#feels- boring or anticlimactic

[tyconix]

I think Spider-man should keep his identity a MAJOR SECRET.

The way people perceive him and treat him rely on NOT knowing who he is. Especially other heros! It is so much more entertaining to see that tension and those misunderstandings, instead of just using, "i have cameras around the city" or "I literately stalked you". It is so much funnier for these highly trainer spies and trackers to just- lose him, at a street corner or something. cameras everywhere except that one blind spot he always disappears from. For some reason all photos of him are blurry and unfocused, and his mask always rips in just the right spot so that you can't actually see his face. It fits with the Parker Luck (tm), because his life would probably be easier if they just figured it out- but they can't, because he's a slippery fast elusive vigilante that never sticks around. Who's actually just incredibly unlucky and late for class. which I think is far more hilarious.

I think its what the MCU made me miss, because in the literal first movie of his, everyone knows his age, identity, friendship, house. HIS villian, knows who he is, and this isn't like, kingpin or Green Gobiln its...THE VULTURE??? LIKE- okay i guess everyone can know about the ONLY character that had a secret identity? every other hero is a world recognized super star at that point, why must you take this one too? Wheres the funny "why do your socks look like that peter?" when he's wearing his suit under a robe, or the frantic pulling away of his backpack whenever someone gets close. We lose so much tension between his friends too, ned already knows, MJ already probably knows, flash is too dumb to figure it out, and other characters either don't matter or care about it, or move away. AUNT MAY knows so those phone calls where he's trying to come up with an excuse while at a bank robbery? literately robbed from us.

[only-1-a]

Imagining this within the first week of Charles and Edwin knowing each other. Charles has helped Edwin catch up on a BIT of what’s happened in the last 70 years, but Edwin can tell that Charles’ knowledge and strengths are not in history (finding out there was an even worse world war right after The Great War was certainly horrific though). So Edwin decides his best bet is to look in the public archives. Charles is sitting in the room with him absolutely bored out of his skull when he comments “Wow, you weren’t joking about not being great at people, were you?”

To which Edwin’s patience runs out, and he snidely responds, “Evidently not. If my researching the events of the last seventy years is so off-putting to you, then you can leave.”

Edwin was expecting some kind of token protest, but instead Charles just hops up, and says, “Cheers mate. See you.” Then LEAVES. Just like that. Edwin would like to be offended, but he supposes he did tell Charles to go. He just thought there would have been more to it than that? It almost feels…anticlimactic. At least he and Charles barely knew each other. Better to cut their losses now than get attached. Even as he thinks it he can’t help but feel maybe he was already growing attached.

So he spends the whole day digging through the archive and he learns so much about the past half century. It’s amazing and daunting just how much as changed. No wonder Charles hadn’t been able to go over even a fraction of it. It’s like the world is a completely different place.

He’s engrossed in his research when a head pops in through the door, and violently startles him with a cheerful, “Hey mate!” Edwin doesn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would be running a mile a minute from that fright. Charles is just grinning as he walks through the door. “I have to say, that’s my favourite part of being dead so far. I can just walk through walls.” Charles continues to chat happily, completely oblivious to Edwin’s shock.

Eventually Edwin gains enough of his senses back to interrupt Charles and say, “You came back.”

Charles just cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah bruv. You’ve been here ALL DAY. The sun’s started going down. I know we don’t need to eat or sleep, but I figure you should take a break. Plus all the people playing football at the park left, so I got bored.”

Edwin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s still working on the fact Charles came back. Charles hadn’t planned on leaving in any permanent way. He just went to do his own thing while Edwin did his. Yet instead of anything intelligent coming out of his mouth, he says “Football?”

“Oh c’mon! I know you had football even a thousand years ago. Yeah, I went to play with some other guys at the park across the street.”

Edwin snorts at that, and isn’t that a strange and wonderful feeling, laughing after all this time. He doesn’t even know if he did it often before he went to Hell, but here Charles has been making him laugh on and off for the week they’ve known each other. “Yes, we had football. You’ll have to explain how you managed to play a team sport without being seen by either team. You are right though. If it’s getting dark out, they’ll be turning the lights out in here soon. We might as well leave for the day.”

“Cheers. Mostly it involved messing with the ball so it went the wrong way when they kicked it. Oh! I kicked one over a fence. Do you think we can go grab it? How about your day? Learn anything exciting?”

Edwin leads them out, and now in a much better mood he shares something he thinks Charles will enjoy. “As a matter of fact, there was quite a lot about how music evolved, and styles from the Americas really took off since the 20s.”

[thesweetestofdreams]

Sugar quills and Spilled Ink

pairings: poly!marauders x reader (800 words)

warnings: should be none, just a super fluffy blurb

a/n: Thank you so much for the warm reception to my blog. As I am working on the next part of my series, please enjoy this very unserious blurb

Your first kiss with James was a complete accident. It was your first kiss with any of the boys. Sirius always looked ready to kiss you, with soft eyes and adoration. Remus had hardly broached the subject, obviously waiting for you to make the first move, but he did kiss your forehead in the late hours of the night when neither of you could sleep. James almost always seems to kiss on accident, like he doesn't even think about it. It just happens. 

He bent over the back of the couch whispering sweet good mornings as quietly as James can, which is exceptionally unquiet. You turned to kiss each other’s cheeks at the same time. It was the tiniest peck but it seemed more like an electric shock, mostly made of surprise. Your fingers flew to your lips almost as if to hold the tiny, nothing kiss down so it might stick.

“Oh come on,” Sirius cried, discarding his quill in his disdain. It clattered against the small table spitting miniscule black droplets towards Remus, sitting across from him.

A ringing laugh bubbled up from your lips, fingers still tracing their edges. James looked so ready to apologize, his brown cheeks were turning a deep red. The whole thing was far too funny, far too anticlimactic, and rather dramatic at the same time. 

“I could have sworn it would be me,” Sirius continued, looking absolutely dejected, “and how unromantic, James.” 

James laughed, it was a nervous sound you'd hardly heard from him. “I am so sorry (y/n). Of course, I would have asked. I should have asked…” he trailed off. The whole thing was just so pitiful. 

Propping yourself up on your knees you leaned over the back of the couch, hands on his shoulders, sliding to either side of his jaw. You pulled him in gently for a kiss, a better one, a real one. He eagerly followed. You sat back with a lingering taste of fresh air and mint toothpaste. The blink of an intimate moment was soon interrupted by Sirius. 

“Now you’re just rubbing it in. I still think it was quite a boring first kiss.” Sirius looked at you with as much hurt as he could muster, but it was only a facade. You saw the curling edges of his lip and sneaky eyes. All that of course until he realized he roused Remus’s pity, then the puppy dog eyes truly shone through. 

“You’re very romantic Sirius, darling,” Remus said, it was placating and he also knew exactly what he was doing. In the next moment, he looked at you, asking a silent and mischievous question. You nodded in response with a devilish smile matching his own. 

While Sirius sulked, Remus shot up darting to your spot on the couch. His was rather different from James’s much less hesitant than you thought it would be. A bit more “romantic.” His touch to your cheek was feather light contrasting a firm hold on your waist and well, all that to say he was a very good kisser. 

Sirius had slits for eyes when you finally looked back at him. “So I have never truly been loved. I understand,” he said as he started to pack away his things. 

“Pads,” James laughed. “You know that’s not true.” 

“No, no James. I understand how you all truly feel about me.” Sirius stood from the table, pretending to leave, but they all knew he wasn’t, not really. 

“Sirius this is rather unromantic,” you said, truly facetious. You caught up to him in just a few quick steps. You wrapped a loose hand around his wrist. “Sirius,” you whispered, ready with the doe eyes he always melted for. “Can I kiss you?” 

“No,” he turned his nose away from you, but you saw him sneaking a look back at you. Then he was wrapping his arms around your waist, spinning you both in a half circle, and finally, he kissed you. It was perfectly dramatic, perfectly Sirius. He tasted like sugar quills. Being completely honest it made you dizzy.

“That lads, is how you kiss a lady,” Sirius said looking exceedingly proud of himself all things considered. 

You rolled her eyes, patting his arm. “The most romantic of all, love,” you said in the same tone as Remus, placating, although you'd be lying if you said it wasn’t a nice kiss. 

“Okay come on you lot, I’m running out of quills because someone keeps stealing them,” Remus said with an incriminating look at James. 

“I’ll buy the first round of butterbeer,” James said in apology. 

As they filed through the portrait hole James hung back whispering to you. “So we can do that again, yeah?” He looked golden a shining smile adorning his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you said, sliding a hand to intertwine with his. Even still, at the end of the evening, he could taste the butterbeer on your lips and you could feel the start of a happy ending.

