#i might be onto something big here folks

[romanceyourdemons]

cléo from 5 to 7 (1962) 🤝 amélie (2001)

films that are technically about a man and a woman finding love on the streets of paris, but are ACTUALLY about two autistic people finally finding someone they can be autistic with. on the streets of paris

[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[wombywoo]

Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ✌️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed ��

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hello Dapper. I don’t really expect too much about this, but do you have any ideas for Wargs? They have an interesting relationship with goblins and are weird in that they’re essentially sapient wolf monsters, but I don’t think they’re ever really used that creatively.

Monsters Reimagined: Wargs, wolf panics, and the Economics of Lupophobia

While the surface level answer is pretty simple (warg is a conversion of varger, an old Norse way to refer to mythological wolves like Fenrir) there's actually a surprising amount of material to drill into here on the topic of sapient wolf monsters, especially for someone like me who has a interest in moral panics and mass hysteria events. Wolves were effectively a boogyman for pre-industrial societies, a deep seated generational fear that we only recognize today through cultural relics like the big bad wolf or boy who cried wolf.

TLDR: If you want to do something interesting with wargs beyond just "wolves that talk" I'd advise playing to their folk / fairytale roots. They're creatures of embodied dread, drawn from the stuff of the feywild to sow fear among those who would travel off the path or too close to the wilderness. This lets you tell interesting stories about how the party/major characters respond to fear: Does fear of being attacked in the dark drive the party to make risky decisions that might endanger their quest? How do the villagers react when the wolves are very literally at the door, demanding just one of their neighbours as a meal in exchange for safety?

I'd also advise getting weirder with a warg's powers, playing into that fear of the unknown by doing unexpected things. The party can fight off a pack of wolves, sure, but what does it mean when the lead wolf rips off the bard's shadow and takes off into the night?

Background: If you want a window into the headspace of wolf-panic, think about the neigh omnipresent fear of sharks created by the Jaws franchise. Children who have never seen the movie, let alone seen a shark in person can become irrationally afraid of getting into deep water because they've absorbed the pervasive cultural phobia, which goes onto shape environmental policy as sharks are overhunted or killed out of spite for their perceived threat.

So it was for wolves, even after they were largely hunted to near extinction by medieval and postmedieval societies, the fear of them was so ingrained into cultural traditions that wolf and werewolf panics were a thing that went hand in hand with witchtrails. France had a country wide one as late as the 1760s and the movie based on it ended up inspiring Bloodborne. Alternatively look at the anti-wolf efforts during the colonization of the Americas, right up to the opposition to reintroducing wolves back to Yellowstone park.

On that note (and because we can't have a Monsters Reimagined without some kind of class analysis), lets talk about how these fears are propagated: On many levels it makes sense for everyday people to be afraid of wolves, they're a hunting species that can absolutely pose a danger to us, and when you're living or travelling outside the protection of a settlement you really are vulnerable to a coordinated pack of carnivores running you down.

However, the primary threat that wolves pose to humans isn't predation, it's property damage, specifically in how they kill livestock. While we can talk about individual farmsteads beset by beasts, in reality the herds that wolves were most likely to prey upon belonged to the landowning classes, powerful people who had a profit incentive in seeing wolves driven off or exterminated. This is where you get bounties on dead wolves, not just paying for the value of the hide but actively rewarding people for going out and killing as many wolves as possible to the point of it becoming a profession. This practice has existed for MILLENIA and is still active today, primarily in places where big agriculture influences governments.

It seems incidental at first but then you realize that it fits the model of just about every other kind of cultural panic: widespread ignorance and fear that just so happens to mobilize the populace in a way that financially benefits a select few. You can see the same thing happening today in england with badgers of all things, which have been identified with the local dairy industry as a threat to their herds. This is not only led them to petition the government to cull the badger population, but to put out anti-badger propaganda, eventually turning it into a culture war issure to the point where conservative mouthpieces like Jeremy Clarkson openly encourages killing and gassing badgers on sight.

Returning to the land of fantasy for now: I think it's worth taking the idea of the warg and mixing it with a few other "black dog" cultural archetypes, which can also include the creatures like the shuck or church grimm. In this instance the warg is a sort of curse made manifest, the fear of a haunted place given literal teeth. People who transgress into these forbidden spaces find themselves pursued by a manifestation that dogs them till they're exhausted and vulnerable, much like a wolf harrying its prey.

The bhargest is also of special interest here, considering how I like to relate goblins back to the feywild. You could easily see bhargests as agents of fey that feed on human fear, leading a pack of goblins or hobs that occupy the desolate lands they've called to haunt. My version of Maglubiyet would also delight in employing such creatures as his emissaries.

Going back to the vargr/ Norse mythology angle, it's interesting that most of the wolves that show up are destined to devour something, whether it be a god or celestial certanty like the moon and sun. It's like the concept of an inevitable chase is so fundimental to what a wolf IS that it became a theme of ragnarok's inevitable certantly. Consider having certan packs of wargs be offspring of some fenrir style god eater, beasts of forboding doom who's mere presence is an omen of ill times.

Alternatively, if you wanted to play on the big bad wolf angle, give wargs the ability to take on flimsy human disguises, all the better to get close to their pray and sow fear among the townsfolk. Historical wolf panics after all are not all that different than serial killer panics, and it'd be a fun twist on a traditional werewolf adventure to have the party on a creature that didn't play by the usual lycanthropic rules.

Artsource

[snailmail444]

Can I get a headcanon of the bachelors and how they'd be sexy with you when you're down? Like, if they're trying to cheer you up and be a little goofy with it but also tryna HIT. THAT. 🤣🤣🤣

Thanks Snail, ILU.

Bachelors Goofing Their way Into Your Pants

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW (-ish)

This one was a tough ask Libby but I’ll do nothing if not stand and deliver 🫡 Honestly might be my favorite head cannon list for the bachelors I’ve ever done so THANK YOU for this prompt icon. NSFW? -ish under the cut (lewd?? Idk lol)

Harvey-

💚 Perhaps the goofiest about this

💚 He would not try to come onto you when you’re down unless he KNOWS it’s going to pick you up

💚 So once he’s confident let’s start there

💚 It’s a song and dance

💚 Dissappears, and when he’s back he’s got his med kit

💚 He gets out the stethoscope and all. The whole nine yards.

💚 That’s right folks. We’re paging Dr. Love

💚 Will NOT let you stop this routine. Dr. Love WILL be completing the full assessment. Listening to your heart rate, checking your throat and ears, somehow always having to complete a chest exam

💚 (M or F he will be groping your tits for this one)

💚 The diagnosis is in

💚 There’s Only One Cure for What Ails You

💚 You guessed it! You need a little lovin’ (Dr. Love’s catchphrase)

💚 Important note: Dr. Love is not a licensed medical practitioner

💚 This works a little too well perhaps. He’s so confident for no reason at all LMAO

💚 Lowkey want to write a Dr. Love oneshot now because this is really fun and cute

Elliott-

❤️ If you’re feeling down man will preform the absolute worst ad lib poetry

❤️ Silliest lymrics you’ve ever heard

❤️ Dumb dumb dummmmmb

❤️ Very dirty and stupid bad poems about you

❤️ Specifically about his favorite parts of your body

❤️ Or his favorite things you do during sex

❤️ The worse it is, the better as far as he is concerned

❤️ Raunchy dirty filthy

❤️ But like. In the most grade school mother goose style he can manage

❤️ No flowery language here

❤️ Takes off your clothes to expose the parts of you the he’s referring to

❤️ When you do x thing (then tries to make you do x thing)

❤️ Will be proving his point. Period!!!

Alex-

🤎 Physical touch legend

🤎 Wrestles

🤎 Winner gets whatever they want from the loser

🤎 Has a wrestling name and all

🤎 Does the John Cena theme

🤎 His hands end up in all sorts of places that they don’t need to be

🤎 Most wrestlers aren’t grabbing ass 🤨

🤎 Gets you in some really tight, close pins, but somehow you end up winning anyway

🤎 No I didn’t let you win don’t be ridiculous I respect the sport too much to ever—

🤎 He let you win

🤎 You can take your prize now 😌 Whatever you want 😌

🤎 And if his hard on is pressing against you? Well. Maybe he has some ideas about what your prize should be

Shane-

💙 Gets you through the hard stuff first, so once you’re on the mend he’s goofing to the max

💙 KING FLEXER!

💙 Aw babe come on? How can you be so sad when you have these guns to look at?

💙 Runs through a series of absurd poses to show off his muscly farm boy arms

💙 Lays it on really thick about being a stud

💙 “No matter what at the end of the day you have a trophy husband” (even if he’s not married to you. ESPECIALLY if he’s not married to you)

💙 STRIP! TEASE!!

💙 Showing off everything you’re so lucky to have with a big goofy grin on his face

💙 Throwing his clothes across the room and everything

💙 Making the music sounds with his mouth

💙 You HAVE to whistle or hoot at him or clap or something

💙 He demands applause from his audience if he’s not getting some singles at least

Sam-

🩷 Another song and dancer

🩷 This man was born for the stage I fear

🩷 Genuinely and truly putting on a SHOW about it all

🩷 The drama of it. Uh oh, he’s compromised!

🩷 Will end up ‘stuck’ under the couch or table or anywhere else

🩷 Uh oh! I hope nobody takes advantage of me 👀 When I’m so exposed 👀👀 and vulnerable 👀👀👀

🩷 The worst stage acting you’ve ever seen in your life

🩷 Starts stripping in the middle of the living room because he “didn’t see you there!”

🩷 Pretends to be scandalized when you finally succumb to his advances

🩷 What are you doing?! Huh? What do you MEAN I was coming on to you? I always take off all my clothes in the kitchen, that’s ritual

🩷 insists he’s been objectified and taken advantage of

🩷 That kind of turns him on though let’s be so fucking real

Sebastian-

🖤 Okay so we’re going blunt king here

🖤 Two possible options

🖤 Uses it as a way to hard reset the system mid breakdown

🖤 Full crying, upset, whatever, he’s been holding you and trying to calm you down but it’s not working

🖤 “Wanna have sex?”

🖤 DEADPANNNNNN delivery

🖤 It never fails. Tried and true

🖤 Option two?

