not giving it back. he couldn’t if he tried.)

tonight, it’s him who reaches for you first once more, catching your wrist as you walk by and tugging you into his lap with a quiet "c’mere." you go willingly, laughing as he nuzzles into the curve of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

"since when do you initiate cuddles?" you tease, but your hands are already sliding into his hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck the way he likes.

he hums, low and content, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "since you ruined me," he mumbles, like it’s a confession, like it’s the easiest truth he’s ever spoken.

(he has. you have. and neither of you would change a thing.)

through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you

no matter how far he goes, no matter how lost he gets in the blood and the noise and the weight of his own ghosts, he’ll always come back. you’re his north star, his fixed point—the only thing that makes sense in this godforsaken city. tonight, he watches you from the rooftops, silhouetted against the neon glow of gotham’s skyline as you move through the fight below. you’re beautiful like this, all sharp edges and fluid motion, but his stomach twists when he sees you take a hit, when blood blooms dark against your sleeve.

he’s there before you can stumble, his hands steady as he hauls you into the shadows of an alleyway. "hold still," he mutters, voice rough with worry as he presses a gloved hand to the wound. you hiss but don’t pull away, your breath warm against his jaw as he works.

"since when do you play medic?" you tease, though your voice is tight with pain.

he doesn’t answer, just peels back the fabric of your suit with careful fingers, his touch reverent as he cleans the cut. when he’s done, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth—soft, clumsy, lingering—before lifting your hand to his mouth and brushing his lips over your bruised knuckles. "don’t do that again," he murmurs, but it’s not an order. it’s a plea.

you smile, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. "make me," you whisper, and the way he leans into your touch says everything he won’t.

(he’ll always come back. and you’ll always be there, waiting.)

oh, please, give me mercy no more

"apologise, and maybe i'll think about going easy on you."

you laugh, bright and teasing, when he pins you to the mattress, his hips pressing yours deep into the sheets. "offering me mercy, jay?" you gasp, like the concept is foreign, back arching as he drags his teeth down your throat. "since when do you believe in mercy?"

he doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. instead, he sinks into you in one slow, deliberate thrust, the stretch so perfect it punches the air from your lungs. he groans, forehead dropping to yours as he bottoms out, the heat of you clenching around him like you were made to take him. "fuck," he grits out, voice wrecked already. "you feel—" but he can’t finish, too lost in the way your nails dig into his shoulders, the way your thighs tremble around his waist.

he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips dragging a broken sound from your lips. "jason—" you whimper, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"look at me," he demands, voice rough, and when you do—when your eyes meet his, hazy with pleasure—something in his chest cracks open. suddenly, he’s imagining more than just this: lazy mornings tangled in your limbs, a house with too many windows, maybe even a tiny human with your sense of humour and his temper. the thought is so terrifyingly sweet it makes him falter, his rhythm stuttering.

you notice, of course. "where’d you go?" you pant, hips rolling to meet his.

he shakes his head, thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping. "nowhere," he lies, but the way his hands cradle your face, the way his lips brush yours like a promise, says otherwise.

(he wants it all. and one day, he’ll tell you.)

that’s a kindness you can’t afford

he’s not kind—not in the way that matters, not when his hands are stained and his heart’s been carved out too many times to count. but you, with your stupid, stubborn hope, keep offering it anyway. tonight, it’s in the way you press a kiss to his scarred knuckles, like he’s something fragile, something worth gentleness. it makes his chest ache.

“stop,” he rasps, fingers twitching in your grip. “i told you this before, you don’t gotta—”

“i know,” you interrupt, lips quirking. “i want to.”

your thumb traces the ridge of his knuckles, slow and deliberate, and he should pull away. should remind you he’s not built for softness. but then you lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his jaw, and whisper, “guess you’re just stuck with me being nice.”

he huffs, but his hand turns under yours, palm-up, fingers curling to catch yours before you can retreat. “...reckless,” he mutters, but the way his thumb brushes your wrist is tender, almost apologetic.

(you are. and he’s not sorry at all.)

i warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you’re born

he tells you. every time. don’t start what you can’t finish. you never listen.

(like that first night he came back—really came back—when he appeared outside your window like some half-feral ghost, all sharp edges and haunted eyes. the fire escape creaked under his weight, the cold metal biting through his gloves as he hesitated, knuckles hovering just shy of the glass. he shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t let you see him like this, still smelling of blood and gotham’s rot. but god, he missed you.)

then the curtain twitched, and there you were—sleep-rumpled and wide-eyed, your breath fogging the pane as you stared at him like he was the answer to a prayer you’d never said out loud.

“...jason?” your voice was barely a whisper, cracked open with something like hope.

he swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists. “go back to bed,” he muttered, rough as gravel. “this ain’t—you don’t want this.”

but you were already unlatching the window, already reaching for him with hands that didn’t shake. “shut up,” you breathed, and then you were pulling him inside, your arms wrapping around him so tight he couldn’t tell where his trembling ended and yours began.

“i told you—” he started, but his voice broke, his face buried in your hair like he could memorize the scent of you.

“i know,” you interrupted, fingers gripping the back of his jacket like you were afraid he’d vanish. “i don’t care.”

you’ll hear me howling outside your door

you always let him in.

(like today, when the two of you are walking along the beach, barefoot and carefree, the golden hour sun painting everything in warm hues. the sand is soft under your toes, the waves lapping at your ankles as you laugh over some stupid childhood memory—that time he tried to bake cookies and nearly set the kitchen on fire, or when you tripped over your own feet trying to impress him with a skateboard trick. his laughter is rough but bright, unfiltered in a way it rarely is, and it makes your chest ache with how much you love him.)

then, because you’ve never been able to resist, you shove him playfully, sending him stumbling into the surf with a yelp. “oh, you’re dead,” he growls, but there’s no real threat in it, just that fond exasperation he reserves only for you. he lunges, catching you around the waist, and the two of you go down in a tangle of limbs and saltwater, the waves swallowing your shrieks of laughter.

you come up sputtering, coughing as you accidentally swallow a mouthful of the ocean. “tastes like shit,” you wheeze, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

he’s no better, blinking furiously as the water stings his eyes. “serves you right,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for you, his hands gentle as they brush the wet hair from your face.

“worth it,” you grin, leaning into his touch.

he rolls his eyes, but the way his thumb traces your cheekbone is achingly tender. “idiot,” he murmurs, and it sounds like i love you.

don’t you hear me howling, babe?

you always will.

bullets ping off the metal crates you’re crouched behind, the sharp scent of gunpowder thick in the air. jason’s pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with you, his breath warm against your ear as he grins, wild and bright. "told you this was a bad idea," he says, like he’s not having the time of his life.

"you love my bad ideas," you shoot back, peeking over the crate just long enough to return fire. a man yelps as your shot grazes his arm, and jason barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle the goons into hesitating.

"showoff," he mutters, but there’s pride in his voice as he leans around the corner and takes down two men with precise shots. you cover him without missing a beat, your movements synced like you share the same pulse.

when the last thug hits the ground, the warehouse falls silent except for your shared, ragged breathing. jason turns to you, blood smeared across his cheekbone, and you reach out, thumb brushing it away. "messy," you tease.

"you love it," he counters, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm, right over the bruise forming from where you’d punched someone too hard.

the walk back to his bike is slow, the adrenaline fading into something softer. you bump his shoulder, grinning. "can’t wait to deal with this bullshit every day when we’re married."

his heart stutters in his chest, so loud he's half-afraid you'll hear it. his right hand curls instinctively in his pocket, thumb brushing against gold—the same way it has every day for weeks, checking, reassuring. the weight of what he's about to do tightens his throat, makes your casual words echo like church bells in his skull. when we're married. like it's inevitable. like he hasn't been lying awake rehearsing this moment for months. "yeah?" he manages, voice rougher than the gunfight warranted. the smile that tugs at his lips is helpless, unbearably soft. "...me neither."

(he looks at you then—really looks. the way the streetlights halo your hair, the way your smile cuts through the grime and exhaustion like sunlight. he wants to memorize this, wants to carve it into his ribs so he never forgets the way you love him, reckless and relentless.

"c’mon," he murmurs, nodding toward a quieter street. "let’s go somewhere else first."

you raise a brow but follow, because you always do.

and tonight, he’ll kneel on the rooftop where you first kissed—where the city lights painted your face in gold and he realized he’d never love anything as much as he loves you—ring in hand, voice trembling just once as he asks you to keep following. forever.)

WOAH this one was a long one—6.5k words??? i'm literally crying right now as i wrote this last part cause like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it took me 4 hours... 4 FUCKING HOURS TO WRITE THIS AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT I NEED MORE I NEED MORE OF JASON (as if i don't have the ability to write more of this.......)