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[wonderwafles]

The ending of Revenant is a weird thing to talk about as someone who's loved the Eliksni since I started playing Destiny in 2014, there for the first mention of the Kell of Kells and here to finally see the title bestowed. It's *really* weird to say that, after all that, I sort of really really hate how it ends

Revenant feels like the culmination of a trend in Bungie's writing that's been percolating since Splicer, which I snidely call the "uwuification of the Eliksni" or more helpfully might just be called a "flattening." What I always found most interesting about the Eliksni was the merge of the tragedy of their lost homeworld combined with the desperate, inexcusable violence they inflicted on humanity. Their most prominent characters were deeply complicated people, from Variks who allied with us only to eventually unleash the Scorn, to Eramis, who wanted to create a new home for her people but got lost in vengeance and hate. They were Fallen, but they could rise.

Splicer is the beginning of doing away with this in favor of the Eliksni being primarily victims of humanity. The unease the human residents felt towards the House of Light wasn't due to, say, generational memories of Eliksni invading and burning almost all of human civilization to the ground, or first hand memories of Twilight Gap when they almost succeeded in doing that to the Last City, but rather... knee-jerk racism. Lakshmi, as the figurehead of that movement, was purely villainized despite it being revealed that she was there when the Eliksni first arrived and saw the horrors they inflicted, and ultimately she isn't even given the dignity of her own motivations — instead, she's been corrupted by Savathûn.

Eramis turns from a dangerous ideologue who is destroying her own people in pursuit of vengeance to a justifiably aggrieved revolutionary, calling humanity out on their "oppression" of her House of invaders, pirates, and colonizers. No human is allowed to point out that she came from Riis to kill them. No House Salvation member is even allowed to be angry with her for unleashing the Vex onto them. It's hard not to conclude that the game completely forgot who she was in pursuit of forcing her into this new role.

It'd be one thing if this new story was better than the old one, but frankly, I really don't think so. Eramis and Variks both have their complexities filed away to nothing, and the motivations of the Eliksni as a whole become nonsensical. The House of Light's opportunity to be both a House of refugees and representatives of an invading race justly feared by the Last City is gone. Misraaks and Eido's roles as mediators between humans and Eliksni don't really matter because there's nothing to mediate; humans are bad and Eliksni are good. There's a lot of talk about the two species putting aside their differences to build a better future... but what differences? What differences specifically? Space racism was ended when Savathûn's magic went away, and obviously a long war of annihilation is really the fault of the people defending themselves from annihilation.

Eramis getting the Echo was sort of the culmination of all of this; she hasn't learned anything or changed since she opened the Vex portals on Europa, or even since she invaded Earth in the first place. But the new lore is that she doesn't need to; she was always in the right. How tiresome. How boring. How anticlimactic.

[sshadowritestoriess]

hello! could you write something with zen echo and ramattra (sorry if that's too many characters) with a human reader who kisses them even tho they don't really have a mouth, I'd like to know their reactions

Kissing robots is so good <3

Kissing Zenyatta

Kisses aren’t a display that surprises him, really!

It might have been pretty anticlimactic the first instance that you had press your lips to his faceplate, a gesture of which he gently leaned into and remained patiently still, until you pulled away

But he would still sometimes entertain you with a prized “oh!” as if he hadn’t expected it

He only apologized the first time for not being able to return the favor the same way, but he was delighted by receiving such a human affection! It pleases him immensely that you would demonstrate this kind of love as if he were human

The best he could do to reciprocate was to press his forehead against yours, lean carefully into your touch, or nudge his jaw against your cheek

He’d be ridiculously gentle doing these things, highly aware that he was of metal and that humans bruise quite easily.

When you would kiss him where he would have a mouth, he liked to respond with a verbal “mwah!” or other kiss sound

You both would also have a habit of blowing kisses to one another as well. He loves pretending to catch yours, and would feign placing it on his cheek before signing “I love you” with his hand

But he also liked to take your hands in his and press your knuckles to the nine lights of his forehead, feeling the warmth of his glow against your hands in his own means of returning the gesture

Sometimes he even asks for kisses, very politely. It’s hard to refuse (but why would you?)

Kissing Echo

Considering her face is just a hologram, you both occasionally forget that and share an amused moment when trying to kiss each other

Sometimes it’s definitely on purpose though! Feigning a kiss upon one another’s mouth with sweet smiles, and an especially elated giggle from Echo

Your one-sided kisses always make her gasp, an expressive look of joyous surprise on her face that leaves her mouth agape

She finds it so interesting, curious, and will lift to you her hands and turn her head from side to side asking “Can you do that here? And what about from here?”

So it’s not really a one-and-done— if you kiss her, you’re gonna end up doing quite a couple. She loves it very much

She doesn’t seem bothered that she can’t truly kiss you back, and if asked she’ll tell you “I think there’s something just as special about pretending!”

And it’s true. The make-believe gestures of affection are something very unique to her that may as well be real in its own way

Just because she couldn’t kiss you doesn’t mean she wasn’t. It may not be the same, but it felt no different than if she could. And it was fun, and worth her reactions

She could never bore of your kisses, nor tire of returning them.

Kissing Ramattra

Ramattra, on the other hand, would somehow end up shocked by your kisses every single time without fail. Subtly flinching as if you’d accidentally surprised him

He’d make a disgruntled noise after your display, but he’d never ask you to stop. He would, however, make sure now and again that you didn’t think he was going to be able to suddenly kiss you back one day

Sometimes he’d mutter something about “human gestures”, but it was hard to discern if it was bringing him offense or not. But again, he never told you he didn’t like it— and he was pretty open about telling you the things that brought him unease

It was more like he was just tolerating it for a while, but he’d eventually begin appreciating it

While he can’t kiss you, he does have a similar gesture that brings him a lot more satisfaction when you attempt to do the same

His specific model can summon a very brief vibration from behind the “mouth” of his faceplate, an old discreet means of communicating that uses the gentle buzz as something similar to Morse code. The pulses produce no sound, but emits a small encoded wave between omnics— like sending a text directly into someone’s mind

It wasn’t a language any human could decipher, but he’d press his ‘mouth’ to your neck or cheek and speak a quick note of affection there, anyway.

You seemed to understand it was loving. And when one day he’d tucked his face into your shoulder and his faceplate pulses ticklishly against your skin again, he was suddenly ecstatic when you leaned your throat against his head and hummed quickly, in the same rhythm he did, mocking his gesture

So, technically, you were telling him you loved him back by repeating his ‘message’, and you had no idea.

He wouldn’t admit a thing to you, but you could tell it made him pretty happy.

And while he preferred his version of “kisses” to yours, he would never turn down your ways of showing him that you loved him

[h-didanart]

It was quiet.

And empty.

Very empty.

Way too empty.

He didn’t like the emptiness.

For starters he probably should be in way more pain than he is right now. And then there was the whole fire and sin theme missing from this place, making it a lot boringer than he was expecting.

So he was confused, to that he’ll admit. He hadn’t even seen whatever-the-hell-that-was coming! It was just- poof! Dead. Probably. More than likely.

Hell, that half an hour had just been those idiots debating on who gets to kill him, of course he’s dead! It would’ve been so funny to see the crazed moon fail at whether-the-hell he was doing. Or been an awesome way to die, who knows, it’s not like he can go back and ask that guy to shoot him with magic again.

Whatever, he was bored. Very bored.

Checking his limbs, all of them there. Could he move? Yes he could.

For an afterlife of eternal torment this didn’t seem much like torment. He just got to live in some white void or whatever. Oh maybe that was the torment, being bored in death, creative if anticlimactic.

And then a sound.

Imminent danger, a threat, newcomer, invader, something— he turned around towards the sound, fully ready to fight.

And then he froze.

Because that face— that wasn’t— he— holy shit

Holy shit

He didn’t like the pile of feelings dumped on him. He didn’t like it at all. It was like a rock bashed into his chest, but the rock was on fire and also weighed as much as an anvil.

He… he… knew those eyes. Better than the back of his hand. And that hat, those clothes, the godforsaken fluff surrounding that face. He didn’t register the damages, but they were extensive he’s broken in the ground, Monty reaches for his neck— they were so extensive. But the eyes hadn’t changed.

He hadn’t changed.

His brother…

His brother.

He stood there. It was all moving so fast, but also slow, there were a billion thoughts in his head. He could feel warmth building up on his face.

His brother looked at him, then down to himself. Oh. He was missing a leg. Never had he thought he’d feel disgust at seeing an injury. Clearly he had to be the one to get closer. And so he took a step forward. And another.