🖤 This is ONLY if mans is super comfortable in your dynamic

🖤 A classic

🖤 Whips it out

🖤 Thinking about that one tweet of the boyfriend who was in the mood and just put his dick on her shoulder while she was watching tv

🖤 Like that but buried under sixteen levels of irony

🖤 “I know what’ll help” and then he pulls his dick out

🖤 Probably the least likely to actually hit with these methods

🖤 However, he’s maybe the most likely to help improve your mood substantially

🖤 Through sheer presentation if nothing else. Man can deliver, and knows when to hit with the absurd to make it the most impactful

[hotwaterandmilk]

An IRL friend of mine recently suggested I cut back on posting content because "maybe a dozen or two dozen people" like my posts and they weren't sure why I bothered when there was no money or engagement in it.

I definitely felt a bit like that a few years back, particularly when I'd see people repost my scans on other platforms and get tens of thousands of likes. If I'd shifted platforms and focused on engagement that could well have been me.

However, that's not really what I've ever been about. I share what I share because I like it and want other people who like these works to enjoy what I have in my collection too (or to discover new works they might not have encountered). Nobody has to engage with what I post though, I could get 0 likes/reblogs and I'd still keep plugging away because ultimately this is just a hobby and I'm just a fan.

I don't want to harp on with the cheesy "you should do things for yourself first and foremost" with hobbies, but at the end of the day my affection for certain series and artists won't evaporate just because my posts about them aren't popular on Tumblr.

I've been here for 14 years and have only just hit 10,000 followers. I'm not an important internet person by any stretch of the imagination and I think that's OK. If I'd been angling for something beyond simply being a fan of certain things, I can see how this might be considered failure. For me (personally) though, I don't feel like my hobby needs to have any form of hustle attached to it. This is what I do to express my affection for things.

Not everyone will feel the same way as I do about sharing content online and that's fine, we're all individuals and we engage with things differently. I just wanted to express this while the thoughts were still fresh in my mind.

Enjoy your hobbies in the ways that work for you. You'll find people who appreciate your contributions (big or small) wherever you go online and if you move onto different fandoms or hobbies, you'll find new folks who like what you do there too. Just don't feel locked into numbers as the ultimate way of judging your own love for media.

[vivian-pascal]

When you call my name, I won't answer

stranger!joel x f!reader

summary: After a series of downfalls in your life, you meet a very mysterious man at a bar one night, you two seem to get along just fine.

warnings: piv (wrap it up) dirty talk joel, oral f!receiving, kissing, sexual tension, aftercare, fluff

authors note: hi folks! this is the 100 followers special, it's pretty short but i hope you enjoy it! i can't thank you all enough, this means a whole lot to me!

On a cool, winters eve, you were sat at a bar drinking your usual cocktail. This is how you spent most nights, drinking, sleeping, drinking, sleeping and repeat. You'd been off the hook for a couple of months now and couldn't register what else to do with your life.

Your family abandoned you, you got fired from the only job you had, your three months past rent and can't afford to pay it, so what else is there than to drink all your worries away?

You've gone to this bar for many weeks. Even getting acquainted with the workers. They've considered you as a usual person here and even made the drink you first ordered a special on the menu.

You ordered your usual drink and sat in the same spot you always do. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but you did sense someone's eyes on you. When you looked to your right, you saw some older folks sitting down in a booth, they surely weren't looking at you. When you look to your left however, there is an older man sat on a bar stool just a couple down from yours.

He had broad shoulders, salt and pepper hair, soft gruff growing around his face. His big, veiny hand held onto what you assumed was a glass of whiskey. He looked back at you and you quickly turned your head as to not seem you were staring.

The older man turns to you, his eyes clouded in thought. "You remind me of someone." You turn your head and look his way. "Oh yeah, and who might that be?" You quirk an eyebrow as you take another sip of your drink.

He slowly takes a deep breath in and picks up his glass. "Oh you know, just someone in a past life." He smirks at you and nods to the bartender to refill his drink.

You decide to inspect him more. He has a rugged and weathered appearance, his face is lined with only a certain amount of wrinkles, each telling a story of their own. His hair speckled gray, you could see he was quite strong with the way his shoulders were, broad and firm. There was a sense of mystery with this man, like there's something he isn't sharing yet.

His hands are rough and calloused from years of hard work. His voice a deep and resonant with a gravelly quality that adds to his charm and charisma. He wore a faded flannel with jeans, you could tell he was a simple man, adorned to his own sense of fashion.

When he turned back to look at you, he could tell you were checking him out. "What's your name?" You bring your eyes up to his and told him. He smiles at the sweet sound and repeats your name off his tongue. "That's a lovely name darlin'." You smile shyly and pull a hair behind your ear and ask him his. "M'names Joel."

You nod your head and begin to look around. You notice that he moved his stool closer to yours and you begin to squeeze your thighs together.

You both talk for a while, about work, past lovers, how you got fired. You like taking with Joel. He has this easiness that would allow you to say whatever you wanted and he would just listen. He would respond perfectly and laugh at your sarcastic jokes. He was an easy going man, and you were feral for him.

Time had past and you could feel the tension growing. Sometimes he would put his hand on your thighs or get very close to your face, like he wanted to kiss you.

"My daughter Sarah is comin home soon." He brings his glass to his lips and takes a drink. "Oh that's nice! Where is she now?" He puts his glass down and twirls his finger along the rim. "She's in college down south, been studyin abroad, wantin to become something in the medical field." You bring your purse up from your side and set it on the counter in front of you. "That's great, you must be very proud of her Joel." His face pulls into a sweet smile as he thinks of his little girl.

You open your purse and pull out your wallet. His hand quickly joins yours and you look him in the eyes. "That's fine, i'll pay." He smiles as he reaches for his leather wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. "Oh no, really, it's fine, i can pay." You call the bartender over and as your about to pay you get interrupted.

Joel manages to grab the bartender's attention first and hands him his card. He tells his to pay for your tab too and adds an extra tip. "You really didn't have to do that you know." He sits back on his stool as he downs the rest of his drink. "No, I didn't, but i did." He smirks as you roll your eyes.

The bartender returns with Joel's card and he puts it back in his wallet. You both stand up and begin to walk to the exit.

"You gotta ride?" He looks down at you and you shake your head no. "I walked here." He pauses and looks ahead. "You walked here all by yourself?" His southern drawl picks up more and you shiver at his voice. You nod your head as you near the parking lot. "Well I could give ya a ride, I ain't gonna let you walk back home alone now, who knows what happens to pretty girls like you around this hour." Your heart flutters at the thought that he called you pretty.

He gets to his truck and opens the passenger side door. "Hop in." You smile as you slowly climb into the truck. He shuts your door and walks back around to his side. He jumps in and starts the engine.

"Thank you Joel, this means a lot." He smiles softly and brings his hand to your face. His thumb strokes your cheek and rests his palm there.

"It's okay sweetheart, no need to worry. M'just helpin a doll out." He gives you a sly look as you close your thighs together and blush. A few minutes into the drive, you could feel the tension growing. His hand was resting on your thigh and would occasionally rise up to your waist.

"Oh, I didn't tell you my address sorry, it's-" He cuts you off with a pat on your leg. "That's alright darlin, we're goin to my place, if that's okay with you." You stare at him for a bit before nodding.

Once you two pull into his driveway, he parks the car and exits his vehicle. He goes around to your side and opens the door. You give him a quick smile as he takes your hand and helps you out.

You both walk up to the door and he pulls out his keys. When he opens it, your instantly pushed up against the back of the door as it closes. His lips crash onto yours and you moan at the kiss.

"I've been waitin to do this all night baby." He begins to pick you up and carry you upstairs. He throws you down onto the bed and you giggle at the fall.

He crawls up your body and up to your face. "How bout we loose the clothing yeah?" You nod your head as you frantically begin ripping off your shirt. His eyes immediately go to your breasts. Your bra isn't the best fit and they could easily fall out.

He reaches behind you and unclasps it. He groans at the sight of your bare breasts. He removes his shirt and throws it to the ground along with your clothes. He begins to slowly move down your body and in between your legs. He teasingly opens the buttons of your jeans and carefully pulls down the zipper.

You lift your hips in attempts to help him get them off. He grabs onto the top of your pants and forcefully pulls them off of you. He makes eye contact with your soaked panties and moans at the sight, He brings his middle finger up to your wet center and presses in firmly against the fabric. You grab onto the sheets at the sudden attention and arch your back.

He stops his movements for just a second as he removes your underwear. He has to stop himself from coming right then and there at the sight before him. "God baby, she's dripping for me."You moan at his remark and grab onto his hair.

He positions your legs over his shoulders as he begins to get to work. "Joel." You whine at the contact of his tongue seething into your weeping hole. He begins to lap at your arousal and you pull onto his hair roughly.

He begins to flick his tongue on your clit and you moan aloud as he speeds up. He shakes his head side to side and you arch your back further. He brings his hands to your thighs and pushes you down to keep you steady. His tongue goes back to your hole and submerges inside. His nose occasionally bumps your clit and that sends you wailing.

Your orgasm comes up quick and you pull his hair even tighter as he digs his nails into your thighs. The movements of his mouth begin to increase when he feels your body shake. You moan and whine his name as it washes over you. He drinks up all your juices as you rest your head back against your pillow.

He crawls over you and kisses your lips. You can taste the tangy flavor of your orgasms as he invades your mouth with his tongue.

"Ya ready f'me baby?" He begins to grind his erections against your soaked center and you moan at the friction. "Please Joel. I need you." He growls into your neck as he removes his pants and boxers. He lines his cock with your pussy and begins to rub his tip against your clit.

You just know he's big. You can feel the size of him just from his thrusts. He lines his cock with your hole and begins to seethe himself inside of you. Your mouth falls open as he inserts himself all the way in. He stays still for a moment and you wonder if something is wrong. "Joel please move." You grab onto his hair and pull him down for a kiss. "I know baby girl, just hold on for a minute." He rests his forehead against yours as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Joel please just-" He begins to thrust into your soaking pussy at an exhilarating pace. The tip of his cock just hits your cervix and it sends you screaming. He grunts as he hears your pretty little sounds you make for him.

"Oh god Joel." You arch your back and open your mouth in a silent plea of how much pleasure you are feeling in this moment. "I know baby I know, I hear ya, taking it so well f'me." He brings his lips to yours and instantly speeds up.

His hips are thrusting at a pace you can't seem to keep up with and he groans when he feels you squeeze around him. Your heart rate picks up when you feel another orgasm begin to brim. He brings his hand to the bottom of your stomach and pushes down. You loudly moan when you feel this new sensation.

