#his personally feelings are entirely unrelated to the point

[bananonbinary]

even if, for the sake of argument, some people DO "deserve" to suffer, it's just not something you can make into a political policy.

1) as vaspider pointed out, it doesn't actually make things any better, and i'd much prefer making things better to getting that sort of "justice,"

and 2) you are assuming that YOU will be the one to decide who "deserves" it. "bad people deserve suffering" is literally the current policy, you just disagree with those in power about what makes someone a "bad person." this ideology affecting marginalized groups isn't even a slippery slope, we are already at the bottom of the damn hill. the only way this will work out the way you want it to is if you, personally, are dictator of earth, and no one else ever disagrees with you on who "deserves" suffering. not really an ideal situation, if you ask me.

also it makes me sad that so many supposed leftists think the answer to ‘there is an imbalance in who suffers and who doesn’t" is “redistribute the suffering to the people I don’t like”, not “try to make it so no one has to suffer”

It’s extremely punitive-justice oriented but they’d have a ragefit if you told them how carceral their logic is

[ervotica]

hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

[yovrnewromantic]

CULT OF DIONYSUS

billy loomis x reader x stu macher

Let’s get mischievous and polyamorous!

Or in which Stu Macher really wants to fuck Billy Loomis’ girlfriend, and he doesn’t feel the same

warnings: talk of smut but no real smut. billy and stu lowkey hate each other.

Dipshit: guess whos alone w your gf😊

               meeee 😩🍆💦

Billy’s phone pings in his back pocket. Frustratedly, he maneuvers the bagged groceries in his hand. Reaching to grab his phone, he expects a text from you, asking him to grab something you had forgotten to put on the list or a needy i love you text.

Instead, he frowns at the message on his homescreen. The IMS shadow covers one of his faces on the stack of black and white polaroids of you and him on his wallpaper. Quickly, he slides his phone open, typing furiously. 

What the fuck do you mean

Dipshit: 🤷🏼‍♂️

Stu.

Dipshit: srry gtg busy

“Shit,” Billy hisses, forcing a hand through his hair. It was no secret that Stu wanted to fuck you. Stu had practically begged him to just let him watch him fuck you— in person or on video—and he got on his knees attempting to somehow sway Billy to let him cuck you. 

Yeah, not going to happen.

The drive to your shared apartment feels agonizingly slow, an unrelenting doom gnawing in the back of Billy's mind. His knuckles turn white from their tight hold of the steering wheel.

Tires skirt as he swerves into the parking lot, heart racing much more than he would like to admit when he takes the keys out of the admission, front wheels diagonal on the yellow lines they're meant to be inside of.

His pulse is in his ears when he reaches the door, hands clumsy for the keys before he realizes the door isn't even locked. The acknowledgment sends a new sense of dread down his spine because ever since Woodsboro, you listened to him, and you always locked the doors.

With half the mind to grab the knife that he buried it in the potted plant in the hall to castrate Stu-- if he was even there and didn't just want Billy to kill him in his sleep.

The door creaks open deathly slow. Billy's boots are loud against the wooden floors as he steps inside, listening intently. His eyes are frantic, dancing to any open space for your presence. He doesn't see you.

"Y/N?" he calls, his voice steady despite his panic.

It's quiet.

What position does he have you in now? Tied up and gagged so you can't make a sound as Stu pounds into you. Billy swallows his own bile, hardly convinced to continue his search downstairs before heading to your bedroom. If he can get to the kitchen, he can grab a butcher knife and go Michael Myers on that motherfucker.

"Boo!"

He's genuinely startled when he turns the corner into the kitchen, taking a step back and staring at your beaming form with wide eyes. Standing in front of him, perfectly clothed may he add, you cackle, your entire body shaking as you struggle to point a finger at him, too consumed with pure unaltered joy. "I--" you wheeze. "I scared you. Finally, I actually did it."

Despite the small part of him that's a teensy bit pissed (any other day he's punching a wall) that you finally got the best of him, Billy smiles, hands seizing your waist to pull you into his chest so he can hold you after the stress of a lifetime. Your fingers slide across the back of his neck, and it feels like a glimpse of heaven: having you, his girl, and his girl only in his arms, grinning ear to ear.

His fingers find your chin and he makes you look into his eyes. "You got lucky, babe."

While you divulge into another laughing feet, burying your face in his neck, Billy closes his eyes in bliss, savoring the moment as he hugs you. Your bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. You're okay. You're safe. You're his. Billy opens his eyes, sighing quietly. And Stu is nowhere in sight--

What the fuck.

Elbows propped onto the granite island; Stu is smirking like a dead man.

Arms locked around you, Billy stiffens. You pull back, and to your boyfriend's displeasure, out of his arms.

The kitchen is covered in white flour like winter had come early and a blizzard swept inside your windows. Stu's sweater is coated in the flour as well and now that he thinks of it, he can see the powder on your cheek.

"We tried to make cookies," you explain joyously, taking a half-glance between him and Stu. The latter saunters towards you and Billy smugly. "Stu's not very patient."

"Not at all," he purrs, throwing an arm over your shoulder at tugging you into him. You laugh, oblivious to the heated exchange that was happening just above your head.

Billy was going to kill Stu if he kept looking at you like that, his eyes flickering between Billy and peeping down your shirt. Goodbye to their sequel.

You break him from his reverie. "Billy, baby, where's the groceries?"

"Yeah, man. Where are they?" Stu tilts his head.

"In the car," he deadpans although he forgot about them in the first place, abandoning them accidentally. He grabs your wrist, tugging you away from Stu's grip, fuming. "Let's go get them."

THIS IS SO BAD. will def rewrite but seeing this in my drafts was giving me a headache

[xinganhao]

🩵 dead poets society member!vernon x reader.

offshoot from the dead poets society!hhu x reader verse. (highly advise to read that first before delving into this!) part of my svt university milestone event.

I said / "I am afraid I will spend entire years / trying not to need you." / As if I wasn't certain. As if this wasn't my confession. — I swear, next time I see you I'll be funny by Clementine Von Radics

PREVIOUSLY ›

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ cool about it by boygenius. sa ngalan ng pag-ibig by december avenue. everything by the black skirts. buyer's remorse by daniel caesar & omar apollo. godspeed by frank ocean. someday i'll get it by alek olsen. everyone adores you (at least i do) by matt maltese. tie my shoes by beabadooobee. nothing can by niki.

on his first year away, vernon focuses on physical distance. a foolish part of him thinks that the more miles he puts in between the two of you, the easier it will be for him to get over this stupid, hopeless crush that lasted throughout his uni years. and so vernon goes backpacking, goes solo traveling. he lets the wind take him wherever. if anything, he only realizes just how deeply ingrained you are in his subconscious. he thinks of you when he passes a secondhand bookstore. he itches to text when he has a particularly good coffee. and when the sky is clear, when it's just the perfect shade of blue? he swears he can hear you in the back of his head, quoting mary oliver. (or: this is the year vernon learns all the different ways you can miss a person.)

vernon spends his second year on dating apps. it makes him a bit sick to his stomach, really. he doesn't think he's doing it right. he matches with people, sure. even manages to bag a handful of dates. each one ends with him giving them some variation of 'i don't think this is going to work out', and when they inevitably ask why, he lies through his teeth. too busy to be in a serious relationship. too emotionally out of it to commit. anything but the truth. (or: this is the year vernon realizes that no one measures up to you.)

by the time his third year away rolls around, vernon is beginning to feel a bit pathetic. here he is, after all that time, and he's still haunted by the shadow of a relationship that didn't even come to the light. sometimes, that seems to be worse— saying goodbye and knowing the door is left open a crack. he distracts himself with literally everything else. he tries out improv. he finally opens up a letterboxd account. he signs up for marathons. (or: this is the year vernon runs, in more ways than one.)

there's less of an ache by the time that year four comes. vernon doesn't think of you as often as he used to. he's able to be with someone else without imagining you in their place. even as that relationship eventually ends, he's glad that it's because of reasons unrelated to you. he's finally gotten to a point where he can look at himself in the mirror and not think of all the ways he faltered or failed. despite everything, it's still him. (or: this is the year vernon accepts the version of himself in his reflection.)

five years. it takes five years before vernon can finally reach back out. not to everyone yet, no. he starts slow. mingyu gives him a whole load of shit for it. seungcheol asks a dozen questions. wonwoo understands. vernon is grateful for them, so much so that he finds himself watching the dead poets society on his plane ride home. it's all fun and games until the scene with robin williams, where the schoolboys are paying ode to him with cries of "o captain, my captain!" it's the very line that echoes in his head when he sees you some feet away from him during a chance encounter. suddenly, none of it matters. not the distance, not the blind dates, not the man that he's tried so hard to be. all he can think of— all he can see— is you. o captain, my captain. (or: this is the year vernon decides to be honest with himself.)

[elsecrytt]

Your Heart is Spilling out, Babe

Pairing: Satoru Gojo/Reader

Summary: You and Satoru are friends with benefits. No feelings, that was the agreement from the start. Neither of you want anything more. Even if you did, it wouldn’t work out, anyways. Not that you care if it would.

Tags: fwb, smut, angst, YEARNING, requited unrequited feelings (or ARE they) but jk it’s totally no feelings, commitment/abandonment issues, not that it matters because you totally don’t have feelings anyways

“Mmmh… that’s it for me tonight. You can shower before you leave, if you want.”

“Oh? I can’t stay the night?” He asks, “Just gonna pump and dump me? So mean~”

A hum. “Knock yourself out. But you can’t shower in the morning, you’ll wake me up.”

“What a coincidence,” he lays down next to you, “I’m a late sleeper, too.”

You don’t say anything more, eyes already closed.

Satoru’s arm presses your form against his, just barely.

When he wakes up, you’re still laying there beside him, unmoving.

He leaves.

At first, Satoru tries to tell himself it’s a happy coincidence.

After all, isn’t it? His problem has always been the women (and men) who give him a certain kind of look before he gets up to leave.

The ones who text him back first, who read everything instantly, who always want to meet up again. The ones who always, inevitably, start to want something more.