[tritoch]

one thing I find neat about Emet-Selch is that his chauvinism is so intense that it actually prevents him from making the strongest possible case for the unique moral goodness of the ancients, and that this same mental distortion ties into his classic final fantasy need to turn into a Horrible Final Form Monstrosity for your final fight

(for my part I think any minor unique moral goodness the ancients possess they have due to their status as demigods living in eden before the fall. even if they really are morally/intellectually/spiritually/magically/etc. superior to every modern eorzean on a 1:1 level it still doesn't change anything because 1) they are mythical and impossible, that's the whole point and 2) even if they weren't, they still have no particular claim to existence that is superior to anyone else's, no matter how good they are. but the point here is the case Emet-Selch is trying to make, which is that they are more "worthy" of life.)

when he's setting you up for the final amaurot sequence, Emet-Selch hits you with this one:

it's a solid line! stops the party cold for a second.

it's also...not that impressive. do I think if we called a big world meeting that half of everyone would just jump up to be chosen? maybe, maybe not. but, sorry: we're having a big world meeting? are we also demigods with their every material need fulfilled in this version? do we have a one world government that almost everyone seems to fully trust telling us that it knows for real a way to stop the meteor heading towards earth? because honestly i think as soon as we start creating structural similarities like that, it becomes a lot more likely. and every step you take towards making the comparison happen on level ground makes the idea that the ancients were possessed of some unique moral fiber that made them capable of this sacrifice (as opposed to the undeniable abilities in magic and global governance that actually enabled it) seem less and less likely.

and especially if you consider it in the context of what actual people are like. human (and presumably eorzean) history is replete with examples of people sacrificing themselves to save others, even though none of us are immortal wizard philosophers. i don't know how the white-room thought-experiment "will half of you die to save the others???" turns out. but do i think, across a grand rolling catastrophe, that half our population would sacrifice itself to save the other half in a million individual acts of sacrifice to save a parent, a child, a lover, a friend, a stranger? that seems significantly more plausible. altruism and sacrifice for others is even pretty frequent in animals! it's not a very unique moral behavior!

(stanford encyclopedia of philosophy on biological altruism)

but that's not the only sacrifice the ancients made. roll the tape, hythlodaeus!

...Yet oh how the star had suffered. So many species lost. The land was blighted, the waters poisoned, and even the wind had ceased to blow. Once more did our people give of themselves to Zodiark. Another half of our race sacrificed to cleanse the world; to ensure that trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives would sprout and grow and flourish.

(every time I read this speech and hit the ff1/3/5 ref about the land and waters and wind i become mylongestyeahboyever.avi)

this is the step beyond, and it's what separates the ancients from modern humans. they viewed themselves as stewards of the star and really meant it; whatever other criticisms you might level, you can't doubt the depths of their commitment. and this i think really does make them morally distinct from modern people, or at least raises that possibility in a much more compelling way than the first sacrifice. half of the living population sacrificing itself not in a moment of duress and apocalypse but in a moment of calm? when the sacrifice isn't for anything but plants and animals and some tiny proto-eorzeans? that kind of cold, calculated, long-term altruism, aimed at people and living beings that are nothing like you...that does feel like something a little more unique, more worth preserving. even in just the text of the game, we can say with real certainty that the ancients were at least more capable of facing their problems and had greater moral integrity and care for the world than, say, the people who made ra-la.

but emet-selch can't ever say that because rejecting and dishonoring the decision the ancients made as stewards of the star is his primary goal.

like, "my people were uniquely morally good. half the living population sacrificed themselves not for their loved ones or for the survival of their people but simply for the world. for the trees and grasses and the wind and the water. for the humblest insects and for the summer breeze and the tides." that fucks! damn, you got me there! i watch enough people throw aluminum cans in the trash on a weekly basis that i find this sincerely moving and beyond the seeming abilities of my own brethren! oh no, i'm being persuaded by the fascist immortal space wizard!

"and therefore, because they are uniquely morally good, we are going to sacrifice and kill the very things they gave their lives to save, so we can have them back :)" well, shit. i'm experiencing some dissonance here.

but you can't actually lie to yourself as long as emet-selch without distorting your understanding of the truth. you cannot choose to see the world falsely half the time and clearly the other half. in committing to self-deceit and willful ignorance regarding the value of the modern world, emet-selch blinds himself not just to the world as it is but to the ancients as they were. if he could describe accurately the ways in which the ancients were genuinely noble and benevolent, he would also have to able to see clearly how he has entirely deviated from that ideal. and he cannot do that and stay on the path he has chosen, so he simply chooses not to see things accurately.

i cannot help but link this blindness of his to his trial. here, at what seems to emet-selch to be the last stand of the ancients, he says to you "to be clear this fight IS a metaphor, and in that metaphor i stand in for the Entire Unsundered World."

and yet, in standing against you, he betrays both the customs of the ancients and his very title, itself a direct signifier of the mission he was charged with as one of the convocation of fourteen: "to ensure that all is right in creation, that our star may know a brighter future." contra elidibus, for whom remembering his duty to the ancients is one and the same act as remembering his name, emet-selch declares his own to be mere pretense. and that's before we even reach the matter of his transformation.

emet-selch believes the only way he can save the ancients is to betray their principles, forget their greatest triumphs, and abandon their trappings. he renounces almost everything of the ancients, save for his pale and sad and faceless amaurot, in the hopes of bringing them back.

i am reminded a little of borges's three versions of judas, a short story which uses the lens of fictional literary criticism (appropriate for a story as interested in competing narrative interpretations as shadowbringers is) to recast the betrayal of christ by judas not as the greatest of sins but as the greatest of sacrifices.

The ascetic, for the greater glory of God, vilifies and mortifies his flesh; Judas did the same with his spirit. He renounced honor, morality, peace and the kingdom of heaven, just as others, less heroically, renounce pleasure. With terrible lucidity he premeditated his sins.

and, in turn, the sardonic footnote to that very same line, which unsettles that sentiment as soon as it has been presented:

Borelius inquires mockingly: “Why didn’t he renounce his renunciation? Or renounce the idea of renouncing his renunciation?”

[evilmenshoe80]

Okay, more headcanons are coming your way.

If Adam had never eaten the forbidden fruit, life in the Garden of Eden would have remained profoundly different from the world outside it. Pain might still have existed but would likely have been much less intense, functioning as a mild warning system rather than the severe and enduring agony experienced in a fallen world. Perhaps the purity of their state allowed their bodies to heal quickly, minimizing the impact of injury or discomfort. Without the curse of childbirth, reproduction might have been free of pain and physical strain, occurring through a more harmonious and effortless biological process.

Life in Eden could have paralleled modern professions but with a profound respect for nature. Scientific curiosity might have flourished without the need for cruelty, with humans and animals working in mutual harmony—perhaps even communicating, as if humanity's connection to creation were akin to a Disney princess speaking with animals. It’s an intriguing idea that the untainted might possess unique abilities like these, further underscoring their connection to Eden's perfection.

However since Mika, accidentally stepping on Adam's foot and experiencing pain, suggests a unique blend of vulnerability and resilience within Eden. If pain were softer, paired with faster healing, it would make the transition to humanity even more striking for someone like Mika. His struggle with mortality and the loss of divine powers would undoubtedly have been jarring, especially within a world where nothing could truly harm him.

Seth and Abel, as the firstborn sons of humanity, I'd imagine they might have titles such as the "Blessed Sons," considering they're the first two humans to ever be born in Eden. If Abel's tragic story were altered, perhaps Cain’s grandson Lamech would be elevated from the status as the world second murderer to the world's first murder. Meanwhile, Seth could emerge as a leader of the Exterminators or Exorcists, bridging the divine and human realms. Hmm,Seth kind of looks like Adam. Wouldn't it be funny if the first time Lucifer met him, he mistaken him for Adam and tried to kidnap him? Or maybe he constantly bother him with information about Adam since

No one ,( Seth probably: why is this thirsty idiot trying to get with his mom)

In some some headcanons, the exterminator angels, crafted from Michael's feathers, could be seen as his children in a spiritual sense. Imagine Adam doting on them as if they were his own, they are the children of his husband he's practically adopting them on the spot .Eve, with her role as a sin of Wrath I can imagine her having a more active role when it comes to the Sinners and their treatment by the Exorcist and how does Eve react now that she's practically living with the people that she hates the most?

Hehe. I also have a small headcanon that if Seth and Cain were to meet and Hell. They'd basically do their version of "Hell's Greatest Dad."

(WARNING: SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER (not too much) BUT STILL SPOILER OF THE ADAM & MIKA LORE AHEAD, IF YOU WANT TO WAIT AND BE SURPRISED DON'T READ THIS, THANKS (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧)

bring it! i love headcanons!

pain is a thing on both sides, both physical and emotional buuuut the untainted's side handle it better, while the untainted don't have agressive deseases like the tainted's side they can still get hurt, will it feel the same as the tainted's side? I don't know, I think the untainted already have too many advantages over the tainted

and yep, not pain at giving birth for the untainted

the untainted can communicate with the animals of eden but not really talk to them, I imagine something similar to us talking to our pets and they being able to understand despite not really being able to talk and yep, there will be no animal cruelty on the untainted's side, they love and respect their fluffy friends too much

oooohooo mika will struggle to adapt to being a human but the real question is, once he had accepted it and embrace it, will he be able to go back to his angelic life like nothing happened? 👀

"Seth and Abel, as the firstborn sons of humanity, I'd imagine they might have titles such as the "Blessed Sons," considering they're the first two humans to ever be born in Eden"

maybe the angels would give them that title, they are more than happy that adam will give birth to two babies soooo, yep I think it fits that heaven gives them a formal title, for adam and mika they are their "little miracles", deeply loved and pampered in paradise without a worry in the world......unlike their "siblings" on the other side....