"God, I can feel myself all up in your fucking stomach." He growls and bites your neck as your orgasm begins to break. "Joel, I'm coming." You barely manage to get the words out as your vision goes white. The amount of pleasure has you rolling your eyes back and arching off the bed. He speeds up as his orgasm nears.

"Oh fuck baby, so goddamn tight." He bites down onto your shoulder as he spills his cum inside you. You walls become surrounded with a warm, sticky mess. His hips come to a stutter as his orgasm subsides. He instantly falls on top of you and closes his eyes.

He rolls over and begins to get out of bed. He grabs his boxers and puts them on. He walks out of the room and goes into the bathroom, he returns to you with a warm wash cloth and some water.

He opens your thighs and you wince at the soreness. He puts the cloth up to your pussy and slowly begins to wipe it down. He sets the water onto the bed and throws the towel into his hamper. He crawls back into bed and you huddle up to him.

"How ya feeling?" He gently stokes the top of your head as you breath in his scent. ''Fucking fantastic. " He chuckles at your remark and kisses the top of your head. "Goodnight darlin." He holds you closer as you wrap your arms around his middle. "Night Joel."

tags!!

@iamsherlocked-1998 @pinkcrystal44 @heartpascalispunk  @heartramen  @tupelomiss  @simplewanderer @ursagittariusgirlfriend  @amyispxnk @livingonthehems

[uno-san]

True to His Word (Stanley Pines x Reader)

Greetings! @princeasimdiya12 requested a special Aladdin Inspired short that was a delight to write! I didn't follow the prompt to the tee but I hope that you enjoy what I cooked up regardless. And to those in my inbox, have no fear! For YOUR 🫵 request might be next. Stay turned!

On dry and scorching days like this, traversing through a crowd of folk buying and selling wares was like a death sentence. Not only did the added body heat of the crowd make you dizzy but the added cramped space reminded you of the very prison you were trying to escape from. Your home. The palace to be more specific, but certainly where you grew up.

It was only from your place of privilege that you could call your position as princess a curse. Knowing that your life didn’t simply just hold fancy banquets that filled your belly or expensively imported fabrics from countries that most peasants couldn’t even conceive, it also held a role for you to play. A script that you shouldn’t dare stray from in fear of everything around you crumbling into nothing. The pressure of failing hundreds of years worth of ancestors.

You know. Easy responsibilities of a princess.

Perhaps that’s why as of late you’ve taken to finding your way out from behind the palace’s walls. Without protection of your family and city guard you could simply exist. Not practice another language, skills to attract a suitor, or bend under the will of your parents.

This was your chance, even for a few hours, to be free. With either being yourself or even discovering what kind of person you are without outside pressure. Even getting the chance to know the citizens that you will one day rule beside your partner was a gift that most royals often refuse.

Your attempts at rebellion had been successful only a few times which wholefully gave you a disadvantage when visiting a street market for the first time. Was it always this busy? Or was today a celebration of something far beneath your station that you weren’t even aware of it? Admittedly it did make you miss your palace servants. That pang of homesickness frustrated you after all that talk of freedom. Though perhaps old habits die hard.

“We have newly brought in dresses from our sister nation, for the low, low price of-”

“Fresh fruits and vegetables are available here! Straight from the ground and into your hands for the best prices. Fill your basket and get-”

“Offering trades for any one of my wares!”

Hearing one sales pitch after another was like hearing a cacophony of balls all at once. Maybe you were even being rung yourself as you struggled to walk without getting knocked around by someone far sturdier than you. The hustle and bustle of the market didn’t even allow you the chance to give apologies from the invasion of space.

Your heart raced with all the stimuli you had yet to grow accustomed to, pounding away at your chest as if you didn’t have enough things bumping into you already. It was nearly too much for a pampered princess. Almost. After all, if this is what the general populace have to deal with on a day to day basis, shouldn’t it be your duty to understand their plight on a more personable level?

Suddenly a hand shot through the crowd to grasp onto yours. The contact was enough to knock both the wind and confidence out of you before you were dragged out of the market and off your feet. Looking ahead to see who had grabbed you proved fruitless with everybody you were being brushed past. Even your cries of protest were outbid by the various merchants already calling for attention.

Have you been found out? Was it the guards? Or worse? Some criminal looking to make a big buck with the kidnapping of a princess. The thought made you pale. That, and the ever looming alleyway that you’ve just now realized you’re pulling into to get out of sight from the main streets of the open market. At least it wasn’t claustrophobic.

“Hey!” Your voice finally boomed in the stone alleyway, “I demand that you release me immediately or else I-”

You were shoved against the wall. Your shoulder blade nearly scratched against the coarse surface but a large hand covering your mouth stopped your wince of pain. Staring back into your wide eyes were a pair of brown ones that were dark and foreboding. The man had tanned skinned from days spent out in the sun while his long brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail that hung off of his shoulder. There was a roughness to the man that made you scared, yet…intrigued as the hand used to silence you lifted itself. In its stead the man raised a finger to his mouth for a ‘Shh’

Just outside where you two hid the sound of rushing footsteps dragged your attention to the source. In small groups were guards dressed in armor you could recognize from being from the palace. Your family’s personal colors. Not the city. Though they did not have their blades drawn they still traveled with an urgency.

“Gah, where did she go?” One voice growled while they skulked passed while seemingly not noticing or caring to check the alley you were hidden in, “Scatter and find her now.”

With a scattering of ‘Yes, sir’ the sound of their ever growing search became distant. You still held in your breath as your gaze cautiously slid back towards the stranger. His attention was still towards the entryway to the alley, leaving the positioning of the light streaming into cast harsh shadows across his face to highlight his sharp jawline. The sun nearly made his eyes glow gold.

In spite of the situation at hand you found yourself turned red.

Thankfully only an eternity passed before the man let out a sigh of relief and turned to address you, a wide grin nearly splitting his face in half while he allowed air to flow between your bodies again.

“That was a close one, eh?” He winked at you, “Saw them tailing ya for awhile now. Luckily your pal Stanley was here to help out or who knows what might have happened.” The man, now identified as Stanley, patted your shoulder before stepping out to the entrance to look both ways for any incoming trouble. “What’s got palace guards so hyped up about ya anyway? Must have stolen something good, or…”

His gaze swept back to your still bewildered form and hummed. Was he trying to judge your character at this moment? Or maybe even recognize you as the princess of this city and realize what a prize he’s just passed up.

The palm of your hands finally grew sweaty and you moved to wipe them off on the fabric of your cloak that hid a majority of your form, only allowing your finer curves to shine through. Had you really been so reckless? A part of you was beginning to understand your family’s paranoia a bit better.

“-princess?” “WHAT?”

Stanley gave you a look, “I said, ‘or pissed off the princess’ since you’re, well…y’know…attractive, or…” Now his own pause gave way for awkwardness. His eyes wandered to anywhere but your growing smile before he coughed, “Forget it. Anyways, I’ve got some stuff of my own to attend to so I gotta get-”

“Thank you,” You politely interrupted, raising a hand to tuck away a strand of hair when a ray of light hit the golden bracelet wrapped around your wrist. It had been a gift from your family last year for your birthday and since then you’ve hardly taken it off, even with your peasant disguise. Again he began to stare so you quickly added, “You didn’t have to go to the trouble of helping me out, but you did. I hope to one day pay you back.”

“Oh, pffft, don’t worry about it! Besides, the street trash has to stick together, don’t we? We’re a rare species, me and you.”

‘You and I’, you internally corrected.

He stepped forward with an arm outstretched to wrap around your shoulders, guiding you further into the alley without much resistance from you. Though he did not draw you in, Stan did take charge in what was soon becoming a casual stroll through the streets. Every now and then you’d catch him eyeing your surroundings as if more palace guards would jump from the shadows at any moment to drag you away once and for all.

“Listen…How about your pal sticks around for a bit longer? You might be a rat like me but I can tell you’re new to these streets. I’ll just keep an eye on ya. Make sure the heat has gotten off your back.” Again he winked.

You blushed in return and you caught his grin from the corner of your eye while you glanced away to gather yourself, “At any point should I be worried about you as my guardian?”

“Eh, was gonna rob ya at the end of the night so you’ll be fine ‘till then!” The uproarious laugh that followed afterward made you join in with your own, though not as powerful as Stanley’s.

__

The two of you conversed for a long while. At first it was mainly comprised of Stanley telling jokes that you’d have to either genuinely or politely laugh at, or he’d take his time telling a daring story of some petty theft he’s done in the past with an excitable gleam in his eye. Having no actual street experience of your own you did your best to contribute to the conversation with a few embellished stories of your own.

Though the mood remained light you did catch the occasional glance of Stanley actually trying to take care of you. Either with keeping an eye down the path you both walked, or drawing you into his side in a near embrace when somebody brushed past you to attend to their own business. You felt selfish in relishing in the attention. Especially when you had loathed the same sort from your family.Yet despite all of his talk, Stanley still felt so…safe.

Eventually a silence fell between the two of you that was only filled with the soft dragging of your shoes against the paved ground beneath you. With the sun beginning to fade away you could also just faintly hear the chirp of the bugs that came out at night. It was the exact sort of peace you were hoping to find outside of the palace.

Stanley broke the silence first, “So, ever plan on telling me why?”

“Hm?” You cocked your head.

“The guards,” He reminded you, “Why were the palace guards chasing ya?”

Choosing not to respond straight away you kept your gaze fixated on the ground, drawing in air from between your teeth. You’ve had all this time to come up with a lie. Had you been so preoccupied in his presence that basic safety wasn’t a priority? In the face of your silence Stanley fell out of step with you, instead standing with a stern look in his eye that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

“Don’t try and tell me ya stole something. Else they would have made a ruckus when they found ya, but they didn’t. They tailed instead.” The thoughtful expression he held felt almost unfitting on the man you hardly knew, “Not that I’m paranoid or anything, but-” “THERE SHE IS!” Before the shock could even hit your system Stanley was dragging you behind him again. This time you were able to scramble on your feet faster than before. The peaceful sounds of the night were replaced by the pounding of your heart in your ears. Glancing over your shoulder you could just make out the silhouettes of your pursuers who were hot on your tail.

