#generational trauma: the movie™

[luxurybrownbarbie]

Everything Everywhere All At Once became the movie of all time™ for me the minute they made Joy the antagonist. The minute Waymond said, “There was one jumper who stood out from the rest; but you pushed her too far. The pressure of it fractured her completely”, it was UP!

Joy was wreaking havoc across dimensions begging for her mother to see her. To see who she created. To force her to understand that the same potential that devastates Evelyn is the same one she inherited. To beg her to understand that if Evelyn couldn’t carry it, how could she?

A masterpiece. Sorry to the haters.

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

[threebooksoneplot]

what draws you both to jalice/makes you so feral about them as a ship?

you should know we had an entire meeting in order to answer this ask. no this could NOT have been an email (unlike new moon) 🤭

Secretary G took notes. they are as follows (read the bolded parts for a tl;dr)

we kind of see it as though jalice got the traits that edbella weren’t allowed to have, either due to their status as protagonists or because smeyer's mormon background causes her to view these qualities as too sinful/negative for her wholesome Waiting Until Marriage main couple. (examples: alice's materialistic, "shallow," hyperfeminine qualities, her character flaws (especially her manipulativeness), and jasper's aura and history of fucked up violence closer to what you'd find in traditional vampire stories/horror/adult gothics/books not written by a mormon author)

in terms of how much screentime the non-main-love-triangle canon couples get, their relationship is kiiiinda given the next-most weight to edbella’s (examples: jasper's extreme overprotectiveness, the New Moon chapter 19 moment where alice prioritizes jasper and bella is like “yeah I get it, I would do the same.”) basically smeyer gives jalice's relationship a lot of the qualities she finds romantic/ideal, (and which are either similarly romantic to us or entertainingly toxic/a good source of drama), presumably because alice is like her 4th-favorite character after the main love triangle and she wants nice things for her

we both really love how, superficially, as presented in the books, jasper and alice seem to have this almost “courtly love” that smeyer has described as "spiritual." yet when you look closer, their relationship has so many darker undertones—the deep codependency bordering on obsessiveness (mutual, but especially the way it manifests on jasper's end—"I will kill this random teen girl who witnessed edward's jean valjean moment™ because any means are justifiable when the ends are Protecting Alice"), the dark sides of both of their powers, the idea that jasper is only a cullen and/or only a vegetarian for alice's sake, etc. hell, even the fact that they're the only Cullen couple who we know had (gasp) premarital sex 😏 (I mean we assume rosemmett did too, but alas, they don't have that hilarious "carlisle convinced jasper and alice to get married" quote from smeyer)

partially summarized: "jasper’s general desperate willingness to sell everyone to satan for one corn chip if it keeps alice safe (carlisle: I know this and I love you)"

we're forever smug that the movies gave us even more jalice screentime (especially remarkable in such a protagonist-centric universe), including jasper being in the same grade as alice/bella/edward, and the extra jalice kisses in Eclipse and BD 🥺

what we wrote down as the “who’s protecting whom" phenomenon, as coined by G in this old ask. (shannon: "jasper is the toddler you've given the PS2 controller that's not plugged in")

we also like the characters individually. jasper is for the girlies with competency kinks—a stoic caretaker who speaks little and mostly expresses himself via acts of service. we also both love the way in which he needs protection from his own uncontrolled violence (slipping up and killing humans, suffering the pain and fear he inflicts, etc.) he is, in the words of our beloved @liceparade, the "line cook trauma boyfriend"

“It’s hot when there’s a fictional violent man who wet babygirl 😌” —shannon

and alice, unlike bella, genuinely loves being spoiled and bossing people around. she's brat-coded, she's confident and secure in who she is, her god complex ("I'm close enough [to omniscient]") causes fascinating conflict, bella eats drywall from sheer horniness at her merest movement, she dresses like a slut in the Mormon YA Novels and yet somehow escapes authorial condemnation, she has a sickass gothic heroine backstory, she's "annoying," aro started a whole war over her (eat shit helen of troy 🖕), she spaces out in public and has to be led around by jasper, she's one of the most powerful vampires in the world, she's in high school getting a C+ on her precalc test 💅🏻

it's appealing that smeyer frequently puts alice in the center of the series' various conflicts (james' singer and "one that got away," the accidental cause of all the drama at the end of new moon, one of aro's secret True motives for starting the conflict in BD.) this is mostly as a consequence of smeyer using alice as a plot device and/or deus ex machina, but it is in fact interesting

is alice jasper's morality chain? we love pondering this question via fic, meta, etc (especially because...alice ain't exactly a model of ethical behavior herself)

together, the two of them exhibit lots of classic tropes. they're grumpy x sunshine, chatty x silent, opposites attract, etc. to say nothing of that height difference 🥵

we love the yin/yang symbolism of a character with a horrific past paired with a character with NO memory of her past, who is focused on the future and all about potential. not to invoke an ancient phrase but POETIC CINEMA

the next note just says “POTENTIAL in general.” I assume we meant how all of the above stuff creates potential for interesting stories, conflicts, metas, art, fic, etc

G has brought this up in the past, but we love the irony of jasper, a character whose chief desire is to be left in peace, being soul-alteringly in love with the one character who will always be a giant glaring target through no fault of her own. hilarious

[nitewrighter]

Like... Moana worked because you had a very solid Dynamic Duo to carry you through a pretty classic Hero's Journey plot.

Encanto worked because it's basically "Let me work out my generational and cultural trauma through a big ensemble musical."

Those are both Disney movies where the plots are arguably more complex than the plots we were dealing with back in the Disney Renaissance, with the added challenge of not being based on a preexisting fairy tale, or, um... Hamlet with Lions. Like you do have the added challenge of having less time to establish more facts about your characters and settings. But at the end of the day, they still work because they manage to have a strong focus on how they set you up for their various emotional beats.

I don't have a problem with formulaic writing--you want to build a house, doesn't hurt to have a strong frame--but it's giving me such brainworms to try and articulate how Wish as a movie shits the bed by trying to incorporate both the formulaic and the flouting of expectations at once while burying everything under a pile of Disney self-references. You can practically feel an exec breathing down a writer's neck in every scene going "Make it funnier! Add this reference! Make Asha More Relatable™!"

[tenebriskukris]

Oshi No Ko Chapter 151 - My Thoughts/Analysis

It’s another setup chapter but we’re still in the beginning of a new arc so that’s to be expected. As always, spoilers for Oshi No Ko Ch 151 below.

