#it makes him seem self absorb and shallow

[oifaaa]

cw / tw: death

thoughts on those sorts of people making jason todd's death his entire personality?

Like I understand where people are coming from bc Jason's death was such a big event thing and people like focusing on it but at the same time it gives off the Jason's the most special little guy he died vibes I hate bc that's just a thing that happens to comic book characters they die they come back to life when you make Jason dying his whole personality it comes off as very surface level understanding especially when you remember he's not even the only main bat that's died damian, cass, steph and dick have all died

[moondirti]

there’s something so erotic about a man who grabs your jaw when you keep avoiding his gaze so he can force your eyes on his

featuring: SOAP, afab reader, oral, spitting, mild dubcon (i.e. boundary crossing)

soap has always been intense. a bullet shot off in a steel room, bound to ricochet until it makes contact with something that can absorb its impact. you're in the right place at the right time: a bar, the gym he frequents, perhaps even a football game he'd been anticipating for weeks. it doesn't really matter what context he first spots you in – all that energy, that orderless enthusiasm he seems to prescribe to everything, sharpens to focus solely on you. bonnie wee thing that keeps sliding him wily looks, instilling in him a mission he knows he won't back down from.

at first it's how to approach you. easy enough; you like him too, that much he can tell. so when you eventually agree to a farmers market date (where he intends to spoil you rotten with food from every stall), it becomes about opening you up. figuratively at first, you have a hard time keeping up with him without getting overwhelmed. startled at how forthcoming he is, stunned at the manner in which he treats you. like he's known you for years, a childhood best friend you only met last tuesday. he calls right after your first date, asks you to accompany him for coffee before his morning run. shows up at your door unannounced, carrying tools to fix the fan you briefly complained wasn't working. is bold enough to sneak his hand on your thigh while you're watching a movie later that evening, gradually moving higher as your breath begins to falter.

he spares no effort once things get sexual, either. if you expect him to go easy for your first time, you'll come to sorely regret the mistake. quick to slip out of his too-tight shirt, even quicker to spread your legs out on your couch. manages to get your joggers off but opts to merely shift your panties to the side, fingers hooked in the thin material (which he will pocket later). when he envelops your entire cunt with his mouth, his tongue digs into every fold, every hole if it means he can swallow down the smallest part of you.

taste s’good hen, bloody mad wae it

only you’re not looking at him. instead, you’ve thrown your head back, too lost in the pleasure to pay attention to the show he’s putting on for you. why exactly, he's not sure. he’s being good, isn’t he? giving you everything you need? his heart races a mile per minute and something needy, something dark twists within him. he laves his tongue over your hole once more, collecting the juices that pour for him and gathering it behind his teeth alongside a hefty glob of saliva.

when he moves up your body, he tucks your chin in his palm, pulling your head down to face him.

it's too much. too much. he doesn't seem to realise it, but you're breathing is still inconsistent and shallow, and you're about to cry from overstimulation. now he's forcing eye contact, nose kissing yours, and pressing down on either side of your jaw so you're forced to open your mouth wide. you know what's coming, see it from the way his cheeks move. it's all you can do to brace yourself for the inevitable, unable to voice your aversion to the kink. fisting your hands, tensing your throat. but it's as you close your eyes that his self-restraint snaps.

so, he spits. it's thick and messy and heady with the smell of your sex. he doesn't even aim it properly. a significant amount of it lands on your lip, some even on your nose. your tongue gets the brunt of it though, the new weight of fluid causing you to gag. yet his pupils are blown so wide they're barely blue anymore, a cerulean ring around bottomless black, fixated on the sloppy state of your mouth, and it's hard to deny him anything that boils him down to such a state. like a puppy. over-eager and exhilarated when you indulge him so.

you never learn to like it, though it becomes a routine thing.

[bitter-me]

Well Deserved Rest

Dr. Veritas Ratio | M. Reader as Medicine Pocket [Reverse: 1999]

----------

Tsundere Ratio will forever live rent free in my head. That was totally canon!

----------

"Hey hey! Veritas!"

That annoying voice again.. how many times has he heard it today? It's so annoying.. so high pitched and loud, like a dog, happily barking at their favorite person.

"For the last time, it's Dr. Ratio! Don't call me by name so casually!" He groans at the other's enthusiasm and seemingly endless energy. For the past few years he had known the researcher. [Name] never fails to get on his nerves. Be it the constant teasing or the dog-like demeanor. The only thing he ever decided to tolerate the man is because of his reputation for being a genius amongst geniuses and gaining his current position when he was a mere teenager.

"Look look! I made this serum that presumably—" "I swear if this is one of your unauthorized experiments!"

Not only is he a genius amongst geniuses.. [Name] seems to have a reputation of doing whatever the hell he wants. Paperwork? That can wait! Research? Why should he care about following the status quo? Only when something had caught his attention, that's when the researcher began to actually do his work.

Sometimes Ratio feels like he's babysitting a child—or rather a dog. Given the other's background.

How many times has [Name] decided to chew on the ends of his robe? How many times has [Name] licked his cheek without a second thought?

Honestly...

"Aw come on, Veritas! Can't you live a little?" [Name] asked teasingly, tilting his head to the side, acting all adorable in order to persuade the doctor. Which didn't work. Or so he told himself. "It's not living if you constantly experiment on dangerous unauthorized things! It's called being foolish!"

This earns a chuckle from the other. He sure knows how to get on Ratio's nerves like it's merely looking at the back of his hand. It seems like second nature to him. "You're so boring! Didn't take you to be a stickler to the rules!"

"It's called self preservation!"

----------

How did this happen..? How in the galaxy had he managed to land himself in this position..? What is it? Nap time? He's out like a light!

Earlier, [Name] had decided to annoy him again, typical, but Ratio was having none of it. So like any other sane person, he ignores the genius in favor of the book he's currently reading. But of course that didn't stop [Name] from teasing and poking him. Trying to get a reaction.

But as time went on. The researcher seems to have worn himself out and started to doze off. Now, Ratio sits there with a book in hand but despite that, his mind was in other places as his gaze shifted towards the sleeping genius who had his head on his shoulder and his right arm being hugged by the other in his sleep.

He's out like a light! What time even is it? Nap time? Maybe it's [Name]'s constant all-nighter he pulls whenever he's so absorbed by his research and experiment? Or is this a by product of his dog-like nature?

Either way, this can't continue!

But when Ratio tries to wake him up, [Name] doesn't seem to respond to it, at all. Sleeping like a rock. So... Ratio decided to just.. let him rest..

Maybe he needs it?

Every time Ratio tries to focus on the book he's reading his mind would always drift towards the sleeping researcher that's using him as a human pillow.

He could feel [Name]'s warm breath hitting his exposed biceps, his shallow and calm breathing, it never fails to send a shiver down his spine. He's so.. comfortable.. so.. at peace..

He's far different than the usual hyperactive, seemingly endless energy researcher he's known for! And that.. makes him feel.. warm..

To think he'll have the honors of witnessing such a rare, vulnerable, and.. intimate side of [Name].. it's..

Ratio snapped out of his thoughts once he felt the other began to stir and slowly woke up from their nap. A nice and comfortable nap. [Name] blinks, once, twice. Before letting out an adorable yawn.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Ratio spoke up, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I assume you've had a nice nap."

"Oh I did! It was sooo nice~" [Name] took the chance to tease the other as he hugged Ratio's arm closer to his chest with a huge grin plastered on his face. The doctor huffs as he begins trying to shake the other's hold on his arm. "Then get off of me, you damn dog. My arm is tired."

[Name] chuckles in response as he tightens his grip. He hums softly and rests his cheek on Ratio's shoulder, looking at him with big puppy eyes. Trying to act all cute and adorable. "But if your arm's tired, why didn't you just shoved me? You could have done that earlier, right doctor?"

This caught him off guard for a few moments. What is he supposed to say to that? [Name] let out a gasp upon seeing his hesitation. "Don't tell me that you actually enjoy it! Aw~ Ratio you could have just said so! I could have been your cuddle buddy from the start!"

"Cuddle buddy!? How absurd! You dare think that I—Dr. Veritas Ratio. Would ever need such things!? Especially from you?!"

"But your face is red~ I'm right aren't I~?"

"?!"

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost"Riley x Bratty!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: As a new recruit, you should not have the gall to talk back to your superior officer like you do. He's tried it all, trying to work the insubordination out of you, but to no avail. Your antics have really gotten under his skin lately, but is it really because you won't listen and follow orders...or is there something more to it that he can't admit? The way his cock throbs might indicate the latter and what he thinks about as he touches himself might just speak to that as well.

Author's Note: As we wait for the next part of Lieutenant's Whore, have this as a treat! Something I just whipped up quick as I couldn't get the thought out of my mind 😏����

Word Count: 3.3 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? Something had crawled its way under Ghost’s skin today, sticking with him through to the evening now, and no matter how he tried to push the thoughts into the back of his mind they only seemed to lodge themselves more permanently in the foreground. No distraction or mundane daily task that took even most of his focus could ease the impact of influence on his mood as the thoughts constantly assaulted his mind. Even now as he stood in the bathroom of his private quarters, his anger at would not cease.

The screech of the shower handle turning sounded just beneath the heated phrases being whispered under his breath, the pipes coming to life with the distinct hiss of water as it pelted the floor of the shower. An earlier altercation had Ghost in a goddamn tizzy, his pulse elevated and his heartbeat in his ears as he undressed; perhaps being doused under the steady flow of the water would wash it all away.

“Fucking bloody slag,” he snapped as he pulled each article of clothing off one by one and dropped them onto the cool titled floor around his feet. Even his customary face covering he removed, wrenching it off and up over his head without a care as he was too absorbed in his rage which made everything feel far too binding. “Thinking that she can just speak to me like that. Goddammit, she knows exactly how to push each and every one of my fucking buttons.”

This wasn’t the first time he had encountered this very same problem, though this was the first time he had such a raw, visceral reaction to it. Usually he would let the disrespect go once he was away from the source, but today it just seemed to linger in an unhealthy amount until the Lieutenant could not see straight; his vision was only red.

He had not realized how much his skin was burning until he stepped under the stream of cool water, his chest getting hit first and making him grown at the sudden change in temperature. The soothing liquid rolled down the front of him, snaking its way through the shallow cracks left in his skin by the scars scattered across his pectorals and down his torso, but it did little to calm the fire still raging steadily inside.

The day you showed up on base with the newest set of recruits he knew by the way you unashamedly held his gaze when the others had immediately flinched and did not cower whenever he barked his orders would mean trouble and he hated to be right. Try as he might, there was no getting through your snarky, self-assured cocky attitude and most of his days were spent metaphorically pulling out his hair as no matter how many drills he had you run or sets of pull-ups or push-ups he had you complete, you could not be disciplined into obedience. A bitch like you was not easily broken and why you had not been discharged yet was a mystery; you must be more than worth the trouble.