"If Abel's tragic story were altered, perhaps Cain’s grandson Lamech would be elevated from the status as the world second murderer to the world's first murder. Meanwhile, Seth could emerge as a leader of the Exterminators or Exorcists, bridging the divine and human realms."

mmmmmm soooorry, but I won't elaborate here, too much spoilers

"Hmm,Seth kind of looks like Adam. Wouldn't it be funny if the first time Lucifer met him, he mistaken him for Adam and tried to kidnap him? Or maybe he constantly bother him with information about Adam since no one ( Seth probably: why is this thirsty idiot trying to get with his mom)"

ajdjadfjadadsh lucifer would have all of heaven behind his ass if he tried that, but realistically, lucifer would inmediatly notice that seth isn't adam, seth is blond and his skin colour is slightly lighter sooooo yeh, no addy booty for the naughty devil...buuuut he would definitely try to get information from him ����

"In some some headcanons, the exterminator angels, crafted from Michael's feathers, could be seen as his children in a spiritual sense. Imagine Adam doting on them as if they were his own, they are the children of his husband he's practically adopting them on the spot"

aaaawwwwww I didn't knew that hc, that's so cute 🥰 i'm already a fan of adam being a father figure for the exorcists so, totally! Adam would definitely act like a mom towards his husband's feather babies!

"Eve, with her role as a sin of Wrath I can imagine her having a more active role when it comes to the Sinners and their treatment by the Exorcist and how does Eve react now that she's practically living with the people that she hates the most?"

totally, eve would and will advocate for her descendants, while she knows not all of them deserve forgiveness she wants to help the ones that are REALLY sorry for their sins on earth

she's not amused to live close to the people that in her eyes ruined her life, she acts "polite" but oooooohoho my girl is full of wrath and will be veeeeery passive agressive if pushed

"Hehe. I also have a small headcanon that if Seth and Cain were to meet and Hell. They'd basically do their version of "Hell's Greatest Dad."

I won't spoil much but yeeeeeeeah, cain and seth don't have the best relationship 🫣

[tryandbehappy]

Is Nick a Nazi? Let’s talk.

This is a question that’s come up again and again in The Handmaid’s Tale especially this season, both among the characters and the fandom. People in the show and in real life label Nick as part of “them,” as one of the bad guys.

So let’s break this down, through the lens of history, ethics, and good storytelling.

1. What does it really mean to be a Nazi?

Historically, being a Nazi didn’t just mean “working for the regime.” It meant believing in the ideology: racial superiority, totalitarian control and the dehumanization of others.

It meant actively enforcing and spreading those ideas.

There’s a key distinction that emerged after World War II especially in the work of philosopher Hannah Arendt, who coined the term “the banality of evil.”

She described how people could participate in horrific systems not because they were monsters, but because they were passive, conformist, afraid or just trying to survive.

In that context not everyone in the system was a true believer. Some were swept up in it. Some chose survival over resistance. And morally that’s still complicated but it’s not the same as actively endorsing and spreading evil.

(It’s a very sensitive topic for me, considering my homeland is sliding into a fascist regime. I was able to leave because I had the means but not everyone close to me did. And they have their reasons without them being true believers. It’s complicated)

2. So where does Nick fall?

Nick is not a Nazi. He is not an ideologue.

He’s a man who got pulled into the regime early, when he was very young, poor, and desperate and who found a way to survive inside it while helping others however he could. I love that they even showed he used to spy on the commanders — the actual bad guys — and get them punished, back when he was still an Eye.

He doesn’t believe in Gilead . we’ve seen it so many times: the way he rolled his eyes when Serena was praying over June’s pregnant belly, how he didn’t care when his wife cheated on him, how he didn’t want to consummate the marriage or even get married in the first place. He doesn’t push Gilead’s values — he hates them.

He doesn’t take pleasure in the power it gives him.

In fact, we see him:

• Risking himself to help June, Moira, Luke. He was willing to help Rita. He saved the resistance letters from being destroyed (June almost burnt them down) and got them out of Gilead

• Showing compassion, repeatedly not just to June, but to Eden, to marthas when they were blaming June. He cried over the previous handmaid who took her life and promised he’d take care of the next one and yes, he really did 😏

• Avoiding cruelty. He doesn’t punish. He doesn’t exploit.

• Carrying deep guilt and emotional restraint — not because he’s cold, but because he’s feeling too much. Being so drowned in guilt, he ended up devoting himself to June as his only way of redeeming himself

He is a man inside the system but not of it.

3. Why do people in the show label him anyway?

Because from the outside, it’s easier to judge than to understand (and in real world it’s the same)

He wears the uniform. He has the title. He lives in a commander’s house. HE’S A TERRIBLE MAN

People like Luke and even June, at times see only the surface and refuse to look beyond it. They’re clouded by their own self-judgment and an obsessive need to be perfect all the time.

But that’s the tragedy.

Because Nick is living in a constant gray zone, walking the tightrope between protecting those he loves and not losing what’s left of himself.

(And also because he’s the lead and they need drama)

4. What makes him different?

He’s not passive and he’s not power-hungry.

He’s careful and strategic. And he’s so strong in it. The youngest commander ever. Even tuello noticed “it takes talent” - “just staying out of trouble”

But underneath that there is no cruelty, only exhaustion.He’s not motivated by dominance.

He’s motivated by love, guilt, and the hope of doing something right in a world where everything feels wrong. And his rank as a commander gives him more opportunities, to help others, and to stay alive himself.

5. Why doesn’t Nick just leave Gilead?

Because it’s not that simple and it’s not because he believes in it. He stays because he’s no one outside of it. Because he’d be in danger as a commander, a man with blood on his hands (he could face trial, be locked in jail or be killed)

Because no one’s waiting for him out there. Because he no longer believes in governments or saviors, he’s seen too much.

Because running means facing the version of himself he was before: lost, broken, desperate. Also he doesn’t know the world outside and it was highlighted in the flashbacks (“I didn’t have much of a life before all of this”). Because escaping Gilead is treason and treason means death, even for a commander.

And because now, he’s married to a pregnant woman, and leaving would destroy her life too.

But still he chooses love and want to run away with June. Nick has no political ambition in Gilead.

6. So is it fair to judge him?

It’s human to want things to be simple: heroes and villains, good and evil. But Nick forces us into the uncomfortable middle.

He makes us ask:

What would you do if you were him?

What would you sacrifice? Would you sacrifice your life?

How would you survive without becoming the monster?

Because that’s the real conflict of The Handmaid’s Tale: not just the system, but the moral wreckage it leaves inside everyone who touches it.

Nick is not a saint. But he’s not a monster either. And absolutely not one of “them” (yes June, it hurt a lot 🥲)

[drdtfuitgumies]

teruko plays among us: episode 07 // the power of friendship (and chekhov's knife)

six players remain, with two imposters still alive. if the imposters kill a single person each, the amount of crewmates and imposters will be equal, thus ending the game in the imposters' victory. it is in your best interest to eliminate the imposters in any way possible, be it through an emergency meeting... or by taking initiative.

knowing the stakes, i give you an option.

previous // return to episode 01 // next (????)

i remembered last-second not to spoil the other imposter in the "dead chat page", but their identity can be kinda intuited. Especially if you remember canon. i'm still letting you people choose though. b

this marks the end of my free time, two posts a week, and the certainty of this thing updating weekly :(( but i PROMISE that i will finish this silly little comic eventually. if not for anyone else then for me and my own PRIDE!!

anyhow! Everything happened all at once, so here's a few elaborations that will be helpful sooner or later: -) yes, xander Fakes sucking at card swipe. it usually works well! -) david did follow j to electrical and see teruko, xander, and whit hovering over j's body. he just made a conclusion based on what he saw. but he also happened to be executioner for teruko, and he just Wins if he gets teruko voted out! so things worked out like clockwork for him... if it weren't for... -) swapper is a crewmate role that can swap the votes of two people. the swapper should work in the interests of the crew, but there are so many things that can go wrong (especially in the hands of this cast) that some call it a neutral killing role -) arei voted for teruko because she respected david's haterism and found the concept of "teruko losing to david executioner on her for her very first game" hilarious -) whit also wanted to vote for teruko for the same reasons but his intuition told him something crazy would happen, so he voted for david instead -) guessing is a mod-only mechanic where all imposters AND the crewmate role "vigilante" can try to guess another player's role. here, imposters can only guess crewmates, while the vigilante can only guess imposters and neutral roles. if they're correct, their target dies (like an assassination); but if they're incorrect, the guesser dies. most real-life and therefore Sane players limit the maximum amount of guesses someone can do (to stop someone from theoretically winning from only guessing roles), but this cast is Not Sane in the slightest and allows "unlimited" guesses. if this seems easier to see in practice, worry not! This will be relevant within the next 2 episodes -) incidentally, xander voted for teruko last-second but he was really hoping a vigilante would guess david as executioner (which would kill him) then get teruko voted out right after (since david can't win off teruko's unjust execution anymore), which would bring a safer victory -) as a reminder, sheriff specifically has a faster kill cooldown than imposters, and teruko has done Nothing to reveal her role as sheriff. teruko will be safe!

teruko: sheriff (crewmate) / alive david: executioner (neutral) / dead arei: ??? (???) / alive whit: jester until proven otherwise (neutral?) / alive ace: ??? (???) / alive j: engineer (crewmate) / dead eden: swapper? (crewmate?) / alive charles: spy (crewmate) / dead xander: ??? (imposter?) / alive min: altruist (crewmate) / dead

[nullusreimorio]

Degrees of Lewdity AU: Actor AU

Yes, you heard that right, folks! DoL:ActAU will now be a thing in my blog.