Like him giving them the fuck of a lifetime with someone who could be a real-life supermodel and happens to be the greatest sorcerer on earth wasn’t enough. Granted, they don’t know about the sorcerer thing, but still!

It always turns out like this:

Things are good for a while. Sex is good, he gets attention when he texts them, they both understand this is totally casual, no commitment.

Sometimes he even brings up another hookup he’s going to, just to drive the point home, and he cheers them on when they’re getting some somewhere else, too.

(He’s got no reason to be insecure, after all. He would be anyone’s first choice.)

From there, he can admit some of it is his fault. It’s hard, being as irresistible as he is. Being so devastatingly good-looking and even better in bed.

Having so much humor and personality in his amazing texts (never mind that most of them just react with an emoji or a short haha or an unrelated compliment – he drinks it all up just the same).

They start to text him first, which is impressive, considering what a spammer he is. He likes to text them to fill his time, to talk to someone, have his notifications filled with messages of people who want him.

So what if it’s an ego boost? Isn’t that what they’re using him for, too?

But when they start texting him themselves, when they return his style of badgering, it’s not random and rambling. It’s affectionate, personal. They’ve gotten attached, and they want him to be, too.

It’s all nonsense like Saw this and thought of you, and You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, and I want to meet up again soon.

He has to stop spamming with memes or selfies or random observations throughout his day, stop talking about shops or cafes he’d like to visit. Sometimes he has to mute their notifications, because when he spams other people, they feel comfortable spamming him.

And then it’s just a matter of how long he spends lying to himself. Because as much of an ass as he is, it’s cruel to let them get attached to him when he can’t really open up entirely. When he doesn’t want anything serious.

In fairness, he had told them from the start. He usually breaks it off only after a few days. He always sends them a message and just blocks them – it’s cleaner that way.

Answering any desperate Please, we can still be friends or No, let’s just hook up again, would give them hope for things he can’t give them.

But you?

You text him You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met, and leave him on read for two days.

Satoru thinks he’s in love.

Not literally, of course, but in love with the relationship he has with you, which is perfect.

Everything about it is perfect, except for that it’s not going on all the time.

You respond to his memes with your own. Chat with him about cafes and desserts and even keep a handful at your home to treat him with. You text him cat pictures, sometimes return selfies if he’s lucky.

Usually he gets those when he sends the thirst pics, sitting there with a grin that scares Ichiji, absolutely giddy as he watches you type, stop typing – he knows you’re looking for something special to send him back.

It’s surprising, how well he just knows things about you. Maybe that was to be expected, though, with your chemistry.

Sex with you is like nothing he’s ever felt before.

You have this way of tensing up, expression shifting as you’re right about to cum – he thinks by now he’s conditioned by it, that just seeing you make that face could get him over the edge.

He’s fucked hot people before but no one like you. Seeing the same clothes from your cute little selfies slip off, it’s like unwrapping a present he can’t wait to eat up. Makes him salivate like a box of chocolates, like the one truffle package you got one time and made him eat on his knees with his head in your lap, out of your hands.

Fucking you is one of his favorite things ever, right up there with kikufuku and making fun of his coworkers (and students!). You’re a beautiful bend of reactive and pliant, so fun to tease and edge and so rewarding to please.

God, fuck, he wants you. He wants you all the time. All his other hookups are silenced in favor of you, boring conversations abandoned in favor of debating tiramisu and tres leches, and all other sorts of inane things.

What your favorite school subjects are, oddly enough (he supposes he was asking for it, telling you he taught high schoolers).

You like literature, he likes math, and when he hears you talk about it, he almost wants to read some of those novels you like so much. Non-sorcerer politics has never meant anything to him but it matters when he hears you talk about it.

It’s like hearing about a whole separate world with its own struggles. Your opinions are so well-thought out, he can tell just how much you care, and something hums along aside him as he asks questions, nods his head, really listens to what you have to say. It feels so surreal to hear someone whose goals are not so unlike his, when he thinks about it.

Maybe that’s where some of this fondness comes from. Maybe it’s humbling, thinking you want to change your world just as much as he wants to change his, and the only difference is how much people listen.

He can’t imagine not wanting to listen to you. People should listen more. You should run everything, he jokes.

(He’s joking. He’s joking. You don’t know enough to get why he says that twice.)

And then it’s not serious again – when was it ever, really? You talk about your favorite manga and anime and tease each other for your tastes. Maybe talk about episodes or movies you’ve seen together.

He’s admittedly a bit of a movie buff – it’s a real victory when he convinces you to watch one of his old favorites. When he finds out you watched it, he’s excited the whole day to hear what you thought.

You debate what animals you would be; you are definitely a cat – aloof and independent – and you’re quite insistent that he’d be a husky, energetic and annoying and – probably other words you say before he sends you a picture of his dick and you facetime him with some more interesting conversation.

Your days – weeks, months, really – they go on like that, they’re great. Everything is perfect, really.

So when he hears you casually mention you’ve got other dinner plans – when his mind instantly supplies we’re just casual, tease her and hope she gets lucky – the wretched, dark twist in his gut is wholly unexpected.

And he knows instantly. Immediately, really, because he’s just too smart not to.

He knows he doesn’t want you going out with other people. Touching them. Showing them the same faces you show him.

But if he wants you to be his, then he has to ask. And you – you make him wait to hear back.

You never reach out to him first. You open the door with a cool expression, like your heart doesn’t race at the sight of him like his does (he can see it is, he can see it, but his soul is withering at your look like you couldn’t care less).

Satoru doesn’t usually have to ask, not for anything.

People beg to be able to fuck him. They spam when he ghosts them, begging for scraps. He doesn’t have to ask for attention, people shower him in it.

Everyone wants him. They love him. They don’t abandon him along with all their morals and tell him to kill them if he doesn’t like it.

They beg him to stay, and he is the one who leaves.

He’s too much for them. Too much for anyone. You wouldn’t be able to hand him, anyways.

And he can leave any time he wants, he just… doesn’t want to.

(He never wants to leave. He wants it to stay like this, forever. But when does it ever turn out like that?)

Besides, you’re – you also want it to stay casual. Like he told you from the beginning. Probably trying to save your feelings from getting hurt – and can he blame you? Really, with his looks, anyone would be scared to lose him.

So this was just… a happy coincidence. You didn’t want it serious, he didn’t want it, either.

“Mmmh… that’s it for me tonight. You can shower before you leave, if you want.”

Satoru’s lip twitches, but it doesn’t manage a smile. It almost feels like you’re kicking him out.

But he knows you’re not, because even if you were the one person on earth who could resist his irresistible charm, he just gave you some absolutely mind-blowing sex.

“Oh? I can’t stay the night?” Satoru teases, “Just gonna pump and dump me? So mean~”

He says it playfully, casually, because it is casual. It wouldn’t bother him if you told him to fuck off right then and there. It wouldn’t.

You hum noncommittally. “Knock yourself out. But you can’t shower in the morning, you’ll wake me up.”

If he’s relieved that he can stay, it’s because he’s as exhausted as you are. Because you make him feel good, so fucking good, like he’s on top of the world. Having to leave would just be a mood killer.

“What a coincidence,” He purrs, laying next to you on the bed, “I’m a late sleeper, too.”

He is not and never has been. He sleeps three hours a night wakes up by 5am.

It’s never bothered him before. His dreams are not a place he wants to be. But they’ve never hurt him when you were there.

He wraps an arm around you, holding you against him, just barely. Not too tight.

You don’t say anything more. You lay there and let him hold you while you fall asleep.

When he wakes, you’re still laying there beside him, unmoving.

The thing is, you’re awake. He knows that. You’re a light sleeper. Always have been.

He knows you hate morning showers yourself, and always do it at night. Knows what you like for breakfast, how to make it. That you like to sleep in because you have trouble sleeping.

He knows what you think about late at night because you text him about it, because he’s always there texting you, because neither of you can sleep and someone ends up calling and whispering secret scattered thoughts in hushed tones and –

And he honestly doesn’t know, if it’s you or him that slips in the I want to touch you right now, or Want me to kiss it better. Who turns it into sex so things can’t get to be too much.

Satoru would really, really like to think that it’s him, but the truth is that he’s reaching the limit of how believable his lies are, even to himself.

He knows, he knows he knows he knows that if he stayed, you would let him –

(If he repeats it enough it will surely become true.)

– but you both agreed no feelings.

Besides, it’s not like he wants to stay, anyways.

(Why won’t you ask him to come back?)

You know what Satoru is the moment you meet him. It’s not like he’s made any secret of it, either.

A whore. A man-whore, if you will. A player. Whatever it is. He slept with people, drank in all the sex and attention and then went on his merry way.

You get it. This wasn’t the first time you’d met a pretty boy who fucked around, not by a long shot.

He says all casual, no feelings, you smile and nod, and you go back to his place fully expecting to be disappointed because pretty boys usually suck in bed.

And then he fucks you within an inch of your life.

He eats you like a man staved. Hands roving over your skin, groping and squeezing in a way that would be violating, if his beautiful eyes weren’t wild and desperate.

His body is toned and smooth and perfect, unmarred skin that he presses to yours like he’s trying to staunch the bleeding of some invisible wound.

You’ve never felt like this before. Sex has never been this amazing. He props his stupid pretty face up on his elbow and he gives you that stupid charming boyish smirk and asks you if you want to go another round, red-faced and eager. It’s overwhelming and exciting and amazing –

And it’s terrifying, because it’s always like this for him, isn’t it? He just came in and gave you the fuck of a lifetime, but this is just another lay for him.

(But he’s having fun. It’s good for him, too. So why don’t you take what you can get?)

So when he saves his number in your phone, That was awesome, babe, we should do this again sometime, you don’t put a lot of weight into his words. You roll his eyes when he blows you a kiss goodbye, but you don’t delete his number.

Even when he wakes you up with some silly cat meme (god, you hate morning people), somehow you find yourself smiling. You let him know he can get his dick sucked any time if he meows cute enough and woah, maybe you’re coming on too strong –

He sends you an attachment of himself wearing cat ears, striking an obnoxious pose, with a fake tail that he holds by the end in his mouth.