And then he was running.

He knew there was a smile on his face, he didn’t care. He knew the feelings were building up, he also didn’t care. All he wanted was to get to him.

And he did. The twins collided, he lifted his other up and spun a few times.

Fuck.

It had been so long. So goddamn long.

He remembers the last hug they had, the last interaction they had, his last view of him the screen is wound back he dares not look back— it had been an eternity. Agonizing eternity. He didn’t think he could’ve taken it had it lasted longer.

He missed him.

So fucking much.

He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care that he was sobbing, wailing even.

To hell with self consciousness.

To hell with humiliation.

To hell with this place.

To hell with revenge.

To hell with the world.

To hell with blood.

None of that mattered in the now.

His world was finally complete again.

And he will never lose him again.

[foolishlovers]

TRANS HUMAN AUs: Below you can find a list of Good Omens human AUs featuring trans characters.

[Requested by anon. You can request more fic recs here.] it’s okay, maybe not forever but we got today by astheworldcomestoanend (G, 1k) Aziraphale’s parents are fighting again, so he goes over to Crowley’s house to spend the night with him. Crowley is more than happy to bring his angel in and make sure he’s okay.

Win Condition by ineffablefool (G, 1k) Human AU. Aziraphale and Crowley's junior high school sets up a really weird school-wide Valentine's Day game that they're both kind of side-eying for different reasons. Talking about it over lunch gives them both the chance to confess something, though!

Belonging by LittleQueerdo (T, 2k) Crowley is woken by a librarian on a mission.

Not a Thirst Trap But an Oasis by scullyphile, LexArturo (M, 4k) “Thirst trap?” “You know,” Anathema says, leaning in. “A sexy pic, meant to get the attention of your followers.” She clears her throat. ”Or maybe one particular follower.” “I see,” he says, hoping he sounds casual. “You should slide into their DMs,” Anathema adds. Aziraphale’s jaw hangs open as he considers everything his friends are saying. Thankfully, he knows what DMs are, and he uses context clues to discern what sliding into them would entail. Aziraphale reconnects with an old friend via social media. A lot of things have changed in 25 years, including their genders, but one thing remains the same: he's absolutely smitten.

angel and ash by ineffabildaddy, wasleichtes (E, 4k) When Crowley returns to London after nannying for Warlock, she begins to frequent queer venues using the name Ash, manifesting a deliberately transfeminine form. Feeling more at home in her corporation than she ever has before, she is eager to guard this treasured part of her life from her angelic and demonic counterparts. That is, until one evening, when a friend from the scene “sets her up” with a man known as Angel, whom Crowley immediately identifies as Aziraphale manifesting transmasculine characteristics. For the sake of discretion, they behave as handsome strangers to one another until they are alone at an afterparty later the same night. Crowley and Aziraphale’s attempts at physical intimacy through the ages have always been stilted, awkward and anticlimactic… but in this moment, Crowley is drawn even more strongly to Aziraphale than usual, and Aziraphale feels the same about Crowley. Both beings are truly at one with their own gender presentation and earnestly, amorously fascinated by the presentation of the other as their evening together builds to a tender, breathless climax.

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?! by lineslines (G, 5k) She takes a step into the light, a vision of red and black, of scant fabric and edges, seizes him in her gaze, which he realizes is almost as fiery as her hair, and drags it up and down his form, once, before she grins. “Oh angel, let me guess, you probably think tartan is stylish?” “Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale automatically protests, before his brain slowly catches up with his mouth. And his eyes. “Oh, how impolite of me! Please do come in. You must be drenched.” (Crowley just lost her job selling cosmetics to bored rich housewives. Aziraphale is a bored rich bastard in want of a nanny for the neighbor kid he has to babysit. It's a right place, right time situation. Right people, too.)

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T, 6k) Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster. The Colour of Hope and Sin by TawnyOwl95 (E, 7k) Crowley has never felt so pretty. Tonight he can do anything. Having Aziraphale Eastgate, the best defender that St. Beryl's School football team had ever seen, cross Crowley's path again is a chance to test that theory. And maybe they can both work out some latent teenage angst at the same time? A Stable Relationship by MirjamOmens (E, 9k) Crowley used to be one of the best eventing riders of the UK. After one unfortunate fall that crushed his leg, he ends his career and starts coaching other promising athletes. Aziraphale is a riding instructor, handling the school ponies and teaching the beginners. For the past six months they have found themselves in a sort of arrangement. It’s just friendship… and sex, whenever their schedules happen to align. It's nothing more than that, right?

Every Part of Me by foolishlovers (T, 10k) Heartthrob rockstar Antonia Harmonia, better known as Anthony J. Crowley offstage, has safeguarded his singing career from his best friend and long-term crush, Aziraphale, for nearly two decades. But when Aziraphale stumbles upon Crowley’s secret at one of his concerts, Crowley is suddenly confronted with unexpected consequences. Could the best of both worlds be within his reach? A Hannah Montana AU. I'm Beginning to See the Light by ineffabildaddy (E, 15k) There was Crowley - the paragon of cool, the overlord of apathy, breezing easily through each and every one of their exchanges and giving no fucks while doing so; then there was the anachronistic, cloying Aziraphale, trying and failing not to live life like a Thomas Hardy protagonist, and giving many fucks indeed. Or: Aziraphale has quite the pash on his colleague Crowley, who seems resolutely disinterested in him. As their annual Christmas party progresses, it appears that Crowley may not be as disinterested as Aziraphale first thought.

primary succession and other gardening techniques by nimbosa (E, 17k) His stomach feels like hard, barren rock. But there are things in the world far more stubborn than that.

Fifteen Years of Heartache by mondlichtmaus (T, 20k) Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away. "Excuse me?" someone called. They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head. "What?" Crowley grumbled. There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again. "Anthony?" They're teachers. They're in love. They're oblivious.

something good and right and real by foolishlovers (T, 30k) Desperate for a break, renowned singer-songwriter Crowley returns to his quiet hometown he swore he'd never set foot in again. He quickly realises Tadfield hasn’t changed much; the streets look exactly like he remembers, the pub still shuts its doors far too early, and the weight of judgement lingers in every gaze cast his way. Crowley’s feelings for Aziraphale, the angelic baker selling pumpkin pastries across the river, don’t seem to have changed one bit either. Oh, fuck.

Just Up the Stairs by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia (E, 39k) On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything. Black and White Sunshine by Azira_Amane (E, 58k) "The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

Tales of Turning Pages by foolishlovers (E, 73k) Every Tuesday, aspiring romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley pays a visit to his local library and the charming angel working there. Every Tuesday, Aziraphale Fell finds himself more and more intrigued by the curious stranger who turns his orderly life as a small-town librarian upside down.

Wild Hearts by foolishlovers (E, 145k) In the idyllic English countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the big city, two teachers at Willowbrook Hall set out to transform their students’ lives through the world of theatre. But for Mr. Crowley, the challenge of navigating his long hidden feelings and dear friendship with Mr. Fell may prove to be the greatest drama of all.

[you can find more fic rec masterposts here]

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Purly got Arrested Fic

This is so not his fault. 

If he’s going down for it- and it definitely seems like he is, considering the holding cell the blond haired cop with the gross cologne is locking them into seems pretty hardcore- he just wants to make that very clear. This is not his fault. 

Ok, so maybe it was his idea. But it was the kind of good idea that seems great when he’s lying in the lot passing a joint back and forth with Curly, the same kind of good idea as buying a drink for a stranger when you’re drunk, or baiting Steve into a fight until you find out Evie’s mad at him- not an actual good idea. He, being a very rational, very smart individual, knew this. 

Curly, apparently, did not. And since Curly is like a dog with a bone, or like that freakish raccoon he feeds with a box of soggy McDonald’s fries, he refused to let it go. So they did it. 

In both of their defense, while it was stupid, it wasn’t something he thought they could be arrested for. Ok, that’s wasn’t exactly true, but it definitely wasn’t something he thought they’d get caught doing. Something tells him that defense isn’t exactly gonna go over well with Darry. Soda might have thought it was funny- if it hadn’t been Curly he was doing it with. 

Bullshit.

“One phone call boys.” Officer Dipshit Cologne reminds them with a frown, then crosses to sit at a desk on the side of the room opposite the holding cell. 

Just great.

It’s kind of anticlimactic all things considered. Two-bit and Steve tell such tuff stories of being hauled in that he’d thought he’d at least feel cool the first time he got arrested, but so far it’s just been like, super annoying and inconvenient. He doesn’t feel very cool. Mostly embarrassed. And kind of hungry. Darry is supposed to be making chicken tonight and he really hopes he can get outta here before dinnertime because Soda will steal his share if he isn’t there.