Re-reading this made my brain go BRRRR, because in my head a random person getting their costume's head off is that funny, and from there it all spiraled down.

The Whitney breaks Syd's glasses scene in particular is stuck in my head, because I imagine that at some point, right before Whit can grab the glasses, Syd would scream to wait, making Whit shit himself cuz dude what is happening. The director screams cut, of course. "I'm so sorry, these are my real glasses-" while laughing, and taking them off to give into custody before putting on the props, with Whitney just wheezing in the background.

The genderbent version of LIs would mostly be people that really resemble each other, except for the Kylar duo. They are twins who love to scare other people by just staring at them (it is a running inside joke on set).

Bailey is actually a sweet parental figure off-character, always making sure he didn't actually hurt the other actors (think Jason Isaac in Harry Potter as he switches between the cruel Lucius Malfoy and actually caring for Tom Felton, asking him if he's ok and apologizing when he did in fact hurt him by accident)

Another running gag on set is Harper just.. being there. Smiling at everyone with cold eyes, bombing pictures and selfies. Sometimes they stay in the background of the scene, looking directly at the camera. They say it's funnier to stay in character. Off-character they are very fun to be around, but they enjoy unsettling people. Them and the Kylars are sometimes banned from being in the studio if the scene doesn't need them.

GH got tangled up in the fly system. Everyone laughed and took pictures and videos, but promptly eliminated them at GH's request. They are shy.

The Averys enjoy their role very much. What they don't enjoy is having to drink grape juice or scented water instead of actual alcohol. They do get a nice glass of wine once off-set are over.

Whenever the Wrens are in the studio, F!Whit, M!Robin, the Wrens, F!BW, the Edens, F!Avery and the Baileys get a bit too much into playing cards. Blackjack, Durak, Scopa, Rummy, Machiavelli... the list could go on. They always manage to rope technicians to play with them as well.

Everyone hates the Kylars because their makeup doesn't need much time, while everyone else (ESPECIALLY GH, BW and IW) need enough time to always look polished/roughed up, depending on the situation.

M!Jordan is actually atheist, and whenever he has to talk like a true Christian guy, once his line is over he mocks himself. He enjoys wearing his costume off-set just for shits and giggles, and other actors often visit him in the confessional just to say "I'm sorry daddy, I've been naughty~" "Jail for a hundred years. NEXT"

F!Jordan and Ivory Wraith are actually cousins, and sometimes M!Jordan and Ivory Wraith swap costumes to see if there is any difference other than Jordan's massive tits.

Aaaand that's it, for now! As of now this is how far my brain thought while in the middle of exams, I will slowly add more into it. I don't know if it was already done, but thinking about these jackasses actually play-pretending makes me feel better ^^

[professorspork]

Not sure if you've already done this but could you either rank or tier list the Glindas and Elphabas you've seen?

lmao you know, very true to form for me how even with 59 different boots and 6 live performances under my belt i'm still like "NO I CAN'T POSSIBLY CHOOSE, I NEED MORE DATA"

like. girl. you know your own taste, be real, how much more do you really need???

but constitutionally something about me still resists lists and tiers, so instead i'm gonna do CATEGORIES.

so welcome to:

THE OZCARS

every category will have explanations, five nominees, and one winner. nominees will be listed in chronological watch order, and specific boot dates will be noted when appropriate. fair? FAIR, I THINK.

also lmao there's no way i have the self-control to limit myself to just gelphie, and please note the obvious caveat that this is a time capsule of opinions that are as ever subject to change, and this may be revisited after more things are seen

i have no idea how long this is gonna get, so maybe let's put this under a cut, huh.

BEST FIRST IMPRESSION (Elphie Edition)

(i.e.: the actresses who really impressed and made a mark on me right from the jump)

NOMINEES:

Shoshana Bean [Bway 1/9/05]: Smol Bean Too Good For This World, Too Pure

Nicole Parker [Bway 3/8/09]: Oh That's Why They Say Comedians Make The Best Dramatic Actors

Mamie Parris [1NT 11/30/11]: Green Bean Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day

Emmy Raver-Lampman [1NT 5/31/14]: Shockingly Steady Standby Holds Night Of Pure Chaos At Bay Like It's Easy

Mary Kate Morrissey [2NT 8/4/18]: Wow People Weren't Fuckin Kidding About Double Name Witches Being Gay On Purpose Holy Shit

WINNER: MAMIE PARRIS

I'm still two installments away from talking about this particular bootleg in the Punctum Project, but my WORD what a tour de force Mamie is. she stalks onto stage in act 1 frothing at the mouth and full of charisma and bile, and you just can't take your eyes off her. fucking amazing stuff.

BEST LAST(ING) IMPRESSION (Elphie Edition)

(i.e. the actresses whose performances have really clung to my bones and have longevity and mental staying power)

Shoshana Bean, giving YOU THINK YOU DON'T LIKE NICE ELPHIE? TOO BAD MINE WILL HAUNT YOU

Eden Espinosa, giving YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST

Carmen Cusack, giving WHY THE FUCK DID THEY NEVER LET YOU DO BROADWAY WHEN YOU'RE THE BEST AT THIS

Mamie Parris, giving NO SERIOUSLY DID I MENTION THE RAGE

Laurel Harris, giving WATCH ME GROW WATCH ME CHANGE WATCH ME MATURE WATCH ME BE SO BISEXUAL

WINNER: EDEN ESPINOSA

Reader you have no idea how hard this was for me to pick, because I do think this comes closest to "favorite" or "best" and i ALWAYS WANT TO GIVE CAVEATS. like especially I need to shout out Sho for making both lists and just like... doing the impossible work of opening the door to a post-Idina Elphaba and what that might mean and doing it with such fearless brightness. and also shout out to Carmen who I do think is maybe the most "complete" Elphaba for me, who comes closest to like, the version of Elphaba who lives in my head and whose voice I would use as my litmus test when writing fanfiction

but Eden was my first Elphie when I was a girl of but 14, and there's no getting around the fact that so many things I love in other Elphabas are, fundamentally, Little Eden Things. the combo of humor and pathos and riffs is just. in my DNA.

BEST FIRST IMPRESSION (Glinda Edition)

(These ones ARE in watch order despite not seeming like it you'll just have to believe me)

Kara Lindsay [LIVE on Bway 10/24/15, no boot exists to my eternal sadness]: My Glinda Girlie Awakening

Katie Rose Clarke [Bway 5/12/2013]: Reactivated Me Like A Sleeper Agent

Kendra Kassebaum [1NT 3/14/06]: Listen to the Sound... of Violence

Brittney Johnson [Bway 9/XX/19]: I'll Never Do It As Gay Again But My God Was This So Gay

McKenzie Kurtz [Bway 5/30/23]: Playing The Classics And Don't They Sound Great

WINNER: KARA LINDSAY

much like with Eden above this isn't really one I can like, make an argument against with any real strength or integrity. falling for Kara's glinda got me hooked on wicked for YEARS last time, and getting to her era of boots was a big motivator for how i approached the great rewatch. ultimately i fear they may not translate to those who never saw her live and can only go by recordings-- her early boots are marred by matt shingledecker giving her NOTHING and in her later boots she was lowkey carrying jenny dinoia, so you kind of have to squint i think to See It the way i know it in my bones, but. when she was good she was perfect. and so much of what i love about McKenzie was that she was Giving Kara.