A bawled fist slammed into the side of the shower, the percussive sound echoing and vibrating off the tight walls. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” he questioned aloud to no one. “Why can’t she just fucking listen, the little cunt? Why does she always have to pull that fucking shit?”

The wetness splashed over to his back as he took a step forward under the shower head, the engorged beads of water slithering their way down the curves of the muscles lining his shoulders and following the path to his ass and on towards his thighs and calves. Both of those bulky hands palmed the wall before him, allowing him to lean his torso forward and get the full length of his back under the water as his head hung limp. Heavy breaths, each one just as laboured as the last, continued even as he counted the water droplets falling down off his back and into the bottom of the shower as a way to ground himself, watching them slowly gather and swirl down the drain.

“I’ve tried it all,” he reassured himself, though even as the words left his lips, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. There was a whisper of a thought that reappeared just now that perhaps illustrated his true feelings about this problem. “Well, not exactly all.”

There was a spark of an idea that had appeared some weeks ago, one that he had not completely allowed himself to delve further into, one that had slunk its shrewd way at the edge of his thoughts. It had caught the cool and collected officer off guard at how his mind had conjured such a filthy concept… or that he did not outright despise that his imagination had led him there.

That exact day it happened he remembered well. The blazing sun and humid atmosphere had led to everyone being on edge, their bad attitudes matching the rising temperatures, and that meant the crude, underhanded remarks and balking that was a part of your usual repartee became even more grating on the Lieutenant’s nerves. With jaw sore from clenching so hard, the anger had finally reached its peak when you had told him to "make you" and with enough fury to make his presence suffocating to anyone within range, he stepped up aggressively into your face for the insubordination. There, standing with mere inches between you, your eyes ablaze with a fury for everything from the weather to the man barking orders before you, it happened.

It very well could have been the proximity of your bodies, the intense, dizzying heat, or the way the sweat around your neck slipped in glistening trails down your chest and caught his bird’s eye view as it nestled between the tops of your breasts. Maybe he had simply lost his goddamn mind due to the weather or the long hours he had been working lately or a random intrusive thought that caught him by surprise; whatever it was he could feel a stirring within the crotch of his pants in a sensation he had never felt towards you. His entire form froze in that moment and he was unable to do anything except stare straight ahead, even though the voice in his head was yelling at him to get it together, he paused long enough that by the smug expression on your face you felt you had gotten the last word and that was dangerous for him. The near two hundred push-ups forced upon you after that went by more easily than he would have liked; it was clear that that euphoric feeling you had from seemingly winning in that battle of wills against him was enough to see you through the strain on your arms and the pounding in your chest from the exertion of your punishment.

It was after that day that Ghost noticed a few strange happenings that only added fuel to the fire that had sparked to life inside him. Had your shirts always been so fucking tight or was it just the way they had always fit across your torso, pulling and straining at your chest as if it could barely contain it? Had your lips always been that juicy looking or were you just staying extra hydrated and he only caught you just after taking a drink so that your mouth mimicked another pair of lips that lay much, much lower down your body? You did not let up on your usual behavior of driving him up the goddamn wall, but did you always stand this close to him, brushing up against him randomly and somehow constantly bumping your plump ass on him whenever you bent over? It was believable as only an accident the first time it happened, but after he had to wonder.

And it only infuriated him more that the longer this went on the more he could not get you out of his head.

“Fucking slag, she probably does that shit on purpose just to screw with my head,” he growled angrily. His spine lengthened as he moved to stand up straighter, wiping the stray beads of water that had fallen into his eyes. The idea that had been born that day crept back into that devious mind of his once again and he chuckled maliciously as he indulged it a little. “If I had it my way, I know exactly how I’d like to make a little princess like her come to heel. She would regret ever trying to get my attention, especially when I fucking give it to her.”

Whenever he thought of you before this, it was with his teeth gritted and his fists balled so tight that his short nails cut into the skin of his palms, so what had changed? What right had his mind to pull this bullshit? Sure, the streamlined curves of your hips visible even through your bulky fatigues and the fullness of your perky tits were enough to draw even a lingering eye from time to time, but that was a far as he had allowed it to go until now. Now his thoughts were constantly on traveling back to those soft lips of yours and how he would kill to see how pretty they’d look wrapped around his cock or how he'd like to take you over his knee and spank that taut bare ass of yours until his handprintnwas fully visible, red and angry against your supple skin. Even the thought of your pussy entered his mind as it would probably be so tight it could barely be able to take all that he had to give. Bitchy girls always had the best equipment.

“I’d stuff that little cunt so good, she’d never fucking disobey me again; make that mouth useful for something else other than swearin at me,” he smirked with a flash of his teeth as he could not stop the progress of his thoughts. “I’d keep her dicked down nice and proper until she’s followin me around like a lost pup beggin for a treat.”

Moving his head back so that his thick neck and pecks were now exposed to the water, he could not stop the onslaught of his imagination from drawing out this thought further. Pandora’s box was now open and there was no shutting that shit down. Ghost closed his eyes as he conjured images of the way he’d drag you to his room and rip you out of your fucking shirt, taking those beautiful, soft breasts into his mouth to bite, lick, and suck at the bright pink nipples that would be stiff as his mouth claimed them. Shite, how velvety they would feel between his lips, how pliable they would give in his teeth. He’d make you undress quickly the rest of the way for him under threat of punishment if you didn't follow orders and drag you to the shower to pull you in with him, your naked body slamming up harshly up against the wall of the shower as he overpowered you with his much larger one. He pictured your bare chest, the water flowing over the crest of your breasts as he picked you up just enough that your legs could wrap themselves around his thick torso to secure you to him before he thrust harshly and buried himself within you. What sounds would you make as he plowed through your petals and into your entrance? Would you whimper piteously as you folded like a good little girl; would you cry and swear out loudly as his girth stretch your core to capacity so that anyone within earshot could hear you taking him?

There was so question that he’d fuck you so good, making your back constantly slip and slide around all the damp surfaces as his overwhelming thrusts pounded into your cunt over and over again with a vigor that would not let up until that burning desire that has been building for weeks could finally be satisfied. A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined your finger nails clawing at his back, leaving read, angry marks as you held on for dear life. How they’d sting as the water washed over them; oh, it would hurt so, so good. The brief fantasy left his hand trembling and had his phallus springing to life with a sudden tightness that made him breathless.

This is how it had been since that day, though he had done everything in his power to not touch himself; if he did he knew that would mean his ruin. But that deep ache throbbing down below just between his legs was more than he could handle anymore and now that he had allowed himself to fantasize about what he could have, there was no getting rid of it expect by taking action.

His large hand moved down past the sparse light brown hair that covered his abdominals as it trailed down his body, the skin was already nice and lubricated from the water running its way down the length of him. Taking his lower lip between his teeth he bit down with a whimper as his long, calloused fingers brushed against the tip of his tender, engorged cock before he was able to take it fully into his grasp.

Goddamn what he would have given in that moment to make that fantasy a reality; he would have sold his soul to Satan himself for the feeling of you clenching down around him right now as his own hand paled in comparison to the fabricated assumptions in his mind.

"Fucking bitch, you’ve put me under your spell," Ghost growled in a raspy whisper, as if insulting you would somehow make his desperate need of you any less pathetic to himself.

Putting pressure in his grip he began to rub his length from base to tip in steady, even strokes. Deep, guttural grunts began to fill the bathroom as that beefy forearm worked itself forward and back over and over again. Goddammit he was so hard and tender it almost hurt to touch.

His mind's eye wandered back to visions of you perched on top of him now in his bed, riding him desperately into the scant bit of plushness he called a mattress, as his greedy hands clasped around your hips to force you to bob up and down on his dick as hard and as fast as he wished. Faster and faster he’d make your body work for him, shoving you as far down onto him as he could until your hips were grinding into one another; his perfect fuck toy. You’d be so out of your mind with evstasy, would you be able to form words? No, you’d only be able to muster a few simple mewls as he hit that perfect little button of pleasure inside you time and time again.

“Got you quiet now, yeah,” he groaned desperately at the vision as he licked his hungry lips. “You like that, princess? So fucking full on my cock you can hardly think straight? Come on now, use your words sweetheart. Tell me how much you like it; you’ve never had a problem speaking up before."

The imagined music of your moans emanating from your open mouth from his cock being buried deep within you made his skin tingle like an electrical current. The drawn out strokes from his hand began to become more sloppy as the images continued to flood their way into his thoughts. Again they wandered to conjure even more depraved things as he pictured himself taking control in the moment, grabbing you around the throat and flipping you on your back as he pinned your arms up above your head. He’d hold secure those slender wrists together with just one of his large hands so that he could have free reign to do whatever he wished without your interference. There would not be a single piece of flesh that did not know how he felt.

Ghost’s pace again quicken. “A-ah, fuck….!” he hissed. He was certain you had probably had guys before him, it was obvious a woman like you knew what she wanted, but there would absolutely be no one after; he’d make sure of that by leaving his mark anywhere he thought someone who try to touch.

His breathing faltered along with his strokes as he imagined hurriedly switching positions so that he would not have to pull out for long, propping your legs up on those broad shoulders so that he could push deeper into you down to the very end of his shaft until there was nothing left to give. Oh, the way he knew you would whine and buck against him as he bottomed out inside of you, but there would be no backing out now. That cunt now belonged to him and only him as if it had 'Property of Simon' tattooed across it.

Ghost had to swallow the saliva in his mouth that had gathered from that delicious bit of imagery. “Take it, take it all, sweetheart,” he panted. “Every last goddamn inch like the filthy fucking slag you are. That's it.”

You’d be whimpering, begging him to stop as the tears gathered in the corner of your eyes from the over-stimulation being almost to much to bear. So full, you’d be far too full with him and yet to really stop would be catastrophic as that delicious pressure setting you on a one way course directly towards your immediate release would end and that would be a far worse crime. He knew you wouldn’t want him to do anything except keep the rhythm steady and that is exactly what he intended to do, though he would wipe away a few of those stray droplet’s with his thumb as he continued to plow you; he was a gentlemen at his core after all.

“Look beautiful like this, luv,” he groaned under his breath. “On your back getting absolutely wrecked by me. Cry all you like, you know you can't get enough.”

Again he pounded his free fist into the side of the shower wall, this time from being so close to blowing that he could taste it in the back of his throat. More aggressively he yanked at his cock, the wet, sloppy sounds from skin working over moistened skin were loud and distinct over the sound of the running water from the shower head. That familiar fire was right there in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned the way you’d bear down on him as you came, fluttering around his cock as your orgasm overtook you in a violent burst that threatened to rip you apart.

“That’s it baby, that’s…it,” he stumbled over his words. It was there, right there; just a bit more and he’d be painting the walls.