Stanley’s attention remained ahead. He’d take you left from right without a moment's thought as to where the two of you were actually headed. That became abundantly clear when Stanley finally made a wrong turn. A dead end that branched off to another dead end filled with discarded crates from shipments long past. You heard him curse beneath his breath before trying to find an alternative route. It was too late.

Sensing that the jig was up you unceremoniously placed your foot on the curve of Stan’s ass, shoving with all your might to kick him back into the alley and plummeting into the boxes below. He was left swearing from the fall while you hurried to smooth out your outfit as if to suggest you hadn’t done anything wrong by evading the guards all day who, at this point, managed to catch up to you.

You stepped forward to the clearly out of breath party to stop any perceptive eyes from spotting Stanley. The leader of the pact, whom you unfortunately did recognize, was the first to step forward. Not with a sword in hand but a furrowed brow. “Princess,” The man emphasized as if to ensure Stanley heard, “You’ve been fleeing from us all day. Do you have any idea how worried your parents are?” His tone was polite despite the venom hiding behind it. He didn’t like playing babysitter for someone like you.

“I apologize for making you run around all day. I was being selfish for wanting some outside air. Your dedication in doing so however will be rewarded by my father,” A part of you truly did feel sorry, and prayed that your politeness would soothe over what was sure to be a fight the moment you stepped behind palace walls. When he didn’t reply right away you bit the inside of your cheek.

His eyes must have burned themselves into your soul before he faced away from you. Immediately he began to bark orders to his still recovering guards. Secure a path to the castle, inform his royal blaah, blah, blah blah, blaaaaah…

You were back to being a treasure to protect. Without voice or opinion. For having people’s lives revolve around you it felt like a karmic justice to have none of your own. Deciding to play further into your role you folded your hands into each other, offering no opinions or comments. It would have been infuriating if you weren’t given the opportunity to slide your gaze towards the branching off alleyway where you had kicked Stanley into.

Stanley’s presence nearly made you gasp aloud as you had expected him to have abandoned you long ago. While he still made an effort to hide from the sight of your guards you could barely make out his head poking out from between boxes. It appeared he had time to process the reveal of your status as a princess as his face had a clear look of ‘Really?’

There was an almost embarrassment to it as well, considering all that he had to say about you earlier. Yet in spite of the fear that you would retaliate against such behavior he still stayed. From the shadows he made an obscene gesture that made you giggle and cover your mouth, your bracelet clattering soundlessly against your-

Soundless?

Your eyes snapped to your bare wrist that sported a light tan line. Immediately you search the area around you in the hopes of a light reflecting back from its metallic band. A soft whistle dragged your attention back to Stanley who had swirling on his finger-

Your bracelet.

His grin was infectious as you soon copied it. The bracelet may have been a gift yet it wasn’t one to be robbed with abandon. You had many more like it back at home.

Stanley winked at you while taking a step back into the shadows, out of reach of both the guards and you with each passing second. It was just as you heard the murmurings of your group beginning to prepare for their trip back that you noticed Stanley mouthing to you before he was gone himself, “Told ya so.”

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍.

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

pairing: ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, sci-fi, enemies to lovers

summary: there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.

word count: 3k

warnings: hunter/prey, chase kink, size kink, power imbalance, fear kink, dancing on the line of dubcon due to the power imbalance, but reader very much wants miguel, hate sex, piv, possessive!miguel, biting (it has a slight aphrodisiac effect because why not), some blood, dystopian, bondage with mechanical arms, double penetration thanks to said mechanical arms, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint,

a/n: i don't know with this is, it kinda sorta happened and, honestly, i don't hate it.

In a city perpetually cloaked in gray, oppression is an unrelenting weight. Surveillance cameras leer from every corner, tracking your steps and every muttered word.

This city used to thrive, alive with energy. Now, it's stifled by a regime that rules with an iron fist. Holographic banners hang in the air, projecting sanitized slogans that mask the truth. Rain splashes onto pixelated cobblestones, the wet ground echoing the neon lights into your eyes. 

Heart pounding, you dart through the alleyways, every step echoing. You hear them chasing you, the CodeBorns, they were the AI-enhanced sentinels of this world. Their purpose; bring order to the intricate dark web of the city. You scoff as you run, what a load of bullshit. The sentinels are nothing more than mindless robots that have a barely working human heart—and brain—for that matter. 

Very fittingly, you’re part of a group called CodeBreakers, a group of dedicated people trying to dismantle the regime and censorship. You just recently hacked into the cinema, which might seem not like a big deal, but you just had to save those poor people from watching the same damn thing over and over again. 

Making people watch something else that wasn’t handpicked by the goverment might’ve not been a big deal, but breaking into the system certainly was, and something not everyone could do. 

“Shit,” you hiss, accidentally tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Shit shit shit—” 

The worst thing about the CodeBorns is the fact that they can do a lot that regular folk like you can’t. For example, they’re all ridiculously fast, they can see in the dark, they can hear exceptionally well, they have superhuman strength—

You hear a wall shattering behind you and heavy steps grow closer, you’re relieved when you realize it’s only one set of steps, but as you realize who those steps probably belong to, your chest caves. 

Fucking, Miguel O’Hara. 

You hear the familiar creak of mechanical limbs and the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips. Another thing about the AI-enhanced sentinels, they have body upgrades they can take off whenever they want to. 

“You can’t unrun me!” he roars. “You know you can’t!”

He’s right, you can’t run a beast of a man like him. 

You need to be smarter. 

Ducking into another alleyway, you thank whatever god is left in this world overrun by technology for the web of light the neon signs provide. You quickly spot a string of utility boxes, It’s dangerous, but you manage to squeeze yourself between them and the hard stone wall. Heat radiates from the boxes. If Miguel doesn’t lose track of you soon, the damn thing might heat up enough to burn you. 

The clatter of mechanical limbs echoes closer.

And then you see him. 

The neon light reflects off his holographic suit, its dynamic red details reminiscent of flickering pixels. He's a towering figure. Spider-like limbs protrude from his back, their gleaming metal glistening with the moisture of the rain-soaked air. They move slightly as if looking around, trying to sense her. With panic, you hold your breath, the small hairs on the back of your neck standing with attention. 

His brow is slightly furrowed, something you recognize he does when he’s either angry or annoyed—or both.  His lips, however, curve into a faint, almost menacing smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction in this pursuit.

The alleyway seems to shrink around you as his steps grow nearer. Your pulse quickens, synchronized with the flickering lights around you. This isn’t your first run-in with Miguel, and you doubt it will be the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. The fear you feel poisons you, making your stomach churn and your mouth taste of death. He’s captured you before but never actually handed you in. 

Arousal rears its head among the fear, coating you in a sheer sweat. You can’t help it. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point, you see him and your body starts leaking like a damn faucet. Miguel had captured you twice, and in both of them, you ended up with his cock deep between your legs. 

You just never know with him. He never contacted you outside of this, never acted in a way that would indicate that something had happened between you two. 

All he gave you is this, the chase, the fear, the wondering if this might be the time he throws you in a needlessly futuristic cell—

"Here, you are. You tiny thing."

Shit. 

It’s comical really; the way you look up with wide eyes as his red ones peer down at you. His smirk is non-existent, yet you can still feel his satisfaction in finding you. Your chest heaves painfully, you can move, struck with uncharacteristic fear. He might not be an animal you get the sense that he smells the horror sticking to your skin. 

You’re about to make a run for it when the mechanical arm’s sinewy grace coils around your ankles. Miguel pulls you out of your hiding place. All the blood rushes to your face as you hang upside down. 

“Dammit, Miguel!” you hiss. “Put me down!” 

He raises a sole brow elegantly, his eyes moving up and down your body, his gaze almost predatory. “Rather bold for a criminal,” he answers, voice nonchalant. The limbs tighten around your ankles, just a shy away from being painful. The arm draws you nearer, your breath mingling with his in the dewy air. “I’m starting to think you enjoy getting caught.” 

“Does it look like I have a death wish?” you ask. His lips twitch and you quickly add. “You know what, never mind, don’t answer that.” 

“What if it was one of the others who found you first? Were you going to spread your legs for them too? ” he snarls. “Is that how you’ve been getting away from hacking our systems for this long?” 

This time when the limb squeezes harder around your flesh and bone, you scream. The sound is drowned by the constant buzz of the world. “I should just take you in,” he murmurs. “Be less trouble.” 

Due to the blood gathering in your skull, you might be imagining things but you swear you saw a hint of actual worry instead of anger in those crimson eyes. But that shouldn’t be possible. Codeborns didn’t feel; sure they felt anger, but they were programmed sentinels made not to care about anyone who went into their criminal system. 

“Careful, your emotion is showing.” 

Maybe you do have a death wish, after all. 

“Bitch.” 

His sudden anger chokes the air from out of your lungs. You’re suffocated. The limb around you suddenly scorching hot, his eyes redder than normal, bright enough to match the neon raining from above. He bares his teeth at you, sharp and venomous, when he wants them to be. Miguel leans further into your personal space, his scowl deep—you begin to shake all over, your heart begging for your body to move away but you can’t. All you fear and think is fear. 

Arousal sneaks between the sinews of emotions. You taste it on your tongue, the scent of it searing as you take quick, sharp breaths. 

Miguel’s nose brushes the tender skin right under your ear, the sound of his inhale deafening “Afraid?” he rolls his tongue, his voice nothing but gravel. Before you can answer, a chuckle halts your tongue. His breath dans over your damp skin, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Or aroused? Or perhaps both?” 

You say nothing and it’s not for a lack of trying. You’re stunned into it, your tongue feeling limp and big in your mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth nip at your upside-down cheek, and despite yourself, a whimper escapes. 

“No seas tímida ahora. Where’s all that bite from before? Cat got your tongue?” you joly at the sudden feel of his warm tongue, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your shirt. “Beg for it.” again, a darkness curls around each and every word. 

This situation shouldn’t be getting you this hot and bothered. The want between your legs pulses so bad that it hurts. 

“P—Please, Miguel,” you say barely above a whisper. “I. . . I want it.” 

“Want what?” 

Fucking asshole. “Your cock. I want. . . you to fuck me.” 

His smile does nothing to quell the fear, “Good girl,” he rasps, the words echoing in your ear. 

The rest happens in a blur. 

Suddenly you’re not hovering upside down anymore, instead, you’re shoved up against the hard, cold surface of a wall, your pants being lowered for you. Now it’s your wrists that are bound and pinned above your head, your legs spread from the ankles thanks to the mechanical arms. Miguel’s large presence looms right behind you, his clothed cock flush between the crevice of your ass. 