The chapter starts with what I can only describe as the narrative glazing Kana’s acting skills. Aside from the fact that it shows that she’s recently premiered in that movie that Shima directed, it really isn’t necessary. The timeline of this manga has always been stuck in some nebulous mess of uncertainty for long enough that it could have been inserted anywhere within the last few chapters or so with ease.

Of course this entire montage of showing how good Kana’s acting ability actually is would ring a lot more true if she didn’t whore herself out to Shima in order to get a role. Much as I dislike how that entire situation went for Kana—and so much of that small mini arc in general—it undercuts Kana’s skills as an actor if her big break was because of Shima taking pity on Kana. Akane and Ruby were able to secure acting jobs without going to those lengths and were able to reach greater heights of popularity without it, so why can’t Kana achieve those same heights without couch casting?

Now that I think about it, I don’t think we’ve actually seen Kana get a role through her own efforts alone. The Sweet Today role was because Kaburagi was taking advantage of Kana in general as an actor; her role in Tokyo Blade was because he wanted to play both Kana and Akane off of each other, and even her role in the movie was because Kaburagi pulled some strings to get her on board. Even the intermission that focused on Kana and Akane basically reeked of industry nepotism, and I don’t need to reiterate what Kana was about to do to secure a role from Shima.

My thoughts on Kana’s acting ability aside, we settle on Kana and Aqua’s “date”. Kana wearing her old uniform even after she’s graduated is uh—a choice. That’s certainly some form of cosplay.

Aqua being surprised that this entire meeting is a date is—well. Kana I think if you want to actually make a play for Aqua you need to actually tell this shit to him beforehand. As far as he knows this is a casual outing with one of his friends. I expected her to do something a bit different when faced with the prospect of actually wooing Aqua, more specifically trying to actually take steps to woo him. Maybe I gave Kana too much credit. Akane’s manipulations aside, she hasn’t intentionally taken many steps to actually steer Aqua into considering her as a romantic partner in the series.

The baseball scene??? Now that’s a callback. I’m starting to see where Kana is heading with this whole mess. While Kana may look back at that time as a casual moment between two like minded people, it’s also the time where Aqua tried to vent some of his frustrations of his own Issues(™) and Kana quite easily rebuked them in favor of talking about romantic prospects. After that encounter, it doesn’t escape my gaze that Aqua hasn’t talked to Kana about his own Issues unless heavily pressed.

Oooooh future talk. Kind of hypocritical from the child actor that didn’t take steps to get into college to press people about their own future, but I don’t mean to pick at an old wound since it’s the equivalent of Kana making small talk. And Aqua’s thinking of applying to medical school??? We’d seen some similar implications go through his head during one of the interludes, but it’s nice to finally get some form of confirmation that he’s at least thought about a life after his revenge—even if he is just saying this to get Kana off his back.

Kana unintentionally dredging up Aqua’s trauma with her whole speech here. It’s a sight better than how she intentionally triggered him in Tokyo Blade, but I’m sure that doesn’t make Aqua feel much better. 

Aqua covering his face when confronted with Kana’s insight is cute, I gotta admit. The fact that it hides his star eyes in this panel here is also noteworthy. 

That dream came true when I was five years old. And Kana suffered through a dry spell in spite of it—or arguably because of it. Perhaps she can look at things with hindsight now that she’s managed to carve out a certain niche for herself in the industry but we know that Kana isn’t there just yet. Frill is a perfect example of what someone at the top of the industry looks like, and I don’t think anyone else in our cast aside from maybe Taiki is there just yet. One good movie and a small hint of stardom does not a national actress make. 

In fairness to Kana, her saying that she’s achieved her dream is a very in-character thing for her to do. Time and time again we’ve seen her immaturity and naivete undercut everything she sets out to achieve. Her inability to realize that she was being taken advantage of by Kaburagi in the earlier parts of the manga; the fact that she wasn’t able to remain professional with Aqua when he was avoiding her; her attempts to secure a role with Shima despite knowing his nature full well—the list goes on. If she really thinks that she’s become a national actress after tasting just a hint of success then that just plays into Kana’s faults even further.

I have a new dream now. I want to be the only person you look at. I couldn’t quite help but laugh as soon as Kana said this. Okay Kana, you want to be Aqua's idol? What have you done to actually achieve that? Because you have some gigantic shoes to fill in the form of Ai and Rubysarina. Her entire arc throughout the story has been towards actually being a successful actress, so this pivot leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t even like Kana as a character and I’m complaining that this entire interaction did her dirty! 

The fact that Aqua didn’t even catch Kana’s baseball when she’s said this has to be some of the most godawful hit you over the head symbolism I’ve even seen from the series. There are college writing students out there that wouldn’t pull stuff like this even if they were held up at gunpoint! You’d think that an actual published series like this would have editors that strike this shit down but apparently not.

It’s not because of the fact that this metaphor it’s simple that irks me as much as it does. It’s the fact that it’s so obvious that it basically spells out that Kana’s attempts at trying to become Aqua’s star are going to be flushed down the toilet. In terms of being an idol, Kana hasn’t done anything else to engender Aqua’s devotion. As Aqua’s friend, she’s certainly become an important aspect of his life, but not so much in terms of being an idol. She does not inspire or drive Aqua’s motivations in the way an idol should—at least in my opinion.

What a fucking chapter. I’m just glad there isn’t a break next week so we can quickly see how this mess is going to turn out. At this point I just want some goddamn consequences to happen to Kana so having her lose Aqua basically sitting on her hands for the entire series is some good fucking karma. Crying and bitching about one’s love life constantly is absolutely not the characteristic of someone going to win it all as the series reaches its endgame.

I was actually surprised that there was so much talk about Kana grabbing death flags in this chapter. I mean, really, it’s like everyone forgot that most of the main cast has contractual immortality until after the interviews. Even then, Kana really hasn’t been important enough to the story since Tokyo Blade to justify any purpose of her dying aside from shock value. Even if there was something like that planned out for the next few chapters, the tension is going to be undercut knowing that most of the main cast is going to survive without any issue.

Once again the elephant in the room has to be Ruby. It’s kind of difficult to root for Kana in this instance—even besides all the reasons I’d listed so far—because we still don’t know what Aqua thinks about the kiss in Chapter 143. Anything regarding romance is stuck in a pool of indecision since that chapter and it simultaneously undercuts everything the narrative is trying to even do with Kana and Akane’s efforts to woo Aqua while leaving the actual plot of the story on the wayside. I just hope that we’ll be getting a peek into Aqua’s head while we’re unfortunately saddled back in with this romance plotline.