The envisioned sound of your voice crying out his name in the throws of ecstasy was all he needed to finally finish with a bang. He grunted as the cheeks of his toned ass clenched while he milked every last fucking bit of cum that he could from himself. Knees began wobbling as they nearly buckled out from under him as the intensity of his release took all his strength and he had to brace his forearm against the wall to stop from slipping as the stroking of his hand slowed until it came to a stop. That arm propped up the exhausted mess of a hulking man as he breathed through his orgasm, wanting to ride out every last second he could.

The fruit of his endeavors were rinsed down into the bottom of the shower and were quickly whisked away, removing any evidence of the filthy thoughts that had plagued him minutes before, though their ghost still lingered in the back of his mind as if he had just awoken from a very good dream. There was a part of him that wished that all his desires for you had been sucked down the drain along with his cum, as this was certain to become am issue in a short amount of time, but he knew he would not be that lucky.

He craved you in a most unholy way and that meant at some point this little problem was going to come to a head. There was no telling what would happen to him when he saw you next now that he had entertained the full extent of his fantasies, but one thing he did know was that if there was a way to have you just as he wanted, he would find it...and God fucking help you when he did.

[angelwheat]

Primis "Tank" Dempsey X Reader

"And as she wept, stars fell from her eyes..."

Topics: Angst! (Negative Self-Talk , Hurt/Comfort , Fluff)

Author's Note: (Please Read) This story is a bit of a reflection of my own mind during a time I was feeling pretty low. Despite initially writing this for myself, I'm sharing because other's might find comfort in it too.

Pronouns: She/Her | Words: 1502

Modern AU

A clear break in the clouds seemed like a blessing after a long week of persistent rain. Despite summer being just around the corner, the rainfall was certainly making is dreary self-known before any sunshine could grace the land.

Night swiftly ushered the daylight away that evening. The moon rose high above the horizon, beautifying the sky with a milky sheen as the stars flickered under its gentle glow. Fortunately, there was not a single puff of cloud in sight.

(Y/n) sits lonesome on the steps of the back porch, knees pulled up close to her chest as she rests her feet just a step below. With her head tilted to the glistening sky, she gazes in wonder. Mentally, she drew lines between the clusters of sparkling dots above, connecting them to name each familiar constellation, the images they created ever so vivid in her mind.

She let her head rest in her hands, a lazy huff slipping past her lips.

A light tap on the door sounded behind her beckoned her attention away. She peeped over her shoulder and was greeted by an awkward lopsided smile from her companion, Dempsey, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the warm light emitting from inside glowing around him.

“You alright out here, missy?” He asked, the concern evident in his softer tone.

(Y/n) smiled weakly. “Yeah, it’s just…”

Dempsey followed with his eyes when she pointed upwards. The corners of his lips curled, and instinctively, he found himself coming to sit beside her.

“I just felt a little cooped up all week.” She told.

Dempsey’s arms rested atop his knees as he huffed. “Yeah I hear ya.”

A quiet sigh caught his attention. Dempsey met her eyes, his brows raised. Immediately he noticed that her gaze was continuously pointed upwards. He couldn’t bring himself to turn away as he took in the sight of her beady-eyed stare, merely absorbed in the wonders above their heads.

But something struck him strange by the way she seemed almost downcast; her expression contoured under the moonlight with a hint of gloominess. Although only subtly, yet Dempsey could read it clearly.

“You’ve been… kinda quiet all day.” He said, somewhat sounding unsure.

She lazily flicked her gaze to her side, met with Dempsey’s worried pup-like eyes. He hastily scanned her fatigued appearance.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, girlie?” He asked, pure sincerity in his low tone.

(Y/n) slumped as a heavy breath slipped into the night air. She let her head rest in the palms of her hands, avoiding his attentive stare.

“I’ve just been thinking I guess.” She shrugged, breathing shakily.

Sensing the heaviness looming over her, Dempsey placed a hand on her back, stroking gingerly in hope to soothe her.

“Talk to me.” He softly encouraged.

His gentle words brought tears to her eyes, but she wiped them away before they dared to roll down her cheeks. Feeling a cluster of emotion bubble up inside, she felt her chest growing tighter with each shallow breath.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her muddled up thoughts.

“I’ve just been wondering…” She started, her meek voice trembling.

Dempsey inched closer without a word, never reeling his gaze away from her.

“I’ve been wondering why I’m the one you chose.” She confessed, sounding choked up.

Evidently, Dempsey was taken aback by her words as his eyes widened. He was almost rendered speechless.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

(Y/n) wiped a hand over her face, feeling her cheeks hot and flushed.

“Well, you have so many options.” She lazily gestured before her with a hand. “Why’d you choose me?” 

For the first time in his life, Dempsey truly was at a loss for words, solely due to shock.

“How could I not choose you?” He asked genuinely.

“I don’t know…” She hid her face behind her hands. “But is there not something more that you want? Someone better…”

When she almost curled up on herself, and a series of sniffles filled his ears, Dempsey turned himself towards her fully.

“Come ‘ere, darlin’” He scooped her into his arms delicately.

(Y/n) allowed herself to be completely enveloped in his embrace, hiding her face away as she cuddled up against his chest. Dempsey could feel the way she quivered as she fought to contain her cries, feeling a pang of woe in his heart as he recalled her words in his head.

For a short while, he remained silent, merely holding her snuggly in his arms and subconsciously rocking gently as her uneven breaths soon steadied. (Y/n) wiped her tear-stained cheeks and sat put in silence for a moment.

“Why would you think that I’d want someone else?” Dempsey asked in an undertone.

In response, (Y/n) merely shrugged. She sat herself upright in his lap, enough to meet his eyes, immediately catching a glance at his troubled face. Dempsey’s hand reached up to gingerly caress her cheek, wiping away the pool of tears beneath her reddened eyes with his thumb.

“I’m so tired of myself, Dempsey.” She confessed, her voice trembling.

Dempsey let his hands rest of her waist as he listened intently, his focus solely on the woman in his arms.

“And I worry…” She trailed off, looking down while she fiddled with her hands in her lap.

Dempsey’s rounded eyes analysed her in every way, patiently waiting for her next string of words. 

“I just worry that you get tired of me too.” She told, beginning to fret. “And then I know I’m too much and I’m hard work and- “

“Hey- hey.” Dempsey swiftly cut her rambling short.

With every word she spoke sent a pang of hurt through his chest. (Y/n) swallowed the lump in her throat, continuing to avoid his eyes and missing the way Dempsey was visibly taken aback.

“I’ll never get tired of you.” He assured sincerely, his soft hold on her waist briefly tightening.

(Y/n) sighed, slumping slightly. “You’re just saying that.”

Dempsey drew in a deep breath. “Look at me.”

In mere seconds, their gazes locked. Her brows rose and her eyes glossed over with new tears when Dempsey observed her attentively.

(Y/n) continued to fidget with her hands, anxiety practically eating her alive in that moment, prompting Dempsey to take her hands in his.

“You are never too much.” He spoke, emphasising his honesty.

Such genuineness was certainly apparent in his mannerisms. Dempsey’s eyes shined a glint of only the earnestness love for her, and (Y/n) found herself unable to tear her gaze away from his gorgeous blue-eyed stare.

Dempsey held her hand to his chest. (Y/n) could feel the way his heartbeat steadily, easing her racing mind as she focused on him. Dempsey allowed her to ground herself for a moment.

“From what you said earlier, I chose you because- well-“ He shrugged nonchalantly. “Because you’re the one I fell for.”

The girl could sense the way he was thinking deeply to string the correct words together. He was always more of a man to show rather than tell. But at times in which one would immensely let their guard down and show their vulnerability, Dempsey always proved himself to be more heartfelt with his words than he ever let on.

“And there’s no one else I want more. I’ll tell you that.” He added.

Dempsey reached up to tuck a lock of hair, blown askew by the breeze, behind her ear. He smiled softly when his eyes met with her own, enticing her lips to curl up meekly.

“Don’t get yourself worked up about things like this, alright?” He told. “Because nothing is gonna change the way I feel about you.”

When (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his shoulders, she was certain she could see stars in his eyes in that moment, or perhaps it was merely the glimmer of sincerity. But whatever it may have been, it surely captivated her, drawing her closer.

With the moonlight wrapping her in it’s heavenly blanket, Dempsey truly believed he beheld an angel.

However, Dempsey noticed the way in which she chewed her lip anxiously, her glances flicking from his eyes to her lap.

His hands clutched her waist. “What ’cha thinkin’, missy?”  

Despite Dempsey keeping his voice hushed, (Y/n) heard the slightly uplifted tone lacing his words. She couldn’t refrain a faint smile at his typical manner of speaking.

“I’m thinking about just how much I love you.” She shyly confessed.

The smile brought to Dempsey’s face (Y/n) couldn’t help but reflect. However, finding herself flustered suddenly, she buried her face in his shoulder when she hugged him tight. The warmth and comfort his strong embrace provided certainly put all her troubles at ease.

“I love you.” He stroked her back gingerly. “And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

(Y/n) pulled away enough to meet his eyes, unable to refrain from kissing his lips sweetly.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better in this world.” Dempsey declared. “Because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

[eldritch-spouse]

I don't usually interact with "succubus/incubus" esque monsters in my monster-loving ventures because I feel weird about them being designed to fulfill others desires. Almost like they can't have boundaries?

I usually enjoy your writing so I read some of your succubus stories of Santi and Vesper, and though I'm still not exactly a 'lust-monster cheerleader' I find myself enjoying them with less of my usual hangups!

I really like how you convey the monsters as enjoying the activity outside of just sex = sexual pleasure = all good folks!

The idea that pleasure/lust gives them pleasure isn't new but the way you write it is refreshing in allowing an easier suspension of disbelief.

With how depraved and lust-driven you make the monsters it's easier to believe that they really do enjoy all the kinks their prey enjoys and are within their comfort zone. Instead of some objectified fantasy of a sex-doll coming to life but still being just a sex-doll, it only comes to life to make the person feel wanted and less of a loser (nothing wrong with those who partake in those fantasies every now and again but I personally don't like it, especially when it's repetitive and still no personality).

By giving them personalities that aren't just "sexsexsexsexsex" or some facet of it (so many succubus/incubus characters tend to fall back on the trope personalities traits of charisma, self-absorbed, shallow) you make them more fleshed out without losing the idea that they still are lust-driven.

Also, kudos for sticking to your guns about them being sexually polyamorous (though not always romantically poly) because it makes sense!!!! So many stories seem to go with the idea that once they find The One they'll be monogamous (and if people want to read that then good for them it's their preference), but being sexually polyamorous makes sense and doesn't negate the meaningfulness of their relationship any!!

You don't shy away from what it means to be a Lust Monster, which I really appreciate as someone who is into monster loving for how 'other' the monsters act (not just look).