BEST LAST(ING) IMPRESSION (Glinda Edition)

Megan Hilty, giving I MADE GLINDA SWEET THAT WAS ME I DID THAT

Kendra Kassebaum, giving I MADE GLINDA WEIRD THAT WAS ME I DID THAT

Annaleigh Ashford, giving I MADE GLINDA GAY THAT WAS ME I DID THAT

Katie Rose Clarke, giving I MADE GLINDA AUTISTIC THAT WAS ME I DID THAT

Kara Lindsay, giving I MADE YOU OBSESSED WITH GLINDA THAT WAS ME I DID THAT

WINNER: KATIE ROSE CLARKE

I mean. a) she's the longest Glinda so she kind of had a leg up here but b) lbr she was the longest Glinda for a goddamn reason. SO MUCH of what is now codified by fiat as things glinda Must Do are things krc just like. made up on tour and lbr got in trouble for at the time! her impact isn't just on how i understand Glinda but how EVERYONE understands glinda and like, i don't think anyone else really has a shot at that crown here other than maybe Cheno herself (who, yes, wasn't nominated and I realize that but having the staying power of being on the cast album is a whole other thing)

BEST AT GIVING GELPHIE

(Self-explanatory, but PAIRS ONLY everyone's gotta pull their weight or there would be too many caveats, even though LMAO that does skew this somewhat)

Stephanie J Block & Annaleigh Ashford: We Are The Gay Agenda and The Gay Agenda Is Hands

Carmen Cusack & Katie Rose Clarke: This Bitch Is Everything To Me (Even When She Drives Me Nuts)

Donna Vivino & Katie Rose Clarke: This Bitch Is Everything To Me (And We Have To Cry About It)

Mary Kate Morrissey & Ginna Claire Mason: Gay Agenda II Electric Boogaloo, We Have Clearly Spent Hours In Our Shared AirBNB Optimizing Every Moment Of This Show

Laurel Harris & Katie Rose Clarke: This Bitch Is Everything To Me (And For A Moment You Can Dream We Might Make It Work)

Honorable Mention: YES I KNOW I'M CHEATING but if I'd seen more boots of Alyssa Fox and McKenzie Kurtz they had a chance of knocking out one of the Katies I think and it's worth saying so

that said

WINNER: Mary Kate Morrissey & Ginna Claire Mason

This one was AGONIZING to narrow down and yes pitting Katie against herself three times does skew the results somewhat. but like. i think that if I met someone who was like "I've never seen Wicked but people tell me it's gay, what's the gayest version?" my instinct would be to point them at Double Name Witches before anyone else. I do love that (with the slight aberration of Laurel coming AFTER double name witches) this is two bookends of actresses very clearly going in with a game plan and executing, and then the insides of the sandwich is krc just like going into a dykadelic fugue state for several hours for years at a time and occasionally lucking into people who could keep up with her

BEST AT GIVING THROPPLE

(Yes this is a whole other thing than Gelphie, NO THE VENN DIAGRAMS ARE NOT IDENTICAL YES THERE IS CONSIDERABLE OVERLAP)

Carmen Cusack & Katie Rose Clarke & Cliffton Hall: True Love In Three Directions Has No Chance Of Running Smooth

Donna Vivino & Katie Rose Clarke & Richard H Blake: Crying Breakfast Friends Wish To Be Gentle And Fail

Mamie Parris & Katie Rose Clarke & Kyle Dean Massey: Young And Dumb and Full of Cum

Rachel Tucker & Carrie St Louis & Jonah Platt: Two Stressed Cheetahs And Their Zoo-Assigned Therapy Golden Retriever

Laurel Harris & Katie Rose Clarke & Ryan McCartan: Teenage Dirtbags Can't Do Feelings But Can't Stop Having Them

WINNER: LAUREL & KRC & RYAN

Blame my wife for this one y'all she converted me; the more I think about this trio the more I feel like they really do just have a balance to them that's very appealing -- getting both the sharp corners and the soft underbellies

FIYERO MOST WORTHY OF HAVING A CATFIGHT OVER

David Burnham, giving ACTUAL POPULAR GUY CHARISMA

Kyle Dean Massey, giving MOVE THEM HIPS

Michael Campayno, giving GENTLEST BOY

Ryan McCarten, giving DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME MEOW MEOW

Xavier McKinnon, giving IT WILL NEVER OCCUR TO YOU TO CALL ME MEOW MEOW *slutty wink*

WINNER: XAVIER MCKINNON

It took 20 years to find the man who was MADE IN A LAB TO BE THE PERFECT FIYERO but we did it boys, we found him. do you have any idea how hard it is to make his goofy-ass lines actually sound suave and THIS BOY MAKES IT LOOK EASY. he PULLS OFF THE GAZELLE LEAP. WHAT CAN'T HE DO. (well the answer is give thropple he's a fiyeraba truther but he's only been on tour less than a year give him time)

MORRIBLE BEST AT BOTH THE ACTING PART AND THE SINGING PART WITHOUT MAKING YOU CHOOSE

Carole Shelley: the OG

Alma Cuervo: Always Serving (all entendres intended)

Myra Lucretia Taylor: That's My Mom

Sheryl Lee Ralph: That's My Queen

Aymee Garcia: Those PIPES

WINNER: SHERYL LEE RALPH

Sheryl should have gotten a goddamn Tony for her turn as Morrible, she stole the fucking show, she was perfect in every possible way, the MENACE the HUMOR the VOICE my god.

WIZARD WHO MOST MAKES YOU GET WHY HE'S THE WIZARD:

Sean McCourt: I'm An Understudy Making A Meal of It (Pt I)

Lenny Wolpe: That's My Dad

Gene Weygandt: Peak Used Car Salesman Energy

Wayne Schroder: I'm An Understudy Making A Meal of It (Pt 2)

Michael McCormick: He Just Loves Drama

WINNER: LENNY WOLPE

Michael gives Lenny a real run for his money, but I have to go with my heart. Lenny talks like the penguin in Toy Story with the broken squeaker and 97% of the time he's the most nonthreatening sweetiepie ever and then he'll suddenly Get Serious and it's like OH DAMN OK.

BOQ BEST AT BEING NOT JUST TOLERABLE BUT TRULY LOVABLE

Telly Leung: bright spot in dark times

Alex Brightman: SO BABY

F. Michael Haynie: flustered and sweet

Jesse JP Johnson: didn't mean any harm

Michael Wartella: genuinely kind

WINNER: MICHAEL WARTELLA

I PROMISE THIS ISN'T JUST RECENCY BIAS Michael I think truly is best at navigating the swings Boq has to take without ever coming off as creepy or over-the-top. He's so GENTLE, even with Nessa, even at the end, and I'm very pumped to see more of his early work in my second go-around of boots

NESSA MOST EQUALLY GOOD AT BOTH ACTS OF THE SHOW

Deedee Magno Hall: unafraid of conflict in act 1 without being cunty about it

Stefanie Brown: makes the high highs and low lows tonally of a piece

Catherine Charlebois: years of excellence

Gizel Jimenez: Care Bear Stare

Kimber Elayne Sprawl: hell yeah i'll growl

WINNER: DEEDEE MAGNO HALL

And no, she's not winning just because my wife and I can't stop giggling any time she says any line and we mentally fill in it starting or ending with "sTEVEN--"

Deedee just has such a memorable presence, and never phoned in a single second; the line deliveries in act 1 for nessa can be so rote or surfacy and NOT FOR THIS LADY NOPE.

MOST PAINFUL FLUB

Bway 1/9/05: Joey McIntyre cannot find his note for like a full verse and a half of ALAYM and there's nothing Sho Bean can do to help him

1NT 2/26/09: Paul Slade Smith as Dillamond tells Elphaba to "go enjoy your students," leaving poor standby Merideth Kaye Clark (WHO HAS THE FIRE ALARM GO OFF ON HER LATER DURING NGD) to have to quickly improvise "That's okay, the other students aren't my friends."

Bway 6/30/2017: Kara Lindsay gets so lost in Jenny DiNoia's eyes that she ALSO sings "two good good friends" at the end of One Short Day

Bway 3/XX/20: Lindsay Heather Pierce flubs Elphie's entrance by saying "No I'm not green, yes I've always been green" instead of "seasick."

Bway 3/XX/24: Donna McKechnie says "Miss Elphaba!" instead of "Miss Upland!" as she enters the Ozdust Ballroom

WINNER(?): JOEY MCINTYRE

I'm so sorry Joey but this was your personal last show and it will live in infamy and there's nothing anyone can do about it

KOOKIEST GLINDA

(i.e. who is most in danger of being accused of having "a lot of personality")

Kendra Kassebaum, giving FISTICUFF REALNESS

Katie Rose Clarke, giving I AM AN AUTISTIC BABY DEER FROM OUTER SPACE

Alli Mauzey, giving THE ONLY THING I LOVE MORE THAN ME IS ATTENTION

Amanda Jane Cooper, giving MY FAVORITE GLINDA IS KATIE ROSE CLARKE LET'S TURN IT UP TO 11

Jennafer Newberry, giving I HAVEN'T FOUND MY GLINDA THESIS STATEMENT YET SO I'M GONNA DO THIS UNTIL I DO

WINNER: AMANDA JANE COOPER

Believe me, I am more shocked than anyone that someone was able to out-Katie Katie on this, but like. My word. Amanda Jane Cooper is A Lot, bless her, and VERY inventive. I stand by my decision to not include Annaleigh Ashford as a nominee; considering how Annaleigh plays every other role I've ever seen her in her Glinda is shockingly normal.

MOST BULLYABLE ELPHIE

(i.e. whose "The Wizard and I" and classroom scenes most have me going "oh honey good luck with all that, no wonder people keep putting Kick Me signs on your back.")