[pianocat939]

Okay so I like really like your writing style and I would like to make a request!!

Can we see the boys with a reader that had drastic changes in temperature really easily? Like one second they’re burning alive and then the next their bundled in blankets.

Thank you in advance if you write this!!!

-👻

As someone who lives in a place where it's winter literally 7-8 whole months, I totally do not get this *cue awkward smile*. So most of the stuff written here is geared towards winter.

I split this into parts because I felt there can be both platonic and romantic reactions to this.

The Turtles with a Temperature Vulnerable MC

(There isn't much of a difference between romantic and platonic for Mikey + Raph. It's more for Leo and D'Nello)

Raph

- Platonic

Sorry guys I have to go back to his trauma again.

He worries a lot. It's obvious considering his Eldest Child Syndrome™

So much so that he carries around a bag filled with jackets/layers, ice packs, fans: and all that stuff when you guys leave either of your homes.

He tries to keep the temperature indoors as mild as possible, but it can get hard during the summer and winter months (winter especially 'cuz he's a reptile).

Will ask if you want hugs whenever you're cold. He may be a reptile, but I think he retains some warm-blooded traits from Splinter.

Learns how drinks are a great way to regulate temperature and asks Mikey to teach him how to make delicious beverages.

During winter he doesn't let you out until you have a coat and a light jacket on (trust me you get hot in winter coats really fucking easy).

"Nope. Not letting you out until you have them layers on."

Worried parent 1000%

- Romantic

Not too different from platonic, just more prone to be touchy.

Holds your hand(s) and cuddles if you if you're cold. And also because he's a cuddlebug.

He gets really pouty if you have to separate because you're too hot.

"If I were to cover myself in ice packs will you cuddle me?"

Leo

- Platonic

He will laugh whenever you have to change your surroundings/position because of temperature issues.

He might try to piss you off by stealing all the blankets or turning the heater/cooler to insane settings.

"Um, excuse me, I need all of these."

If he feels nice, on some days he'll hand you the things you need directly; might even teleport steal extra machinery for you.

Honestly, I think he would relate to your problem, but be the biggest drama queen about it. Like complaining extremely loudly.

Flaunts the number of blankets he has.

- Romantic

Is less snarky, but can be a little bug sometimes.

I think if we're speaking in a romantic sense he's more likely to expose his true feelings/intentions. I know it's not explicitly stated within the canon series/movie but based on my own interpretation I think he doesn't like exposing his feelings unless he really trusts that person.

So he'll express worry in a more intimate way.

He won't be all mama bear like Raph but does show some concern. He'll ask if you're alright and if you need he'll bring it right to you.

As I said before I do think he has a similar problem so he'll suggest you guys share a blanket or something to conserve as much heat.

"As soon as you get out I'm not letting you back in. This is my heat reserve."

Othello Von Ryan

- Platonic

Out of the three has the best assistance for temperature regulation.

He can easily construct a device that changes surrounding heat based on blood and heartbeat regulation.

He's iffy when it comes to helping you out that isn't biology or just in general science related. It's not that he doesn't understand it, he finds it inefficient that's all.

"Why waste time doing things that could maybe help when you know that the studies of science are more credible?"

No touch. Maybe robot arms with heating, but no actual touchy.

It's hot? Don't worry he got his beautiful ice maker in his battle shell.

He does not stand for complaining. Just tell him you're uncomfortable and he can fix it.

- Romantic

In a romantic sense, I think he's more likely to try to help in a non-scientific way. Again, it's not his preferred method but it can also be a data-collecting experience for him.

He'll ask more questions, trying to understand your individual biology.

"Is there a certain time interval when you feel you're personal comfort change?"

He really doesn't like it but if you need it very badly then he might give you a stiff hug or two. Awkward back pat gang

If you spend time in the lab with him then he'll make sure the environment is to your liking.

Asks Sheldon to watch over you if he's not able to be there at the moment.

I totally see him as a trench coat guy. Gifts you a matching one.

Mikey Wazowski

- Platonic + Romantic

Quite similar to Raph but has some distinct traits.

Will go overboard with everything because he's not entirely sure what you exactly need. Ex. 4-5 blankets or more than enough electric fans

Found frozen foods and used them in replace of ice packs once.

"I'm gonna find who stole them all because I am disgusted at myself right now!"

Uses his culinary skills as an advantage. Is it 3 star Michelin course shit? Indeed it is.

"I present to you my Ganache hot chocolate~"

He absolutely loves physical touch so keep that in mind. You'll have to pry him off you if you get hot though.

Donnie has to teach him how the thermostat works (it's not hard, he's just never used it before).

If you're ever under a blanket he'll try jumping on you.

(Sorry Mikey's is short I'm pulling all my brain cells trying to think of any possible ways)

——————————————————

I tried. I really tried.

Also, I don't ever want to call Mikey "Mikey" ever again. He's "Mikey Wazowski" now.

- Celina

[marleneismydopamine]

marlene mckinnon headcanons

- takes the longest showers either cause she’s either singing every song she can think of, having those weird shower thoughts or having an existential crisis

- doesn’t really describe herself as feminine or masculine

- like people will ask her “are you a butch lesbian or a femme lesbian” and she’s just “lesbian”

- middle child

- used to play the trumpet but kinda lost it as she got older so now she still has her old trumpet and when she felt like being annoying she would just play it terribly

- hates tomatoes but loves ketchup

- always cracks her knuckles

- is an optimist or a pessimist depending on how she’s feeling that day

- like sometimes she’ll just be worst case scenario thinking constantly and other times she’s just “you know what? everythings gonna work out fine”

- her favourite genre of music is indie rock

- her guilty pleasure movies are like slasher movies that have a really generic killer

- Religious Trauma™

- double jointed in her elbow and likes to freak people out with it

- used to have really long hair because her mum liked it long and refused to let her cut it but marlene hated it and would only wear it in a ponytail

- in fourth year she got mary to cut it to her shoulders and after that year she just kept cutting her hair shorter and shorter

- she does like spicy food but the reason why she eats it a lot of it is because she doesnt want to adjust to non-spicy food and then no longer handle spice like a pussy

- poster kid for divorced parents

- once had a movie marathon with lily and mary watching the really old Disney movies and they took a shot whenever something sexist happened (they couldnt do it again bc the hangover was too excruciating)

- technically lives with her mum but she has a room at her dads place that she prefers

- has absolutely no idea what to do after school ends and is super terrified about it

- wanted a lot of piercings but didnt have the money to afford it so she just learnt how to do it herself

[denimbex1986]

'Back when All of Us Strangers first premiered on the festival circuit, critics who frequent Gay Twitter™ hinted at one particular sex scene that got everyone talking.