It also allows them some agency in a way? I can't really explain it but something about you not disregarding their monstrous aspects or expecting them to change and loving them for it. Something about not expecting a beast that feeds on lust to conform to your perception of the world. Something about not controlling or owning them. Something about how their species give pleasure to receive pleasure and you can't physically withstand enough of their pleasure-giving for them to receive enough pleasure so you give them pleasure in a way by encouraging them to receive it elsewhere. Something about adapting to their ways of affection & love based in pleasure as they adapt to yours based outside of it and both of you being better off for it.

I do wonder;

Does Vesper have any boundaries (in relationships or otherwise), even if they're not sexual?

Does he ever have a moment where the realisation that his spouse isn't just in it for the sexual gratification he can offer them or the power of being with him fully sets in? That he isn't just lust-worthy but love-worthy? I imagine he is loved by many but probably for his capabilities, his power, or the persona he displays. But to be loved for something other than what he can give/serve others?

(I may be coming to the realisation that this aversion to lust-monsters could have something to do with the uncomfortable familiarity of being loved for the servitude you offer and not for who you are)

Would he react in any particular way?

[Ohhh lord, this is huge (no offense genuinely), so I'm going to keep the answer under a read more and divide it so people can tell when I'm talking about Vesper.]

I'm going to be real, I actually like the idea of monsters who are genuine sex creatures. Creations that exist solely to please sexually and have little to no autonomy as well as a basically non-existent sense of self. But that already comes from my somewhat present objectification/mindbreak fetish. I did laugh when you talked about the "fantasy of a sex doll coming to life", because I could get into that. I know perfectly well that a character of this caliber would be extremely one-dimensional, and therefore a bit of a "one-trick pooch" that I can't poke and prod at too much unless I give them a personal development arc that is quite profound.

I agree with you in the sense that, even if just subconsciously, I've always felt like people weren't really exploring the lust monster trope too much. Or maybe I just wanted to put my own very different spin on it. (This is a bit rich of me to say, considering I've intentionally reduced Gluttony to what amounts to "heehee hungy :)))" instead of "overbearing indulgence".)

I enjoy trying to translate their view of the world into terms we can understand. Sex isn't just a recreational commodity for them, it's food, it's a basic necessity, it's their bread and butter- Even a science! But it's also trivial. Sexual cheating just isn't a thing for concubi, unless one of them has entered some sort of exclusivity agreement, for whatever reason.

I like the idea of there always being a healthy amount of "pros" and "cons" in all types of monsters, it keeps them balanced and more two dimensional as characters, and it makes for a very good base when it comes to world-building. (Keep in mind I'm talking out of my ass, I have no formal/professional insight on any of this.) Sure, you can have a concubus as a partner, it'll be the best sex of your life, you'll find new sides of your carnality you never saw before and you'll be able to withstand some acts that would break your physical limits- But you'll get quite literally drained of your life if you insist on being their only meal. But you can and will become hypersexual depending on the circumstances. But there's quite a bit of social stigma. But many of them are afraid of commitment. But kids might never be on the table. Etcetera.

That makes things more interesting, doesn't it?

I'm a firm believer that perverted characters can have depth to their personality, sex-driven narratives can have interesting premises or twists and a wide variety of personalities that serve to enhance the smut, you know? In fact, you should strive to make these lust monsters as distinct as possible, so that they don't all fall under the same umbrella of repetitive humdrum smut. There's nothing sadder than a sexual setting that falls flat on its ass because you can predict everything.

I'm not going to lie, I think the idea of them becoming exclusively attached to you romantically and sexually can work- But in a very toxic and "horror-esque" setting where the concubus is so mentally ill with their hyperfixation that you end up dying eventually because they don't acknowledge your limits and simply keep shattering you for their own gain/pleasure.

Thank you for the insight though! I'm very happy you find some sort of novelty in the way I portray these characters!

When it comes to Vesper, you have to remember he's a bit of a romantic.

Both him and Santi are given how much contact they used to have in the past, how Vesper helped mold Santi into someone better. Naturally, Santi is more of a romantic than the King for a couple of reasons I can't get into right now or I'll risk making this response longer than it needs to be. They're both also yandere, keep that in mind.

From the very start, Vesper is extremely affectionate with you and quick to profess his love. He expects you to want to be with him for the sex, obviously, but he also desperately wants you to return his love and he thinks he can get you to love him with enough pleasure and pleasantries.

Since we're talking about an Icon, Vesper doesn't really make a strong separation between "what he can give others/receive from them" and "who he is". Icons are less two dimensional than standard characters, so whether you love him because you like Vesper as a person or because he makes you feel like nobody else in bed, it's all the same to him- Because it kind of is the same in his mind.

Maybe I'm not being too clear, but I hope it's understandable.

Boundaries... It kind of depends? I'll ramble.

You're romantically monogamous to him as he is to you, but there can be a polyamorous dynamic at some point, if desired;

His mark is the only one to ever stay on your body;

On the realm of preferences, you know he doesn't really like to have sex while he's clothed because clothes are unappealing to him;

He doesn't like it when you wear chasity devices;

He won't humor castration as a fetish for you or him specifically;

Don't portray him chastely;

It really does depend on the situation, because Vesper will gladly let you refer to him as a "brainless fucktoy" or nothing more than cocks on legs, or something equally derogatory that suggests he's not even a person.

As the embodiment of depravity, he's bound to only get more aroused by his own consistent dehumanization, so the demonlord's boundaries end up being things you wouldn't really expect, you know?

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

Keith vs. Brom

I love comparing Keith and Brom because on the very first glance they seem like Gabe playing the same character (dumb jock, incompetent but filled with undeserved confidence, regressed to/stuck in ye olde' glory days while hung up on an ex-girlfriend, ironically "woke" dialogue, I could go on) but the moment you dig past the surface, they're actually opposites.

Keith, bless him, is just unfiltered id. Everything he says or does goes back to an agenda simply labeled "Keith." Even the feminist talk is just about sucking up to Gwen or sounding like a good guy. Insecurity, social alienation, childhood success, and that fame's immediate end after Cluebert's brutal murder have left him broken, shallow, and likely too stuck in the past to ever meaningfully change. He craves the love of Gwen and the rest of the Solve-It Squad in a life otherwise so empty and devoid of meaningful connection.

But Brom, for all his shortcomings, genuinely wants to do good for its own sake. He might not understand all the intricacies of social justice, but he goes for it anyway because he knows it's right. When Matilda calls him out, he listens and successfully corrects himself so as to be a better man for those around him. He starts out as the self-absorbed "leader" he'd been socialized to be, but only really starts to shine and meaningfully lead (see his scenes with Judy and the Bards in the finale) when given the chance to truly make things about someone else (whether Matilda or Ichabod) for a change. Brom is in constant growth and motion, powered by a genuinely huge heart. He wants to love because he has so much love to give away to the people in his life.

(Also Brom might have almost drowned in a waterbed once, but I think he'd still kick Keith's ass.)

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday + My OC as... & What Faerie Court Does Your OC Belong To? & What Does Your Soul Look Like?

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @voidika @socially-awkward-skeleton @deputy-morgan-malone @direwombat @adelaidedrubman and @onehornedbeast

Tagging @shallow-gravy @inafieldofdaisies @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @minilev @chazz-anova @cassietrn @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @ec-10 @deputyash @derelictheretic @henbased @jacobmybeloved @ladyoriza @nightbloodbix @vampireninjabunnies-blog @neverthesameneveranother @wrathfulrook @carlosoliveiraa @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @josephseedismyfather @skoll-sun-eater @vasiktomis and @afarcryfrommymain + anyone else who wants to join.

One WIP, two quizzes and a sharing visual stuff of Silva with the My OC as.... Here's the "What Faerie Court does your OC belong to?" Quiz and the "What does Does Your Soul Look Like?" Quiz.

Here's the WIP of that unnamed "Arranged Marriage" AU, with Silva agonizing over her life so far (after a shower no less) as she waits for Faith to come back with a dreadful wedding dress. Snippet below:

[Silva's] head in gloved hands, she fought the urge to grab a fistful of dark hair and rip it out. To scream and curse... at what? God? Her father? Joseph and the prophets before him who were too cowardly and self-absorbed in their own dead delusions to even try not to fuck someone's life over for once?

Or would she curse herself? For agreeing to this arrangement, despite how much she hates it? For hurting others with her very presence, being forced to wander in their vision even after taking the lives of loved ones, whose blood has since been washed off, but not the scars and lesions that are scattered over her damaged hands, a reminder of the lives she took? Curse herself for not putting her own needs, her desires, her hopes and dreams before others, just as Kamski insisted she do?

Silva didn't know. She didn't know what to do anymore. It was far beyond what she initially knew. Far from what she was taught in the Minas. Eden's Gate wasn't like Father's battalions of Enforcers, cruel and deplorable in their mission, nor were they like the Apostles, teaching malevolence and hidden in shadows.

Eden's Gate had a mission, one with the best of intentions, but were spreading terror in their methods, even if they seemed a bit remorseful, which doesn't change the fact they have ruined lives indefinitely, nor excuse the recruitment of psychopaths like the Cook.

It was uncanny just how much qualities about the Project that she could despise and how much she could differentiate it from the likes of her father's Enforcers. It didn't make it any better that Joseph and John seemed genuine in their desire to have her as apart of the family, even when her gut argues that it's nothing more than a ploy, a deception, with her stomach coiling in agreement, the very reminder that she'd be married to Jacob in the coming weeks making her nauseous again.

Despite the personal cost of her freedom, she had to do it, especially if it meant peace for the Resistance and the freedom of Hudson and Pratt... and Burke as well she guessed. She could also breath a little easier with the knowledge that she had forced Joseph to acknowledge that this marriage was, at best, a tactical ploy for peace, more-or-less, and convinced him to give not only his word that Jacob would not try anything of harmful or sexual nature towards her, but also had him forbid his older brother as "the Father" from even thinking to do such acts, or else she would not agree to anything more.

Silva knew from experience that a profeta's word was as reliable as a rickety old bridge worn down from age, but if he backed out on any of the agreements, not only would he face backlash from herself and the Resistance, but most likely a few of his own people as well.

It still didn't change the fact she was a prisoner here both presently and with the reminders of how guilty her own conscience really is.

She gave the Resistance a standing chance for freedom, however that is going, even if it meant she was restricted in her own.

Jannah, Elsa would be so disappointed in me. Worse then disappointed probably. She'd return from the ashes if she could, and then go on to berate Silva of not only her martyr tendencies, but also give her an earful for all the times Silva had told Elsa to keep track of her own well-being while being mindful of others.

How hypocritical of me.

Does that make me closer to Father than it does Paul now?

Silva wasn't sure how to answer that, but she couldn't blink the welling tears away, no matter how much ferocity she put in.