“Let’s see how wet you are,” he coos, ripping your panties into two. You make a strangled sound of disapproval, but all he does is click his tongue. “Be grateful I didn’t shred your pants.” 

Grateful is the last thing you’re feeling as two fingers spread your folds, the middle one dipping between. Your body speaks for itself. Swiping his fingers up and down, he gatherers your slick around the digit and traces your entrance, pushing in. Your body jumps at the beach, pleasure licking the base of your spine. “So responsive,” he murmurs and you hear the familiar glitching sound of his suit. 

Then you feel the heft of his cock laying right above the curve of your ass, both his hands cradling your asscheeks. The limb around your wrists coils tighter. 

Miguel parts your cheeks, getting a better look. Your cheeks burn in response. The cool air hits your other hole and you hate the way your body clenches at the cold. His thumb traces the rim and a loud exhale of air rips from your lungs. Your legs start to shake, slick dripping down the insides of the tender flesh. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty asshole one day soon,” Miguel gloats. Experimentally,  he pushes his thumb forward, nearly knuckle deep until you start squirming. You’re dripping for him, your asshole fluttering around the digit. The mild pain only makes your pulse race. “Unfortunately for you, I can’t today.” 

You hear his smile in his voice. The smugness that is laced into his every sentence. Your breath hitches when he pulls out, a moment later the warmth of his finger is replaced with something cold and metal. 

You tense as you hear the machine whirring, the hardness of it is replaced with something rounder and softer. “M—Miguel. . . ?” 

His lips touch your ear, “Shhh, don’t worry about it, princesa, just a little something to keep you satisfied while I fuck your pretty little cunt.” 

The arm merely moves over your hole, a feather-like touch that warms your skin. When it gently prods at you, you arch your back instinctively, your ass moving up into the air. 

Miguel only chuckles, the sound dark and low, a faint slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp but he doesn’t say another word. 

He’s big. 

You have no idea if it’s just lucky genetics or due to the ai-enhancement but whatever it is; he’s well-endowed. 

He makes you feel every tantalizing inch as he pushes himself further into your cunt, your walls throbbing while adjusting to his width. Your jaw drops, mouth gaping. He presses deeper and deeper, every centimeter of your cunt claimed by him. Your knees buckle and for the first time, you’re grateful for the robotic tendrils holding you up. He growls into your neck, those same venomous fangs skimming the tenderness of your neck. You feel the sharp bite of his nails digging further into your hip. 

Towards the base, his cock thickens and your eyes roll back as he shoves the last of it deep inside you. Your breasts feel heavy, tingling with pleasure despite being untouched.

Miguel doesn’t wait, he pulls back his hips and snaps them forward. Your stomach clenches with a delightful shiver. While slamming into you, the arm that holds your wrists together starts to pull you back until your back forms the perfect art, a mild discomfort steaming at the base of your spine. The way he’s angling you above his cock coaxes sweet, load moans from you. If possible, he’s even deeper now, hitting that devastating spot you can’t seem to reach when you’re on your own. 

“You like being my little plaything?” he groans, kissing the sweaty skin between your neck and shoulder. You moan again when the rounded tip of the mechanical limb starts pushing into the tight ring. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks you and trickles down his length, leaving your body trembling. “Fuck,” thrust. “So,” thrust. “goddamn,”  thrust. “wet—” 

You attempt to say his name but all you manage is the pathetic repeat of the letter “m”. His lips curl cruelly and the tip of the arm forces itself deeper, fucking you with shallow thrusts. “Pathetic,” he spits. “You’re so fucked out that you can’t even say my name? You can’t help drooling around my cock, can’t you? This is why I think you enjoy getting caught, you tiny thing,” the hard edge of his voice softens as he drags his nose down your neck. “So pathetic.” 

When he nips at your neck for the nth time tonight, you bare yourself to him by tilting your head. You want it. Want him. You need to feel him tear into your flesh, you want to feel the sting of his bite for weeks. 

His movements slow on both ends. “It’ll hurt,” he warns. 

“I don’t care,” you choke out. “P-Please— I–I can’t—” 

You really can’t talk. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for the hard pound of his hips. Miguel doesn’t make you say it twice. He sinks his teeth into the same pace he kissed not a moment ago, the pain is instant, the trickle of warm blood making you squeamish. He doesn’t suck, only bites, not that you ever thought he would be sucking your blood. You imagine it’s just something he enjoys doing, like a primal need. You feel the soft webs of psychedelic venom seep into your veins. Your body grows limp, your lids growing heavy, he resumes his thrust and the pleasure you feel is tenfold. 

“Oh god,” you gasp, slack-jawed. “Oh my fucking god—Miguel—” 

He pulls out his teeth, kissing the marks he made that were shiny with blood, “I know, I know,” he grinds his hips, the pleasure shooting up your spine like electricity. “The effects won’t last long.” 

His words go through one ear and out the other. However. Your body singing with pleasure and nothing else, the word around you fading into reds and pinks. 

Miguel snapped his hips hard into you, meanwhile, the limb resumed its thrusts, stretching you further with every stroke. Some part of you is reminding you that Miguel, as of right now, can see every part of you, your most intimate parts completely bare. But the soothing venom lurking in your veins whispers words of encouragement. You focus on being stretched further, your hips move in need to meet his thrusts, but having nothing to brace yourself against, you surrender and allow him to take you apart wholly. 

His grunts became louder, Miguel pushed deeper and deeper, both cocks thrusting into you at the same time. Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips. Your mind empties with slack-jawed bliss as both lengths repeatedly strike your sensitive spots, pounding you with pleasure. 

You let out a loud gasp when the limb pulls out of you suddenly and you’re left empty, Miguel’s arms wrap around you, hands sliding under your shirt to cup the heavy weight of your breasts. He presses flush against you, striking your ass, he fucks into you with short, deep thrusts. 

His fingers pinch at your hard nipples, slightly turning them, “Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fuck myself deep inside of you so no one will dare touch you.” 

The possessive tone, the brutal pace of his thrusts, the large hands on your tits—all of it pushes you down the edge, your body going rigid before relaxing entirely. You gush around him, wet sounds echoing in the narrow alleyway as he fucks you through it, not slowing down in the slightest. 

However, you do feel the hold around your wrists recoiling along with the ones holding your ankles apart. Miguel holds you close as you fall loosely like a ragdoll, animalistic sounds are grunted into your ear, another burst of arousal awakening on your tongue. 

The tip of his tongue dances along the bite marks when he spills into you, his cock deep, just like he promised. 

There’s so much, you feel the heat of it spreading inside of you, some of it spilling around from where his cock stretches you wide. His hips twitch, his arms forcing down the grind of your hips. You let out a whimper, your head falling over his shoulder. 

The two of you remain like that until his cock begins to soften inside of you, Miguel slowly pulls out and lowers you to the ground so you can sit. He finds your pants and throws it towards your lap. 

Sadly for you, your brain registers none of that. The dumb muscle only starts working again when he stands tall in front of you, that same menacing stance returning. 

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says, voice stern. He looks down at you as he stuffs his cock back in his pants. “If I do, I’ll have to lock you up. This was your last warning.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

A bitter laughter bubbles in your throat as the back of your head hits the hard surface of the wall. Rain begins to drizzle, the first tiny drops landing on your cheeks and sliding down to your neck. 

Among all the people you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?

[castle-of-ruin]

Reacher Comes to Visit 2

A/N: Alrighty folks. Here it is. Part 2. A smutty one. I'm so beyond nervous. This is my first ever smut piece. I hope that all of you enjoy this.

Pairing: Jack Reacher x f!reader

Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex (let's be realistic here it's fiction. I didn't do the right thing. Wrap it up!), lotsss of consent, oral (f!receiving).

Please please let me know if I missed any warnings!

I do not condone the copying of my work. Do NOT repost my work.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are all welcome. Again, I hope you enjoy.

Some visual inspiration for those who care.

The next morning, you awoke to an empty bed and empty house. You would expect nothing less. They had a job to finish, and you knew they were not sticking around long. Getting out of bed, you pull on some clothes and make your way to the kitchen. Much to your surprise, the place is spotless. A smile pulls at your lips. They might be a rough and tough bunch, but at their roots, they were good people. You laugh to yourself quietly as you imagine the four of them scrambling around your house and cleaning. Surely, Neagley was the one who orchestrated the whole thing. It was a heartwarming gesture, considering you may never see them again.

After fixing yourself a quick breakfast, you take the seat at the table and eat your food in peace. Reacher flashes in your mind more than once as you finish up your breakfast and put your plate in the sink. You didn’t know if you would ever see Reacher again, but every part of you wanted to. Something told you that he would be back, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Especially when you didn’t know if he was going to make it out of whatever mess he was in, alive. You shake your head, letting out a scoff. Knowing Reacher, he would be just fine. He was a great fighter and unbelievably strong. That much you had witnessed when he saved you.

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and once again, you found yourself getting ready for bed. It was well after nine o’clock when you heard that familiar knock on your front door once more. A gasp escapes your lips as you pull open the door and reveal Reacher on the other side. He gives you a small smile and shrugs his shoulders.

“I know, I look like shit.” He states with a smirk.

You took in the blood along the collar of his shirt and the even bigger bruise under his left eye.

“You’re right. You do. Come on.” You yank him in by the sleeve of his jacket. He comes in without any restraint, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom.

“Take that off,” you instruct.

The jacket slides off his shoulders as he shrugs out of it. You could have sworn you heard him wince but didn’t bring it up. Your eyes widen at the gash on his side, peeking through the holes on his shirt and the small cut on his neck. Whatever happened, he got beat to hell and back.

“Shit, I’m surprised you’re still standing, big guy.” You dab at the cut above his eye.

His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you close to him.

“I can’t help you if you’re holding onto me, Reach.” You tell him as you stand between his legs.

Reacher pushes you back slightly and looks up at you. He didn’t need to speak to tell you he didn’t care about his wounds. That wasn’t why he was there. No, it was his want to hold you true to that promise you made him last night. Your hands rest easy on his shoulders as the two of you stare each other down in your small bathroom. Slowly, you allow yourself to place your hands on his cheeks, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. He needs this just as badly as you do.

“Can I?” You ask, eyes drifting to his lips for a moment.