Well, not the sex itself. Not exactly. It's what happens after that excited people so much.

Adam (Andrew Scott) rejects Harry (Paul Mescal) at first after he shows up drunk outside his flat one night, babbling about vampires at the door. But then a chance second encounter in the strangely empty building they share leads to something deeper.

"I've been thinking about you," Harry tells Adam. "I've been thinking about sucking your cock."

There's a hunger to Paul Mescal's delivery that the usually shy Adam finds impossible to resist. Adam's walls come down as Paul enters the flat and then enters him in the first of many sex scenes that take place throughout All of Us Strangers.

Across previous projects like Weekend and Looking, director Andrew Haigh built a reputation for the way he shoots such moments so intimately, and the key is the emotional intimacy that he brings to that physical act.

This combination comes to a head (no pun intended) early on when Harry licks cum off Adam's chest, post-coitus. While the specificity of that moment might be lost on some who mistake the semen for sweat, gay audiences know exactly what's happening there.

It's shocking in the sense that this particular sex act isn't often depicted on screen (outside of the videos you watch alone on your laptop). But the moment itself passes by quick, and there's no lingering on what happened for mere shock value. It's worlds away from the bathtub antics of Saltburn, for example.

Sex on screen can often lack intimacy, especially in typical Hollywood fare. There's rarely much connection beyond the physical and that's assuming the sex is even shown on screen these days. But Haigh knows that this physical intimacy can say a great deal, that the thrill of enjoying another person's body can cement the connection between two people like nothing else.

That moment Harry licks the cum off of Adam's chest, just like the handjob in the bath or even the way they spoon each other, is one of many small milestones that bring these two lonely people closer together. Despite everything that takes place between Adam and his parents, it's this central relationship that the movie's ending, and therefore the movie itself, hinges on.

That means every single moment of connection, be it physical or emotional, is key to the devastating impact of Haigh's script. Yet that chest scene is arguably the most important, unlocking everything that follows.

Adam reveals early on that he's been afraid of sex for as long as he can remember because he grew up during the height of the AIDS crisis. For men of that generation, the joy of sex turned to fear as just one casual encounter could quickly become a death sentence. This in turn stoked more prejudice in the media, making it even harder for gay men to come out without fear of hate or disgust.

It's no wonder that men like Adam, raised in the '80s and '90s, internalised shame so deeply. If you grow up afraid of physical intimacy, of course you're going to struggle with emotional connections. That's why Adam has been alone for so long, and that's also why he's reluctant to let Harry in.

With that history in mind, the moment when Harry seductively tastes Adam's semen must have come as bit of a shock to Adam. Ingesting bodily fluids would have once been horrifying to him, it's something he would have never done himself, yet he doesn't hold Harry back or flinch. By giving into his new partner's desire, Adam begins to let down his walls when it comes to sex while also starting to overcome his trauma.

Harry has become a safe space for Adam where he can rediscover his sexuality all over again and heal. In taking this journey, Adam opens up in other ways too, most notably in how he reveals his true self to his parents.

It's a difficult conversation to have, especially with his mother, but by sharing the kind of conversations he was robbed of having earlier in life, Adam frees himself of shame, enabling him to love Harry more deeply.

It's the sex and the connection it brings that first shifts something inside of Adam. And that's why the final scene has become the biggest talking point now in light of the movie's release.

Because yes, the sex scenes are hot and exciting, but it's the emotional connection they help form that makes the end so devastating, and it's impossible to imagine All of Us Strangers without them.'

[emerals]

the lads dynamics with the adults™

this is going off of when they're preteens || excluding scrooge

as just something general:

beakley tolerates them, though there are some she likes more than others

della is capable of getting along with each of them with some time, though things are a little rough when the kids are preteens due to louie's vents and her kind of pushy attempts to get to know/along with them

donald, having a decade of experience, does better with the kids overall; there are still things he can't quite grasp, though, and he can be overprotective

launchpad doesn't have too much of an opinion on the kids, but the kids have varying opinions of him

OZZY - beakley: she wants him far away from webby and would like him not on the mansion premises, but if he brings louie joy (and as long as he abides by louie's rule about cigarettes), then she'll just keep a close eye on him; he thinks she's too strict, but damn, does he love her cooking - della: right away, there is tension between them as ozzy is very biased against della because of louie's dramatic tellings; she doesn't know about that so she tries the hardest to get along with ozzy and he finds her a try-hard because of that - donald: ozzy likes him a lot, and even though he finds it annoying, he appreciates it when donald gives him a pack of candy cigarettes every time he comes to the mansion - launchpad: ozzy sees him as a big dumb lug- but a lovable big dumb lug

JUNIPER - beakley: she likes her cooking and always appreciates a good badass woman; beakley quickly becomes exhausted of her since juniper's like webby high on sugar 24/7, but in a lot of ways she reminds her of her granddaughter, so she tolerates it - della: while juniper isn't as biased against her, there are still some things she doesn't like or trust about her- she'll oftentimes make a quick remark that hurts della, but then follow up with a "but..." statement; della loves her and her unrestrained adventurous spirit - donald: he likes her brutal honesty, even if it hurts sometimes; she adores nurturing people, and a lot of times will go to him with trauma-related things when her parents aren't available - launchpad: they exchange mechanical tips and work on things together- they teach each other things

ADEN - beakley: she finds him incredibly infuriating as he was able to figure out webby wasn't her granddaughter in the matter of weeks in knowing her along with some other secrets of hers- once he lets her know he has no intention of blackmailing her or telling anyone else, they actually get along and she enlists his help in fishing out f.o.w.l.; he finds her interesting - della: he doesn't interact (and doesn't really let her) with her much, choosing to keep his distance and figure her out like a rubik's cube; della notices he helps beakley with things and its actually kind of a blow on her self-esteem since even beakley can get along with someone - donald: donald isn't a fan of being able to be figured out so easily by a child, but a part of him wishes they had someone like him when della first went missing; the more aden looks into him, the more he likes him - launchpad: aden thinks it's commendable that someone so bumbling like launchpad can help out drake in all his crimefighting and wishes to help solve the crimes; launchpad usually mistakes him for quoting mystery movies and replicating movie scenes when he's legitimately doing detective-like things

EVERETT - beakley: they enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with the other; they like to talk about the burning world around them - della: he's dry with her as he is with most everyone- but he doesn't treat her with any hostility - donald: everett's dry with him as he is with most everyone- but he doesn't treat him with any hostility and appreciates his attempts of hospitality - launchpad: neutral on both ends