Here I am... on a bed in Faith's Gate... a prison in all but name, surrounded by people I have hurt in more ways than one... crying to myself... as I can do nothing for my friends and neighbours who I can't even communicate with, no less hear from... all the while I'm waiting on Faith to get me whatever wretched wedding dress the Seeds had stolen to have me wear... while in nothing but my undergarments and the thinnest bathrobe.

It may not be as rock bottom as walking in a blizzard barefoot in a shitty dress at 10-years-old while Enforcers searched for her across the bridge to the Minas, or sailing on a boat with little supplies, taking care of an infant barely two weeks old, and tending to an injured hermana after escaping a successful massacre on the one community she thought truly understood her. Nor was it like the day she returned to the county, into her resident home, without her hija in hand to carry to bed, and as if to kick her further, find out the legacy Elsa wanted to leave behind in the form of her floristry had been stolen away during Silva's absence. But it was still suffocating, and she couldn't help but mourn for the normalcy she almost regained.

Here's the results for the "What Faerie Court Does Your OC Belong To?" Quiz.

Elsa Omar (Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, The Harbinger's Salvation AU)

Yeah this describes Elsa. She generally doesn't take in account the feelings of others in canon nor in this AU. Elsa is very selfish, and only cares for the people closest in her family circle (mainly Silva, Persephone, & Ezekiel + Azriel and Mercy if she got to meet them), everyone else is a pawn to use and abuse for whatever means necessary, especially in The Harbinger's Salvation AU, where her older sister is under the control of the Apostles of Zachariah. Elsa is narcissistic and vain, as well as a compulsive liar to majority of people to boot. She has no problem enacting on every vice (smoking, drinking, screwing, etc) without shame, even if it is detrimental to her overall health and social apathy. Credit where credit is due, she's achieved sleeping with nearly everyone in the county, something even Adelaide hadn't achieved. But its the fact she's careless of everyone's feelings and also gives zero fucks about looking through peoples things to see what she can use for blackmail. She's absolutely NOT a good person, it just happens to be that her goals are either beneficial to others (her work with the Resistance in the AU even if she's not in it for their fight but more so her sisters' safety, having gathered enough evidence of Eden's Gate' crimes to send Joseph to prison for life to protect Silva and Persephone, etc) or even she has morals or ideals she wouldn't cross/adopt (absolutely knows for certain that Adam's Guard is not safe nor should be left to exist, wouldn't join the Apostles because of their habits to bring terror and death to others, and wouldn't join Eden's Gate because they restrict peoples' freedoms in what they want to do for their lives besides devote it to God which would be a very unhappy place for Silva and Azriel, etc) even if those are because it goes against her self-interests. Elsa is willing to take massive risks, which though can be dangerous, she's always confident of the rewards it brings. And just because her bones are brittle doesn't mean she's not willing to go down rough and dirty to win.

Now for the "What does your soul look like?" Quiz.

Azriel (Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, Wings And Horns original work)

I mean this pretty much describes Azriel. Neglected by her parents and then was almost killed by them as they tried to sacrifice her to prove themselves worthy of staying in Eden's Gate, was always shunned for her interests in technology and invention from within the project did not help her mentally. Nor did the isolation. Afraid everyone is out to get her, this 9-year-old puts up a ferocious front in order to at least look the part of scary. Which offputs people from her or undermine her with sympathy she doesn't understand nor want. She feels as if no one wants her, nor do they want to understand her, choosing how she should live her life. Well, at least until she meets Silva in a chance encounter that changes the fate of the county and Silva's role in the Reaping and the Collapse. The first time the Voice felt fear that day. And it wouldn't be the last time either.

Now for the "My OC as..." stuff. I tried to find a faceclaim that I thought was true to Silva. (RANT: I had to go to f***ing Quora for this. And I hate Quora with a burning passion. I still receive their emails to this day. No I don't want to know how to make a Spinach cake, I'm not interested in the quantum physics of a blackhole and no I don't want to be involved in the debate on whether its criminal to leave the toilet seat up, IT IS, debate over!). Anyway Silva's current faceclaim for the time being (or indefinite if I feel that "do you know what, this person is right for Silva") is actress Mina El Hammani. In order to use and create this template I used this trustworthy meme generator, who never disappoints me (unlike Quora).

Maybe I should make one of Paul one day. That would be interesting dissecting him like this.

[no-where-new-hero]

Wrap up thoughts on Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 even though I'm fairly sure none of my followers will have a clue what I'm talking about:

The writing was better than in Season 1. Aside from the huge continuity plothole (what happens in the past bloody well should affect the future, otherwise what's the point), the depth of characters, individual lines, mixture of humor and tragedy, and juggling of many parts came off with more dexterity than I'd have thought. The characters have even more reality because of it and drive the plot onward.

Hongjoo and Mooyeong were amazing new characters and really helped to push through the theme of the season, which was that the way you care about other people is what makes you do the things you do, whether for good or bad. You lie because you want to protect the other person, you leave because you think that'll save them, you decide to perform sketchy magics because that might be enough to stitch back together the family you lost.

Rang. O Rang, my beloved. Kim Beom went for the throat in every scene with his haunted eyes and whispered lines. S1!Rang and S2!Rang felt like different characters somehow, or that they grew from different places. In S1, he was more complicated: more morally grey, more inwardly tortured, more selfish and shallow yet therefore more surprising when kind. He seemed to have more actual power, but less inner strength. In S2, he had a nobility that worked considering he no longer had to be the villain, but that also caught him in plot trappings of heroism: externally tormented, driven to protect and support others, less self-absorbed, less magical in order to seem less dangerous. It still felt consistent and a necessary shift to keep from being repetitive, but its a puzzle, considering that time travel continuity problem.

The folklore! The approach to the elemental magics felt much stronger and more authentic than in S1, where the big bad was a little too big and a little too bad to the point where his choices for villainy seemed meaningless. Here, each magical antagonist came with a different set of limits and strengths, which diversified the fight scenes and fleshed out the world.

Politics! We love a historical drama that actually uses the circumstances of history to animate the plot (looking at you again, The Edge of Love).

The cinematography and direction of the last few episodes blew me away. It was great throughout, but the director was just serving through that finale.

The pacing was excellent, despite the...whimsical decision for some cuts between scenes. Like there was some heavy emotional whiplash.

Makeup and wardrobe must have had the USA's military budget. The costumes and looks overall deserve their own tribute post.

Yeon is literally invincible in this season which therefore makes him the least interesting (hero problems again) BUT Lee Dongwook has a knack for comedic delivery, which really shone here in his quieter scenes.

Kim Yongji played a COMPLETELY different type of role yet pulled it off beautifully with her trademark presence.

I'm so hoping that the obviously dangling plot thread left means the writers are planning a third season.

If we don't get a third season, can Hwanghee, Yongji, and Beom just have their own show? Not even playing their characters from this; I'd be fine with any genre or format (slice of life as artsy 20-somethings would be perfect), but they're all just so good together, the chemistry is off the charts.

[marshvlovestv]

I've been watching another playthrough of the whole Psychonauts series - not only are they an absolute blast, but I think they're a beautiful example of how people really CAN grow and change and how subconscious bigotry CAN be unlearned. As great as the first Psychonauts is, it stumbles in its depiction of neurodivergence in all its forms. It stumbles hard. From how it casually talks down about "insanity," to playing some of the campers' deep issues for laughs, to the heavily stereotyped and shallow depictions of the asylum patients (the ticking time bomb of a paranoid schizophrenic, the dramatic and self-absorbed manic-depressive, the callous straitjacket and padded cell imagery). At the end of the day the game does feel as though it has compassion for all of these characters, but that compassion is undermined by the need to be funny above all else, and a lack of any real understanding of the issues at play.

By the time Rhombus of Ruin and Psychonauts 2 come out, though, the amount of learning and reflecting that the developers have gone through is beautifully apparent. The language of the game is more careful, there are honest content warnings, the binary between sanity and insanity that the first game operated by is less rigid, and almost every mind Raz enters, no matter how damaged, is treated with respect and compassion. Nowhere is this more obvious than with how the latter two games handle Dr. Loboto, whose "insanity" was in the first game used as a shorthand for "evil." But the devs seem to have learned: someone as mentally ill as him is much more likely to be the victim than the villain. Loboto is recontextualized in Rhombus of Ruin as the victim of medical abuse (an actual lobotomy) that left him heavily damaged mentally. And Psychonauts 2's opening sequence goes even further to show that this left him vulnerable and easily manipulable - he's not a serial henchman because he loves it, it's because people with bad intentions see him as an easy target.

The sequel still isn't perfect, of course. For all it's triumphs it still makes me, as a person with a personality disorder, very uncomfortable that Gristol Malik, the only character depicted without compassion and as wholly irredeemable, is unsubtly supposed to be pop psych's version of a narcissist. Not that this surprises me - even the most supposedly open-minded and accepting of neurodiversity still refuse to show sympathy for people with PDs. But we've already seen that growth and learning are possible. This last tricky thorn in neurodivergent acceptance can be tackled just as anything else can.

I'm thinking about the asylum patients from 1 a lot (hey, as bad as I know it is I still latch onto messy neurodivergent representation like a tick). I hope they're doing well in the kinder world Psychonauts 2 created.

[bleuangel88]

On Dylan Shakes

We have one major mystery down!

While many of us probably suspected that Dylan Shakes was alive and that he had gotten away from his father's abuse, it was lovely to have that confirmation during Harlan Coben's Shelter Season 1 Episode 6.

It was also so touching to have that reunion between Dylan and Mrs. Friedman.

The reveal that Sunglasses Man was Dylan Shakes tied up one of many threads in this series.

Dylan definitely knew how much his absence affected Mrs. Friedman, who wanted to adopt him. I wish he had given her some closure much sooner. She deserved that rather than death threats.

With the number of mysteries that this series drops at us rapidly, it's nice to have a clear-cut answer for at least one of them and bits and pieces of things coming together for some others.

Shelter has been a blast to watch because the characters and cast are so much fun that you'll watch them do anything.

And we have, whether or not we could follow along with whatever they're doing or not.

I could watch a whole series of just Mickey Bolitar, Ema, and Spoon being regular teenagers who aren't trying to serve as a Gen Z Scooby-Doo.

On Whitney

Whitney hurt Ema beyond forgiveness, in my book. She knows how her brother is, and it doesn't matter if he blackmailed her. He'll always have that information on his sister and will do whatever he pleases with the second she stands up to him.

She'd do better owning up to what she did before he could release it so she could be free of him.It's such a shallow, self-absorbed issue on Whitney's part that she sold Ema, a girl she genuinely seems to like, out over some followers controversy on an app.

It's such childish dumb stuff, yet for teenagers, it's their entire world, so as frustrating as this development is, I can't even say it's unrealistic.Maybe Ema will be able to forgive Whitney, and maybe not. They were an endearing potential couple.

But it's hard to get past something like that, especially when Ema has learned that there are peers of hers who have more backbone and can do what's right.