Satoru Gojo, that’s the name. And you do suck his dick, like you promised, but he comes to you determined to get in character, meowing at you, pressing his face into your hands, rubbing into your side, nuzzling your panties while he looks up into your face with a smirk.

It’s a fight to get him on his back and his legs open wide enough for you to settle in. He meows again like a kitty, and purrs like one too when you take his cock into your mouth, hands threading through your hair. Giggling at his own antics.

Your eyes water when you take him, deep, moaning and feeling him shudder at the feeling, long legs squirming on either side of you. He pulls away suddenly, with a pop, laughing when his dick hits the side of your face and you glare at him. Sticking out his tongue.

He looks so young. So heartbreakingly sweet and charming. He pulls you in to settle you on his cock, face-to-face this time, his smile melting into something soft and tacky, sticking to your lips as he kisses his precum away. Infectious delight.

Satoru holds your hands in his, palm to palm, as you ride him in his lap. Face tilted up to look at you with a blush on his cheeks. Blue eyes wide like they have to be, to take you in, as if they aren’t themselves oceans you have to stop yourself from falling into.

You can’t look into his eyes when you cum, when he cums. You’re not sure if he’s looking either.

But you feel him, oh, do you feel him – hands squeezing yours as if in warning, face buried into your neck, a moan that vibrates throughout the both of you.

When you wake up, the next morning, you don’t even mind the fact that he’s still next to you, cuddled up, right beside you. You don’t mind, until you feel him stiffen suddenly, like he’s realized you’re awake, immediately pulling away.

That’s… you’re not sure what it is, since cuddling was obviously okay, so why does he not want to do it while you’re awake? It is too close? Too intimate?

He’d held your hands while he stared deep into your eyes and rocked gently into you last night, but cuddling would be too intimate?

But he smiles that smile before he leaves, stumbling a little bit while he gets dressed, in that goofy way that lanky tall men sometimes do. You even overlook the fact that he’s renamed himself in your contacts. ~ Satoru ~ My Kitten.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid (you’re smiling already), unbearable man. You want to hit him in the face, with your face. Very hard.

Casually, of course. It’s casual between you. No feelings at all.

But then he starts texting you all the time. He double, triple, quadruple texts, with the infuriating shamelessness of someone who’s never been ignored in his life.

Like he’s never worried that the other person is losing interest. He carries himself like it, too, like he knows everyone wants him, and unfortunately, he’s right.

So you tell him he’s annoying and you don’t look at your phone again. Not until he shows up on your doorstep with that pout on his impossibly pretty face.

And you don’t turn him away. Why would you? If he’s going to offer himself on a platter, why not eat up?

You’re just being realistic here. If you fucked him once and never heard from it again, it would still hurt almost as much as it will now. You’ll just be a little lonelier without your texting partner, but you’ll get over it.

There’s other fish in the sea. Even if none of them are as pretty as him, none of them make them laugh like you do. You’re not exclusive. He can see other people, so can you. You’ve made it a point not to ask.

You don’t like what he’s doing now. How he pauses long, makes you wait before telling you to have fun on your date.

How the next time you see him there’s something strange in his eyes, something that leaves him with clawing hands, hungry mouth, eager to leave his marks all over you.

Satoru doesn’t stop texting you, doesn’t stop selfies, thirst traps, prodding little questions and jokes, doesn’t stop obnoxiously demanding (begging?) for your attention.

At first it was an ego boost. Now, it’s terrifying.

Because now he likes you, doesn’t he? He’s interested now. Having fun. Making you feel like he’s jealous, acting like he’s on withdrawal if he goes too long without you, making you feel like someone as beautiful and rich and funny as him could possibly be in love with you.

But he told you in the beginning. Something casual.

Maybe these feelings are real in the moment. But one day they’ll fade, and everything will be yanked right out from under you.

You’ll wonder why he’s getting distant these days. You’ll remember that you never made it official, and sweat over the possibility that he’s seeing someone else. At the end of the day that’s all you’ll be able to do; worry and worry while you’re too afraid to ask.

You’ll wonder what you did wrong. What you did to lose him. How you could go from someone so fascinating, someone he so thoroughly adored and fucked like he was making love, to an afterthought and a stranger, unless you did something wrong? Unless you made a mistake, somewhere along the line?

The mistake of getting attached to him in the first place.

Fuck that. Satoru can develop feelings on his own fucking time. He’ll lose them just as quickly, you can tell.

This isn’t anything more than a hookup to him. He’s an attention whore who likes to hear himself talk, and you’re dumb enough to entertain him because you’re lonely and easily amused, at least when it comes to him.

There’s nothing real here.

You still don’t know where he actually works, outside of some nebulous high school teaching situation. Where he lives. What he does most of the day, what his parents are like. Where he’s from, even. You don’t know if he’s seeing anyone else. He could be married with kids, for all you know.

Not – not that you care. Not that you give a fuck what he’s doing, who he’s fucking, where he is when he’s not with you. You don’t care about him past his dick and what it does to you.

If you did care, you’d only suffer for it. So you draw the line.

You don’t need him, and you want to keep it that way. You don’t want to get attached, and neither does he. So you try to keep him at arm’s length.

Close enough to touch but not so close that your foolish, eager heart can leap out of your chest and into his hands.

Would he still give you that boyish grin when he rejected you? Laugh and let you down gently? Would he say yes and hold your hand while you walked together to the guillotine, the painful end to a relationship that wasn’t supposed to happen anyways? Would he skip away while your heart seized and trembled on the executioner’s block?

He’d look pretty even with blood on his face, you’re sure. But you wouldn’t come out so nicely.

So you don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask him for anything. You take what you’re given and you savor it, but you try – oh, god, do you fucking try – to find someone else, something else to occupy your time.

But he’s just too good. You want him. And you don’t get to have him if you ignore his texts and don’t answer when he’s at the door. You don’t get to fuck him if you won’t even let him see you.

So even if you look away, even if your answers are short, even if you don’t let him stay (not that he even wants to) – you have to let him in.

And unlike you, he’s got self-respect. He’s got other options. If he can’t have you, he’ll just fuck other people, so you can’t push him away too much. You have to make him want to come back. You have to make him want to give you more.

But you can’t control what Satoru wants, and that is the problem.

It’s out of your hands, locked securely in his ribcage where you can never get to it.

He doesn’t talk about his life, his history, doesn’t even complain about work during off hours.

Really, it’s already over, isn’t it? Has been, ever since the beginning. You’re just waiting for the inevitable end.

“Mmmh… that’s it for me tonight.” You say, tired. So tired, and warm. Satoru always leaves you like this; loose-limbed and floaty, high enough to feel the drop. “You can shower before you leave, if you want.”

��Oh? I can’t stay the night?” Satoru asks, teasing, “Just gonna pump and dump me? So mean~”

You close your eyes, trying not to think of what his face must look like.

“Knock yourself out. But you can’t shower in the morning, you’ll wake me up.”

“What a coincidence,” He purrs, laying next to you on the bed, “I’m a late sleeper, too.”

Satoru’s arm around your form presses you against him, just barely. Not too close. Never too close.

You don’t say anything more. You lay there and let him hold you while you fall asleep.

You can feel it when he wakes up. How his breathing changes, how he stiffens and tenses against you, you tumble out of sleep instantly, lashes fluttering.

You shut them closed again. Relax yourself. You don’t have to get up. You don’t want to get up.

Why isn’t he leaving yet? What’s taking him so long?

There’s this tension that creeps into your chest. Like you can feel each individual breath he takes. Waiting for him to say something, shake you awake – but why would he? And why would you want him to?

You know what this is. You’ve always known.

So you lay there, still, breathing calm and even, until he leaves.

(…Come back. Please come back.)

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ Pt 4 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, angst, arguments, sleepy oral? Idk.

Summary: When Lewis shows up unannounced at Y/N’s filming location and follows her back to her LA home, unresolved tensions boil over, sparking an intense argument that exposes the growing rift between them. As they clash over misunderstandings and unspoken resentments, Y/N struggles to hold her ground, refusing to melt under Lewis’s charm, even as he tries to bridge the distance in his own stubborn, unrelenting way.

The silence in the car is suffocating, thick with all the words left unsaid between us. We’re heading back to my house in LA, and the tension stretches like an invisible line, taut and fraying. Every time I glance his way, I catch Lewis staring, his gaze heavy, filled with something that feels like disappointment or maybe just frustration.

It’s strange having him here, in my city, in my space. He’s never part of this life—my world where I’m more than his girlfriend, more than a footnote in his racing saga. Today, he got a glimpse of me with my crew, laughing, bantering, a side of myself he barely knows. A side that doesn’t revolve around him. And maybe that’s why this hurts so much. He’s so supportive of everything about me… except this. My career. The one thing that pulls me away from him.

I feel his hand settle on my thigh, his fingers warm against my skin. Instinctively, irritation flares up. I want to shove him off, to shake his hand away, but I don’t. I know it’ll only set him off, and I’m too tired for another argument. Instead, I focus on the passing streets, letting the city lights blur together, pretending not to notice his fingers tracing idle circles. He reaches over, grabbing my hand, playing with the rings on my fingers like I’m his personal stress toy. The sensation is grounding, sure, but also infuriating. Does he even realize how invasive this feels? How much he takes from me without even realizing it?

When we finally arrive at my house, I pull away the second the car stops, sliding out and thanking James, my driver, with a quick “Goodnight.” Lewis lingers, watching me with that unreadable gaze, like he’s studying me. I feel exposed, as if I’m a stranger he’s trying to understand, trying to fit into some mold that doesn’t really exist. It’s clear he’s not used to seeing me here, in LA, in the life that belongs to me.

I walk up the steps to my front door, feeling his presence right behind me. My house is beautiful—sprawling, a mix of modern LA glamour and Spanish-style architecture, spacious and luxurious. It’s mine, yet not entirely mine. After all, it’s Lewis who pays for it. I hadn’t wanted his money in the beginning, fought him on it, but he insisted, saying that rejecting his help felt like rejecting him. So here I am, living in this house he gifted me, a reminder of his presence even when he’s not here.