XIMENA - beakley: they love each other and ximena can be found in the kitchen with her during dinner time, preparing sweets - della: ximena treats everything said both ways with a grain of salt; she's aware of the hurt that's been inflicted, but she's a big believer of second chances and people changing; della thinks she's sweet - donald: she personally took the time to teach donald to cook certain things- they exchanged stories about their families and donald emphasizes with her - launchpad: they're just two little dorks going on with their days

KIWI - beakley: kiwi knows webby isn't her granddaughter, but she, too, isn't going to tell anyone- she isn't as close as aden is, but there's a mutual respect of sorts; kiwi reminds beakley of webby in some aspects - della: kiwi likes to keep an open mind, so she freely gets along with della; della likes her enthusiasm and joy - donald: they like each other, though there isn't anything notable to write home about - launchpad: kiwi thinks he's funny

NIX - beakley: mutual dislike; nix doesn't like how strictly protective beakley is - della: nix has a very strong dislike for della for the whole glomtales thing- this opinion sticks around for a while; della tends to steer clear a bit since nix looks like she wants to kill her half the time - donald: nix feels about him the complete opposite of della- yes, he may be too protective at times, but it isn't as strict as beakley; donald wishes she didn't see his sister the way she does - launchpad: neutral on both ends

DEAN - beakley: dean, in a way, looks up to her- though, he does agree that she's too strict; beakley sees a reflection of webby in him- but not in the good way - della: dean sought her out behind nix's back and the two got along through talks of space - donald: dean loves how protective and loving he is- it makes him wish he had donald as an uncle instead of his actual one - launchpad: they weirdly have deep talks that launchpad usually forgets about, but it lets dean let out some steam without much of a risk of it being found out; launchpad doesn't actually forget about them, but he'd never let dean know that

ASH - beakley: beakley does not like them; ash likes her food - della: ash makes snarky comments, but their real opinion of della is just of a bit of distaste; della tries to get along with them, but they don't really let her (it's like trying to get along with louie if louie wasn't related to her) - donald: he finds them frustrating sometimes, but they have quirks like louie; ash likes learning about the duck family through him - launchpad: he things they're a little mean sometimes

WHITTANY - beakley: whittany manages to surprise and flatter her a lot; beakley likes her - della: whittany's cautious around her, but they kind of get along at times; she's energetic and della likes that - donald: nothing too special, but they don't dislike each other - launchpad: they oftentimes engage in light conversations; they like each other

MARSHALL - beakley: she finds him annoying (and a bit self-destructive); he loves her cooking and will sometimes drop by just for something to eat- beakley usually has something ready for him - della: he's constructively critical of her, but he thinks she's pretty cool; della doesn't believe he's a real teenager (joking)- they make fun of trashy tv together - donald: marshall's constructively critical of him, but he overall likes him; donald doesn't like his self-destructive nature - launchpad: marshall makes a lot of jokes that launchpad doesn't quite get- or, he does, and he just plays along with it

SYLVIA - beakley: beakley gives her advice; sylvia looks up to her - della: sylvia believes people can change (to a... not good degree), so she gives della a chance and they get along okay - donald: they engage in small conversations- nothing to write home about - launchpad: they get along really well; sometimes a deep conversation will happen, but that's not often; she even goes to him for advice sometimes

VIVIAN - beakley: beakley sees through her facade, so she doesn't even try it around her; they actually get along, though - della: vivian is very confusing for della- sometimes nice, sometimes downright awful to her; no one actually knows how vivian feels towards della except for vivian herself - donald: he can sometimes see through her; vivian likes to see what he'll tolerate - launchpad: launchpad understands her and no one knows how

DOTTIE - beakley: the two conspire with each other and once or twice, beakley enlists dottie for a bit of a dabble in s.h.u.s.h. work - della: dottie's critical, but she lets her try- which doesn't usually go well (she'll accidentally trigger dottie a lot); dottie wants to let her keep trying, but della doesn't want to bring up bad memories - donald: dottie vents to him and tries to get him to do the same, but donald isn't going to let a child that isn't family- no matter how "mature"- hear his adult problems; he tries to let her feel comfortable - launchpad: neutral on both ends

HUNTER - beakley: he likes the surprising coziness she brings in homes; she's neutral towards him - della: they get along, as hunter actually listened to louie and didn't look at della like a she-demon; della loves his family - donald: they get along; nothing special - launchpad: they get along

**i would like to note that, as implied in hunter's dynamics, louie does not want his friends to hate della

he likes that some of them are getting along with her, but he isn't going to force any of the others (except maybe nix because of how extreme it is) to change their minds about her

[musical-chick-13]

Hey, can you re-imagine a wholy genderbent Deathnote, is too cursed?

Okay, it is SO funny that you mention this because I was talking to my Long-Distance Best Friend the other day about the fact that there is, apparently, (or at least was, at some point before the strike?) a plan to make a live-action TV series adaptation of this for Netflix. Which is...a whole other thing I don't want to get into, but ANYWAY.

The POINT is that we were talking about what would have to happen to make me have some modicum of hope that this might not be the worst idea ever (remember what happened the LAST time we did live-action Netflix DN, we got the 2017 movie no one needs to live through that again). And what I ultimately came up with was:

Every single character, except for Light and Raye, is now a woman. (Obviously this isn't wholly genderbent, but. It's close enough to this ask that I found it to still be a humorous coincidence.) I think in the hands of the right writer, it could be an interesting examination of misogyny and how baked-in that concept is to the justice system. (And I think it would lend extra context to the fact that Light was able to keep operating for so long. If the people opposing him are all women in a historically male-dominated field, they'd all have to contend with a type of professional and societal discrimination that he'll never have to, thus giving him an advantage. Also L would be a Weird Girl™, which would absolutely raise some interesting questions in terms of the scope of this character's influence and their societal perception. Also femslash Near/Mello would be canonically possible which is OBVIOUSLY the most important factor to take into consideration.)

Soichiro's difficulty in believing Light's guilt would gain an extra dimension if this character were also grappling with the societal expectations of motherhood (especially while being in a position of authority in a """masculine""" career). And Matsuda...I just think some woman, any woman, should get to shoot Light repeatedly in a fit of rage. (Also something-something calling women in the workplace idiots/making them the butt of the joke/consistently overlooking them, I think you could do something there.) I think this theoretical concept I spent way too much time thinking about really only works if, even though the major and supporting characters are women, it's still made clear that they work in an environment overwhelmingly occupied by men.