She has Spoon and Mickey Bolitar as best friends, so it's hard not to have a certain level of expectation for future relationships, platonic, romantic, or otherwise.

Maybe she and Whitney will end up like Shira and Hannah.

On Hannah, Ken, Shira

But Hannah Taylor has gotten a new lease on life from the second Shira came back into town. It was like she needed Shira to free herself.

On the one hand, that's endearing as far as their love story goes and how much Hannah loves Shira, but on the other hand, that puts a lot on Shira.

There is no way this plays out where Shira doesn't feel like she's the reason a family is splitting up and Hannah is doing all these things.

Hannah can't do all the things she desires because of Shira. She should be willing to do these things for herself.

And Shira is placed in the middle of this marriage in many uncomfortable ways. Ken seeking Shira's advice at the memorial was awkward.

He thinks there is an avenue for him to get his wife back because he spent years not even knowing that she was unhappy.

He may mean everything he says, and he'll try to make improvements moving forward, but it's too late, and as terrible as Ken is as a husband, he also doesn't deserve to get blindsided without even a chance to know how to make things better.

It sucks that they got this far into their marriage without resolving their issues. This sets things up where if he learns the truth about Hannah and Shira, he'll think about Shira breaking up his marriage or Hannah deceiving him and not thinking about his role in their marriage dissolution.

Hell, chances are he'll probably wonder if Hannah ever actually loved him or even Shira back in high school. When you think about it, what stops Ken from feeling like he was a glorified beard for 25 years?

Did Hannah ever love Ken Taylor at all? Or did she love having this piece of Shira? And that goes for Ken, too.

But Shira's issues are apparent. Initially, it felt like Shira would be the one set up for hurt, and there's a chance that remains the case. But there's also a matter of Hannah getting hit worse.

She's ready to blow up her life that wasn't making her happy anymore and start anew with Shira, and the prospect of that seems to terrify Shira and has her ready to shut down.

It's a challenging situation, and Shira seems more afraid of its fallout than Hannah, which could influence her position and why she's pushing Hannah away right now.Ultimately, they deserve to be happy, preferably together, with the truth out in the open, consequences be damned.

[emeraldspiral]

So in the Zimverse Irkens are supposed to be so self-absorbed they can't think of anything beyond their own immediate gratification. Irkens don't have sex organs so they don't fuck in order to gratify themselves, there's no romance because there's no love, and the closest thing to friendship is just mutually beneficial temporary arrangements and maybe the attachment one feels for an object in their possession. Irkens seem to be aware that other species have love and sex and families, but it's not a part of their society, it's something "base" that only lesser species indulge in. So an Irken having any kind of relationship, even one with just a platonic or familial type of affection, would seem like an aberration in their culture. So it's not really hard to see how an LGBT storyline would fit within the world of Invader Zim. Like, you would barely even have to change anything to fit the context. You could just have two Irkens holding hands and it wouldn't feel like a hamfisted metaphor if another Irken acted just as scandalized as real-world homophobes because it totally fits within the established lore.

So what if say, after Invader Tenn's mission in Megadoomer was ruined she was captured and imprisoned, and after Tak's plan to steal Zim's mission failed and she got lost in space she ended up in the same prison. They individually manage to contact the Tallest for help but the Tallests' attitude is that if they can't break out on their own they were never worthy of being Invaders and therefore not worth their time to rescue. Tak and Tenn find each other and learn that they were both left to rot and decide to team up and escape. They bond over feeling betrayed by their leaders, mutual respect for each other's talents, resentment for losing out on their dream jobs due to circumstances that weren't their fault, and a mutual dislike of Zim for having his incompetence rewarded while they had to work for everything they got, only to have it taken away in an instant.

Some time after escaping prison Tak and Tenn come to Earth to get revenge on Zim. Zim doesn't understand why Tenn is helping Tak at first. He assumes that Tenn must be jealous that the Tallest gave him the Megadoomer she wanted or that she must be benefiting in some way from her alliance with Tak. He cannot comprehend what Tenn means when she says she's doing it because making Tak happy will make her happy. It isn't until Tenn is put into a vulnerable position and Tak surrenders to save her that it starts to click for Zim that they're in love, even if the idea is shocking beyond belief. How could another Irken matter more to Tak than her own ambitions? How could Tak's ambitions matter more to Tenn than her own safety? It just does not compute. But Dib gets it, and not only does he get it, he gets how special it is if Tak and Tenn can feel something like that for each other if it's really as rare and abnormal as Zim's making it out to be. So Dib's ready to just let them go if they promise never to come back and threaten the earth again.

The experience leaves an impact on Zim. He wants to think that he's normal by his species standards. He says Irkens aren't supposed to have friends and points out that Dib doesn't have any either. But Dib does have his family and can't imagine how shallow and meaningless life would be if he really didn't have anyone at all who mattered to him. Zim insists that attachments just create liabilities while Dib says they make life worth living.

Zim goes through a sort of gay panic where he starts pushing GIR and Minimoose and Skoodge away to prove that he, like all good Irken citizens, is devoid of attachments. He tries to convince himself that he only thinks of GIR and Minimoose as possessions he takes pride in or of Skoodge or Dib as people he sometimes likes having around to appreciate how amazing he is. But overtime he learns to accept himself as a queer Irken who cares about others and craves genuine companionship and that a lot of his dysfunctional behavior came from trying to deny that part of himself.

[tonydaddingham]

A word vomit of GO consciousness that will make the barest scintilla of sense BUT hear me out

1.

Are we 100% convinced that Agnes Nutter and her freaky-deaky prophecies are not going to make an appearance in S2? I realise Anathema burnt them in an excellent moment of character self-revelation but the whole "Ye Saga Continues" seemed rather ominous, far too ominous that it would be forgotten about? Can we be sure that she did have a wee skim of any that would be majorly important, and make a note of them for future reference? Send it on to Aziraphale in his bookshop (because you must be JOKING if you think I don't believe those two are now firm penpals)

2.

Speaking of future reference, others have put it out there and something in me agrees and wishes to reiterate: the parallel of Nina/Maggie alongside Crowley/Aziraphale seems just as important as the specific presence of Nina/Maggie themselves... Does Agnes put out a prophecy that refers to a couple specifically in Soho? And C/A in their infinite and ancient wisdom think it refers to that cute lady couple across the road?

3.

OR, separate thought on Nina/Maggie, in the Crowley Summons Force Lightning Scene™, presuming it hasn't been cut especially different to the actual scene, we see Nina and Maggie in the coffeeshop when Crowley summons lightning... And that lightning hits the shop... So, not necessarily worrying about why had a meteorological temper tantrum, but what was the effect that that lightning had on the ladies in the shop? And is that actually the start of them becoming involved in the story?

4.

I'm 100% convinced that Amnesiac!Gabriel is not even one of, let alone the main storyline. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Gabriel disappearance barely spans more than, say, two episodes. I feel somewhat (don't @ me) that the storyline is a little bit glib and a bit... shallow? Which, given NG has an Intellect We Shalt Never Comprehend, leads me to believe it is a vaguely rose-pink herring and that for the purpose of the trailer and not spoiling anything actually pertinent to the main story arc, they have deliberately centred the trailer on a pretty funny skit that, going by general continuity of the clips used in the trailer, only really lasts a short time and will provide the segue to the main story...? Imho, it's a bit of a downgrade for a story to originally focus on the contextual morality and mechanics of Despatching the Antichrist, to... well.

5.

RESURRECTIONIST PUB. This is the bit I'm really looking forward to, especially now we've had a sneak peak of the article that presumably gets Aziraphale's attention (the Jukebox Jeopardy). I've put it in another post half-jokingly, but this is the same kind of magic (unsure of the nomenclature regrettably) that presumably affects the Bentley. My understanding for the rationale behind the mystical haunting à la Bentley, and it's been a while since I read the book so might have this completely wrong, is that through exposure to Crowley, it is affected by Crowley's demonic influences... Nothing awful, but has absorbed enough to have adopted the Queen-obsessed IDGAF attitude.

It would therefore stand to reason that the jukebox is being effectively influenced by a demon in a similar way....? So, with that in mind, what if (and it's a leap, I grant you):

-Gabriel gets kidnapped by demons, God only knows why (and probably orchestrated the bloody hoohah)

-Gabriel escapes/demons forget to lock the door/cast a spell on him and send him off bollock-naked unto the misty London night

-Heaven eventually track down Gabriel at the shop, and possibly enlist Az and Crowley to help them find whoever did this to Gabe (for a good ole-fashioned Retribution)

-They track them down through various news articles (which, let's face it, is very Witchfinder Army of them, I'm proud), but especially one that leads them to the Resurrectionist pub and its Jukebox?

QED: Think it's a little coincidental that one perceives a Bentley and a jukebox with the exact same symptoms, potentially instigated by long-term exposure to a hell-raising demon, and not conclude as being tangentially related

6.

This is kinda related to the above but not really and I have no idea what I'm trying to get at, but one thing I noted in the Con panel audio clip of Muriel and Aziraphale is that Az... Doesn't really seem surprised by Muriel being there? Like, sure, she's not a Horrible Boss Archangel, but he almost seems immediately... affable, to this random angel just appearing at his shop, in full white Met Police kit, talking like they possessed an original Bow Street Runner...?

Cmon, he obviously knows straight away what they are and why they're there, but he just seems so... Calm, about it all? Not one bit anxious, not one bit worried that they're there to spy on him? Almost definitely on orders from Heaven? Who, whilst Az has broken away from them, could still very well destroy him or, worse (?), put him on the one way train to Falling? So what I'm trying to say I guess (honestly I'm not even sure) is that - have Az and Crowley actually been seeing more and more angels/demons coming to Earth for a lil vacation? Have taken a metaphorical leaf out of their book, and decided to find out if Earth truly does Slap?

I no doubt will continue to add to this but in the meantime I will proceed to scream into the abyss in the hope that an echo bounces back and metamorphoses into an Intelligent Thought™, such is my preferred form of meditation

Ciao for now~

[divtanver]

Tried to rewrite my old fanfiction at the same time and check how much my writing has changed.

Mobius, the evening of a significant day. A blue hedgehog was walking along a half-empty corridor, barely illuminated by the light of ceiling lamps and the not yet put in order command center of the "restoration", towards the much-desired sleeping cabins. Uncharacteristically, he slowly shuffled his feet on the floor, which was somewhat dirty from a relatively recent incident, paying little attention to the workers here and there doing their job.

Not out of disrespect, of course. It was just that too much was spinning in his unusually foggy head, once the fleeting flow of time hardly left an opportunity to slow down the movement of events floating along it, that one after another collision against the rocks of his consciousness blurred the already crumbling from exhaustion psyche. However, all this was behind him, the only thing that mattered to him now was the need to get a good healthy sleep and forget this part of the past as a terrible nightmare. But to Sonic's great regret, like any other emotionally colored dream, it could settle on a perception of reality distorted by accumulated fatigue. For example, by touching.