I unlock the door and step inside, throwing my keys on the table in the foyer. The house is decorated to my taste—soft hues, eclectic art pieces, warm textures that make it feel like home, my sanctuary. I walk into the living room, hearing his footsteps close behind me. He glances around, taking in the space, a look of faint surprise on his face.

“Wow… did you change it?” he asks, looking genuinely intrigued.

I shrug, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Not really… well, kind of.” I don’t give him much more. He hasn’t been here in nearly a year. Of course he wouldn’t remember.

He huffs, following me up the stairs, his footsteps deliberate, like he’s pushing through the tension hanging between us. I can feel the irritation rolling off him, the way he’s holding himself back, and it makes me want to push even harder.

“Are you gonna be like this all night? Y/N?” he says, his tone laced with barely restrained frustration.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t you have a normal conversation with me? Why is that so hard?”

I roll my eyes, throwing my hands up. “It’s not a ‘normal’ conversation, Lewis.” I can’t hold back anymore. “I can’t believe you just showed up like that,” I blurt out, the annoyance bubbling over.

His eyes narrow as I open the door to my bedroom, stepping into the softly lit space. My room is intimate, filled with small decorations and touches that feel so personal, so me. It’s like a slap in the face to him, a reminder that he doesn’t see my life like this enough, that he doesn’t really know this part of me.

“Because I love you? Because I wanted to surprise you? And support you?” he scoffs, almost as if my irritation is absurd.

I throw my bag at the end of my bed, barely glancing at him. “Okay… well, thanks. You can go now… I’m so surprised and supported. Mission accomplished.” My tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You can go back to your life.”

He stares at me, his eyes flashing with anger, a dangerous edge simmering beneath the surface. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m trying.”

“Cool. I’m so impressed… you’re so impressive. Mr. champion, millionaire, stupid playboy. Is that what you want? Me to praise you for your attempt? You’re so fucking amazing, Lewis!” My voice rises, my irritation finally spilling out in sharp, pointed words.

He takes a step toward me, his gaze dark and intense. “You’re really pushing it. You know what I mean… I’m trying to make you feel loved. What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re what’s wrong.” I snap back, feeling the weight of my resentment boiling over. “Just leave now. I know you’re gonna leave in the morning anyway… with your stupid race on Sunday.”

He sighs, exasperated but unwilling to give up. “I don’t have to leave until Wednesday night,” he says, his tone hardening as he steps closer. “I’m staying.”

I roll my eyes, brushing past him into my bathroom. “No. Just leave.”

He follows me, his voice low and demanding as he steps into the room behind me. “I said…” he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him, his hand firm on my chin as he tilts my face to look at him. “I’m staying.”

My stomach flips, a mix of nerves and something else swirling inside me as I meet his intense gaze. His eyes are smoldering, his jaw tight, and I can feel the determination radiating off him, daring me to challenge him.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, trying to sound annoyed.

He lets go of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a gentle, almost tender gesture that makes my heart ache. I can tell he wants more, that he’s craving some kind of reassurance, something from me, but I can’t bring myself to give in. Not yet.

He starts to step back, but I turn to the mirror, trying to compose myself, pretending his presence doesn’t affect me as much as it does. But he doesn’t move far; instead, he leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

“Give me a kiss,” he says softly, his tone almost pleading.

I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Give me a kiss…” he repeats, his voice coaxing, insistent.

I continue to glare, refusing to budge, letting the silence stretch.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, his tone dipping, a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’ll be getting a lot more than a kiss when we get to bed, so you better just give me one now.”

I furrow my brow, stubbornly refusing to indulge him. “You’re not forgiven. You don’t get a kiss… and you don’t get to stay in my room.”

He groans, rubbing his eyebrows in frustration. “Oh my god. You’re such a brat. Why are you like this? I’m trying to fix things.”

“They aren’t fixed. Leave me alone,” I mutter, turning back to the mirror, focusing on brushing my hair, anything to avoid the pull of his gaze.

He steps closer, his expression softening, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I love you, baby girl. Please… stop being like this.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to be all soft and sweet, pulling at my heartstrings, hoping I’ll melt and give in. But it’s not going to work. Not this time.

“Goodnight. The guest bedroom is perfect for you,” I say, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

He glares at me, his expression hardening in irritation. With a heavy sigh, he finally turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving me alone with the hollow ache that always seems to linger when he’s gone.

It’s late—sometime in the early hours, I’m sure—and I’ve barely settled into sleep when the faint sound of my bedroom door clicking shut pulls me out of my dreams. I stay still, eyes closed, hoping it’s just my imagination. But then I feel the bed shift, the mattress sinking slightly as a familiar warmth slips in beside me.

A heavy arm drapes over my waist, and I instinctively make a soft, annoyed sound, shifting away, but he just tightens his grip, pulling me back. His presence is warm, enveloping, and for a moment, I consider giving in, letting his touch soothe the tension between us. But I can’t quite shake my irritation, even through the haze of sleep.

“Baby… baby girl… shh…” His voice is soft, a gentle murmur as he leans in, pressing feather-light kisses along my neck and cheek. Each kiss is an apology, a quiet plea, and I can feel his regret seeping into each touch.

I hum in response, somewhere between annoyance and surrender, too drowsy to put up much of a fight. His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers gliding over my skin in slow, soothing circles, as if he’s trying to coax the tension out of me, to ease the edges of my frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl…” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “I love you so much… please don’t be mad at me.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within me, a part of me that’s been holding onto my anger, but now feels it starting to crumble. I want to hold onto it, to let him know how much he’s hurt me, but his gentle touch, the warmth of his apology, makes it hard to keep the walls up.

I sigh, barely able to form a coherent response, the words slipping out in a quiet murmur. “Lewis…”

His fingers trail lower, caressing the curve of my hip before slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. I squirm at the intimate touch, a shiver running through me despite my lingering irritation. His hand settles between my thighs, and I can't help but part them slightly, allowing him access.

"Let me make it up to you, baby girl," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let me show you how much I love you."

I'm too sleepy to protest, the warmth of his touch lulling me back towards unconsciousness. My body responds to him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers begin to move, stroking me gently, coaxing me towards arousal.

"That's it, baby," he whispers encouragingly. "Just relax for me. Let me take care of you."

His words wash over me, soothing and seductive, and I feel myself melting into his touch. My hips begin to move of their own accord, squirming against his hand as he works me closer and closer to the edge.

I'm lost in a haze of pleasure, the earlier argument fading away as his skillful fingers bring me to the brink of climax. Just as I'm about to fall over the edge, he withdraws his hand, leaving me frustrated and wanting more.

"Lewis..." I whine, my voice thick with need.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts position. "Not yet, baby girl. I'm not done apologizing."

With that, he moves down the bed, settling between my legs. I feel his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh, and I can't suppress the moan that escapes my lips. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before he leans in, his tongue sliding over me in one long, slow lick.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to work me with his mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking me in all the right places.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue swirling around my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel myself getting wetter.

"Fuck, Lewis," I moan, my hips squirming against his face. "Don't stop."

He obliges, doubling down on his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, his lips sucking harder. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as I grind against his mouth, chasing my release.

"You taste so fucking good, baby girl," he groans, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. "I could eat this pretty little pussy all night."

His words are filthy, but they only serve to turn me on more, spurring me towards my impending climax. I can feel it building, a coil of tension in my lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue.

"Lewis, I'm gonna... I'm gonna," I pant, my body tensing, my thighs quivering around his head.

He doesn't relent, his mouth working me feverishly, his tongue flicking rapidly over my clit, pushing me over the edge. I come with a cry, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me.

He laps it me up eagerly, prolonging my orgasm until I'm a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. Only then does he pull away, crawling back up my body to claim my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, sharing the taste of my own arousal with me.

"I love you, baby girl," he murmurs against my lips, his eyes shining with adoration.

I whimper slightly, the fleeing still lingers. I look at him as I become fully awake. Is he serious? Only Lewis would try this…

“‘Mmm…” I hum in response, not giving him the satisfaction of saying it back. He’s not forgiven, not matter how good he makes me feel.

His eyebrows furrow at me as he looks down at me. He sighs heavily, looking and sounding annoyed. He lays down next to me, cuddling close. I close my eyes… I’ll let him stay the here.

————————————-

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[bueckers]

𝓡EBOUND ━━━ paige bueckers ( 1 )

synopsis: when college basketball stars paige’s and leia’s relationship crashes and burns, it was obvious it definitely wasn’t supposed to turn out that way. and despite the hatred they show, somebody’s gotta crack.

pairing: paige bueckers x female oc

warnings: not much just light angst and lore filling!

notes: newwww fic series! so excited for this one so brace yourselves for all the sexual chemistry in the world.. paige wants that cookie real bad like ???

flashback, 2022, november.

paige’s point of view.

Leia and I sat side by side at the press conference table, microphones in front of us and the UConn backdrop behind. The team’s third win of the season was secured, and I couldn’t be happier to have done it with her. There’s a different adrenaline about college ball, and to experience it playing with Leia Barlowe was another feeling entirely.

A reporter stood up, clearing his throat, drawing my attention. “Leia, can you tell us about your dynamic on the court tonight? You and Paige seemed to have an almost telepathic connection.”

Leia glanced at me, her eyes sparkling with that familiar glint—the one that made her look like she was up to something. God, I loved that look. “Oh, you know, Paige and I just have that fifth sense. She can read me like a book.”

“Fifth sense?” I mused, stifling back a laugh. I glanced down at her lips for a moment, the same ones that were dangerously close to her microphone. I’m not dumb and I know this will get read into lately.. but I really couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, that ‘Peia’ effect or whatever they call it.” She still doesn’t realize that she said fifth instead of sixth.