He sighs and exchanges a look with Curly.

“You gonna call Tim?”

Curly scoffs.

“Why bother? Bail is five bucks we don’t have, ‘specially since I'll be out tomorrow. ‘Sides, he bailed me out last month when I lit that fire in the park, so it’ll be at least half a year ‘fore he does anythin’ like that again.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Curly grins, entirely in his element. Hell, he almost looks more relaxed than usual, standing in this glorified cage, leaning against the bars without a care in the world. Ponyboy can’t decide whether the sight makes him want to punch him or snog the life out of him. It’s a familiar feeling at this point. “not lookin’ forward to callin’ good ol’ Darry?”

“Shut up,” Pony glares. Fuck, he definitely wants to kiss him. Stupid fucking Curly Shepard with his cocky grin and that catlike arrogance, driving him mad when he should actually be mad, “the second I call Darry is the second my life ends.”

He’ll be grounded for life for this. He’ll be forty years old and sitting bored out of his fucking mind in the living room while Darry glares at him from the armchair. Curly, unfortunately, is an asshole and so refuses to see the gravity of the situation. Instead, he fucking laughs.

So much for “solidarity” and “don’t worry it’ll be fun” and “I’ve got your back, so quit being a pussy and just fucking do it already.”

Bullshit.

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

“Oh if you think it’s gonna be such a calm and collected conversation why don’t you call Darry and explain that we got arrested for public indecency.”

“I think they called it disturbin’ the peace when they was cuffin’ me actually.”

“Lucky you,” Ponyboy snarls, because yeah, okay, Curly did have his pants on when they got arrested, but he definitely hadn’t had them on when that old lady called the cops, so really, they should both be getting the indecency charge. 

Bullshit.

“Real talk though,” Curly says, “I don’t mind callin’ Darry for you. The big man loves me.”

“Do not.” 

Darry was actually being like, really cool about his friendship with Curly but this whole incident would change that. And don’t even get him started on what would happen if Curly called the house and Soda answered. Then the holding cell would be a blessing, simply because Soda couldn’t commit a murder if Curly was already locked up.

“Well unless you’re fixin’ to stay here overnight and cuddle, one of us has gotta call someone.”

“What about Angela?”

“What about her?” Curly props his elbow on Pony’s shoulder.

“Would she come get us?”

“Hmm,” Curly considers it, “she might come get me. She owes me for helpin’ her sneak out without Tim catchin’ her last week, but she definitely won’t come for you.”

He’s right. Ponyboy knows he’s right because he and Angela kind of can’t fucking stand each other. He wouldn’t bail her out, not even for Curly’s sake, so it makes sense she wouldn’t bail him out either. Still, it’s fucking rude.

“You could call Matthews,” Curly suggests, “bet he’d be cool about it.”

“I gotta better chance of gettin’ the president on the line than Two-bit.”

“Guess you’re shit outta luck then,” Curly shrugs, beckoning him over to the bench on the other side of the cell. There’s a greasy looking guy passed out drunk leaning against it, so they take a seat on the opposite side, “you can always just stay the night with me. We could get real cozy if y’know what I mean?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Pony swats at him. Dealing with Curly, he’s learned, requires skills not unlike those one would need to tame a rabid dog or a toddler on crack. Which, given Curly’s upbringing, may have been something that happened once or twice. 

“I can’t not go home,” Ponyboy reminds him, “they’ll lose their shit.”

Which is fair. After Windrixville and Johnny and Dal it makes sense that Darry and Soda go apeshit when he’s late for curfew and doesn’t call ahead, which is why he tries his very best to keep them informed. Still. This is not a situation he is looking forward to informing them of.

“Aren’t they gonna lose their shit anyway?”

“Well yeah, but it’d definitely be worse if I don’t go home tonight and then they find out it’s because I was arrested.”

“I mean,” Curly points out, “you wouldn’t have to tell them.”

Shows what he knows. Curly has never had to sit on the couch with Darry using his freaky mind reading powers and Soda’s huge disappointed eyes boring into him to get him to confess to maybe, hypothetically, potentially cussing his teacher out in science class. Those two can get him to be more truthful than a polygraph. It’s so annoying.

“Yes I would. And I can’t not call. I just…I can’t.”

Curly seems to finally get it because his eyes light in understanding and he headbuts him in the shoulder. It’s kind of sweet.

“Better do it sooner than later then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pony sighs, waving the cop over, slapping a hand over Curly’s mouth when the other boy goes to say something because he knows that look in Curly’s eye. It’s the same look he had when he told their gym teacher his shitty attitude probably wasn’t why his wife left him it was his looks.

Two minutes later he’s standing in front of the phone, that cop- who’s cologne is still terrible and giving him a headache- practically breathing down his neck, and wondering if he’s really going to go through with this. 

The cop clears his throat and that’s when Pony realizes that yes, he is indeed going to do this, because he does not have a choice.

Sighing, and refusing to glance at where Curly is audibly laughing at him in the holding cell, he carefully dials the number. Of course the first  number is a nine so he has to watch as the rotary phone slowly winds back to zero before he can wind it over to the six.

Finally, the dial tone sounds in his ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. He’s just starting to worry that maybe no one is home when he hears a click and Darry’s smooth baritone filters through the speaker. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Darry,” his voice comes out a lot squeakier than he hoped and he fights to keep his feet from fidgeting. That cop had made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and much as he’d never admit it, he was still kind of scared of cops, maybe even more so after Windrixville. 

“Ponyboy?” He can hear the slight concern in Darry’s voice. It’s an odd time for him to be calling, considering it isn’t even six yet and curfew is still hours away. “Everything ok?”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

“Okay…” Darry sounds almost suspicious now. He can hear hollering in the background- probably Steve and Two-bit arguing over the tv. “Where are you?”

“Don’t get mad.” Pony begs, and apparently it’s the wrong thing to say.

“What did you do?” Darry isn’t shouting- he’s a lot better about that now- but the resigned exhaustion in his voice is almost worse.

“Nothing!”

“Ponyboy,” Darry warns and it’s his I-swear-to-god-kid-you’re-gonna-send-me-to-an-early-grave voice, “where are you?”

“Before I answer that I need you to think about how good I’ve been lately. Straight As at school, track awards, hell, I even did the dishes yesterday even though it was Soda’s turn-”

“-You got arrested, didn’t you?” Darry cuts him off and Pony has to hand it to him, in the past year, ever since they got close again, Darry really has learned to read him like a book. 

“...yes.”

Darry sighs. It’s world weary, but if Pony didn’t know better he’d swear there was an undercurrent of amusement there. The arguing in the background has abruptly cut off, which is kind of rude. He’s just as tough as the rest of them. Him getting arrested shouldn’t be this surprising.

“What did you do?”

“Before I tell you I need you to keep an open mind-”

“-Nevermind.” Darry cuts him off again, firmly, “just…what’s the charge?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Pony admits, “they said public indecency when they were cuffing me, but Curly swears it’ll only count as disturbing the peace-”

“If I get down there and you don’t have pants on so help me god, Ponyboy-”

“Cool it Dar,” he rolls his eyes, “the cops let me put them back on before they cuffed me.”

“Jesus christ,” he can almost see Darry through the phone, resting his forehead against the wall and rubbing his eyes, “you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

Good? Maybe not. Interesting? Definitely. Not that he was about to say that. This was going better than he could’ve hoped, all things considered, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Darry continues, “don’t answer any questions and don’t do anything stupid- scratch that, don’t do anything else stupid. And tell that friend of yours I’ll be payin’ Tim a visit on my way over.”

The line goes dead. 

He can’t help but grin as he places the phone back on the receiver. Sure, he’s still in huge trouble but that went like, so much better than he’d imagined. Hell, his grounding might even be lifted before he graduates.

As the cop walks him back over to the holding cell he can’t help but hope Soda wasn’t home to hear the aftermath of that particular phone call. Not that he thinks Soda won’t support him, but if Darry mentions Curly then the chances of him making this whole thing a lot more of an issue than it needs to be are 1000x higher. 

“Well?” Curly grins as soon as the door clanks shut behind him, Officer Dipshit Cologne’s key jangling in the lock, “How’d he take it?”

“He said he’s stoppin’ to talk to Tim on his way over here,” Pony tells him, hoping to wipe that smug look of Curly’s face, “so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Curly snorts, stretching out on the bench, “Ponykid, this place is practically my second home at this point. ‘Sides, I already told you Tim ain’t comin’, not for somethin’ like this.”