Teal Wicks, giving THEATER KID TRIES AND FAILS TO ROUGHLY APPROXIMATE DARIA

Dee Roscioli, giving MY POSTURE IS AS BAD AS MY SELF-ESTEEM

Jackie Burns, giving RACHEL BERRY OVERACHIEVER

Jessica Vosk, giving IT'S NOT MY FAULT NONE OF YOU LOSERS CAN SEE MY VISION

Natalia Vivino, giving INSUFFERABLE KNOW-IT-ALL

WINNER: DEE ROSCIOLI

Dee I think visibly has Glinda most stressed out and helpless during Popular because she cannot do it which takes the cake here

GLINDA I FIND IT EASIEST TO BELIEVE IS POPULAR WITHOUT THE SCRIPT TELLING ME SO

Kristen Chenoweth: Literally I Invented This Why Do My Predecessors Struggle When I Laid It Out

Annaleigh Ashford: Who Wouldn't Be Obsessed With Me?

Meggie Cansler: JAP Regina George And Making It Work

Gina Beck: The Fact That I Cannot Mask My Accent Is An Asset Actually Because I'm A Fascinating And Mysterious Exchange Student, Go With It

Brittney Johnson: Best Hang At Girl's Night/Throws Awesome Bachelorette Parties

WINNER: GINA BECK

I've only seen Gina once but I was fascinated by her Glinda, and how she commanded every room she was in with such ease. She's just someone you Pay Attention To, she's got this effortless magnetism that shows-doesn't-tell why it's not about aptitude it's the way you're viewed.

BEST POPULAR OOPSIE

(i.e. the improvs that weren't planned)

Bway 1/9/05: After like a FULL MINUTE of trying to get the flower to stick behind Sho's ear, Jennifer Laura Thompson gives up and puts it between Sho's tits instead

Bway 3/13/08: Annaleigh takes the flower off in the scene transition because it was falling out and stashes it in the shoe closet, then forgets which pair she hid it in when it's time for the finishing touch, has to dig through every single one, and chirps "I keep things in my shoes!" when SJB asks what she's doing

1NT 11/1/08: Katie Rose Clarke, still holding the lipstick she almost dropped as she grabs the mirror to set it on the bed, blurts out "I got so much stuff in my hands"

1NT 11/2/08 (yes literally the very next night): Katie Rose Clarke bodyslams herself so hard into her bed at "Fiyero and I are going to be married" she not only breaks a shoe and has to do the rest of Popular barefoot, but the impact sends the preset lipstick tube flying so that she has to spend the entirety of "when I see depressing creatures..." scrambling to find it in the pillows only to realize it's not there and then do a casj lean against the headboard and give Carmen a nod like she meant to do that

Bway 09/XX/19: Brittney can't get the flower to detach from her wig and finally has to let Hannah do it for her with a sad little "help!"

WINNER: 11/2/08 KRC

This one takes the cake because it's a two-parter, and because there are also like 18 different bonkers things that happen in that Popular that we do not have time to get into

IF THERE ARE OTHER CATEGORIES YOU WISH FOR MY OPINION ON, KINDLY LET ME KNOW. but this is getting quite long so I'm gonna stop it there for now

however, some people are so far and above in their respective categories, it was not worth naming four other nominees. so!

Various Senior Superlatives:

Elphie whose lack of a full video boot most kills my soul: Lindsay Mendez

Glinda whose lack of a full video boot most kills my soul: Patti Murin

Most Equal-Opportunity Bisexual Elphaba: Alyssa Fox

Most Affecting 'The Wizard and I:' Saycon Sengbloh 3/29/06

Fiyero Happiest Just To Be Invited (bc he ships Gelphie): Jon Robert Hall

Most Sizzling Sexual Chemistry Between A Wizard and Morrible: Michael McCormick and Alexandra Billings

Most Original Take on Morrible: JoAnne Worley and her ten packs a day American working-class accent

Most Frustrating Missed Opportunity for Comedy: Kyle Brown taking over for Timothy A Fitzgerald as Fiyero mid-show on 5/31/14 and NOT going for a laugh on "Fiyero, you frightened me. I thought you might have changed"/"I have changed!" LIKE COME ON MAN YOU LITERALLY HAVE CHANGED, LET IT BREATHE AND GIVE THE AUDIENCE A GIGGLE IT'S RIGHT THERE

Performance as Elphie closest to book!Elphaba: Mary Kate Morrissey 7/21/23; the most uncannily unsocialized and autistic Elphie I've ever seen and VERY unlike MK's usual portrayal. strikingly original and almost painful to watch at times. sensational.

Best sustained low note at the end of INTG: Julia Murney

Best delivery of "Yeah or maybe it scratched me or something:" Kristoffer Cusick

Best 1NT tour stop to use as a punchline: Appleton WI

Best Dillamond at actually making his lecture sound both interesting and like a legitimate classroom interaction: Harry Bouvy 9/24/17

All-Time Horniest ALAYAM: 2NT 2/XX/25 Carly Augenstein and Xavier McKinnon. No this is not recency bias, they kept kissing so long after the song ended the audience literally started to get uncomfortable. it ruled.

ANYWAY THANK YOU FOR ASKING I HOPE THIS SATISFIES

[that-hazbin]

Hi! I just want to say I love your AUs and I look forward to reading more of whatever AU you might cook up in the future.

For your Good Boy Alastor AU, where Alastor has direct communication with God in his head. Do the others later find out that redemption is possible all along and God has to have The Plan to implement it? That Alastor actually went to Hell so that The Plan can be enacted and redemption made possible. That would be similar to what Jesus did so long ago.

Heaven will be losing their shit, with their heavenly creator disappeared for so long, only to be in direct communication of a mere human soul. And that somehow Lucifer is still His favourite even after all the shit he pulled during Eden. How will they view Alastor now that he has a direct connection to Father/Creator? That their Father enact The Plan of Redemption and that they were wrong about redemption being not possible and were wrong committing genocide?

Charlie will be happy to hear that redemption is possible all along and that even God is on her side in making it a reality. After hearing that Alastor has to purposefully come to Hell to help her, do you think Charlie will feel guilty for it? He has to come down to Hell just to help her in the big part of The Plan?

How does Lucifer feel about this? Will he be angry with his father? He basically forced a mortal soul into Hell because of The Plan. I think this gives Lucifer flashbacks from Eden where the humans are made to follow the plans made by the angels, where free will is limited and they have no say in it.

Good Boy Alastor is such a good name for the AU, lmao.

I think if people ever find out about The Plan, it would be towards the end either right before or when it's completed. Personally, I lean towards after it's completed. Specifically, the moment Sir Pentious is redeemed.

Since the deal is done, Alastor would have no reason to continue pretending anymore. He's honestly relieved, having another person (WHO IS LITERAL GOD) in his head for the last century is a fucking headache. There is no peace, there is no rest. Alastor probably needs immense amounts of therapy because this deity has been telling him Shit He Does Not Need To Know, and it's definitely had a negative impact on his mental health. Alastor knows too many secrets of the universe to be considered sane anymore. Alastor has committed too many atrocities all in the name of some divine plan to be considered sane anymore.

I think Lucifer and Charlie would be particularly upset by the fact that, before God decided to fuck around, Alastor was on his way to heaven. He WAS a good soul, he didn't WANT to go to hell or do any of the things God asked of him.

Lucifer especially is going to be having War Flashbacks, because what the FUCK?? Let's be real, Alastor is a mortal soul, he had 0 chance against a deity determined to get what they want. The fact that Alastor said "no" the first time, and God didn't take that for an answer and continued to wear Alastor down until he agreed, is going to send Lucifer into an apocalyptic rage. The fact that God used Alastor's mother's safety would genuinely make Lucifer contemplate crazy murdering his creator. This realization alone almost started a new Holy War.

And now, Alastor is considered Too Fucked Up to be allowed past the pearly gates of Heaven. He got used to Hell, he's had to kill people, made deals for souls, got used to thinking about everything transactionally.

And God absolutely would have the audacity to be like, welp! Now you know redemption is possible, and I promised this guy he'll go to heaven in the end, so get to redeeming him! And Lucifer and Charlie would LOSE IT. Charlie's happy that she was right about redemption, but she is NOT happy that someone was CONDEMNED TO HELL just to help her prove it, and that the asshole responsible for condemning this soul to Hell is now throwing away their responsibility in helping Alastor get to heaven like he was MEANT to. Lucifer meanwhile wouldn't even give a shit that Alastor's messed up now, he'd argue that he should already be in heaven because uh, if the exorcists could commit yearly genocide and still keep their halos, then Alastor who committed sins against his fucking will should be allowed through the gates without question.

Everyone's going through an Ordeal because of God's bullshit, essentially.

[skyedancer2006]

Ok so Cookie Run hyperfix go brrrr I wanna talk about the Beasts for a bit :)

I’m absolutely loving these guys so far; they’re such good mirrors of each of the Ancient Heroes (especially Shadow Milk to Pure Vanilla, but that’s a topic plenty of people have talked about before lol). Them being negative flips on the Ancients’ virtues, showing how even things like Knowledge and Resolution can have harmful sides, is something I enjoy a lot, and I’m looking forward to what the game does with Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt once they release.