The self-absorbed hedgehog was brought back to reality by the feeling of a heavy touch on his shoulder. Uncomfortably cold and vaguely familiar, it caused anxiety coming from somewhere deep in forcibly forgotten memories.

Alarmed, he carefully turned his head in the direction of the cause of this sensation. The outlines gleaming in the dim light were enough to plunge his body into a shallow tremor, and his mind into an unrestrained panic. A cold iron hand, with pointed fingers and a shimmering liquid spreading from it, held the base of his limb. Immediately, fragments of the past flooded into the hedgehog, numb with fear, and the darkness of horror overshadowed his mind. Sonic immediately realized who had grabbed him, he did not need to see an angry, angular muzzle full of razor-sharp fangs in order to recognize the zombot standing behind him and realize what would happen if he did not immediately take the necessary measures.

With a supersonic movement, the blue hedgehog knocked the arm off his shoulder and with an equally significant swing of his leg, he threw the source of danger away from himself. Metal monster screeched against the cracked surface of the collision and made several uncontrolled somersaults before stopping its chaotic movement. Defeated creature seemed to be trying to say something, but only a quiet growl came from its cold lips, dispersing the dust that rose into the air.

Time is short, infected hedgehog needs to run while the transformation process can still be reversed.

"What are you doing, Sonic?!" weak voice confuses, the familiar pronunciation makes him freeze.

Zombots can't talk, and if it's not one of them, then it means…

The veil of fear slowly fell from his darting eyes, along with it came awareness and showed a terrible picture hiding behind its intangible fabric: A two-tailed fox cub lay on the floor, holding his head and moaning softly, his small paws covered a noticeable bruise, his lower limbs bent at an unnatural angle trying to calm the surging pain. Several workers standing behind him, their faces expressing the highest degree of incomprehension.

Sonic was numb, he couldn't believe what he saw, didn't wanted to, was afraid to accept what just happened.

"Tails, but how… How is that?! There was..."

Shocked hedgehog did not have time to finish, his gaze fell on the gray welding gloves lying next to the victim of his outburst, the same ones that terrified his mind with the cold of their contact and forced to do the impossible – to hit Tails, his support and pride, his friend and partner, his little brother. With wet eyes, Sonic quickly ran up to the bent fox cub, picked up from the ice-cold floor, pressed to himself with all strength and lowered his head onto twin-tailed one neck.

"I'm sorry, Miles! You know I wouldn't hurt you for anything, you know that, right?!" tears began to slowly drip from his eyes. He didn't know what was weighing more heavily on his wildly beating heart: the memories of the nightmares he had experienced over the past few stressful days, or the fact that he had just brought torment to his younger brother, the light of life that he promised himself at all costs to protect. Probably all of this.

Unbearable pain was bursting inside him, he wanted to disappear, evaporate, run away from himself as far as possible, just not to experience this burning sensation of guilt. It was scary to think what he would have done if the quiet words hadn't reached his ears.

"I know Sonic, I know better than anyone" sobbing hedgehog felt the movement of the fox cub.

Soft tails wrapped around his back, giving him a pleasant warmth and feel of materialized sympathy. Soft paws pressed his shoulders, a fluffy muzzle rubbed against his neck. Tails' words calmed and filled with confidence, which drove away the clouds of anxiety and precipitation of fear. Unwilling to disturb the peace he had found, only a minute later Sonic still got to his feet and carefully pulled the fox cub after him.

"Lean on me, let me take you to the infirmary," Sonic said, wiping his wet eyes, and led Tails along a less dim corridor.

Only a pair of gloves, having absorbed the drops of tears, remained lying on the warmed floor.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 38] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

It wasn't even worth spending another hour staring at the ceiling because sleep just wasn't coming. It's torture, really. Self-flagellation. Spending your waking moments laying awake thinking about what happened to her. What happened to Basmala, what happens to people that you get close to. As soon as you believe you are making a positive change, it crumbles spectacularly, slipping like sand between your fumbling fingers. It's so exhausting. It's so exhausting that you can't find sleep, only toiling in self-destructive thoughts until the cresting sun eventually forgives you.

Rising from the cot came with a chorus of squeals from the protesting from the rusted bedframe you'd occupied. At least there were no blankets for you to fold when you rose, but that also meant the bitter desert cold quickly identified the weak points in your thick hoodie. There was no need to spark up that camping lamp that was left to you; your eyes had long since adjusted to this darkness. On one of your trips to stretch your legs, you found this spot that looked like an excellent place to avoid people. Price would probably refuse to let you climb up the rusty steel ladder that led to the roof, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. Every rung of the ladder came with a starchy red residue of rusty grime that stuck to your digits. This discomfort takes second priority when you're using every atom of your body to prevent the squealing hatch from alerting the others. Painfully, slowly, and obsessively cautiously, you left the roof hatch door to close by using your fingertips as noise absorbency. 

The roof of this observatory was a stunning place to take in the night sky, though that's probably a surprise to absolutely nobody. Bulbous white radomes that once aided radars in tracking the stars now stand vacant and rusted. Stepping closer, thin layers of grime caked between the folds of the white fabric, at times slipping away from its intended form thanks to years of neglect. The roof was covered in thin stone slabs and pale pebbles of gravel where verdant moss established residency next to small pools of stagnant water. The air was crisp and biting, leaving sparkling puffs of white air clouding your vision with every breath. 

A sloped metal box that looked like it was once some sort of ventilation valve looked like the perfect roost for brooding. Aluminum echoed your footsteps despite your best effort, but you'd at least have the benefit of the doubt that your sounds could be wildlife making a ruckus on the roof. The chill reverberated through the metal into your bones, making you wrap your sweater even tighter to warm yourself, pulling your knees to your chest to expedite the process. That frigid dread didn't intend to keep you warm in this biting cold, and thoughts of despair resumed the second you weren't actively moving. So there you sat. Sleepless and numb, seeing moonlight reflecting on a shallow pool of water manifest into the exact shade of grey as that woman's eyes. You couldn't even will yourself to think of her name. 

Crunching pebbles made your head whip around, spotting a figure behind you, even with your hood obscuring your vision. Pushing the hoodie aside, you couldn't tell if you should be relieved or more on edge when you identified it as your grim lieutenant. Of course, this isn't the type of hiding spot that would only register on your radar, where he, too, seems to have a knack for finding precarious hiding spaces. He wore a dark sweater like you, though he fit his body so much more naturally, whereas yours looked more like a scrunched blanket that clung to your bones. He looked like a shadow that haunts the city streets, and you look like a shivering puddle of fabric.

"Out for a smoke?" You called as he took a few steps closer, cringing as your throat croaked thanks to your simmering sorrow. 

"No. That stuff'll kill ya'," He chided, resting his bare hands in his hoodie pockets.

"You're right. It'd be horrible to put your life on the line like that." You returned your gaze to the night sky. You could only hope he would pick up on the mockery in your words. 

In reality you knew full well that these athletes would never be afforded a cigarette habit. Not only would the smoke erode pink lungs that need to be in peak performance, but also logistically, a steady supply of cigarettes on long-haul missions just wouldn't make sense. Even still, it did slightly surprise you that he didn't partake. There aren't many amenities that are afforded to you in this field of work, no gum, no hair conditioner, stereos, cigarettes, candy, or even a pair of earrings or piercings of any kind. You can't even have your hands in your pockets, though Ghost must be on a rebellious streak with his current posture. 

Brooding never fit you, despite your best attempts. The sadness came easily, but it only left you desperate for human interaction, not the opposite. Sore muscles from a lack of rest furthered their assertions to keep you awake with their dull pain. Every once in a while, you'd hear the faintest breath behind you, letting you know he was still in your presence. He, too, was taking in the dark night air, only a thin halo of street lights illuminating the distant town. So many sleeping souls, comfy in their beds, temporarily escaping the grim reality in their sleeping state. Ghost came to settle on another vent across from you, doing you the courtesy of knowing your space on the vent you claimed wasn't open for guests. 

The sky was so bright that counting stars would be entirely impossible, seeing every star in the Milky Way spreading like a paintbrush stroke across the inky sky. To say a sea of stars would be an understatement. That glimmering blanket of flickering celestial bodies easily illuminates the sandy dunes beyond that chain-link hem that kept the night sky aloft. This grand tapestry of stars was placed specifically for you tonight as if you're the only soul awake at this wee hour to bear witness. Except for Ghost. It's hard to say if he's also awe-stricken by the brilliance above you or if it's just interrupting his sulking session. You knew your eyes were vacant of that starlight above you, utterly crushed by recent events. Restlessness came over you, and your eyes threatened to mist and blur the twinkling stars together in a haze. 

"Lieutenant," the vibrations of your voice in your throat threatened to shake loose the gathering tears in your eyes, "is there anything that scares you?"

There was a pause after your words. If he weren't immediately visible in the corner of your eye, you would've assumed he'd slinked away into the darkness and left you to your toiling. This world was so scary, so full of hate and wrath. As a kid, you'd always assumed the human race's vitriol would become clearer and more understandable with time, but it never really did. If anything, it's more grim. The soles of those yellow leather shoes will always haunt your senses, lingering behind your eyes like a constant reminder of what happens when people get too close. There are days when you can't shake the reality that he was right. He was right, that this job will be the death of you, if it hasn't been already. It scares you, chills you, makes your skin feel numb. 

"Snakes," He concluded, nodding his head as a puff of white air slipped through his mask with his speech. 

Snakes? Fucking snakes, of all things? Out of all the horrors beyond comprehension and the viscera and depravity this man has witnessed, that's what makes him uneasy. It's not entirely the comfort you were seeking, prying for an answer like 'the unknown' or 'death.' The answer was so mundane and average that it caught you so entirely off guard that a laugh bubbled up in your chest. You couldn't help it. The giggle just surged from your throat before you could rationalize it. 

"What?" Ghost asserted defensively with that rumbly voice. 

"It's just… that's not what I was expecting," a smile that pulled at your cheeks pushed gathering tears to stream down your cheeks, forcing you to wipe them with your sleeve - an action you could only hope he didn't see. 

"I mean look at them, they're fuckin' horrifying," he continued, flicking his hands up to emphasize his point, "freaks of nature." 

"Oh come on, they're kinda cute with their beady little eyes and flicking tongues," you argued, succumbing to how good it felt to have the weight of your agony temporarily lift. 

"Well you're welcome to handle the next snake we come across, just keep it far away from me," for a second there was almost a lilt of what sounded like a huffing laugh in his tone. 

The air around you no longer felt so horrifically cold, though it still left you shivering. Maybe what happened was just the kind of thing that was supposed to happen. A tragedy like that would be the catalyst to make a change and spur you into action. Farah was a psychic if anything. She probably knew you'd witness some kind of game-changing tragedy that would alter your perspective of the situation, though it also implied that this kind of thing is all too common.