The entire table laughed, not expecting her answer, I assume. She truly is a people’s person, but I like to think everyone is just a Leia person. How could you ever hate her? Leia had been media trained since she was in middle school filming commercials, so seeing her loosen up was a different thing. Not saying I hated it, though. The edits are pretty funny sometimes.

I leaned forward, letting my elbow graze hers, a deliberate but subtle touch. I knew what I was doing. “Yeah, Leia and I have played together for years and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. We spend so much time together, you know? We practically finish each other’s—”

“—sentences,” Leia finished, laughing softly and rolling her eyes. “Or plays, in this case.”

The topic shifted to Dorka and Evina soon after, who had outdone themselves tonight. As the reporters’ focus moved away from us, I glanced over at Leia, watching as her ponytail swung behind her and she rested her head in her palm. Just looking ridiculously fine on a game night. I had a knowing smirk on my face, one that always catches.

Her eyes darted to me, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

I shook my head, clicking my teeth and shaking my head. “Nothin’.”

present day, 2023, november.

paige’s point of view.

By senior year of playing college ball, you’d think the nervousness of a press conference would decrease by now… wrong.

Well, maybe I’m nervous for a different reason.

I sat at the table, my shoulders slumped and the bottom half of my ponytail tucked into my black hoodie. I chewed on my lip while trying to keep my composure under the blinding lights and the unrelenting barrage of camera flashes. Focus on the game. I adjusted the microphone in front of me, forcing a smile as the first reporter stood up, ready to throw the first pitch.

“Bueckers, amazing game tonight! You led your team to victory. How do you feel about your performance?” Damn, she even looked like the one to prode. The ones that are good at their job.

I leaned forward, flashing a confident grin nonetheless. “Thanks. It felt great. I’m so excited to be back on the court, you know? And the team just really clicks. Everyone brought their A-game tonight, and I don’t think i’ll ever get tired of playing with these guys.”

The reporter nodded, jotting down notes. I saw the next question forming in her eyes, and my stomach tightened. Why was I getting this worked up over a question? The answer was Leia Barlowe. I’m trying to erase her… make her not exist. But it’s incredibly hard.

She looked up. Focus on the game. “Paige, this was your first game against former friend and teammate Leia Barlowe since she transferred. Can you tell us about that experience and how it is not playing with her for the first time?”

She stared at me for what felt like ages, awaiting a response. I suppose everyone knew something went down with her, but it didn’t mean it was their business. It was like supporters could feel energy shifts through a screen, and if you feel that, imagine how the people in the room felt.

My smile faltered slightly, and I breathed in, attempting to rush my words out. I tried to keep my expression and answer neutral. It gave everyone enough room to interpret it any way they wanted. “Playing against Leia was intense. She’s a fantastic player, and it’s always a challenge to match up against her.”

The reporter scribbled down my answer, not satisfied, of course. Another one jumped in, relentless.

“Paige, you and Leia had a strong dynamic on and off the court. Do you think her transfer has affected the team’s chemistry?”

Seriously? I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay composed. “The team’s chemistry is great. We’ve all worked hard to build strong relationships and support each other. Leia’s a great player, and we miss her, but we’re focused on the future.”

Of course it affected us. Of course it affected me.

Another reporter jumped in, sensing the tension. “Paige, there have been rumors about the reasons behind Leia’s transfer. Can you shed some light on that?”

I wanted to scream. To tell them to shut the hell up about Leia. I didn’t wanna talk about her. But I couldn’t. I licked my lips, scrunching my face up before whining out into an answer. “I’m not going to speculate on rumors. Leia made the best decision for her, and I respect that. We’re all here to play basketball and do our best for our teams.. that’s it.”

We weren’t like this last year. Who would’ve thought around this time i’d be saying I respect her. Not that she’s my ‘best friend’ and I’ll always be supportive, but that I respect her.

The truth was, the rumors barely scratched the surface. The endless arguments, the mistrust, the media blowing everything out of proportion—it was like living in a pressure cooker. We both cracked under the strain, and it tore us apart.

I’d taught myself to be thankful. That it was bound to happen eventually when we chose to go down the further road. Leia Barlowe and I are cordial, and no, I wouldn’t particularly wanna be stuck in a room with her anymore.

The questions kept coming, and I kept dodging anything that had a slight indication of her, giving just enough to satisfy them without saying too much. Finally, the press conference wrapped up, and I stood without a ‘goodbye’ or ‘have a nice night.’ Just a stone cold smile and the screeching of the chair pushing back against the floor. Should’ve focused on the game.

[atiianeishaunted]

blue writing is lance's notes fyi anyway uhh character bios below !! long ass writing warning but worth it i promise chat pspsp | no notes version AND the transparent PNGS down at the end!

character bios:

Allura [???] | A lone princess who is burnt out and stressed out her mind, her only solace/stress relief being the garden she has where she can have peace and quiet, shutting her brain off while she does the tasks of tending to her precious plants and bugs. She tries her best to remain as friendly and optimistic as possible, if not for her own sanity, however thanks to the stress and pressure put on her, she has a tendency to lose her cool and sometimes shut down entirely. She has a passion for commanding and loves honing her fighting skills as that was one of the ways she bonded with her father. She more often than not can be seen in comfortable clothes, she doesnt mind dresses and does enjoy dressing up but will only do it when shes going out the castle or theres a meeting. | this gal couldve been an burnt out autistic queen DREAMWORKS, YOU COUDLVE MADE HER ICONIC .... let her be a dorky nerd whos a hater sometimes, pretty please

Takashi Shirogane | A garrison commander (no one is really sure of his job title to be honest with you..) who's insanely passionate about his job, to the point where hes willing to sacrifice it all if the garrison wills it. Anything to serve. He tries his best to fit in and be hip with the kids, he tries to come across as the 'chill' teacher, but students of his have reported that after a few months, any amount of chillness is thrown out the window. If not that, hes often not even in class, too busy doing missions he wasnt assigned to. He's intense. Very intense. Knows his way around words though for the most part, can be very convincing and a bit maniuplative, very goal driven. He means well though? Thats what he says. He always throws a quick sorry if someone brings it up with him, so that must mean something. | sorry in advance if you follow along with Sonder's story... unrelated but dreamworks wrote a banger antagonist without even realizing!

"Keith" Kogane / "Morse" | Unknown origins. He was a talented garrison pilot who could practically fly with his eyes closed, a jack of all trades, short tempered and prone to losing it but all things considered, the perfect cadet for the garrison's goals, he came out of nowhere practically, just poofed in like a ghost and wiped the floor with everyone. He really just needed a good guiding hand. No one is quite sure what gender he is, his androgynous appearance and tendency to respond to anything besides being called a girl have people baffled to say the least. He's very clearly not all there in the head either which goes hand in hand with his odd bursts of ego and then odd bursts of whining, these bursts often include talks that could only be described as cult-ish. People have their theories. Beyond those bursts, hes mostly very deadpan and quiet. But despite his strength and that intense feeling of fear and dread people get when they're around him, he's.. popular, somehow. Admired greatly for his devilish good looks. A universal appeal if you will. He doesn't seem to notice. Or perhaps doesnt care. Either way he's far too busy following Shiro around and treating him like the second coming of god to really indulge in romance for now. Lance's self proclaimed rival, Keith is also unaware of this. | also sorry in advance for this one if you follow sonder's storyline Lance McClain | A former Garrison cargo pilot who moved up in rank when Keith got kicked out. Keith is his rival and also all that Lance can talk about, even after the guy got kicked out and left for dead (Lance overheard some things while sneaking out past the teacher's lounge). He has a very noticable personality and loves to be the center of attention, hes still finding his footing and figuring out what he wants to do with his life and who he wants to be. Despite his many claims, hes not all that popular. He can't really flirt with girls all too well. His general goal is to be so well known so he won't ever be forgotten, hence why he begged his mom to let him dye his hair and get piercings (if he used Keith as an argument, thats none of your business.) (he saw keith dying his hair once or twice and instantly wanted to copy, its a bad habit.). He loves LOVES taking care of his appearance and is fairly vain, he has extensive routines and will freak out if he can't follow them. His ego and overbearing confidence is all to drown out his deep insecurities and fears. He tries his best to come across as a suave, cool, charming, awesome, any positive adjective really, person but in all reality he's a mama's boy, a dork, a loser if you will who has a love for the retro and is a huge gamer. If he must admit, he and Keith'd get along great actually, Keith ticks alot of boxes and honestly Lance deeply admires him and wants to be like him. | dreamworks dropped that lance was a gamer and loved retro stuff and then never talked about it again. sigh. Hunk Garrett | Hunk has many passions, mainly inspired by parents, he mainly specializes in cooking and mechanics, he enjoys tinkering with things, taking them apart to see how they work and working from there to see if he can rebuild it with 0 instruction, hes gotten good at it. He's Lance's childhood best friend, they're extremely close and are often seen constantly poking fun at eachother. Its all in good fun though. Hunk struggles extremely with anxiety and has a service dog back home that he left at home when heading to the Garrison as he worried he couldn't take care of it while studying. Despite his anxiety, he quite enjoys talking to people and sharing things he enjoys with them, he often tries to get over his fears by branching out and | I looked up his name from the old show because he deserves an 'actual' name, free my boy, he was done so dirty, also i remember when we all thought hunk had two moms (or was that just me ..) and i live by it tbh, two moms and a dad whos still active in his life, 3 whole parents for the greatest fella ever

Pidge Holt | Not much can be said about Pidge, they keep to themselves and don't share much about themselves. Just like Keith, their gender is often up to debate and when asked, Pidge will never give a consistent answer. They're a major tech wiz and with their talents, they're a complete menace. Pidge is prone to being mischevious and pranking others, often taking jokes a bit too far. They're egotistical and find that robots are their preferred companions in comparison to humans. | loser chronically online 13 year old who would tell you to kys, matt probably has to take away their electronics all the time LMFAO purposely made their outfit look a bit strange bc , theyre a kid whos a NERD /aff let them dress a bit stupid and let them cringe at it 5 years later ty

No notes version and PNGS below :-)

im insane about this reboot!! please reblog and im willing to elaborate if anyone wants me to <333 hrgfhrfg i really want this to take off bwaa

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

I sometimes see the opinion that MXTX took the clichéd tropes she'd critiqued in Scum Villain, and played them straight in MDZS. But though a lot of them appear in MDZS, I'd argue that none are actually played straight at all!