Right now though I want to ramble about their title: Beasts. Why are they called the Beasts? Aside from the mass destruction and chaos they caused, the name doesn’t seem all that fitting. They aren’t animalistic in any inherent way; they aren’t “mindless beasts” as the saying goes. They were former heroes and saviors that had a fall from grace.

I’ve seen some fan works giving them more beastly forms they can change into like the Dragon Cookies do. And if anyone knows me, you know I love a good old transforming/shapeshifting character! So I latched on to this headcanon real quick, cause honestly it would make their title make a lot more sense. Also it’s just cool :)

So, what sort of creatures would these theoretical other forms resemble? Time to analyze each character, their design inspirations, their symbolism, and more to determine this. This got long, so I’ll put it under a cut

Shadow Milk already has a very clear connection to snakes, both through the religious symbolism with the Garden of Eden (which is seen in his gacha animation via a snake eating an apple; image below), and with snakes often representing lies and trickery; Deceit.

So him being something snake-like is the obvious choice.

Mystic Flour is also relatively easy: spiders. There is an abundance of spider enemies in the Pagoda areas, with the boss of the first half being the Webbed Spider Queen:

This spider already bears a resemblance to Mystic Flour, with its abdomen having markings that look like her face and Soul Jam. It also comes out of Mystic Flour’s cocoon, which honestly looks like the stereotypical “spider cocooned its prey” depiction, background webs and all.

Mystic Flour cookie’s philosophy about enlightenment and letting go of worldly desires is heavily based on Buddhist beliefs, and spiders actually do have some symbolism in Buddhism and the Vedic philosophy from India. In the Vedas, spiders are depicted as hiding reality in illusion, similar to the illusory perfection Mystic Flour creates. And a spider web is a common way of explaining the Buddhist concept of interpenetration; all phenomena in the universe being interconnected. Less connection to Mystic Flour there, but I wanted to note it.

Burning Spice also has religious symbolism behind him, this time coming from Hinduism. He is heavily based on the destruction deity Shiva’s more wrathful depictions. In Hinduism, destruction is more of a neutral force; part of the balance of the universe along with creation and preservation (the deities Brahma and Vishnu respectively). Burning Spice being such a harsh inversion of that neutrality fits the Beasts’ theme of being twisted virtues.

Shiva has a few animals associated with him, such as bulls, cobras, deer, and the one most important for this discussion: the tiger. Burning Spice already has stripe markings on his arms, and his main follower that we see in the game is Nutmeg Tiger Cookie.

Making Burning Spice a tiger would be a bit odd because of Nutmeg Tiger’s existence as one of his followers, but the idea of a giant, wrathful, firey tiger is just too perfect for Burning Spice in my eyes. Maybe add in some bull features to make him stand apart a bit more.

Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt I can’t really do much with yet since we don’t know anything about them other than their respective corrupted virtues, being Sloth and Silence. Eternal Sugar’s design seems to have an Angel and Devil theming, so perhaps some sort of bird? And Silent Salt I have absolutely no ideas for. I’ll have to figure these two out once they get added to the game and we learn more about them.

Anyways, hope yall enjoyed this silly analysis thing :) Also take a bonus doodle of snake/dragon Smilk that we did before making this post and that inspired us to write it in the first place lol (design still being workshopped; looking at him now we really should have made his hair into a cobra hood)

[kaidlo]

HEY YOU! Yeah, you! Get over here.

Happy birthday and uh Happy New Year. *throws some Fallout Louisiana lore at you*

Do I have multiple projects and assignments to do? Yes. Am I going to make up lore for an entire region in the Fallout universe for fun? Also yes. (I am on the Autism spectrum.)

I’m gonna dub this pet project “Fallout 5” and refer to it for ease of reference, but if I made this into a real game, I’d call it Fallout 5: Old Orleans so it could be somewhat of a spiritual successor to Fallout: New Vegas 😋

Anyways, the map unsurprisingly spans across New Orleans up to northern Louisiana, the border ending by Shreveport. However the map would also include a small part of Mississippi and Alabama, specifically to Gulfport and Mobile (by request of my friend whose family is from Mobile). It would look something like this:

The entire region has two different names: “The Parish” as it is officially known, and “the Bayou Wasteland” as it is more commonly called among locals. You will hear pre-war Ghouls complain about it being called “The Parish” since Louisiana uses parishes instead of counties. It’s called the Parish post-war because it sounds cool.

Additionally, most of the settlements were borne out of pre-war cities and towns, most of which were not bombed directly. New Orleans was the only city in the state to be bombed, and was not as heavily targeted as Los Angeles, New York, or D.C.

The entirety of New Orleans is now nicknamed “Old Orleans” because that’s exactly what it is: old! Imagine being a post-war scavver traveling to the city and seeing buildings from the 1800s that are still standing. Though I imagine there’s a few pre-war French Ghouls who hate the name.

The city itself has been split into two sections: Eden, which was built out of pre-war Uptown, and made from Vault 42’s G.E.C.K. It has sprawling forests and meadows not characteristic of the region. The second section is called Vient Vieux which literally translates to “comes old” 😭 but is derived from uahh something I forgot to write notes about (I will add to this section later)

Fun times! Let’s move on to CHARACTERS! Yippee!

I’ve come up with several options for companions, including:

Anthony, an ex-Legionary with daddy issues from Caesar and Lanius

Eddie, a pre-war Ghoul and former Bluegrass singer with an inferiority complex because of his scratchy ghoul voice

Ben Gadot, a seemingly unassuming caravan guard from the Commonwealth with a slight Bostonian accent and an annoyingly high Charisma/speech stat

Patience Goodwin, an excommunicated Vault 42 dweller who insists they’re a cult

Marnie Juneau, a “clairvoyant” who makes money by telling people their fortunes in Vient Vieux

Hazel Mendoza, a young BoS scribe rescued from The Pitt who has an irrational fear of all Ghouls and Super Mutants

Claude Fontenot, another pre-war Ghoul who’s stayed in his Bayou-front home for the past 200 years and seems like a stereotypical Cajun guy, except he’s actually a genius and was accepted into four Ivy Leagues in his day (and turned them all down)

Anita, a Super Mutant hired gun who was transformed all the way back in California, although she really just wants to feel pretty again.

Domino, a Great Pyrenees who you can rescue from a flood and is also especially aggressive towards raiders

I have several ideas for NPCs as well, more specifically,

Antoinette Rose, a pre-war Ghoul woman and former environmental lawyer who is now the de facto leader of Vient Vieux and the Bayou wastelanders

Dominic Dolton, the overseer of Vault 42 who is from their Evangelical Christian family (more on that later)

Elder Adrian Vargas, the same Paladin Vargas from Fallout 3 now promoted to elder of the BoS’ Parish chapter

Cliff Strickland, yet another pre-war Ghoul turned radio host after quitting his raider lifestyle

Jamila Adler, singer who was adopted by Cliff as a kid, and leads The Big Easy Brass

Ahh! Quick subject change again! Here’s the lore in bulleted form because I’m tired and lazy:

Vault 42 actually consists of several different families, all selected by Vault Tec before the war for their dedication to their respective faiths

Although they ended up putting mostly Christian denominations in the vault so of course that won out

Patience is actually descended from the Baptist family that was put in there. She’s still very religious but disagrees with the vault’s mission.

Speaking of which, Vault 42 is a designated control vault, and their supposed goal is to resettle the Wasteland and preach faith back to the lost little wastelanders to save them.

Vault Tec’s scientists actually anticipated all the families to kill each other or something lol but they made it to the 200 year mark and finally got to leave

As you might expect, the local wastelanders aren’t too happy about Vault 42’s “salvation” mission, especially because they opened their G.E.C.K. and cut off a big part of the city

The BoS and Enclave don’t have as much sway here. In fact, the Enclave is basically nonexistent, while the BoS is a lot more passive thanks to Elder Vargas and the small team that Elder Maxson deployed to the region.

Despite people’s general distaste for Vault 42 dwellers’ religions, many people within The Parish are very spiritual, to the point where Traiteurs (faith healers) are considered essential to have in a settlement

Basically Cajun, Creole, and Abrahamic faiths collided with fear and desperation after the bombs dropped, leading the beliefs to change to something almost unrecognizable to a pre-war person

The Parish also has a lot of its own mutated creatures much like post-war Appalachia. For example, there are these very hairy feral Ghoul-like creatures, dubbed rougarous by early bomb survivors. And there are giant scary mutated alligators called “snoligators” (derived from the urban legend about the snaligaster)

I don’t know I have a lot of thoughts. And will keep coming up with more maybe. Let me know guys (I’m procrastinating,)

[propertyofwhitney67]

One thing that kills me a little about dols writing is how the characters (especially the LIs) are kind of being left behind in the wake of game play gimmicks (that seem fun until you realize they're just a grind) and supernatural lore (that doesn't even directly tie into any of the LIs).

For example, cooking could have been a fun inclusion in the game, but its a real slog to get through and it doesn't actually progress any of the storylines or lead to really fun scenes with the love interests. Like, cooking could be tied into the cafe, or certain ingredients could be used in a food play context, or utilize cooking for dates with the LIs, because right now cooking is extremely under-developed (which is deserving of criticism imo. If the game or story aspect of a new mechanic isn't finished it probably shouldn't be pushed out, because there's no guarantee that any of the developers will actually get around to doing anything with it in the future).