“Yes,”

Leaning in, you kiss him, this time with more fervor than before. His grip on your hips tightens, as if that's possible, and he stands towering above you. You can feel the countertop pressing into your lower back as he leans into you. Slowly, but surely, he backs you into your bedroom, not breaking the kiss for a moment.

Finding the hem of his shirt with shaky fingers, you tug at it softly, signaling to him what you want, asking for permission. Before you can verbally ask him, his shirt is flying into the other corner of the room. You laugh quietly and squeal when his hands find your ass and he lifts you in the air. Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, you kiss him again. Getting lost in the way his stubble scratches against your cheeks or the way his skin was so warm, you could feel the warmth through your blue jeans.

Reacher places you on the bed hovering above you briefly before attacking your lips once more.

“Let’s take this off, yeah?” He asks, fingers easing beneath your shirt.

You nod, giving him the okay. He pulls the shirt over your head and throws it across the room, and it lands with a loud thud. Reacher removes himself from you long enough to unbutton his pants and pull them off before he’s right back between your legs. You bite your lip as his black boxers hide no part of him.

The button on your pants pops open easily in your fingers, and you shimmy out of them. Reacher helps you get them off your ankles and drops them. Warm fingertips trace up your thighs, over your hips, and along your sides before Reacher hooks around behind you and undoes your bra. You shiver, as cool air wraps around your newly exposed skin. The chill is soon replaced by Reacher’s warm mouth as he uses his tongue to play with your nipples. Soft pants fall from your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck once more.

“Fuck,” You moan out.

Reacher hums against your skin.

“This is not the time for you to tease me, Reacher.” You practically growl.

You feel him chuckle against you. Instead of listening to you, Reacher moves down your body, littering your skin in kisses. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, and he looks up to you for a brief moment, asking quiet permission to take them off. You nod, and that's all he needs to practically rip them off you. Before you can adjust to the cool air his tongue finds your clit and you buck against him. Instinctively grinding your hips in unison with his tongue. Your moans grew louder as he worked at you longer, his large fingers toying inside of you. As you grow closer to release the warmth is ripped away when Reacher stands up once more. You almost protest, but stop when he rids himself of his boxers finally and comes back to you.

You watch as he runs his hand the length of his abdomen before settling on his cock. He strokes his cock in his fist a few times before running the head of his cock through your slick folds. A moan falls past your lips as he thrusts into you. Slow at first as he allows you to adjust to him, and he finds his rhythm. His hands hold your hips down as he thrusts into you, his pace picking up. Reacher drops his head into the crook of your neck and moans quietly. He bites down softly on the sensitive skin of your neck and you gasp.

Once again you wrap your arms around his neck as he fucks into you. He kisses you roughly as his thrusts meet yours. Moans fill the room as you feel yourself inching closer to your impending orgasm. A gasp falls past your lips when he lifts your leg, changing the angle in which he thrusts into you.

“Fuck,” You groan as he slows his pace with the new position.

Every delicious drag of his cock had shudders rippling through you. Cursing again, you pant out his name and close your eyes, the euphoria building in the pit of your stomach almost too much to bear.

“Look at me,” He instructs, gripping your chin softly.

Opening your eyes, you look at him, taking in the way his breathing labored, the way his pupils were blown out of proportion, and his green eyes were much darker than normal. He kisses you again, this time softer than before, but still just as bruising. Heat pooled in the pit of your abdomen as Reacher’s pace increased again. You were aware of each slow drag of his hips and counter thrust as he held you close as he neared his own release.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you come, clenching around him as your orgasm wracks through your body. Not far behind you, Reacher finds his own release and collapses beside you. Spent you curl yourself up beside him and snuggle into his side, wanting to stay this way for as long as you could.

After laying there quietly with one another for some time, you prop yourself up on your elbow and take him in once more. His breaths were even once more, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. Surely, he was exhausted after the day he had.

He surprises you by turning to face you. “I won’t wait two years to come back next time.” He murmurs, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“I’d like that.” You tell him, placing your hand on his shoulder and leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls you close and holds you tightly, and as you drift off the sleep, he presses a kiss to the side of your head. Today was the day things would change, and for the better.

No pressure tagging some of the mutuals: @xxidontwikeitxx @cryingwriter @supernaturaldawning @gemstone-roses @a-reader-and-a-writer @quaritchscupquake

[pipinpali]

This will have a name eventually,,

—--

1/?? — Screwed Up

TW!: blood, injury, mentions of death, language, violence

Word count ~ 1000 words

—--

Randall crawled out from beneath heap of metal scraps and junk which was supposed to be the entrance of his home; evident by the old carvings on one of the pieces of cardboard from the couple of kids that liked to follow him around.

'These storms are more of a problem than I thought,' the smallfolk bristled. He sighed, deciding to get to fixing it later, and brushing away the feeling.

He was a busy man with deals to make and suckers to cheat. With his self-built confidence, he adjusted his scarf, tugged at his socks, slicked back his hair, and brushed off his coat. Content with his look, he made his way through town.

Unfortunately, travel wasn't the easiest thing in the homey town (which Randall had never learned the name of in all of his 9 years living there), in fact, it was one of the hardest.

Randall dashed towards the exit of the dark alley, stopping abruptly before he was cast in the light of the orangey last hours of sunshine. He peeked around the corners for the beast that made him believe the "man's best friend" title was bullshit. Good thing for him, all he could see was the metal rod in the ground and the thick chains that it was usually tied to. He was relived he didn't have to climb up the old downpipe today.

There was still dangers that Randall had to face, the most important being one of those big people. Despite the charismatic smallfolk's rather impressive height of 12.7 cm, amongst giants; he was thought of like a rat.

With that in mind, Randall carefully, cautiously, stayed near the towering apartment buildings, making sure he wasn't close to the middle of the sidewalk where all the foot traffic of a couple of people here and there was. Over the half hour or two he was scampering along, there were a few close calls of almost being spotted, but he prevailed and made it to his destination.

Readying himself, Randall jumped and caught his hands on the grooves of the decorated stone which acted somewhat like a ladder for the folks that visited. He climbed -- ableit with a bit of struggle -- up the massive building, one that was home to the Bright Market, the "hot-spot for money making." Heaving himself onto the back of the large, glowing sign that read something along the lines of "Pet-ee's," he was met with familiar sight of the bustling stalls.

Randall knew where he needed to be, as did the fools who accepted his offer. Little did he know, though; that it might be his last.

He walked towards the back of market, nearing the edge of the vast roof-top, where he saw the same brute of a man sitting on a makeshift bench; the one who asked for his services in the first place.

The conman leaned against a post, eyeing the client with his usual confident gaze, the phantom of an amused smile on his face. "So, you got the bits?" He inquired.

"I've heard from a friend that you have quite the reputation, Mr. Franklin," the toned man stated with his deep, gravely voice, his fingers tracing his whiskers.

Randall bristled. He didn't tell the man his last name. Things sudden felt a lot less safe. From the corner of his eye, he could spot a handful of others nearing where they were conversing. "...I see you have," he responded, attempting to keep up his charismatic demeanor, though; the change in tone made it known that he had a good idea as to what was going on.

"...They said they wanted the money back," the man said, finally making eye contact with Randall. He sat up at an intimidating height, slowly walking up to meet Randall at just a couple inches of distance. Something was definitely wrong.

The he dared to try and dart off to the side before things got messy- being gutted in the stomach, now pinned between the wall and the brutish man's arm before he could even get two steps away.

Randall struggled to get free, his legs kicking against the other's, searching for to get back to the floor as his hand scrambling to grab at his side for his dagger which had fallen onto the floor.

His eyes widend as the man drew back his arm; fist tightened.

Shit.

...

...

...

In his blurry vision, he squinted, trying to make sense of the growing lights and the loud growl that sounded louder and louder as a silhouette became more clear--

Randall had figured out it was a car before the very second he was nearly run over. 'Those assholes tossed me on the road while I was unconscious!' he realized. Before he could get too angry about it, adrenaline buzzed in his head. He needed to get somewhere safe before something killed him.

As Randall attempted to stand, a shot of pain in his legs knocked him back to the ground. He reeled, sucking in air before he let out a strangled cry. 'Don't do that again,' he noted to himself.

Pitifully and painfully, he reached out his arms and started pulling himself through the gravely pavement, his body scraping against the rough texture as all nine of his fingers grasping and a few prayers setting him on his way.

After a while, the smallfolk's sensitive ears perked up at another noise — this time not a massive car barreling towards him — but instead, it was the stirrings of rain. It didn't take long for him to pelted with the sudden downpour.

Randall idly thought about giving up, yet the illuminating, towering street light ahead, standing out admists the dark, filled him with an odd and unfamiliar sense of hope.

He was close, he could leave this okay.

With that, the now determined and drenched smallfolk trudged through the ever growing puddles, nearing the sidewalk. He thanked the gods that there weren't any big people out at this hour.

Randall was so determined, in fact, that he didn't pick up the final noise over the rain.

The most important one.

It wasn't until the light had flickered that the little conman's focus had faltered, the instinctual reminder to scan his surroundings only now ringing in his head. His mildly articulated ears perked up at the sound of something distant, almost sounding like scraping thuds...? It was rythmatic, a set pace. And like the car, it neared closer, and became louder.

Randall almost shrieked at the sight of two giant work shoes that appeared far too early and far too close, accompanied by two impossibly long legs, arms, and... -He couldn't run, he realized, nor hide. He was at the mercy of a big person of all things.

He was screwed.

—--

Next part -> coming soon! (Hopefully)

Wowie kazowie lookie here!! Me? Writing?? Impossible!

Im planing on making more of these but this is just here for now incase

their first meeting!! First time writing something like this,,

I made a drawing before right here of the final scene ,

[highlordofkrypton]

Hi, 👀 I was messing around with a bot and thought… what if Tamlin’s mind, in an attempt to cut all the strain and stress, decides to begin locking memories away. Like “You cannot suffer from something that didn’t happen” kind of thing, and causes him a case of amnesia where he doesn’t remember Lucien, or Feyre or the curse. Regressing to a more child/teen-like self.

His body shifting to fit his mentality until he’s a kid again and doesn’t recognize many of the folk in his house. He wonders where his family are, he wonders where his best friend Rhys is and refuses to see or talk to anyone until Rhys comes to visit him.