“He might if Darry asks him to.” Pony points out. Curly doesn’t deign to answer. It doesn’t matter: they both know he’s right, even if Curly doesn’t want to admit it.

“Move over will ya?” Pony nudges Curly into a sitting position, taking a seat next to him on the bench. 

Curly elbows him back because he’s a menace.

Pony shoves him.

Curly hip checks him, hard enough he almost falls off the bench.

Pony tackles him. 

Then they’re really wrestling, rolling around on the concrete floor. Curly smells like Marlboro cigarettes and dirt and cheap shampoo, but somehow it works. They’ve rolled a bit, bit Curly’s got him pinned right now, and jus like every time they fight its unlike fighting anyone else. He’s hyper aware of everywhere Curly’s body is pressed against his- knees bracketed on either side of his hips, one hand pinning his shoulders down, the other reaching to smack at him half heartedly, in a way Pony knows is Curly’s version of playful.

He loves it, and like every time they tussle like this, he kind of also wants to explode.

“Hey!” Officer Dipshit Cologne rattled the door of the cell, “Knock it off you two!”

Ponyboy and Curly exchange a look and burst out laughing. Curly climbs off him, pulling Pony to his feet and the collapse on the bench together. 

Their mirth doesn’t last long.

“Ponyboy Curtis!” A second later Darry Curtis is striding into the station, green flannel tucked into his jeans in an attempt to look respectable, wearing his best ‘responsible adult’ face, and Ponyboy remembers he is still in so much trouble. “I’m here for my brother, Ponboy Curtus.”

Beside him, Curly has gone stiff. 

“No way,” he mutters, looking like he had that time they explored the old Bronsen house on halloween- that is to say, like he’d seen a ghost, “theres no fucking way…”

Ponyboy looks up and sees what stopped Curly in his tracks. Tim Shepard, as grim faced and dangerous looking as ever, prowling after Darry like a panther.

Pony shoot Curly a smug look. Curly swats at him without taking his eyes off his brother.

“This ain’t good…” he mutters, as Tim starts talking to Officer Dipshit Cologne alongside Darry.

“Sure ain’t.” Ponyboy agrees as the officer marches toward the cell, Darry and Tim at his heels. Golly they look pissed.

“Wanna make a run for it?”

“Fuck no,” Pony murmurs back, “I’m already in enough shit as it is.”

“You fuckin’ dumbass,” Tim barks as soon as the door’s unlocked, and he seizes Curly by the ear, ignoring his pained yelp as he half drags him out of the police station, scolding him in rapid fire spanish. Pony doesn’t understand much but his name gets thrown in there a few times and he can’t help but wince. The last thing he needs is to be on Tim Shepard’s shit list.

Darry doesn’t look too happy but he doesn’t look near as mad as Tim. Pony thanks his lucky stars for that.

‘C’mon kiddo,” Darry jerks his head, “let’s go.”

Pony follows him out to the truck, explains the thought process behind stripping down and trying to steal the coins in the fountain at the park because it seemed like there’d be enough for cigarettes and movie snacks. He pretends he doesn’t know what Darry means when he tells him he of all people needs to be careful about indecency charges, while his cheeks heat and Darry gives him terrified, significant, half pleading looks. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret any of it. Not even when Soda spends half an hour ranting to him about how Curly is the spawn of the devil on earth. Not even when Steve laughs at him about why he got arrested.

Like everything when it comes to Curly, it was just too much fun to regret. 

[storiesoflilies]

school bus love (3)

synopsis: a plan of action was hatched. the only question was, did she have the guts to do it?

pairing: teen!toji fushiguro x teen!f!reader

warnings: none.

a/n: my friends are hilarious. we are all still besties to this day, despite the distance. isn’t that wonderful? @mxrgxth @asa-23 also yes, i watch food wars. i regret nothing lol xo

part 2 // part 4

“girl, just do it.”

“i- yeeeeeesh- no! i can’t.”

“why the hell not? it’s not a big deal.”

“it completely is!”

“adding someone on snapchat is not a big deal, bitch. just do it.”

she had been carefully been scheming away in the haven of her pile of marshmallow-soft pillows, feeling like a naughty little witch brewing all sorts of potions over a bubbling black cauldron. the plan had been simple: add more and more of her new classmates on snapchat, patiently biding her time until toji’s username inevitably popped up in quick add. and finally, after what seemed like forever, his profile was there – his little bitmoji staring at her like it knew exactly what she was up to.

she picked the sides of her nails, staring a hole into her glowing phone, yet another re-run of food wars! playing on her laptop amidst all the emotional turmoil.

“this has been quite the extensive operation,” morgoth piped up, the almost deafening background noise from his end of the line muffling his words. “don’t pussy out now.”

“exactly,” asa sighed wistfully, a rare moment of agreement, probably sick of hearing about any and all interactions she had with toji over the last two months.

she stared at his bitmoji for just a moment longer, quite certain that toji was spying on her through its overly green eyes, and hoped for a cataclysmic event that would actually be him adding her instead.

although, waiting for that would have been more torturous than taking a brave leap of faith.

her finger hovered over the ‘add’ button, trembling delicately.

something caused her breath to catch in her throat, and her fingertip edged closer.

morgoth snorted, the sudden loudness echoing through her headphones, and startling her out of her wits.

a chain reaction has begun.

the dominos were falling one by one.

and she pressed it.

she pressed the button.

a gasp, accompanied by a shriek, and she flew off the edge of her bed, staring at her phone, wondering if toji was looking at his screen with his lip curled in disgust.

“did you do it?” asa asked, clearly bemused by her antics.

“uh huh,” she squealed, her eyes still locked on her phone that had turned black.

she felt a churning sensation in her stomach, nerves setting her whole body tingling as if she was in a bath filled with electric eels, and bit the inside of her cheek.

why did crushes have to feel so damn delirious?

it was debilitating, yet so very addictive. she loved playing the game, chasing the high of a victory tantalizingly out of reach.

“and now we wait,” morgoth said, almost bored. “that was kinda anticlimactic.”

she huffed in annoyance, feeling a flare of irritation as her already frazzled nerves riled her up more than they should have. “listen, you dickh-“

her phone vibrated and lit up.

a familiar yellow ghost popped up.

badum! boom! badum!

she yelped and grabbed her phone, clambering back onto her bed.

toji fushiguro has added you as a friend!

“oh my god,” she gaped, a hand clasped over her jaw as it swung wide open. “guys.”

“what? what?” asa giggled, the rustling of sheets audible from his end of the line. “did he add you back?”

“uh huh,” was all she could muster in awe.

“let’s gooooo!” morgoth cheered.

“fuck, guys. what the fuck do i do now?”

well, whatever she decided to do, it absolutely had to wait. she couldn’t immediately respond in any sort of way; otherwise, she would seem desperate. no, she wanted to exude coolness, suaveness, and seem without a care in the world – especially not about gorgeous boys, with gorgeous eyes, and gorgeous…

“message him?” morgoth suggested, quite naively.

her and asa hissed in annoyance almost simultaneously. “absolutely not. are you stupid?” she snapped.

“well, i don’t know. what was the point of all this then if you weren’t going to message the guy?”

she made a string of incoherent noises, sputtering out, “i didn’t get that far!”

“listen,” asa interjected, the grounding voice of reason and calm. “leave it for five minutes, then send him a streak.”

a metaphorical lightbulb sprung to life above her head.

“fuck, you’re smart,” she whispered with reverence, taking a deep breath and unlocking her phone.

she spent that time deciding on what sort of snap she would take. would she do a classic forehead picture and just say ‘streaks’? or should she opt for the standard blacked out picture with just the letter ‘S’? no, if she was to catch toji’s attention, she had to stand out from the crowd.

she snapped a perfect frame of soma’s flourishing cooking technique and typed out a quick ‘streaks 🍳’.

and hit send.

for the second time that night, she dramatically fell to the floor with a loud thump. “i did it!”

“so proud of you,” morgoth remarked sarcastically. “when’s the wedding?”

“m, shut up,” asa huffed, tutting before asking. “girl, how do you feel?”

“on fire, but what if he ignores it? then that means he definitely doesn’t like me.”

“not really, hun. maybe he just doesn’t bother with streaks like m.”

“i agree, i always forget them.”

“don’t worry, we know.”

buzz!

toji fushiguro sent you a snap!

“guys, guys! he answered!” she exclaimed, rolling over and kicking her legs in the air.

“don’t open it!” asa screeched. “leave it for a minute.”

the next sixty seconds were absolutely agonizing, each second clawing its way through muddy trenches as shells rained down from the sky. she was breathing hard, a live tripwire, a bazooka ready to explode. as soon as the minute was up, she tapped on the red square to open toji’s snap.

she sucked in a breath.

there he was, wearing a tight grey t-shirt, with a close-up picture of his forearm and bicep, and a simple ‘streaks’ across the screen.