As for a FULLY genderbent story...Light as a female character is, to me, indeed an idea too cursed. I will not elaborate.

And I don't think the Shinigami experience the concept of gender in the way that we do, so tbh I'm not really sure a whole lot would change in that regard. But I do think a female Ryuk would be very funny.

Naomi being a man I think would be...not cursed, I just don't particularly enjoy it. But mainly that's because I am A Gay™, and I love thinking about women who are tough enough to have the word "massacre" as part of their nickname. :)

Misa being reimagined as a guy could be really interesting, though, given how a) the entertainment industry treats women differently from how it treats men, and b) the world at large generally expects men to react differently to trauma than women do. (Although I still very much prefer the version of Misa that serves as a deconstruction of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl). And I'd be curious to see what the viewer/reader response would be if this character were a man. (Mainly because, historically, audiences are a lot more positively receptive to extreme, unhealthy displays of devotion when they come from a male character than when they come from a female character, but this answer is already probably too long, so we don't have to talk about that.)

(Best Friend ALSO mentioned the idea of Rina Sawayama playing L, and I am now gay on a level I previously didn't ever think was possible, but we don't have to talk about that either.)

Uhhhh....TLDR, full-genderbent DN kind of cursed, but there are some really interesting ideas you could examine. (The one veto I'm gonna make is that I do not think this story works if Light is a girl, but-you guessed it-we really don't have to talk about that.)

Also, stan the stage musical for serotonin and clear skin!

[findusinaweek]

Tagged by @brasideios and @ainulindaelynn, thanks very much!

three ships: Alexidas because it’s my current obsession. Unhinged mercenary himbo meets Spartan general, they sync in battle (and love). That’s all I need to say. 

Eruri. I have a thing for commanders that die. 

friendShip of Margo and Elliot in “The Magicians” because it’s the queer platonic friendship I have often wanted/needed to see.

first ship: Akigure from “Fruits Basket”. I have an ongoing interest in Bad Decision™ characters. Akito deals with upholding ridiculous family standards while being raised as a gender she is not, which does not excuse her behavior but I related to it. Made me question homophobia, then made me question if I was gay. I can’t really explain my interest in Shigure. I assume it’s the concept of someone who is willing to do terrible things in order to help the person they love fit snuggly with the trauma I had experienced and who I thought I was. They are not a healthy couple but they are canon and I was smitten. 

last song: “Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure” was playing but that’s behind glass that says “Break in Case of Fire” so now it’s Shostakovich’s Jazz Suite. Spark joy, Shosty! 

last movie: Everything Everywhere All At Once. My cousin told me to watch it and she was (as always) right. Really spectacular. I cried twice! 

currently reading: Spartan Reflections by Paul Cartledge 

currently watching: I’m not really in a watching things mood but tumblr has me scoping out TLOU and Barbarians. 

currently consuming: the tumblr scroll and levothyroxine bb 

currently craving: Stability. 

I also dislike tagging people and basically most of mutuals have already done/been tagged so uhm hello the whole of tumblr it’s your turn. 

[smartzelda]

Blorbo bingo go!

Autor (he counts he's the one your most attached too in the show. I KNOW YOU.)

Mikami

Prompto

Dib

Ienzo/Zexion (throwing him on here cuz you really were an Ienzo apologist for like a solid year buddy.)

Okay so for the good of everyone I've decided to put my answers under the cut because you *know* I can't shut up

ㅤ

Autor:

Okay you know what? That's fair. That's true. I was attached to him BEFORE I knew he was gonna be important. He was the most (side) character of all time to me

Boy sometimes your blorbo is a funky side character who just WANTS TO READ HIS BOOKS IN PEACE IN THE LIBRARY, DAMMIT

(And uh also stalk the pretty boy who comes by to search all the fairytales who you just so happen to be uper jealous of because he gets to live the topic of your special interest)

But he's idk he's more of a voice of reason for other characters, especially early on, but he's also definitely passionate. Somewhere between sensible and will do anything kinda guy. It's almost surprising he hasn't killed a man yet.

ㅤ

Mikami:

*GASP* HIM

I ADORE HIM

Okay I'm aware I'm going to have to explain myself a little

The feral square refers solely to the fact that he gets very much feral when he's passionate about something or generally *really* feeling an emotion. I think how he acts when he writes names in the death note + is noticed by Kira and during the entire yellow box scene (at least in the anime) is proof enough

I will not be explaining the Autism™ square. If you can't get it then 🤷 All you need to know is that even though it's not technically canon it means so much to me that this absolutely factors into his childhood and how things happened to him

Haha you know he's my favorite I couldn't hide it if I tried

He's my pathetic meow meow because he's a serial killer and he dies so tragically and just...sad. He's pathetic and committed atrocities and I love him

Let's be clear, when his mind is at it's clearest, he *is* the voice of reason. And yes this cam be true despite the murder. He has a strong black and white idea of right and wrong, and if he thinks something is wrong he cannot be swayed. It's probably only around Light those reasoning skills dwindle

Technically accidental parental figure is movie canon. I may not have watched the Japanese death note live action movies yet, but by god I live for Teru Mikami adopting Hikari Yagami. Now, of course I'm disappointed from what I know about how that specific plot works and how the movies handle Mikami, but...it's better for the brain if I think about Mikami adopting Light's son and pretending the rest of the plot surrounding that doesn't exist.

By god he needs it so bad. I think most people think he just needs it because he's "insane", likely evidenced by how he acts in the yellow box scene or when writing names, but it’s so much more than "oh, he needs therapy because he's crazy". No, dudes. He's *traumatized* traumatized. I'll spare you all most of my essay for now, but if you take a look at how he narrates his own backstory, it becomes so clear just how messed up a lot of things were, and how some of his feelings on the matter arised after the fact. Teru Mikami, as a middle schooler, did not actually think his mother should die because he asked her to prioritize his own wellbeing and stand down so he wouldn't be bullied. He didn't even begin to think that she must've deserved it and that it was divine justice until she'd died and he had to cope with it. Who he is is such a mix of all the trauma he endured by the bullying and uh harrassment (an understatement), having an absent parent, definitely being neurodivergent, trying to solidify clear differences between right and wrong, being orphaned as a young boy and having to cope with his mother's death, and just...god. Like, come on. There's no way that deciding his dear mother must've deserved death and *that's* why she died along with his bullies, turning from defending the weak to taking out "the bad people", and deciding that he's god's poor meow meow and *that's* why all this is happening because he's "chosen" aren't at least partly coping mechanisms of some sort. Okay, okay. I'll spare you all the full essay