"What about you?" That smooth voice caught you off guard, realizing he'd turned to look into your face.

"Hmm…" in all your thinking, you hadn't even thought to come up with a tidy answer to the same question you'd just posed. You could only go with what came from the heart, "I'm scared of not being there when someone I care about needs me."

Another pause, but not a dreadful one. Freezing air slipped into your lungs and soothed your burning chest, rather than numbing it. They were words you'd never said aloud, but as soon as you breathed them into existence, they felt so right. It felt so real and so honest. Something you've never said to another soul, though to be fair, Ghost might not be the best example of someone with a soul. It still felt so relieving, like you could finally pinpoint an aching muscle that's needed work for months. Twinkling stars, faintly red or blue, winked confidently as if to congratulate you, and no streams of clouds dared to overshadow this vision. 

"-and Jason Voorhees," you nodded, gravely serious. 

"What?" you caught him turning to look at you. 

"The Friday the 13th movies always scared the shit out of me as a kid," a grin crept over your lips. "Still do."

"That explains a lot," he sighed in that gravelly accent. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" You sat forward slightly, furrowing your brows. 

More silence, though now you had the visual stimuli of seeing the dawning sun tint the far edge of the vast sea of golden desert dunes a brilliant orange. It made your heart feel lighter, though still weakened. You no longer felt like you were on the precipice of a mental breakdown, but churning nausea still sank in the pit of your gut. 

"You did well yesterday, Lua." He really let those words simmer, taking a long break like he wanted them to settle in deep. "Now get back to bed, sergeant," he sighed, with a tint of humour behind that monotone voice. "That's an order."

Another chuckle passed through your lips. Fine. You'll slink back to your room before anyone notices you've been up, but that doesn't mean you'll sleep. More likely than not, you'll be awakened to manage more broadcast transcripts with a fresh booklet from Laswell in an hour. You slid the rubber soles of your boots down the metal vent, absorbing the weight of your body on weakened knees. It wasn't even worth looking over your shoulder one last time before you descended that iron ladder, as your company had probably already reassumed his grim sulking. 

You had only barely slipped into your office, taking a handful of deep, heaving breaths before you heard footsteps on the steel catwalks outside. It couldn't be your masked ally you'd just spent the night in the company of. They were too loud. Slipping on a fresh, less frumpy hoodie that didn't have tears on the sleeve, you took advantage of the precious few moments you had to freshen yourself up. As expected, there was a knock at your door before Price's voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

"Cricket, 'need you out here." The captain spoke through the plywood door that you whipped open to his surprise. "Have you seen Ghost?"

"No," you lied, turning to put your boots back on to avoid his stare that would almost certainly catch your treachery. 

Stepping back onto those steel catwalks above the void of the open complex, you met Soap, who was a few steps ahead of you and headed into the computer room. Laswell and Farah were seated at the round table before a laptop that illuminated their faces. When you entered, their faces were surprisingly not as grim as you expected, an attitude that Gaz seemed to carry while he stood behind them. Nobody had bothered to click alight the portable lamps, letting the lights on the screens and the creeping morning sun illuminate the eager soldiers. You found an angle over Laswell's shoulders to squint at the bright electronic display. 

"We've got something," Price stood over the crowd with glinting eyes.

Ghost had entered the room, pushing past the doors, striding through while sharing a nod with Price, and settling in to stand just behind you. The body heat from his presence made you shiver. 

"When they killed Basmala, she didn't die in the square where we saw her. They brought her in after the fact," Laswell bellowed over the crowd, making your heart sink. "But we caught a license plate off the truck that brought her there. It's a work vehicle belonging to the local quarry, the one on the edge of town." 

"The abandoned coal quarry?" Soap posited.

"The very same." Price clarified, "probably just as abandoned as this observatory." 

Looks were exchanged around the room, stern and dutiful. Suddenly, the morning energy that was once grim and hopeless was now electric with trepidation. This lead could change everything. This unmovable object has met its match against an unstoppable force, and you're now one step ahead in this game of cat and mouse. Your fingertips felt clammy, and all memories of the chill in your bones were overridden by an eager anticipation. 

"Let's get the boys kitted up and moving," Laswell's words confirmed the creeping need for action that was becoming increasingly obvious. 

"'Knew you could do it, Cricket," Farah tapped your shoulder with the back of her hand, sharing a giddy smile with you. 

This would make an excellent case study to occupy those lofty library shelves within that barracks in London, though it's hard to put the carriage before the horse. You weren't in the clear yet. You were far from it. For all you know, this could be a red herring, but something in your gut said otherwise. Somehow, your heart soared with every click and buckle of the boys' mobile armoury unfurling beside you; even Farah was rocking on her heels eagerly. This mission would change everything for this sleepy city, change everything for you. You just knew it.

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[otnesse]

Reply to hafanforever

alantlm:

I didn’t realize until I was older that, despite their deep infatuation with him, the Bimbettes (sorry, Alan, but I am just used to calling them as such) NEVER once showed animosity, jealousy, or hatred towards Belle nor tried to compete with her for Gaston’s affections when he directed interest only in Belle. Heck, they never even make any moves themselves in order to attempt to get Gaston interested in one of them rather than Belle. If anything, yes, when Belle turns down Gaston’s offer of a date to the tavern, the girls weren’t upset at all that Belle accepting would mean they would be rejected. Rather, they expected her to accept his offer, and therefore, they were completely confused and surprised when Belle turned Gaston down, saying she was crazy and something was wrong with her for her to reject him. Of course, it shows that the girls are just as shallow as Gaston is, since their words indicate they think Belle should be infatuated with Gaston just like they are. Not only that, but to them, Belle should consider herself lucky that the most handsome man in town is interested in her, and ONLY her!

Now of course, the girls were crying at the prearranged wedding when Gaston said he had to “go in there and propose to the girl”, so they knew Gaston was planning to marrying Belle, not any one of them. It might have been they thought one of them still had a chance with him and didn’t think his interest in Belle was going to be so serious that he set his sights on Belle alone and his decision was final.

The last time they appear is during the “Gaston” musical number whey flank him, giving out their lovesick swoons, and then when he lifts the bench on which they are sitting. We don’t see them again at all, not even during the mob, but I wonder if, since Belle had rejected Gaston earlier, the girls thought at least one of them had a chance to be with him.

Thinking it over now, I realize that the Bimbettes are such airheaded bimbos that the film shows them as perfect epitomes of the “Dumb Blonde” trope, while Belle represents the “Brainy Brunette” trope, and Gaston is the “Jerk Jock”. And my friend @minervadeannabond have decided to add this trio to our list of dumb Doras, and from Disney, our list include Drizella and Anastasia Tremaine. 😉

Posting my reply here since hafanforever didn't have any way to do reblogs of their posts.

Anyways, as far as the post above goes, you've got some valid points, but I'm not entirely sure the triplets were even THAT shallow in the film, much less as shallow as Gaston (aside from the fact that unlike Gaston, they don't seem to even focus on their own beauty and act self-absorbed about it, the fact that they helped set up the wedding at Belle's house strongly implies that they viewed her as a friend (even moreso when based on their doe-in-the-headlights reaction upon Gaston emerging as the groom, they didn't even know Gaston was going to be the groom, meaning they were actually helping celebrate Belle's wedding, period. That's actually very kind of them really.), and given how Belle in the opening song was heavily implied to be something of an outcast in the story, the fact that they actually consider an outcast their friend would if anything suggest that they too can see beyond appearances, at least to some extent. I don't think truly shallow people would befriend a person who's widely deemed a pariah). Oh yeah, and here's another detail that I realized fairly recently while replaying the film in my head. In the scene where we effectively get our first introduction to Maurice, while LeFou and to a lesser extent Gaston were mocking Maurice as a crazy loon [Gaston himself never made any mocking comments, but he DID laugh derisively with LeFou, even moreso after the house exploded], the triplets were not heard laughing at all, not even when the house cellar blew up, which had no background music playing at all. And they were within earshot of the whole thing based on the panaway and our never actually seeing them leave despite getting a fairly good view if they were to depart. Combining that with their noticeable lack of presence in the mob late in the film, or for that matter their lack of involvement in Gaston throwing Maurice out into the snow, that would imply they are also probably one of the few characters who actually ARE respectful to Belle's father.

I also can't say the term "Bimbettes" really matched up with them at all. I mean, sure, I'll use it to ensure people know who I'm talking about, but other than those instances, I'll just call them Triplets. I mean, they merely crushed on ONE GUY, just one guy. Most stereotypical bimboes tended to sleep around or flaunt their bodies to any guy they find. Think Maron from Dragon Ball Z for an example. They did neither (heck, they barely even noticed any other guys in the village either). If anything, that featherduster came far closer to actually BEING a bimbo than they ever did. I'm sorry, but why does she keep going for Lumiere when he made it clear he's a shameless womanizer who even beds women who were already married to someone else?

I will agree they were meant to represent the dumb blonde trope, which if you ask me was actually one of the film's biggest weaknesses ESPECIALLY regarding the moral (heck, they really didn't show themselves to be particularly dumb. "Dumb" would be them interpreting Belle's obvious refusal as her saying yes.), especially when, crushing on Gaston aside, they never showed any genuine indication of them being internally ugly (you know, the entire POINT behind being the foils to the protagonist of a true beauty from within fairy tale, essentially Belle's wicked sisters, Cinderella's stepsisters, or even Snow White's stepmom, to name a few). And personally, even though they framed Belle as a Brainy Brunette, she actually comes across as a bit stupid in the film herself, albeit unintentionally, like the whole West Wing incident or her squealing about the Beast to a congregated lynch mob, despite literally deducing that Gaston was going to blackmail her to force her hand in marriage. Besides, Marvel Comics' take on them showed them to be very intelligent and even conniving (heck, the beginning of one B-story involving the village even implied they were very good at mathematics, or at least counting).

EDIT: Okay, they DID show some of those traits in their Marvel Comics bits (the envy for Belle and some levels of vanity). However, going by the film itself, they don't show those traits, so I'm not really sure I should count Marvel Comics in this particular situation since it's too much of a breach, while at least the intellectual bits do pose a bit of a gray area. And personally, I kind of preferred Marvel Comic's take on them be used in the actual movie because at least there, they actually WOULD act like Belle's foils regarding the moral of the tale.

EDIT 2: Also, thanks in large part to the film, possibly unintentionally, implying that the triplets were genuinely friendly with Belle during the failed wedding (which would also indicate that even THEY saw inner worth their own way, since someone who was truly shallow would NOT interact with, much less befriend outcasts, period, and Belle going strictly by the story was meant to be an outcast in the village.), I'd even argue at this point that had the triplets been in Belle's position in the movie regarding Beast, they might have helped bring Beast's inner angels out MUCH easier than Belle did.