“guys,” she giggled. “i think i won.”

general taglist (open): @tadabzzzbee @wannapizzamymindposts @stromynight

school bus love taglist (open): @badbyeyoongi

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[avvail]

For bingo, vampiric draining: vampire villain hasn’t eaten and things nearly go very, very badly for hero when he tries to help. (m/m if you wouldn’t mind? 👀)

The villain’s strength was no match for him; that was a given when the hero was a human and the villain was a vampire.

He’d dealt with the villain for so long now, that the idea of his hunger never frightened him. He knew the signs, could get him an option that didn’t cross his moral codes, and the villain’s never ending urges could be satisfied until it came crashing back again.

“Villain,” the hero snapped, biting back a painful cry on his tongue when the villain’s fingers twisted into his disheveled hair, twisting it at an angle that exposed his neck. The villain could probably hear how fast his pulse was racing against his skin right now - the hero had thought he had things under control. The villain had said he was fine, that he was getting enough blood.

But he was completely off the rails.

How had the hero not noticed?

His hands grappled at his chest, trying to push him off, but it was like pushing off a block of steel, and the villain could easily incapacitate him with one rough slam into the ground. The hero wheezed, feeling the prick of his fangs scrape along his flesh. He squirmed desperately, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Villain, listen to me!” He tried to shout. “I’m trying to help you!”

This was animalistic hunger. How long had the villain gone without feeding? The hero wasn’t sure if it was his fault for not noticing, or the vampire’s for lying about it for so long. His heart dropped to his stomach when he felt those fangs sink into the flesh of his neck, and the hero almost screamed.

He instead groaned through clenched teeth, fingers digging so hard into the villain’s shoulder, he was sure it had drawn blood.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his body completely paralysed from the pain. Tears stung his eyes, and he desperately tried to pinch them shut. It hurt; he’d never felt a pain so intense before, as if he’d been slammed into a brick wall at high speeds.

The villain was greedy and a messy eater, barely feeding from the first wound before moving to bite elsewhere on his neck. The hero’s forehead broke out into a clammy sweat as the coppery stench of their own blood began to fill their senses.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, his voice grim. The grip on his shoulders slowly began to ease. The villain was going to regret this when he snapped out of it, and the hero felt guilty for not doing enough. He should’ve noticed. Why hadn’t he noticed? “You’re spilling most of it.”

The hero tried to blink back the haziness that was beginning to overwhelm their vision, creating something like a mist over their eyes. The villain pressed himself impossibly closer, having made good work of the hero’s shoulder this time. He felt blood soak his hair - it would be a nightmare to wash out. If he ever did.

It felt like an eternity - a slow death. He didn’t know what else he expected, but it was a little boring. An anticlimactic way to die. The numbness had kicked in, and he could hardly even tell when the villain plunged his fangs into another inch of skin, draining him dry.

He swallowed uneasily when the villain’s tongue dragged along his neck. This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined it happening. He could dream, though.

He suddenly felt the villain’s bloody hands cupping his cheeks, and his half lidded eyes managed to blink through the blurriness to catch a glimpse of his face. Minutes must have passed by without the hero even realising. The villain must have snapped out of it, but he couldn’t hear anything he was saying.

He wanted to make some kind of joke, but he didn’t have the energy to say anything, not when the villain cradled him in his arms, and not when he felt himself being carried someplace else.

@badthingshappenbingo

[hotricebowlsoup]

oh, you gotta keep the crows away

(evamon, 1.8k, relationship study, canon compliant + my own flourishes)

She’s the first you meet. The world began when you leaned in close and she snapped her eyes open, boring into yours.

Your trust is not misplaced in the Ultimate Liar, ironically. From the moment you meet her to the end of your first trial, she speaks fluidly in your language, facts and truth.

Even when she disrupts the suffocatingly optimistic atmosphere with a well-intentioned warning.

Oddballs stick together, you bitterly suppose, as everyone shoots you dirty looks after agreeing with her sentiment. You convince yourself you’re not doing this for her, you’re not doing this for anyone—

The glimpse you catch of her fisted hand and furrowed brows makes your noisy mind come to a stop.

You leave the courtroom before you can bear to look back again.

It’s not really a surprise when you wake up the next morning, cast out from the main group after your shenanigans yesterday. Nor is it surprising to be cast out with her. 

The so-called “Ultimates” flock to Wolfgang like a herd of sheep to its shepard, brainless and dependent. Desperate to grasp at hope in this desolate sanctuary. Between the two of you, you figure he’s more snake-like than you are, giving the hungry mindless purpose like a carrot on a stick, the tempter who offers the apple to Eve.

But then your Liar shares something exclusive with you for the first time, and your spite towards Wolfgang’s cult matters no more.

(If you’d known the poster in the laboratory was Eva’s apple, perhaps you could’ve saved the only person who truly knew you.)

Although, your Eden crumbles a little after the rather anticlimactic reveal.

It baffles you, why anyone would choose to play the role of someone dangerous in an already dangerous situation. It baffles you because that’s the last thing you’d do, and the last thing you’d thought someone of her caliber would do. It baffles you because her now demolished lie was the reason you both are outcasts.

It baffles you because you thought she, your Liar, was the only one you could trust.

-

When free time begins, your legs bring you to her at once.

You find her in the underground level, where you first met. She tells you she’s avoiding the others; you hope she doesn’t mean you, too.

“I expected the Ultimates to wear their titles with pride,” You point out, very aware of the depressed look on her face. “But for you, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“It doesn't… fit well.”

She tells you about her world, enclosed in a box, obstructed by a frame. Despite her best efforts to push beyond the boundaries set upon her by others, they are nothing.

Who reads a literature essay written by a highschool mathlete?

It’s not something you can relate to, since you’ve never bothered to stray towards a path that doesn’t lead to a podium. You don’t know how it feels to make a greater, scarier name for yourself yet ultimately fail because of a silly title that defines you forever.

You don’t know what keeps you listening to her. Even when she cracks her first joke with you, and calls you gullible.

You don’t know what pulls you back to her in your next available time.

She tells you about her world again, because you’re her only willing audience. That she, an Ultimate, was treated lesser than a dog for her talent. That she, instead of attaining recognition and awe like you did with your title, lost all friendships the average girl should’ve had.

Despite your attitude, you couldn’t help but feel bad for her. (Even if you find it kind of funny how her hair untwirled itself when she spoke of her depressing story, too.)

It’s unexpectedly mundane after she leaves, you find. Probably because the Ultimate Debater can’t stand a silent house.

That’s probably it.

-

Your roommate is with you when she seeks you out for the first time. The Ultimate Influencer unabashedly makes a big fuss when Eva tries to pull you away alone, and if you weren’t already waiting for the next opportunity to speak to her, you would’ve found Kai’s (rather loud) concern to be well-intentioned.

Or maybe not, you suppress a sigh, as he walks away giggling to himself, muttering “freaking mathlete” under his breath.

You keep your eyes on her. She’s silent, eyes trained on the floor. Her hand fists her long sleeves, like the sight from the courtroom you couldn’t forget even if you tried.

Her eyes flutter upwards, meeting yours. You ignore the loosening of her grip, or the slowing of her heaving chest, in favor of keeping your eyes trained on hers. When she exhales calmly after a few moments, you feel yourself relaxing along with her.

Alone again in the underground level, she gives you another piece of her.

“Why are you showing this to me?”

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and you feel like a stupid math question. “Because I’m worried, duh.”

Duh. Slang sounds kind of weird coming from her. It feels unnatural, unpracticed, like she’s never spoken it before. You know why, and you surprise yourself by keeping your words to yourself.

But she surprises you more. “It’s because… I trust you.”

You?

“I’m… really sorry about how things turned out.”

What for?

“The other students wouldn’t have treated you unfairly if it wasn’t for me.”

It is, well, kind of her fault, but you figure you’re unlikeable enough to gain enemies by yourself. You had a choice to stay silent after the trial, but you deliberately chose to take her side.

And, when you look at her downcasted expression, how could you bear to blame her for any of it?

As a consolation of sorts, you give her a small piece of you, too.

Wolfgang’s blackmail is handled delicately by her, yet the words from her mouth are harsh and crude. While you agree that your classmates weren’t… intellectually capable of distrusting Wolfgang, there’s an extremely transparent reason why they didn’t believe Eva instead.

“Why did you do it?”

“...Huh?”