The main point of MDZS's tropes is subversion. Yes, WWX has a 'tragic backstory', even an arguably overused one (orphaned by his parents at a young age, forced to live on the streets with nobody to rely on, etc) – but how things differ in how it's used. Tragic backstories are normally used to build sympathy for a character, to make us care and get invested in them. But... we're never actually shown any of those street days, we're never shown and never dwell upon how much he suffered during them. They're only really mentioned in passing and whenever dogs come up! If the goal was to make us feel bad for WWX, this would be very ineffective writing. But what's actually important here isn't that WWX went through tragedies – it's how he doesn't let the tragedies he went through define him. He doesn't dwell on them, the narrative doesn't dwell on them, it's never used to earn sympathy points... because what defines WWX is his choices and how he chooses to act, not a backstory completely out of his control. What gets us invested in him is his personality and the character writing of MXTX, not tragic events used as a substitute for identity.

And this trope treatment fits extremely well with WWX's personality itself – he's someone who 'forgets the pain as soon as the wound has healed'*, but also who actively chooses to focus on the present because you can't change the past; someone who holds the belief that 'gains and losses [should] remain uncommented on' when choosing what to do.

The use of the tragic backstory isn't the only thing that's subverted, either – the other main thing is the 'blackening' of the protagonist, and its impact on the protagonist's fall. After being thrown into the Burial Mounds, on a surface level it does seem like this blackening has occurred: the first thing we see when he returns is his gruesome torture of the Wen cultivators; he's 'forsaken' traditional cultivation in favour of an 'evil but more powerful' path; and frankly, Sunshot-era WWX is terrifying. But MDZS is not a blackening story, and so the events of the Burial Mounds aren't used as a catalyst for that purpose. Though it's true that WWX's not entirely the same person he was before (because how could be be?), underneath it all, his morals, worldview and core** stay the same. Though gruesome, his revenge is directed towards the ones who wronged him, not those past that and certainly not the entire world. His experience in the Burial Mounds doesn't lead to him being some evil, blackened overlord... like everyone says he is at the start! That's subverted, because again, WWX's values and choices are more important to the story than genre conventions.

But the most crucial thing? What leads to WWX's downfall isn't any blackening! It isn't any vengeance or morally dubious actions***– he was praised for those things during the Sunshot Campaign! No, what leads to his downfall is something completely unrelated to that, something which would've disappeared had the trope been played straight. It's him doing what's right by defending the Wens, it's him following his moral code when it opposes the world's, it's him standing up to the injustice of others – not others standing up to the injustice of him. That's the subversion here.

(Also, once again, the fall of Lotus Pier, the Burial Mound, etc, aren't used for sympathy points – and if it was relevant, they wouldn't have been used to excuse any actions, either. Using tragic events as an excuse for doing bad things is critiqued many times in MDZS, through characters like Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao. And that's not exactly a trope subversion, but it is a critique of badly handled 'excuses'.)

These are by no means all the tropes MDZS subverts – the nature of guidao vs the usual nature of modao being another very major one – but they're the main ones that feature in Scum Villain.

So, though at first glance MDZS seems to play the tropes MXTX critiqued there straighter, it's not a simple case of using them as cliches, and we see that by how they're used to impact the narrative, and how that differs from what they're traditionally used for. MDZS doesn't fall back into clichés Scum Villain satirised – it's the subversion to Scum Villain's exploration and critique.

--

*Which I know is generally used negatively, to describe someone not learning a lesson from a punishment, but it really describes WWX in general, too. He doesn't dwell on that pain, he does his best to move on from it.

**...heh

***And, because it's often debated – whatever the morality/culpability of Nightless City is doesn't even matter! The events happened at a pledge conference against him that was already taking place. WWX's actions there didn't make people want to kill him because that was explicitly happening beforehand.

[ckret2]

If Goldie was a normal human, unrelated to bill, would bill want to hit that

Well, she'd have the prettiest eyes he's ever seen on a human, she's got that going for her—right up there with some of the sexiest frogs on Earth—but aside from that, the rest of her body is just human. And unless they're fascinatingly mutated, all humans are about a 5.5/10 on looks for him. Like, the whole species. Uniformly. So her looks don't really make a difference. The frog eyes knock her up to a 6/10 but having a 0.5 point lead on the entire rest of humanity isn't really that much help.

The answer rides entirely on personality.

By "normal human" do you mean normal human? As in lives a Regular Human Life has some random generic Regular Human Personality, with normal human traits and behaviors like "participates in capitalism by having a job" and "goes on dates in the hopes of finding romance" and "remembers that Thanksgiving exists" and "thinks wearing makeup has any actual impact on her appearance even though she looks just as human with or without it" and "doesn't have any delusions of grandeur"?

If that's the case, then whether or not he'd want to hit it comes down to this: has she been recruited into one of his cults? Does she literally worship him? If the answer is yes, then yeah, he'd want to hit that, because he's got the world's most grandiose praise kink.

On the other hand, by "normal human" do you mean born and raised on earth like any other human—and yet, for whatever nature/nurture reason you want to imagine, still ended up with the exact same personality, opinions, and beliefs as Bill?

Because if you mean THAT, then Bill would go "that human's a FREAK! Down to party, up for chaos, and has all the right political opinions! How can somebody be SO social and yet SO misanthropic at the same time? I LOVE it! And talk about your secretly insecure egomaniacs, wow, this little lunatic is desperate for fame and popularity, I could get her to do anything if I promised she'd be famous for it. Most pathetically manipulable human I've ever seen, she's an even easier target than Ford. Bang her, hench her, get her to build a portal, invite her to the party, bang her again while we're both too high to feel our faces. Bam. She'll have me on earth in half a year and if I offer her a minor demigodhood I won't even need to lie to her about what it's for, she'd probably let her own dimension burn in exchange for three days of youtube viral fame"

And he would NOT have the self-awareness necessary to realize how viciously he just dragged himself

[g3l3mb]

how to generate creative ideas:

(i need to get this out of my brain)

Make moodboards, playlists, keep a list of people who inspire you. Before starting a project think about the general vibe you want it to embody. Ask questions like “What would this concept sound like if it was a song?” ,“What would this concept be like if it was a person?”. Create a shirt that looks like a building you like, literally anything can be combined.

Take unrelated things or concepts and mix them together. Let’s take Addams Family as an example. “What if it was a story about a typical suburban family…but GOTH!”. It basically flips everything upside down. Or “What outfit would someone wear, who’s personality is the mix of the vibes of these two songs?” Random word generators are amazing for this if you don’t know where to start from.

Try making something truly BAD and then add a twist to it. It’s a great way for your brain to let go of expectations and then think outside of the box. But you can also use this to find out what you do not wanna do under any circumstances.

Think without worrying about the limits of what you can do and when it’s time for excecution, find a way around what’s impossible. It births more creativity and adds uniqueness.

Consider what your idea is NOT before considering what it is. Limits are the best way to avoid getting overwhelmed and giving up. Don’t ALWAYS do this though (unless you wanna…), it’s just something to try out when you feel like you’re seeing too many possibilities to the point that they’re contradicting each other. Unless your goal is to make something full of contradictions, you’re a Free Man, do whatever you want.

Keep a list of random ideas you have throughout the day in your notes app or something and then at some point actually review them. Keep what you think is worth exploring and then act on it.

Find out how something works very throughoutly so you know which aspect can be changed to create something new.

Take a concept and break it down into smaller concepts, ideas, questions, key elements and then also break those ideas down etc. This will naturally lead to associations, unique ideas you wouldn’t think of without doing this. I found that this is a great way of coming up with metaphors.

This one is similar to the last two: take a piece of art you really love and try to find out the thought process behind. What’s the story, where did the artist get inspiration from, how did they incorporate those ideas in their work. How did an artist combine their personal interests and knowledge into one big thing. For example: Tolkien was an erudite linguist, so much so that he created entire functional languages in his work, such as Elvish in Lord of the Rings. Hirohiko Araki loves 80’s music so much he named characters in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure after music references. This is why no knowledge is useless knowledge.

Think about the times you’ve been the most creative before. What were the specific circumstances? For me my best ideas always come when I have a strict deadline for something unrelated, like school (which I’m way too willing to sacrifice), or when I’m doing something mindless like walking and listening to music, or playing a game that requires no thinking. Most of the time after 10p.m. This doesn’t mean I can’t “force” myself to be creative (tips above), it just means these are the times ideas come most naturally. For some people this might be being out in nature or experiencing high emotions, maybe having their life on the line idk, to each their own.

You can’t just create. You also need to consume. The more information you absorb, the more possibilities you have with your ideas. So if you’re not feeling that creative, that’s fine, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn something new.

If you don’t already do these things and you’re looking to get more creative my advice is to ACTUALLY TRY THESE OUT. You’ll best understand them in action.

[cpvnksabm]

hey rtc fandom. i think that the disability rep in RTC is flawed, and it was even before the disability-erasing script changes. however, recently i've felt that a lot of the fandom's criticisms of the disability rep are made by people who aren't knowledgeable about neuromuscular disorders or about disability in general. i sometimes feel people are accidentally speaking over me here, and i wanted to explain some of my thoughts as a disabled fan.

Misconception: "it doesn't make sense for Ricky to be both nonverbal and need mobility aids, those are completely separate disabilities". Reality - while it's entirely possible for someone to just have two unrelated disabilities, there are disorders that cause both difficulty speaking/inability to speak and mobility impairments. Ricky likely has dysarthria, the medical term for difficulty speaking, caused by a neuromuscular disorder. Ricky's disability is canonically degenerative and affects his whole body, it makes sense for his mouth and throat (which he speaks with) to be part of that.