Lucien tries to care for Tamlin by taking on a babysitter/chaperone kind of role but Tamlin makes a pillow fort from which he refuses to come out until Rhys comes…

I LOVE this prompt so freaking much, it's so cute! I had to write you a ficlet, but you need to promise me not to put it into the bot. I'm not a fan of bot usage, and I'm against my work being run through it, but that said, here's how I see it going down!

(Sorry, I missed the pillow fort part, I got caught up in the feels of the ficlet.)

FROM THE BEGINNING The one where Tamlin forgets everything by becoming a baby again

The world is too big—too unkind. He can't take it anymore.

His mind eats at itself, and no matter how much he claws at it, there is no way for Tamlin to carve out the bits that cause pain.

It's all pain.

There's nothing left. His court is in shambles, and the manor that holds what little good memories is rotting. His mind is rotting.

I can't—I want to restart.

***

"Tamlin?"

It's been so long since Lucien has last lived here; he doesn't know how it went this far. This is his home, or what's left of it. A century ago, he had sworn an oath to protect it and to stand by his best friend and yet…

How easily we are swept away by our fears.

"Tam?" He calls softly through the empty manor.

The longer the silence reigns, the worse the worries in Lucien's heart become. He knew, he knew Tamlin wouldn't fare well alone. He should have stayed despite it all. Feyre isn't a child. She can take care of herself. She insists on it, rather, with her masterminding and machinations. Tamlin doesn't play those games. He never has and it was… unfair.

He was my friend.

There are a few haunts Lucien is familiar with. He goes straight to the Starlight River and—

"Tamlin?" Lucien's voice is nothing more than a surprised croak.

He descends the slope of the hill towards what remains of his friend.

By the water, a little boy with beautiful blonde hair splish-splashes in the water surrounded by his forest friends—a chonky raccoon, a clever long-lashed fox, a full-cheeked squirrel and the big-eyed slow loris that always looks surprised. Lucien has known these creatures for all their lives, and so has Tamlin.

"Tamlin," he says, and all the animals look at Lucien in wonder. He can't speak to them the way Tamlin does, but they worry. They motion at him, chirping and huffing about the baby they've been tasked with taking care of. "I've got it," he reassures them.

"Hey," Lucien says softly, smiling. "Remember me?"

"Fys!" Tamlin chirps, clapping. He extends his little hands and makes a grabby motion. "Fys!"

"You want fish?" Lucien asks, confused, but there's a pile of fish beside him already.

Then, it clicks.

Tamlin's eldest brother was names Enfys, and for a child, that name might sound very much like fish. He also had dark blonde hair that erred on the side of reddish in the right light. Children make associations with what they know.

"I'm Lucien."

"Lucy!" Tamlin grins, looking around for his friend. "Ice-sand?"

Lucien's lips dip into a frown. Tamlin doesn't recognize him as an adult. He offers a quiet sigh as he swoops his friend into his arms. Little Tamlin latches onto him, stroking his long auburn hair gently. Tamlin was always a gentle, loving child. He remembers that much from the few times they met as children.

"Mama," Tamlin asks, and it breaks Lucien's heart.

"Mama's gone. I'm sorry."

***

"Where is he?"

"In his room. Wait," Lucien stops the High Lord in his tracks. "There's something you need to know."

Rhysand doesn't know what to make of what's happening. He makes his way up to Tamlin's room, a place he hasn't visited in centuries. His heart hammers in his chest. So much has changed now. Things are so… broken between them. He didn't know what to make of Lucien's initial summons.

Why would he need me?

He can hear the sniffling through the door. Rhysand pushes it open and expects—

Well, Lucien had told him what to expect.

He needs to see a familiar face, is what the Fox had said. He doesn't remember me.

"Tamlin?"

The child rubs his face, curled in the too-big bed.

"Hey, Tam."

His little ears twitch and the sobbing quells for a second. He blinks his tears away to better see Rhysand. His sad eyes light up at the sight of him as he clamors to his feet, awkward like most children are at that age. He runs and launches himself with a bounce off the bed into Rhysand's arms, trusting him wholly and completely to catch him.

Rhysand swoops him into his arms, confused, but he eases when little Tamlin giggles.

"Hi," he beams.

"Hey, kiddo, I heard you weren't feeling well."

"No," Tamlin lies. "I okay."

"Good, I'm glad."

Rhysand hasn't the slightest clue where to start fixing this, but he thinks Tamlin may be onto something. Maybe they start at the beginning.

"Do you remember me? I'm Rhysand. It's nice to meet you again."

[alpaca-clouds]

One Quick Thing about the historical Elisabeth Báthory

Okay, I do need to talk about the historical Elisabeth Báthory, because my inner "well, actually" needs to get this one out there. People who watched Nocturne will probably be at least vaguely aware of the entire mythology around the historical Elisabeth Báthory and how she got connected to the entire story.

She was a Hungarian noblewoman and the reason why she is remembered while most Hungarian nobles are not is the entire outrage around her alleged crimes.

The story goes somewhat like this: Elisabeth Báthory was very afraid of growing old. One day one of her maids cut herself and the blood dripped on Báthory's skin. Which on the next day was so much smoother. After which she became convinced that the blood of girls and young women would hold her aging. So, she had girls brought to her castle to bleed them dry and then bathe in their blood.

It is said she killed more than 300 young women like this, which she was charged with. Given she was a noble she was actually convicted for it, but given she was a noble, the punishment was only "house arrest" in her castle. Never the less she died just three years later of unknown (but probably medical) causes at the age of 54.

So, here is the thing why I want to talk about this. Now, please note: I do not think this will play any role in Castlevania: Nocturne. I think there she really just is a bad guy. But... I just gotta talk about it.

Because today scholars are at times questioning whether the story how it often is remembered. There is a by now very common theory that the reason for her accusations were two-fold: For one, she was a single woman who held a lot of money and power. For the other, she was practicing medicine, learning it partly from herbal practicioners, but also incorporating "modern" knowledge at the time.

Basically, she was already rich because her husband was rich. Then she just happened to be very good at politics, making her - as a widow - amass more power and riches. And people looked unfavorably onto her as a woman having this much influence and riches without a man attached to her.

The other aspect is, that we know she wrote about medicine. She did medical research on her own. And yes, even though she incorporated more herbal knowledge (something people frowned upon at the time, by the way), a lot of medical knowledge at the time also involved a lot of bloodletting. And there is some historical sources out there that show that at least some folks she tried to treat died through her treatment.

So, I got this one out of my system. I just needed to bring this one up. Because the two big historical serial killers we know about might well both have been innocent. The other being Gilles de Rais, who also is the main antagonist in my Castlevania fanfiction The lesser Evil (which you should totally read) - but there it also is a plotpoint that he was innocent.

Okay. That's it for now. I am out.

[piratefishmama]

Vibe Check - Oneshot

Eddie would never claim to enjoy his job. It’d be far too strange for Eddie Munson to admit to enjoying a government based job but there was something fundamentally exciting about getting to see all the little gizmos and random shit that people tried to take onto aeroplanes with them.

Of course there was the usual, bottles of liquid over a certain amount, tiny scissors or nail clippers from grooming sets that they absolutely had no idea weren’t allowed on a plane. There were the fun days with the drugs, the weird days with bagged ashes for scattering purposes that looked like it could conceal drugs and thus had to be tested. Nothing like telling a family you had to test grandma for concealed cocaine cause the computer said no.

There were the shared looks between co-workers when they spotted a dipshit in line, be nice to your fellow flyers folks, the TSA might grab you for a full cavity check for funsies if you don’t!

But then, then, you’d have those people. The people who everyone would automatically judge by their cover because the cover was all they had. Eddie didn’t usually do that, he’d often stick with the vibes and let his co-workers base their hunches on looks, it worked for Eddie nine times out of ten but today..

Today he was off his game a little. The vibe check on this one guy was coming back ?????

Call a lawyer the guy looked like every suburban mothers' wet dream, the kind of guy who wore polo’s and sweater vests, and the type to have a yacht and actually go to the clubs for it on the regular, probably had a membership to his father’s golf club that he actually used. Maybe had a fancy corner office job in Indy, he looked like the corner office type. But the vibe check came back saying NAY, believing it on this particular occasion seemed like a stupid thing to do.

Like sure he was stunning, literally, just a beautiful specimen of a human being, which Eddie would quietly mourn never seeing again, but he looked so straight laced that even holding hands might be a stretch for him.

So Eddie was reduced to book cover judgements because the vibes were wonk. No big deal.

The guy was in his line, he didn’t look nervous or uncomfortable, taking his watch off, putting it into a tray, a ring not on his wedding ring finger went in, his members only jacket, his belt, and shoes, into a second went his phone and a small tablet plus their chargers. And into another went the carry on bag, he was prepared. He flew often enough to know about separating things into their own trays.

Probably some high-level business exec. He looked the type.

“Through here sir” his co-worker directed waving him through, the tray containing the guys carry-on was last, so he was through the detector clean as a whistle before Eddie had seen what was in his case.

Probably a good thing because Eddie nearly choked on his own saliva when that case rolled through.

Holy shit.

“Uhm” he squeaked. He. A grown man. Squeaked. He’d deny that later, even if his currently heated complexion was giving him away.

That... that was an entire carry on full of sex toys. What. The fuck. Was that a whip held together by handcuffs?

Maybe the vibes hadn’t let him down after all. His co-worker walked over, Mr Sex Pest in disguise cast them a raised brow.

“Holy shit...I’ll uhm ill just—”

“No the fuck you won’t” Eddie was up, scrambling around him after flagging the bag for checks. “I got this.” He had this. He was already in front of Sweater Vest before his partner could stop him from making the potentially career ending move of approaching the sneakiest sex loony ever with interest in mind. Sweater Vest could easily complain! Eddie had no real reason to flag it, they were all contained, no bottles, no concerning substances, just toys.

“Problem, sir?” Oh boy the airport was hot. Sweater Vest had moles, cute little moles, moving on.

“Just a few checks regarding the contents of your carry on.” Gloves on, he half expected the guy to try and stop him to save face, but no, he stood there with a raised brow and an amused little curl of a smile on his lips.

“Go ahead.” Zips open and holy shit. It was like Eddie had stepped into the back room of a sex shop. Floggers, a whip, plugs, vibes, clamps, shibari ropes, dildos, both fluffy and actually decent handcuffs, why have two pairs one shit and one not? They were all so neatly organised too, the man was tidy. Was that a sounding rod?!

Could be a creep, could be a creep, coooould be a creep.