“You knew you were in a dangerous situation. Why would you draw so much negative attention to yourself like that?” You hiss the next part with equal amounts of condescension and worry. “Don’t you realise how much danger this has put you in?”

When she gives you a look that you can instantly recognise, you realise how frightening it is that you can read her quickly. “You know you can’t run away this time. Give me an answer.”

“Because…” 

Before today, despite your closeness with her, there was always a line that couldn’t be crossed. Before today, your Liar stayed in her bubble, guarded and untrusting from past experiences.

But you have burst through her bubble, your arms outstretched, the first light in Eva’s world. The wall shatters around you both. You can see her. You can feel her. Damned be it if you two were forced comrades, with no obligation to mingle— you will erase the distance that separates her from you.

The facade is finished, the line is crossed, and you see she’s a sheep at heart, donning the mask of a carnivore. To see yet another sunrise, another sunset, without the fear of being someone’s dinner.

With a phantom ache in your chest, you implore her to trust you as you do the same for her.

Then, she does something you’ve never seen her do before.

“...Hm.”

She smiled.

-

The longer the time you spend with her, the goofier your impression of her is.

And yet, you keep returning to her.

-

“Eva.” Silence.

“ Eva. ”

Your Liar barely spares you a glance, before returning to her game console. This girl…

Bending down a little, you tap her hand to pull her gaze upwards. Her hand is soft. Her gaze is intense. Her face is close.

You pester her about the console. She simply ignores you, puffing out her cheeks and pouting to the side. “If I partake in conversation, will you leave me alone?”

“That’s an eloquent way to get me to shut up.” 

“...It’s not that.”

“So you do want to have a conversation.”

Triumphant in your victory, you allow the edges of your lips to twitch upwards. Your cheeks hurt a little from the lack of exercise.

She stares at you for a short while, and it dawns on you this was probably the first time anyone saw you smile.

(Your smile is quickly erased as she continues to play theatrics with a poker face, making you question your sanity whenever she attempts to joke. It’s unimpressive, it’s bizarre, it’s… endearing.)

“And you never know…” She murmurs, matching the smile you lost. Your heart stops for a split second. “...maybe I’ll change my mind and play in the tournament later.”

Your Liar is subtly different from the girl you first met. Here, sitting in this chair, she looks more relaxed and content than ever. Her bubble is shattered, yet she is safe. With that smile on her face, even with her eyes closed, she’s almost radiant.

It pains you to say it, but smiling is a good look on her.

You don’t recognise yourself when you start wishing she’d do it more.

-

When the class trial inevitably came, you’d known your Liar would be actively participative, pointing her finger at those she had good reason to suspect.

You just never thought you’d be at the end of it.

As the usually composed Eva Tsunaka gradually gets more agitated, you try to dismiss the betrayal as her vengeance after you called out her name with a shaking voice.

Without knowing, your heart breaks. Once. Twice.

Without knowing, the bubble you burst is back up. The wall is rebuilt, stronger than ever. The line you thought you crossed was further than you realised. She is unreachable, unreadable. She is no longer yours to know. The panic, the hatred on her face… where is the girl who smiled and shared secrets with you?

Fact is undeniable. An argument holds no water if there is no indisputable evidence to back it up. Not that you are unconfident in your theory, or that you are hesitant to bring her to justice.

It just breaks your heart a third time to demolish her with the same language, facts and truth, that you found solidarity with her.

You will make sure this is her final lie (to you).

-

The rebuilt bubble that obstructs her from you matters no more. Not when its occupant is dead, anyway.

However cruel and gory her execution was, you can’t bear to look away from the one person you believed and hoped was on your side.

The end comes, after an excruciatingly long time. The courtroom is enveloped in a deafening silence. All of you watch as the crow’s feather, unmistakably hers, flutters to the ground. It never moves again, no matter how long you look at it.

A part of you wonders if she truly was the Ultimate Liar all along.

It doesn’t extinguish the wetness on your cheek, o r the bubble you feel forming around you.

[honeycreammilkshake]

i'm sure this has been talked about before but personally i find it really fitting that sukuna's downfall was so ... lacking.

a lot of fans didn't like how sudden and somewhat anticlimactic that final battle with sukuna was, and as much as i have a feeling that it was because gege was rushed to end the series, i still find it very suiting that the way sukuna lost was one of the most pathetic ones in the series.

this is the guy who tried to make himself as inhuman as possible, who became the very "king of curses" that devoured countless humans to pass the time until his death and treated every life (even his own) as nothing more than a cog in a rigid system of strength, believing that to be strong you must be as selfish and cut off from everyone as possible.

yet he literally dies cupped tenderly in the hands of his worst enemy, a boy who believes that all life matters, no matter how ordinary or boring or weak a person might seem. there's no raging, burning, prolonged fight between them like there was between sukuna and gojo. and somehow, that says a whole lot more.

sukuna cared almost singularly about strength (he even said a hierarchy not based on it was a boring one). yet his own archenemy is yuuji, someone who is comparatively weaker than other sorcerers but is emotionally stronger than most of them... something sukuna doesn't put value in. yet it was yuuji's fierce empathy and merciful nature which made him want to reach out to even the heartless king of curses, and it was this exact quality of his which allowed him to connect with megumi, rip away sukuna from his friend's body, and finally win against sukuna.

it's also important to note that yuuji couldn't have won as he did without the help of his friends and allies, those who gave him strength, contradicting sukuna's notion that the strongest are strong because they do not reply on others.

and it's especially ironic considering how sukuna raged that he would destroy yuuji's ideals out of contempt that such a weakling could give him doubts about his own philosophy, yet it was yuuji and his beliefs that led to sukuna losing. and although sukuna didn't choose to return back to yuuji, we see that he had a last moment of reflection, before he died, in the form of acknowledging yuuji almost respectfully instead of only calling him brat. and in the afterlife, he seems so much softer and accepting of everything that happened. he lost. and he lost because of the brat whose ideals he couldn't break, yet they broke his.

sukuna, you were the strongest sorcerer in perhaps all of history, yet you were taken down by some chaotic, angst-ridden teenagers (of all things), one of whom you hated passionately for his ideals... but he was also the one to hold you as you died, who proved you weren't alone and that the monster you became was a matter of chance, the one who led you north and reminded you that you were human once, and that you can be again.

as underwhelming as the ending seemed, it was almost poetic and honestly very fitting for both sukuna and yuuji. gege, even under pressure you're still a mad genius. i can't believe i ever doubted this series.

[albinokittens300]

I know this goes against the more popular opinion, and for good reason. But I do think the whole doomed by fate, tragic pinning that doesn't amount to anything is the most boring way they could go with Timebomb, for me personally.

Before I get the instant response of 'well you picked the wrong ship!'....you are right. You are entirely right probabbly and I own that. Still doesn't make the idea of the two of them just loving one another but the past being to much and creating a rift they can't bridge any more interesting to me. To me that is SO anticlimactic, so much build up for nothing if they show these two DO have lingering feelings but it amounts to just angst. That to me as a viewer is just so uninteresting.

But I KNOW that for some people that is oposite. To some people that tension and angst is why they like these two and that is completely valid. It's just not true for me. And that is entirely okay. I'mma be SO happy for those fans if that's how things shake out.

To me the more interesting way for Timebomb IS that theme of forgiveness. Seeing Ekko find his previous best friend within the person she's become and for Jinx to have someone see that part of her despite how radically she's change, THAT is what gets me hype for these two. The idea of that connection drawing them both forward into whatever is gonna be happening between Zaun and Piltover and Noxus is just. THAT is my hope, and what I would be most thrilled with.

But that is just me even if I am off my rocker hoping for that much.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

So true. I need several seasons of buddie being together and that can't happen if they drag it out forever. We've been slow burning for years. Gimme pining and realizations but make it obvious it's happening!!

im even beyond wanting a long period of pining at this point tbh 😭 like an episode, or two at the most sure, but we are running out of time as the window of them still realistically committing to buddie gets smaller and smaller

i’ve already said multiple times that if they don’t do it this season, they’re never going to do it- we don’t know how long the show is gonna still he around, and if they push it back and don’t do it in s8, and we either don’t get a season nine or we get a truncated season like s7 to “wrap things up” they’re not going to focus on getting them together, and if they did it would just feel like a cop-out at that point 😭

it’d be different if they had only just met, but this has been building for seven years- the slow burn isn’t even a burn at this point, it’s boiled over and we’re all just watching the stove waiting for tim to finally jump into action

i totally understand the mindset of like how we’re nowhere near the high-stakes of the end of s4 and wanting it to return to that vibe, but like… we’re never going to replicate that- either it won’t be the same or it will be an exact copy and that would be the most anticlimactic boring conclusion to such a long setup

thanks for the ask anon <3

[sly-s-n0nfusion]

Sly's personal ✨Octopath rankings✨

So I've been into Octopath since the year it came out as a franchise basically and I recently finished the second game so I felt like ranking both games' characters and stories based on my likings. Remember that all opinions are valid and if I didn't enjoy your favorite character or story as much as you did it's fine :) also, there aren’t characters or stories I actually disliked with two exceptions so I’m mostly being kind- but honest.