Misconception: "ricky just has a mystery disease with no specified details", (often coming with: "so you can give him whatever disability you want in fanworks".) Reality - canon explicitly states that Ricky has a rare degenerative disease. This causes him to use mobility aids and be unable to talk. It is heavily implied to be a neuromuscular disease. It is also outright stated to be lifespan limiting. These are all canon facts and it is not appropriate to erase them, even if you still give him a disability.

Misconception: "WTWN was problematic because Ocean said ableist things" Reality - Okay, different disabled people have different thoughts on this - ableism is a very real and personal subject for most of us, we will generally have strong opinions about it shaped by our experiences. With that said, people in real life say the same things Ocean says in her song. And many of them seem like good and caring people, just like Ocean does! I don't think it's wrong to represent that in media - I think showing Ricky's experiences with ableism is part of showing Ricky's disabled experiences. I definitely have criticisms around the way Ocean's ableism was handled - and other disabled people will have other criticisms. But if my opinion counts for anything, I am disabled and I never want the ableist lines in WTWN to be cut.

Misconception: "it was weird / didn't make sense for Ricky to refer to his crutches by name" Reality - this is extremely common in real life, actually! My mobility aids have names. I know many people who name their mobility aids. Not all disabled people do this, obviously, but it's not particularly weird for Ricky to.

Misconception: "RTC removed the scene where ricky concedes and his disability" / "removing the 'ricky concedes' scene was part of the ableist script changes" Reality - the "Ricky concedes" scene was removed sometime between 2016 and 2018 (unsure on exact date), before Ricky's disability was removed in 2022. I often see people conflating the removal of Ricky conceding with the removal of Ricky's disability, and I honestly find this a little disrespectful. The 2022 script changes were extremely ableist, whereas the earlier script changes weren't about Ricky's disability and certainly weren't with intent to erase it - in fact, I think it's possible that Ricky conceding was removed to be more respectful to disabled people. I might fully explain my thoughts on this at some point, but overall, I am in favour of Ricky's conceding being removed - I'm also willing to agree to disagree on this, because the issue is less about disability representation and more just about Ricky's characterisation & the plot of the musical. Please do not say this script change was ableist.

Please make sure your criticisms of RTC's disability rep are well-researched and coming from a place of understanding. Please make sure you're not speaking over disabled people to say what we think is problematic. Please make sure your attempts at "fixing" canon's disability rep isn't just making it worse - how would you feel if someone "fixed" a depiction of your life experiences, by completely changing it to something they feel is more appropriate to depict?

Thanks for reading!

[ozzgin]

Pickle and Baki men reacting to pickle and his prehistoric feral daughter reader.

I like that we’ve done a proper dissection of Pickle’s potential family tree. From mate, to sister, and now daughter. Somewhere in the ancient mountains they’ll probably find a gigantic fossilized block and it’ll turn out to be Pickle’s mom of ridiculous size (like Sidon next to King Dorephan from BotW). Jokes aside, the Internet seems to agree that Pickle is in his 20s from the young facial features and general life expectancy, so his daughter would be rather young.

Baki Headcanons: Pickle’s Daughter! Reader

Featuring Pickle’s challengers and his daughter that seems to take after him in personality.

The news of a prehistoric human were too great to not make their way to all media outlets, though the scientists had managed to conceal your existence for the sake of privacy. They didn’t want a poor, confused child to be surrounded by microphones and cameras the second you landed. What the research team didn’t anticipate was that a bunch of dangerous men would sneak into Pickle’s provisional enclosure in order to measure up his strength. When Doppo broke out of the fake T.Rex and spotted the scattered toys on the floor, he could feel the bile kicking at the back of his throat. “Stop! There’s a child in here!” His voice boomed across the room and the fighters froze. Yuujirou glanced at him, incredulous, and was about to question his sanity when a small figure emerged from the carved tree trunk.

As a loving father himself, Doppo was ashamed to have potentially endangered this innocent soul. He demanded that the men exit the premises at once, and most complied without much protest. The Ogre, however, didn’t like the idea of leaving empty handed. He doesn’t care about his own damn children, why should he concern himself with an unrelated brat? He proceeded to break the security glass, ignoring the pleas of common decency. At that point Pickle was standing next to you, completely unbothered by the scene unraveling before him. He looked at you with an encouraging smile, and with the approval of your father confirmed, you didn’t waste any more time. You rushed towards the intruder and took a swing at him.

The remaining men prepared their stances, ready to shield you from Yuujirou’s anger. He observed your reaction after hitting him. His muscles were hard and the recoil shot through your entire arm. How exciting. You were gleaming with youthful enthusiasm. Yuujirou couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Now that was a child made for battle. He lowered his large hand and ruffled your hair vigorously. You didn’t entirely understand the gesture, but you grinned at the stranger, flashing your chiseled fangs.

At least one worry has been cleared: fights leave you unfazed. They won’t have to hold back when challenging Pickle. Retsu is somewhat worried at the idea of a child whose main form of entertainment is violence. Katsumi shares a similar train of thought, although he’s quick to be charmed by your cheers and curiosity towards his martial arts. Baki finds you cute and captivating. Both him and Jack like to joke that you’re the child Yuujirou would’ve wanted. You abruptly showed up one day and potentially cleared them of the Hanma inheritance. Not that such matters interest you. You might be a fighting prodigy in the eyes of these men, but you prefer your role as Pickle’s dauntless daughter.

[roe-and-memory]

i thoroughly believe lightning has a scar from some dumb mistake he made completely unrelated to racing.

one night, doc is out late with sheriff, probably playing chess or doing some old people stuff at the town hall like they always do. lightning has to fend for himself, but hes tired and not really in the mood to make real food. he finds pasta in the cupboard and decides to make himself mac and cheese, cause really, why not? its easy, tastes good, and its probably one of the only foods he could see himself eating right about now anyways.

he puts some water on the stove to boil and, when its at the perfect temperature, he dumps in the pasta and leaves it to cook — stirring occasionally, of course — and while that cooks, he puts together a little salad for himself, gets the cheese ready, and finally, when the timer dings, pulls out a trivet and goes to pick up the pot to put on it…

he grabs the handle weird.

it twists in his hand, turning towards him, and subsequently dumps the full contents of boiling hot water and pasta all over his stomach and onto the floor.

he drops the pot back onto the stove and freezes, that quick shot of adrenaline from the fear of realizing hes fucked wears off just as quickly as it came on. suddenly, its blinding pain and he’s now leaning against the stove, trying not to let himself fall to the floor and curl into a ball because jesus christ, that hurts like a motherfucker.

lightning doesnt even realize he’s hyperventilating until he’s trying to force back tears, when the feeling of them forming in the corners of his eyes brings him back to reality and back to that godawful pain.

he cant think straight, he doesnt even think to get off his clothes — which are now pressing this scalding hot water to his skin for an even longer period of time than necessary — he just forces himself to stand up and stumble to the door, using the wall as a guide and crutch for his poor coordination brought on by the fact his entire stomach is on fire and every single step he takes is another punch to the stomach with sharp brass knuckles, or at least thats what it feels like.

he doesnt put his shoes on. he walks out of the house, slips on the porch stairs trying to keep himself steady, falling down them and finding himself on the ground at the bottom, fighting off the urge to just hug his knees to his chest and cry.. he stands up and begins his now barefoot adventure to the closest place he can think to go with people who will care for him — flos.

lightning is not a person of neediness. he doesnt like to be coddled when hes in pain — in fact, he could happily go without telling someone of an injury until they find out about it themselves — but at this very moment, he knows he cant handle this himself.

the walk to flos feels like it takes hours. in reality, a usually three minute walk turns to fifteen, and as soon as he steps into the cafe, all eyes are on him.

he barely hears flo ask if hes okay. he just walks up to the counter, shaking at this point (however, this fact is completely unbeknownst to him), and asks her for help. even his own words sound muffled to him.

flo brings him behind the counter, back into her office, away from the people out there eating and chatting, frantically asks him whats wrong, and figures out pretty quickly that its medical help he needs. lightning tells her to the best of his abilities that he spilled boiling water all over himself, and it takes her one look up and down to realize hes still wearing his soaking wet clothes. she wastes no time running out to the townsfolks usual table and asking sarge and fillmore, who are the only two still around at this hour, to go find doc and to find him another set of clothes.

for lightning, everything is moving at a snails pace. by the time flo comes back into the office, he’s sitting against the wall with his arms wrapped around his stomach, forehead on his knees, quietly praying to whatever god will listen to put him out of his misery.

to flo, this is all happening way too quick. the towns kid, basically, just walked into her café barefoot, drenched in water, and shaking, and confessed to her that he just horrifically scalded himself on boiling hot water while he was home alone and he doesnt know what to do. thankfully for her, time is moving fast enough that doc is in her office within five minutes, and sarge is right behind him with a very mismatched outfit that he very obviously pulled out of his own wardrobe.

doc doesnt bother taking lightning to the clinic at that very moment, he just tells sarge to get flos first aid kit from the kitchen and deals with it right there to just clean the burns and put a temporary stop to the pain. when thats set and done, THEN he takes his kid to the clinic to do a proper assessment.

lightning has second degree burns. they last for a month and a half until theyre “healed”, and then lightning is left with a large, “ugly”, harsh scar across his stomach and along the front of his thighs. he’s embarrassed about it, but doc saw that moment as sort of an evolution for lightning — for the first time ever, his kid asked for help when he needed it.

[hbpseverus]

For the past day somebody has been in my TikTok comments arguing about Snapes Worst Memory and the definition of SA (mind you, under a post that was entirely unrelated to the topic!) and their replies are just... insane? I'm going to block this person and I would hope they are simply quite young and very biased towards their favorite character (being James), but I thought I'd share some of my... highlights here. For amusement but also for further discussion since TikTok replies are too restrictive for proper analysis. Obvious trigger warning for discussion of SA ahead.