“So...”

“So... sir?” Sweater vest seemed to be challenging him. Fine, he could play ball.

“Any liquids in here that I need to know about? Drinks? Lotion? Industrial sized bottle of lube?” At least Sweater Vest laughed. A surprised little giggle snort of laughter that sounded beautiful. Eddie couldn’t help but smile.

“Nope, that’d be in the checked case.” Oooh Sweater Vest had a sense of humour “sorry I know it looks a little whacky, I’m a panel runner at the BDSM convention in Illinois this weekend, i know i'm headed in early but panel runners have to get everything set up properly if they're there for the whole weekend.” Eddie’s eyes widened, holy shit the vibes WERE right, haha fuck you supervisor who called him arrogant when he claimed to just be able to tell with people. “These are for the demonstrations.”

“...Demonstrations, on...?” He had absolutely no right to ask these questions what so ever, his colleague was already probably planning on ratting him out, but while curiosity did indeed kill the cat, satisfaction brought it back!

“A friend, A willing member of the audience, a dummy, depends on the insurance the convention has, this one allows me to pick a very lucky member of the audience since my usual convention partner is in Hawaii on her honeymoon like a traitor.”

“So... you’re a uhm... a—” not okay not allowed big nope so very unprofessional he was so fired.

“Not a Dominant, no. I’m a Submissive, both professionally and personally” didn’t need to tell him the personally bit, didn’t need to tell him that at all but he did, it was there, Sweater vest seemed pretty happy about it being out there too “I co-own an adult shop in Indy, one of the best for this kind of stuff but I have plenty of recommendations if you're not interested in my shop, here,” Sweater Vest pulled a gods honest business card out of a small compartment in the case, which listed him as the managing director/owner of one of Eddie's favourite sex shops of all time, a shop he’d only ever ordered from online so he’d never seen the owners. They had an incredible BDSM range and also delivered discreetly, they were a privately owned small business run right out of Indianapolis, also on the card though, was an Only Fans account, holy shit. “That ok with you, sir?” Sweet Cheesus on toast, had his pants just shrunk?

Steve. Steve Harrington. God that was such a golf club guys name, Steve leaned forward onto his elbows at a slight bend, eyeing Eddie up like he wanted to eat him alive, any other situation, Eddie would have let him. He wanted to bend that little brat over his knee. He loved bratty subs.

“Illinois huh?” Eddie zipped the case right back up again, as if he’d actually checked anything. He hadn’t. “Was thinking of going to that one actually, more of a dominant myself though...” trying so hard to be nonchalant to the most beautiful and confident Submissive he’d ever seen in his life “this a beginners panel?”

Steve smiled, clearly not angered by this deeply unprofessional halt to his journey. “Beginner, intermediate, pro, it’s more new toy and prop range demonstrations and a Q&A mainly, a variety of folks usually attend so... no matter your experience level you should come, maybe I’ll even make you my lucky audience member.” Steve took that card back, just to make a show of slipping it into Eddies chest pocket, tapping it once for good luck. “Can I get to my gate now, sir? Or do I need to be detained? I’m sure a cavity search would be awfully entertaining for me...considering...”

He couldn’t not ask “Considering?” His throat felt so dry, where was a confiscated bottle of unopened soda when you needed it?

“There’s four plugs in there, I actually have five” he winked, he winked. “The fifth wouldn’t fit.”

“Fuck...” Eddie breathed, much to the man’s amusement. “You’re ah—you’re free to go” he couldn’t actually hold him there and his co-workers were already starting to glare at him.

Steve grinned broadly at him before moving to grab his things, calling out a cheery “see you this weekend!” before he was off, and Eddie was taking his break early to book the next flight out to Illinois.

[twoa-plus]

dissecting stanford pines and finding organs that don’t exist but like in a metaphorical way

that’s it that’s the title i’m going with. this is a long one folks o7

most of this isn’t sourced or canon at all it’s just personal interpretation/headcanon/whatever else u wanna call it, but!! since more people are seeing my deranged gravity falls ramblings now i figure i should probably give some perspective as to why i like/defend ford as much as i do

(in my other gf posts i do try to stick to canon to back up whatever point i’m making - this is just about my personal opinion of ford as a character, and should be able to be thrown out in regards to my other posts)

so for some background/setup/whatever (it’s important i promise bear with me), different people have different instinctual responses to anxiety/stress. i come from a family (genetics are fun) where the default response is to start (metaphorically ofc) biting and hissing like a cornered animal. this doesn’t necessarily mean there’s any actual hatred or malice or anything towards the people that end up getting scratched - they might just be at the wrong place at the wrong time, they might’ve done something super minor and insignificant that added on to a preexisting pile of stress, etc etc

i cannot stress enough that i am not saying this is ok. you dont need me to tell you that hurting people who don’t deserve it is a bad thing, lol. what i am saying though is that sometimes people can kind of suck for reasons other than just genuinely wanting everyone around them to be miserable

this is the last “background” part i swear BUT another thing thats less genetic and more just me being weird is that i’m the type of person where like. any minor environmental change can really stress me out lol. like even just reorganizing my desk can be pretty emotionally taxing

SO. finally back on topic. stanford pines. i see a lot of the behavior/patterns i just described in him. like i’ve spent my entire life around people like this, and while i understand why a lot of people see him as just some asshole, i can’t help but see him as a guy who’s just kinda going through it lol

just talking about the more recent events as of the series, he’s just spent 30 years god knows where doing and seeing god knows what, he has an abusive ex who wants to murder him and his entire family (plus the whole dimension, really), and in the three decades he’s been gone the entire world - including his own house - has changed and left him behind. add onto that that he went missing in 1982, way before we had all of the emotional/mental health resources we have now, we all saw what the stans’ childhood was like, and that ford is terrible with people - including, imo, himself. if there’s anybody out there who would have Feelings and not understand what they are or where they’re coming from or what to do about them, it’s this guy

this entire setup is the perfect circumstance for fear and anxiety and stress and uncertainty to all get translated into anger. a really big example of this, to me, is how he talks about dipper in journal 3. i’ve talked about this before somewhere so i’ll try to summarize as fast as i can lol

reading his initial entry about dipper would make u think he like. hates this kid lol. but i really don’t think he ever did - he was really excited to meet the kids in the show and already seemed to care about them just by virtue of existing, and his opinion on dipper in journal 3 seems to do a complete 180 pretty quickly which ,,, doesn’t really fit ford as a character. like i love the man but that guy can hold a GRUDGE

here’s how it reads to me:

ford gets back to his home dimension after 30 years and everything is different

he’s subconsciously kind of struggling with the fact that he doesn’t really have a “home” anymore - the sense of familiarity and comfort that would normally come with the word is gone. (i specify that it’s subconscious because, like i said earlier, i do not get the vibe that he’s particularly aware of his own emotions)

he finds out that journal 3 - something he made with his own two hands and considers part of his life’s work - has also changed in the decades he’s been gone. this adds to the feeling of unfamiliarity with the world around him

it’s easier to blame that “final straw” and say that he’s just upset about his work being tampered with rather than address the actual root of the problem, so that’s exactly what he does. this still doesn’t mean that there’s any genuine hatred towards dipper. anger in the moment, yeah, but not hatred

again, this is entirely personal interpretation, and i completely understand if u don’t see it like this!! this is just a pattern of thoughts/behavior that i’m very familiar with, so it’s easy for me to apply it to situations like this even if it’s not really part of the canon

i also think there’s a big problem in this fandom with just ,, not seeing ford as a Person with Emotions? idk how to explain it but it feels like people expect him to always know exactly what to do in every situation just bc he’s old and academically smart. like whenever another character does something objectively bad it’s “well there were extenuating circumstances,” (which is usually true and i agree !!) but ford never really seems to get that treatment. if he does something bad it’s just because he sucks

a big example of this i think is the fight between him and stan (y’know the “you ruined my life”/“you ruined your own life”). you cannot look me dead in the eyes and, in full seriousness, with the context of everything ford was going through with bill at the time, say that he was fully mentally/emotionally stable during that conversation. “oh so you’re blaming stan-“ NO!!! stan was also going through it!!! that’s the entire point - they’re both people with their own lives and emotions and everything else that comes with that, they had very human reactions to their respective situations, and they both ended up hurt!! hopefully i’m explaining this right but i just don’t like it when people pin everything on ford, like there was a lot going on and at the end of the day he’s just a human

wasn’t really sure how to work this in so i’ll just put it here - i don’t think ford ever truly hated stan, either. familial bonds are complicated, and there can be a whole lot of anger towards someone without true hatred being present. i briefly mentioned the stans’ childhood sucking earlier, and i don’t just mean stanley - it’s easier to pinpoint him as a victim of abuse/neglect, but that doesn’t mean ford had it great either. their parents (specifically filbrick, but caryn didn’t exactly do a fantastic job with them either) expected nothing of stan and the world of ford, both of which would weigh heavily on any child. plus, ford being the favorite doesn’t mean all of his emotional needs were met - filbrick seeing him as an opportunity to make money doesn’t mean he was suddenly an emotionally present and caring father towards him. WCT wasn’t just an opportunity for ford to go be a famous scientist or whatever - it was a chance for his father to love him, something both of the stans desperately wanted. (WCT was also on the opposite side of the country from where they lived but i’m sure that’s completely unrelated !!!)

do i think stan deserved anything that happened to him after the science fair incident? no, absolutely not, he was a child. do i think it was right of ford to just stand there as his brother got thrown out? no, absolutely not - but he was a child too. as for them not speaking for a decade after that, like i mentioned earlier ford can hold a grudge like no other. (this doesn’t just apply to stan, either, ford dedicated half of his life to trying to kill his ex lmao.) i think ford’s ability to hold on to anger like that is actually a pretty major part of/flaw in his personality, but again, anger - even the strongest, most long-lived of it - is not synonymous with hatred. stan, who ford has always gone to for help when he truly needed it, it not what ford’s hatred looks like. bill, who ford actively wants to die, is

anyways!! i never know how to close these things lol. ig in summary i just see ford’s behavior (in the show at least) as more of a sign of internal struggle rather than like ,, genuinely hating the people around him and wanting their lives to suck. did/does he have an ego problem? absolutely. is he incapable of love and human connection? no. is he immune to manipulation/abuse/neglect/etc and everything that comes with that? also no

he’s an interdimensional criminal why can’t he go to the theraprism. i think he should