Do I even need to say it? I need to be him now absolutely now. Pretty man with longer hair in trench coat and ah

I mostly marked the muse one for the "haha he's god's poor meow meow" joke but also god I have so much fic I need to write for this man

There's nothing like having identity crisis (in terms of neurodovergence) because you relate too well to a character who is absolutely not neurotypical and dealt with largely similar social problems (minus most of the harassment) to you while also being an intelligent overthinker haha

I don't 100% know why I marked this but it is not derogatory. Does he have a super tragic and traumatic backstory? Check. Is he also literally built to be god's perfect number one follower? Yes. My man looks good and neat, he washes regularly, he can cook, he started working out, he literally thinks he's god's poor meow meow, and he happens to think very very similar to Light so he does get praise. Like of course it implies he worked for most of what he had but by god man he's basically perfect? Like if I was Light I'd malewife him here and now. His life also went coincidentally so just so he *could* see himself and actually become god's poor little meow meow

There are so many reasons to be feral about Teru Mikami

ㅤ

Prompto:

Aaaa I haven't talked about him in a while but god I love him

I need to preface this by saying I only marked angst machine because he is a secret angst machine. Once you get more of his character it just starts leaking out until the dam bursts, man

He is like, quite literally that character who is happy go lucky and a sunshine boy and he's the protag's best friend and everything is great, right? Right??

Wrong. He struggles heavily with body image and fatphobia, his outgoing sunshine personality began as a cover so he'd be more appealing, he feels like a living lie for so many reasons (given that there's a blurred thin line between what of his personality is actually him and what's a curated mask, he pretended he wasn't who he was as a kid thinking Noctis would find him more appealing as he is now, he keeps most of his real thoughts and feelings and insecurities inside because he's afraid to burden them, he feels like an outsider in his own friend group because Noctis is the prince and Gladio and Ignis are connected to that, meanwhile he's just some commoner, and he's not only secretly *from* the empire Noctis's kingdom is at war with, but also was born to become I believe the energy source for the empire's robot soldiers (ik what they're really called don't worry about it)), and he even has an identity crisis! *slaps head of boy* You can fit so much trauma into it! Oh, and also it's implied that his adoptive parents are basically never around and that he's not sure if they care about him so

He needs therapy so bad

He also needs a kiss from his best friend as a treat. It wouldn't fix him but it sure would help

ㅤ

Dib:

Hehehehehehehhehehehehehehe

God I miss him

I am

Mmmmmm

I am literally vibrating okay ah so many thoughts whirring around the brain

I hope what this gets across is that he's an absolute bastard who really has an abnormal threshold for "just a normal Tuesday" and an interesting set of morals. He's a feelings denier, he's absolutely traumatized by all the shit in his life (what, from everything with Zim to going through literal torture to being basically locked in an insane asylum as a child to no one, even his father, ever believing him, to just trying to please a father who's never around and never seems to actually be proud of him, to the best friends he's ever had being another kid who's also probably heavily traumatized and is basically his stalker and well Zim). Whether canon or in aged up fanon this boy is messed up and traumatized, neurodivergent, self sacrificial, easily angered, passionate, and bad at feelings.

ㅤ

Ienzo/Zexion:

Hey HEY

I'm actually still an apologist thank you very much

Yes he did bad things no matter his circumstances and enjoyed it, and yes I acknowledge he could end up turning on the main cast and betraying them

However also he can do no wrong I love him in fact if he just so happened to uh get rid of Ansem tw I would say he deserves it. He can do whatever he wants

By god I am...too tired to go into it right now but wtf when you did into him just

By god so many things have happened to him. At least the rest of the org were older teens this boy was AN 8 YEAR OLD when he became a nobody. Think about that. You're an orphan kid who's practically adopted by the local king and the stern cold man of science. The former is "the fun dad", which means he uses you as an excuse to get his favorite icecream. He doesn't actually hang out with you because he wants to hang with you and doesn't seem to do most of the real parenting. The former cares about his science projects above all, and while he probably does all the parenting work he's far from warm and caring. And then all the people you live with/your older friends practically dramatically exile your technical adoptive parent and convince you that he deserved it, and then coerce you into you know literally having your heart pierced so you can divorce your heart from your body and not have to deal with pesky feelings. So he gets drawn into a literal cult at age 8. And then for the next like eleven years grows up as a nobody/without his heart while being told he's now broken without it and will never be able to truly feel emotion and care, and is also basically raised through these years by said cult made up of his friends and some sketchy people. And then of course he basically dies before coming back to life, and sure he's technically whole but he has complicated feelings about all this and of course now his technically adoptive father is back and just does not acknowledge what he put him through (Ienzo ends up being the one apologizing for everything in front of him as if he's taking the responsibility of it all above himself). I swear he's a ticking time bomb there's no way he can just stay okay with everything that happened to him.

ㅤ

Anyways, thanks for the ask, Xion! You know how I love essaying on my favs🥰

[kunaigirl]

murder drones looks cool! uh is there any trigger warnings I should know about before I dive in? also where do you watch it?

Murder Drones is an indie animated youtube series, so you can watch it all for free on youtube! All 7 episodes (so far) are up on the official Glitch YT channel! As for trigger warnings??? Ok this is going to be A List™: -A LOT of gore, and I mean A. LOT. -Think like, the SAW movies. -A LOT of on screen death. -Super fucked up imagery in general -Decent amount of jump scares -General constant horror elements -Cannibalism??? Cannibalism. -A LOT of existential dread/self hate -Reality questioning/unreality/etc -A lot of violent character trauma in general NOTE! These characters are robots. Maybe that'll make a difference since it's not like, human gore? But at the same time they use robot blood in the same way a super gore-y anime would soooo...guess it depends? Specific TW: -There's a specific scene of a character self-harming. It's a scene where a character HAS to injure themself in order to survive, but yeah they literally repeatedly say "I deserve this" over and over again, so even though it was a "necessary" action for this character's survival, it's still very much blunt self harm. Once again, a lot of violence.

There's probably more but these are the one's I can think of off the top of my head. Think of this series as an abstract survival sci-fi horror with a few comedy moments here and there between all the trauma lol.

[official-panini]

rwrb movie aka "a shitshow"

rating: 1 star, if you want something like the book this is not the place to go.

i watched the movie last night and i have a lot of Thoughts™. i have undone my tumblr exile specifically for this. this may be incoherent but bear with me pls.

there will be spoilers after the cutoff

i had 3 main issues with the movie. obviously i knew it wouldn't be perfect to the book (that would have added at least another 2 hours) but it felt like the screenwriters didn't have any idea what the core of the book was about....... so yeah i have come back to tumblr simply because of this movie.