- Let's start with this topic of pantsing. I do not think this term is appropriate for what happens in SWM because that scene goes beyond the usual understanding of what 'pantsing' is. Severus was simultaneously being choked and magically restrained upside down in the air in a position where he could not defend himself or simply pull down his trousers/robes again. Imagine a boy and his friends restraining a girl in the schoolyard, exposing her underwear for everyone to see and collectively laughing at her. Or a stranger pulling down a womans skirt on the train, for example. Surely both of these cases would be considered SA, right? These women could undoubtedly go to the police with this. So why is it different when it happens to Severus? To me it feels like it boils down to the 'boys will be boys' mindset. When a boy does this to a girl we all agree that it's SA, but when a boy does the same thing to a fellow boy it is 'not that deep' and just a prank. And this exact mindset is a serious issue, with male victims not being taken seriously, especially by fellow men.

- Well... this last reply I thought was absolutely insane so I'll let it speak for itself lol. Fact is, whatever James' intention, the act of exposing someones underwear and especially genitals against their will is always inherently sexual. For obvious reasons, this can not be compared to a parent changing their childs diaper.

- They then dropped this definition at some point. What bothers me the most about this is especially the second part. The intent of SA, even rape, is never truly simple sexual arousal or gratification. It is first and foremost about abusing power. James saw Severus as a love rival when it came to Lily. He did not threaten to undress Severus to gain sexual satisfaction, but to humiliate him and therefore gain power over him. That does not mean it was not SA. The attackers intention matters little to the victim. There are of course also so many forms of sexual assault that do not include physical touch, it can even happen online.

- Finally they tried to argue that James did not threaten to remove Severus' underwear at all, stating that 'pants' refers to trousers, not underwear. Now I am not a native english speaker, but it should be obvious to any literate person who reads the chapter that this cannot be the case. It is described that, as Severus is lifted upside down into the air, his robes fall over his head, immediately revealing his bare legs and underwear with no mention of trousers, followed by other characters explicitly seeing and mocking his underwear. He clearly was not wearing any trousers under his robes. I also argued that it was translated into 'underwear', not 'trousers', which they did not want to hear because JKR did not translate it herself. The movies can not be used as an accurate source here. The source material are the books. The movie was not written by JKR either. The movie scene as a whole was changed drastically. The movie could also most likely not display the full original scene as it's target audience were children and it would be considered too graphic. They then used quotes about other characters wearing trousers as 'proof' that Severus also had to have worn trousers under his robes. Do with that what you want. What I will say is that this conversation often shifts towards victim blaming, i.e. 'it is Snapes fault for not wearing trousers under his robes!'. I don't need to explain how dangerous and morally horrible this is.

Well. Honestly being a Snape stan can be exhauating sometimes. I'm honestly getting real tired of having this conversation so often, but as long as I wake up to my comments blowing up with people arguing about the fucking definition of SA I will keep talking about it because this clearly goes beyond simple arguments over fictional characters.

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

Hello! As someone with an newfound interest in Ren'Py and the way it works, I'm going to be dissecting the code of Our Life to explain (roughly) how the game adjusts Cove's look based on your actions. We'll be looking specifically at the transition between Step 1 and Step 2 Cove since that's the very first one that players will experience (I might detail Step 3's changes and Step 4's changes if people want that).

According to GB Patch themselves in response to asks, the way Cove changes his appearance is relatively simple:

His appearance is based on your choices and not random, but it’s taste/aesthetic-based choices rather than the usual conversation type options. So, being nervous or outgoing or what have you will influence Cove’s personality, while choosing the things you like will impact the way Cove looks.

Technically, this is accurate, but not entirely in terms of some decisions you can make that determine Cove's appearance.

Coding-wise, changing Cove's appearance is a simple True/False (yes/no) variable, not a point system. After one decision, Cove might change from the natural evolution of his Step 1 hair (Hair1) to the fluffier hair (Hair2) and it doesn't matter how many times you pick options that would cause that hair: if the last decision is for the hair with the middle part, that's what you'll end up getting.

The TL;DR of it is that, for the most part, things that the MC notices/picks up/favors/focuses on will influence Cove's appearance, but there are a couple that aren't like that and will change him anyway. If you're doing a repeat playthrough and are intentionally trying to get a different Cove, then picking different taste/aesthetic choices is the way to go, but be aware that it's not a guarantee; some options will lead to the same outcome you chose before.

If you want to see what options specifically change his look, then feel free to continue reading\~

The first chance that the player has is when they meet Cove on poppy hill during the prologue. They're given choices on what to "notice first" (according to the game's internal code) and the options lead to different appearance changes:

Green hair. [takes off Cove's glasses and puts on his left pink beaded bracelet]

Wavy eyebrows. [takes off Cove's glasses]

Huge glasses. [sets Cove's glasses to the rounded brown ones]

Pink casts. [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

Sad frowns. [sets Cove's glasses to the rectangular blue ones and puts on his left pink beaded bracelet]

The last chance is during the ending of Step 1 where you have the option to either go home or stay with Cove, completely unrelated to taste/aesthetic altogether.

If you choose to go home, Cove's hair is set to the fluffy hair, but if you stay, nothing will be set until you get to talk to Cove about his feelings on Sunset Bird.

"Do you hate it here?" [sets Cove's hair to the middle-parted one]

"This can be your home." [sets Cove's hair to the fluffy one]

"It'll be alright." [no change]

This means that you will never get anything on Cove's right wrist (his right, not our right) if you choose not to play any of the moments (or somehow skipped to Step 2 without playing Step 1, because Cove - by default - doesn't wear bracelets). His pajamas and jacket (the one he dons during Step 2's Road Trip) will likewise remain at their defaults.

This includes if you choose to only play Step 1's Library specifically. It's the singular moment that doesn't contain any chances to change Cove's appearance.

As for the other moments...

Shopping

Your chance is when you see the four keychains at the shopping street with Cove.

You picked up the dolphin. [gives Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt and the light blue pajama shirt]

You picked up the shark. [gives Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt and the purple pajama shirt with the compass symbol]

You picked up the crab. [gives Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt and the light blue pajama shirt]

You picked up the turtle. [gives Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt and the purple pajama shirt with the compass symbol]

Grown Up

Cove's pants change (that sounds weird but I'm not taking it back) depending on if you tell your moms what happened between Cove and Lizzie or not.

You told the truth. [gives Cove the pants with the belt]

You lied. [gives Cove the pants with the stripes]

Long Day

Changing Cove's pajamas (and only his pajamas, unlike in Shopping) is done when the MC decides which dessert they're craving.

A popsicle. [gives Cove the purple pajama shirt with the compass symbol]

An ice cream cone. [gives Cove the light blue pajama shirt]

An ice cream sandwich. [gives Cove the purple pajama shirt with the compass symbol]

Then you change his casual shirt when you're watching the clouds with Cove, depending on what you see.

You saw a dolphin. [gives Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt]

You saw a car. [gives Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt]

You saw an alpaca. [gives Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt]

You saw a smiley face. [gives Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt]

You saw cloud shapes. [no change]

Sandcastle

This time, it's the type of sandcastle you make that varies Cove's hair specifically.

A house. [sets Cove's hair to the fluffy one]

A castle. [sets Cove's hair to the middle-parted one]

A mansion. [sets Cove's hair to the fluffy one]

Then, his pants change based on what you top the sandcastle with.

Red bottlecap. [gives Cove the pants with the belt]

Blue seashell. [gives Cove the pants with the stripes]

Green piece of seaglass. [no change]

Fireflies

Cove will wear (or not wear) the beaded necklace from how you respond to your Mom prompting you on your excitedness to see/catch the fireflies.

"Yeah!" [no change]

You started eating faster. [puts on Cove's beaded necklace]

You looked over at your moms. [puts on Cove's beaded necklace]

You pushed your food around your plate. [no change]

Ghost

You get another chance to put on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet regardless of whether you choose to talk to your moms or go outside.

If you went to talk to your moms, the bracelet may or may not be put on depending on what topping you ask for on your toast.

"Jam." [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

"Peanut butter." [no change]

"Honey." [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

"Just butter." [no change]

"Extra butter." [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

If you chose to go outside instead, the kind of genre you choose for the story you say you and Cove are in decides it.

"It's a horror story." [no change]

"It's an action story." [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

"It's a fantasy story." [puts on Cove's left pink beaded bracelet]

"It's a documentary." [no change]

Barbecue

Cove's right wristwear changes if you choose to sneak a snack when no one's watching.

A baby tomato. [puts on Cove's right shark tooth wrap bracelet]

A small carrot. [puts on Cove's right wristband]

A cocktail sausage. [puts on Cove's right wristband]

A rolled piece of ham. [puts on Cove's right wristband]

A potato chip. [puts on Cove's right wristband]

A tortilla chip. [puts on Cove's right shark tooth wrap bracelet]

Cove may also get the beaded necklace if you pick certain drink options from the cooler.

Soda. [no change]

Water. [puts on Cove's beaded necklace]

Juice. [puts on Cove's beaded necklace]

Milk. [no change]

Runaway

This moment only gives you a chance to change Cove's look if you go along with him; specifically, his glasses depending on which snack you ask from him.

"Chips." [sets Cove's glasses to the rounded brown ones]

"A muffin." [takes off Cove's glasses]

"A banana." [sets Cove's glasses to the rectangular blue ones]

"Candy." -> "Fruity candy." [takes off Cove's glasses]

"Candy." -> "Chocolate." [sets Cove's glasses to the rounded brown ones]

"Nothing. I'm not hungry." [sets Cove's glasses to the rectangular blue ones]

Sleepover

If you've been following so far and been wondering when your chance to finally change Cove's jacket is, this is it! It's from how you describe the storybook that Cove picks up.

"I love the main character 'cause the squire's really brave and funny." [gives Cove the white and bright pink jacket]

"It has cool pictures. Some of them even take up the whole page." [gives Cove the gray and black jacket]

"Mommy reads it to me. She uses different voices for every character." [gives Cove the white and bright pink jacket]

"There's a dragon in it and crazy things happen." [gives Cove the gray and black jacket]

So, just in case you're the type of player who doesn't like using the Cove Creator but still wants a little more control (either by picking different options or changing the order of moments so your last choices land on what you want), now you can engineer things to your liking because you know how it works!

And if you were just here for the data, then I hope you enjoyed anyway~