Some of the lore is cool, but it isn't very well integrated with the characters. With the snake painting and the multi-ending gimmick it could have been a fun quest for the PC to discover new endings by talking to other characters. Like, maybe Winter knows one ending, but Sydney (or Jordan) has heard another, and Avery/Remy/Wren know another version of the events, so you get to learn more about the world while also learning about a character and their thoughts on the painting. Admittedly, I don't really care that much about the temple, but I attribute that to the writing not doing a great job at tying the temple into... anything, really lmao

The lack of dates and holiday events with the LIs is something I also find frustrating. Maybe it's just me, but doing Christmas and Valentine's events with all of the love interests seems like a really easy thing to plan for, and they're events that feel meaty enough that most people would be okay with getting a few big events like that every year. Not to mention you could have events that delve into lore while also focusing on LIs. The temple follows a made up pseudo pagan religion. Throw in festivals for the summer and winter solstices. Make a harvest festival that involves the PC and Alex needing to do something.

Somehow dol just feels like an incredibly strange game when I actually think about it. The LIs don't feel fleshed out enough for an actual dating sim adjacent game, but the lore isn't consistent enough for the game to be focused on that either (like what even is the island? why is it tribal? why not have it take vague inspiration from more Celtic mythology or English folklore instead, because the island just feels really gross the way it exists now).

The cooking def needs work, a lot of work. It takes so fucking long to get recipes to even make a fucking meal, they really gotta come up with a better way of doing the cooking. Like you said using it for dates and stuff would be really cool, there also needs to be more variety in scenes when you do give them food bc it's the same shit every time. I agree, if it isn't finished don't put it out. You can hint at it or even openly talk about it but don't give us halfassed shit.

Some of the lore is quite interesting and I used to be obsessed with it, all the things Winter would tell you about the antiques is cool. But now it just feels off? Idk there's just something different, it might be the writing.

We do need more dates and holidays, like what do you mean I can't give other LI's Christmas gifts? Why is Eden the only one with a valentines event? I also really love your idea of those events, they would be so cool. It really shouldn't be hard to implement more events, like sure it'll take a bit to write everything but I'm more than willing to wait for actually good content. I'm willing to wait months if it means the writing is better, just please.

There's some inconsistencies and things that have just been completely changed and/or removed. The characters genuinely need to be fleshed out and I say this with my whole fucking chest, do fucking better devs and writers

The island is fucking awful and kinda hella racist if you really think about it. It needs a whole rework or just be removed bc it serves no purpose aside from like 4 artifacts and a temple quest.

[gaykarstaagforever]

I can't believe I'm saying this, but the TOS Season 3 episode "The Way to Eden," i.e., the Space Hippie episode, is actually one of the good ones from that season. And in general, from the whole series.

Yes, it is dated as FUCK and has some serious problems. But in general, it is a good story with sensible characters that is trying to make a reasonable point. It's also a good Spock episode, because it shows that the "emotionless" Vulcan is the only one on the Enterprise who appreciates that the Space Hippies have a worthwhile political / spiritual position, even as he recognizes how goofy and unhinged they are in the pursuit of it.

...Almost like he has a half-brother who started a cult with the best of intentions, or something. Huh.

Anyway,

The writing on this is seriously good. The Space Hippies are all former "respectable" people, several with advanced scientific degrees, which immediately makes it impossible to blow them off as idiots. And one is the son of an ambassador from a planet about to join the Federation, so Kirk is ordered to handle this delicately. This makes things way more complicated than a story with Space Hippies should be. One of the smart converts is the former girlfriend of Chekov, who abandoned him and Starfleet for this hippie shit, and exploits that and him to take over the ship. This is done very well. The casting is good, too, because the two of them have genuine chemistry.

Seriously. They want to make out SO BAD in this scene, and you want them to, and then they do. It's good stuff.

The other thing that stands out to me about this episode is Deborah Downey, the blonde lady with the thick legs who sings one of the cringey Space Hippie songs:

This is mostly because, gay as I am now, I thought this woman was sexy as shit when I was 13, and that has not changed. God those legs.

The actress retired from acting and turned to painting. I tried to find an example of her work but her website is dead. I don't think she is? I don't know. You look and tell me what you can find.

Another cringey thing about this is the attempt at Space Hippie talk that resembles what screen writers in the late 1960s thought real hippies sounded like.

But oddly enough, Spock can actually speak it because he respects them and apparently researched it, and he explains what a "herbert" is, and why they say it. Which is way more work put into this stupid shit than was necessary. Again, this is better than it has any right to be.

He is also down to "jam" with them with his Vulcan lute. Which Kirk apparently agrees to broadcast over the Enterprise's PA system. Which is pretty goddamn weird. And it gets weirder, since the whole crew seems totally into it, several members shown rocking out, including a security guard who the Space Hippies then attack while he's off-guard.

How did Kirk and Spock not realize this was part of their plan to hijack the ship? Kind of embarrassing.

Like when Chekov shows his girlfriend how to take over the entire ship from "auxiliary control," a thing that is in this episode and exactly no others.

Probably could have used that at least a couple of times before now in this series, where hostile aliens seize the Bridge and Engineering every week.

Oh well. TV is hard. Especially when you know the show has already been canceled.

My favorite part is when Spock and Chekov find the fabled "Eden" planet, on the basis of nothing, and the Space Hippies hijack the ship and go there, and it turns out all the plant life is acidic, and they all get burned / killed by acid.

Was this an intentional scam to fuck with them? It doesn't seem to be. But then why did Spock and Chekov think "Eden" was this acid planet? We're told nothing about how they picked this planet. Which is in the Romulan Neutral Zone, btw. Good work, guys.

Fortunately, for the first time in Star Trek history, the Enterprise crosses into the Neutral Zone and fucks around, and the Romulans don't even show up to yell at them. I realize Space is big, but come on, Romulans. If Federation Space Hippies can breach the Neutral Zone with zero pushback, what is the point of even having it?

I like how it ends with the surviving Space Hippies not abandoning their quest, just admitting that it will probably be harder to find Eden than they thought. And Spock wishes them luck. They don't seem mad at him about sending them down to an acid planet that burned their feet and killed at least two of them. I would be. Maybe that's why they're Space Hippies, and I'm not.

Here is footage that I'm sure Starfleet history students pass around the Academy as a meme:

[tritoch]

Something that bugs me a lot in Dawntrail discourse is watching people who think they are defending the expansion argue away its best aspect. Because here's the thing: Wuk Lamat isn't like prior FFXIV characters. She takes up way more space than them. That's good!

A common thread you see in defenses is that people are complaining about things they were fine with earlier in the story. "Oh well actually Lyse was also the main character of Stormblood and people didn't hate her as much!" or "Heavensward is the story of Aymeric and Estinien and Ysayle, and the Warrior of Light doesn't do that much!" or "No one complained when Gaia jumped into the Eden raids, or when Emet showed up during Seat of Sacrifice" with the implied conclusion of "Wuk Lamat's not different from any other previous major character, your complaints have more to do with [sexism/transphobia/your crippling insecurity about not being the main character] than the way she's written." First of all people did hate Lyse. I get what you are saying but they very much did hate Lyse.

But Wuk Lamat is different. She's different because Dawntrail is unapologetically, full-throatedly her story. She is there at the start, she is there at the end, she is there basically all the way through except for a brief interlude. She is the character you talk to the most, she is also the character that talks the most. She has more of a complete arc than anyone else in the expansion. The antagonists develop much stronger direct and personal relationships to her than they ever do with you. Several major characters have relationships to you through her more than they do with you directly. At multiple points in the story you explicitly step back and are like "Go right ahead, queen, do the main character stuff." She 100% takes your role in certain ways. She's literally a new WL to your WoL!

and that's awesome! Like, holy shit! If you had traveled back in time and told me after Endwalker, "Hey, the next expansion will be almost solely and entirely focused on the character journey of a young woman, and she'll be nuanced and complex and allowed to fail but also allowed to succeed wildly, and her characterization will be interesting and her ideals will be very directly challenged, and she'll get to do some real classic 'sorry my noble opponent but I must stop you, even though I sympathize' shit, and the way she is framed won't feel excessively male-gazey, and she won't get stuck in the FFXII Ashe Miniskirt, and she won't just be someone you watch and clap for while the real protagonist and narrator is some random guy in her entourage," I would've been like "haha, okay, I like FFXIV as much as the next guy but I don't think it's shaken its baseline sexism off enough to do an expansion entirely about a woman and her personal growth and what makes her a good leader, especially after Stormblood's mixed reception. And CBU3 definitely doesn't have the guts to make her even more of a main character than any other prior NPC, and you didn't mention this part future time traveler, but I also don't believe they'll be willing to cast a trans woman in the role." And I would have been fucking wrong!

Yes, Wuk Lamat is the main character. Yes, she does get more attention than other NPCs, or even your Warrior of Light. And yes, that's totally fine, and even something to praise!!! You don't have to run from it to accommodate people who are looking for something to complain about!