May do spoilers so I'll put them under a cut

Ot1

Stories

Olberic - His story has to be my favorite because of its impeccably functional structure and climax. I am a sucker for redemption stories and I think they nailed every chapter of it. They even made me like the arena chapter even though I'm not a fan of tournament arcs. It's a very well-executed emotional story and it had me hooked since the beginning (also loving the “plot twist” that his final chapter boss is NOT Erhardt, which is what everyone is expecting since chapter 1)

Cyrus - A compelling mystery story with some plot twist I liked and actually interesting pieces of lore in it. What I liked the most about it (if we ignore Therese's blatant deus ex machina moment in his ch3) is that you can't really tell what will happen when you go into one of his chapters. Also has probably the best ch4 with some of the rawest lines ever against Lucia

Alfyn - Loved his chapter 3 to death because of the moral ambiguity and also has one of the best side characters (Ogen). Golden boy has to doubt everything he knew in his life and I love that. Has kind of a slow start though

Ophilia - While I think ch2 could be executed much better and made less boring, the circular structure and moral of her story is amazing. The emotional ch4 almost made me tear up

H'aanit - Cute interpretation of a "pupil has to find his mentor" story and has some epic moments like chapter 3. Not much more than that but it was still really enjoyable (bonus mention for Susanna, one of the best npcs)

Primrose - Kinda compelling revenge tale, except that it ends in the most unsatisfying way possible. Has some nice ideas but I felt so empty and broken at the end of her ch4 because she too is empty and broken

Tressa - Not a fan of the "coming of age stories" but I enjoyed her rivalry with Ali and her friendship with Noa, as well as Leon's backstory. No hate, just the more lighthearted stories are not really my cup of tea. Apart from those, it found it pretty boring and probably has the most anticlimactic final boss ever

Therion - The one story I really didn't like because of... many reasons. Like, it really had potential with the whole Dragonstones thing and everything but they executed it in the worst way possible. Also I hate how they tried to make him trust people again thanks to some questionable people like Cordelia and Heathcote... it just didn't feel right and left me asking myself but why though so many times

Characters

Cyrus - I do love every high intelligence - low wisdom character, bonus of they're a dork and kind of naive. Could write a whole essay about him so just know he won my heart he’s been my blorbo for what 3 years now? Almost 4

Olberic - Another trope I love is grumpy and probably depressed characters who just have a heart of gold inside and use their strength to protect the people they love so there you have it. They did a great job of delivering the emotional baggage in his internal monologues

Ophilia - I love how her character gravitates around the concept of love, loss and family. She's so dear to me

H'aanit - I like her view of the world and her stoic personality but I must say that for a main character, her introspective side could've been explored more

Alfyn - Sunshine boy who feels too much. I do like men who are not afraid of crying in front of others

Therion - a bit of a lone wolf stereotype- but I like his dry and sarcastic attitude when he talks to the other members of the party

Tressa - I like that she's a bit hot-headed and I like her enthusiasm. Definitely a character who shines more when she's with other characters though

Primrose - I think they messed up a bit with her characterization sadly because I can't really tell how the real Primrose is supposed to be even after ch4. She's often portrayed as an overly-flirty femme fatale even though it's probably trauma response and often says some... questionable things to the other members of the party in her travel banters, it's hard to get her true personality right. When she's angry, she kinda comes off as cold and distant, too. I think the writers could've done a better job with her

Ot2

Stories

Castti - Hands down the best Octopath Traveler main story ever imo. It was perfect from how the emotions were delivered to the compelling plot, to the climax in her chapter 3 and the bittersweet ending in her chapter 4. So heartbreaking and has a great attention to details, as well as amazing side characters. Perfect under every aspect and I loved the “horror rpg” vibe to it

Osvald - Amazing revenge tale (and kinda mimicking The Count of Montecristo), much more effective than Primrose's and also more heartbreaking and with an ending that's a bit more satisfying (even if the last chapter is definitely the weakest one and could've been handled better for such a good story). Cool plot twists at the right times an a villain that's actually Rotten to the Core (if we ignore the ridiculous laugh Harvey has). His chapter 1 was probably the best Octopath Traveler chapter 1 narration-wise and had me almost crying at his chapter 4 boss

Throné - I wasn't expecting her story to be this good in the slightest but the "getting out of the mafia" tale is well-executed and has some nice side plots for its side characters, as well as some quite shocking twists near the end. Her chapter 1 is also super good and has some pretty good dialogues.

Temenos - I have mixed feelings towards this one because it had so much potential but it definitely needed more time to be done correctly. The mystery plot feels kinda rushed at times (especially in chapter 3 because I think that one is kind of a narrative mess like why is everything happening SO QUICKLY) and one fatal flaw: Kaldena's backstory not being addressed well enough. She is really a character who needed to pop out more in his story. In the end it's probably a matter of pacing but it does have some real big wasted potential. Also another story that like Primrose's leaves you with a really bitter aftertaste except this time it's actually fitting for Temenos' character

Ochette - .....I'm sorry guys this story is literally Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire for a good 70% of it. Which doesn’t make it necessarily the worst story but it’s not original either. What I liked though is that it has some real good first and final chapters that got me kind of emotional and also kinda creeped me out. The side "anti-racism plot" could've been articulated better narratively but that's what we got in the end so. Also big wasted potential.

Hikari - I am not a fan of stories in which by chapter 1 you already know how they're going to end and Hikari's was exactly like this. I quite enjoyed the arena chapter and the chapter in Stormhail as well, and some parts of it were very cinematic. Not much more than that

Partitio - DISCLAIMER for the next 2 stories: again, I am not a fan of lighthearted stories because of personal taste, nothing else. I want the drama lol. This is why this one was not my cup of tea. I liked the narrative pace of chapter 1 but after that one it just kinda goes a little overboard with the crazyness idk it felt kinda weird to have a bulldog, a jobless guy and a train as bosses. What I loved were the "scent of commerce" side-stories though because it was really fitting to the time period the game is set in to have the merchant traveler interested in financing new inventions and machines. Also not that compelling overall

Agnea - Guys I'm sorry but this one was a big no for me. Legit had me really bored most of the time (especially didn't like the musical parts and her dialogues-only chapter 3 oh god) and never really got me hooked. I liked how cinematic her final boss battle was though and big w for the lesbians in her story I guess

Characters

Castti - Loved her caring, yet sarcastic attitude. She was such a fun and interesting character to be around (if we ignore how many times the travelers insist on calling her “mom” because she is just so much more) and has traits to her that left me quite surprised

Osvald - I love that for once we have a character that's not always nice to the other party members. I like his sharp tongue and atypical behavior, and him going nonverbal at times. A really interesting take on the scholar character I appreciated a lot (also dilfs lover here sorry not sorry)

Temenos - Mixed feelings for Temenos, again, because he does kinda sound like certain anime characters from my childhood but he is a fun character. Sly, snarky, diffident and secretly very broken inside is always a winning combination

Throné - I liked her a lot. I like the contrast between her kind personality and the gruesome job she's forced to do, and that she wants to redeem herself from everything she had to bear since she was a kid. I love her soft side and that she wants to be the good person she is

Partitio - Alfyn, but better. I can say I'm a fan of his over the top humour and attitude and his kind, generous heart

Agnea - Fun girl! I like her bubbly personality and also that she is stubborn and determined. She’s not a deep character but she is still fun

Ochette - I think her character had wasted potential. Even though I agree that she's fun and quirky, they didn't do a great job of portraying her as part of another whole species because they really kinda just made her personality rotate around liking meat. Also didn't really like how unnecessarily infantilized she was rip but she is still cute and fun

Hikari - .......Hikari likers I'm sorry. Oomfs who are Hikari likers if you’re reading this just know that I think your tastes are valid and I'm the one in the minority because everyone loves Hikari, so sorry for what I'm about to say but he kinda was what ruined his own story for me, as well as being the only traveler I actually dislike. I didn't like his teeth-rotting sweet dialogues and his whole character rotating around the concept of friendship. I didn't like that his one (1) flaw is him being possessed by a demon because of his cursed blood. He's too perfect. Therefore to me he's too uninteresting. Sorry!

Peace ✌️