Diversity: the books had SO MUCH diversity. Nora was bisexual, Pez was 100% queer, these two and June were in a very obvious polyamorous relationship (THEY GOT RID OF JUNE!!!). Amy was trans and had a wife. Rafael Luna was cut out entirely, so we lost a gay Mexican senator who had experienced sexual assault. Oscar wasn't even senator, so we got to see zero (0) Mexican senators. even in terms of other types of diversity, there was less. for example, Ellen wasn't divorced, the movie was just a perfect little nuclear family. not to mention it was Henry's grandpa that was king? instead of having a queen? like the vibes were so different because of that. not to mention, Bea wasn't ever addicted to cocaine. i mean, that added so much to the idea that the royal family wasn't perfect (they made her a pretty little useless princess in the movie).

Palatability: I don't know why I expected better from Amazon, but I was so disappointed. this goes hand in hand with diversity, but i feel like they watered down so many of the themes to appeal to straight audiences? it felt like the difference between "flamboyant" gay vs "quiet, doesn't talk about their sexuality" gay (hint: the second one is the type cishets want from us). even just the way that the only time we see a pride flag is in the reflection of the window. also, one of the scenes i really wanted to see was after henry/alex were outed and we'd see a montage of ppl on the internet speaking out for them, saying stuff like "this was an invasion of their privacy" "they deserved better" "we support you" "you made me more comfortable with my sexuality", etc. AND ESPECIALLY THE "HISTORY, HUH?" SHIRTS. JUST READING ABOUT THEM MADE ME CRY. basically the movie tried to ignore their queer identities past the trauma involved. they didn't celebrate the gayness, they only used it to be like "boohoo they're sad cuz they can't come out".

Character Development: Henry had a plot arc that i felt was more similar to the books, except for the fact that it focused on himself accepting his gayness instead of accepting himself in general. BUT ALEX. THEY DID HIM WRONG. i mean, he didn't have a sexuality crisis on screen (liam was completely ignored). but what really annoyed me was how they didn't show the "fire under his ass" and how he put it out. the entire thing in the book was that he wanted to do everything fast, as young as possible. his entire character arc was learning from June and Henry that he could slow down and get there in his own time. but instead he felt like a plot device to help henry in the movie, like he didn't have a personality beyond helping Henry (and occasionally campaigning for Texas, but w/o his character development we don't even know why he wants Texas so much)

Plot arcs: again, i should have expected this. but. i didn't. in the book, while the overarching plotline was the firstprince romance, a lot of other stuff happened too. while i would argue that there were many mini subplots, the big one was with Richards. he was the one who orchestrated the emails, who leaked them, who tried to sabotage the Claremont administration. and Luna defecting to gather information was so important because of the betrayal + forgiveness + trauma. like the election was so important in the book yet it felt like a background feature in the movie. other subplots that were taken out: june's displeasure with being used as a tool for her mother, henry's mother finally coming out of her room and fighting for something, even just Alex giving the speech in Austin during the election! it didn't even have "you obtuse fucking asshole", the best line in the whole book. it became a pure romcom instead of a contrast between love and politics.

tl;dr: the book was an escapist fantasy that painted a whole world that i would like to run away to, the movie was about two people falling in love with each other (it's hard to escape to a world made for only two people).

anyway i hated it, would not recommend.

[girlhelpicf]

SPOILERS FOR SMILE 2022 AHEAD

smile, not to be confused with smile hd by mister davie, is a horror movie released last year with a surprisingly out of character ending for a movie supposedly about overcoming trauma.

although i enjoyed the movie (read as suffered minor delusions for the next 24 hours after watching it), the monster design was admittedly laughable, the set design was lacking and the ways in which the smile motif was expressed was ridiculous at times.

but im not here to critique the movie today.

im not here to point out the shattered glass motifs, im not here to rag on the monster design, im not even here to talk about how the mother near the end was an obvious reference to the crooked man who lived in his crooked house.

its all about COLORS

in the beginning of the movie, the color palette is set up.

very obvious theming of warm and cool contrasting tones, mostly oranges and blues. in the scene pictured above, rose is wearing a light blue shirt and laura is wearing warm greens and dull yellows.

as we progress through the scene, it becomes glaringly obvious that laura is sick in some way until the titular smile appears on her face and she commits a violent suicide. sad. anyways.

this theming of orange and blue adjacent colors can be passed off as being simply the aesthetic of the psychiatric ward rose works at. orange and blue are complimentary colors that can have their shades adjusted and still work together nicely. but then you start seeing it everywhere.

and it becomes

pretty fucking obvious

that this means something.

but what?

as the movie progresses, the colors get darker. this is common in horror movies that want to shift the palette of the movie to gradually match the dark tone the plot is taking on. although, when rose visits the prisoner to find out how this is all going to end, she is bathed in an almost fiery light.

i thought, naively, that the fact that her general color palette was shifting to warmer tones represented some kind of hope. that this was an early signifier of a good ending, given that whenever the monster appears the movie adopts the twilight filter™.

when the movie got dark, rose was always the warmest thing in the room. obviously this means shes full of life and hope and she’ll beat the monster and everything will be ok.

i mean, she just burned the monster alive, the orange fire means healing it means hope. and look shes at joels house and the colors are so warm and bright and this is such an in character ending for a movie with this trauma centered theme and

what

huh

WAIT

IS THAT FLAME ORANGE AND BLUE.

(it was, in fact, orange and blue. obviously. BECAUSE THATS WHAT A FLAME LOOKS LIKE)

orange and warm tones had meant defeat from the beginning. it was the lights behind rose when she watched her mom overdose, it was the outfit laura was wearing, it was the light shining on rose when she was told she had to kill somebody to escape, it was the flowers in the vase in the beginning and it was the blood that splattered on rose when laura died. the orange represented a flame (represented a trauma) that would swallow its victims whole.

the blue is the monster, the blue is all the people disregarding roses struggle, the blue was the shirt rose wore when she didn’t believe laura, the blue was the clothes rose was wearing when she LET her mom die, and the blue is the base of the fire, the origin and its most burning point. the part of the fire that would hurt the most to touch. anyways if i ever see orange and blue paired together again im going to throw up and die bye

[luxurybrownbarbie]

Just finished Everything Everywhere All At Once… don’t text.