#it's overwhelmingly not post suited

[worlds-only-dbgt-enjoyer]

in april when i started my dbz rewatch i decided to keep some notes on japanese vs english version differences.

the doc is now 24,500 words long of version differences, theories, AUs, and headcanons, and I had to move it to a real word processor cause it started crashing my notes app about 8,000 words ago.

send help

[gemsalive]

re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

[everparanoid]

Make me lose my breath, make me water ┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , NSFW

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: Cunnilingus, consent is hot, Reader is from Natlan, cuffs used inappropriately, Body Worship, My First Smut, Fontaine is France but it's not but it is, PWF, PWP, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Reader is Not Traveler (Genshin Impact), Creampie, biting kink, Written After 4.1 Update, Minor spoilers for 4.0 quest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Light Bondage, light orgasm denial

wordcount: 6.1k

synopsis: The notorious Duke of the fortress of Meropide hasn't been on his A-game lately, and it shows.

Originally posted: 25.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: 'Water' by Tyla.

Three quick knocks rattled the door to his large office. The sound echoed up to the second floor where his desk resided.

“Come in,” Wriothesley said not looking up from his papers.

Wriothesley was a busy man. Well, being the Duke of the self-running, man-powered Fortress of Meropide wasn’t an easy job. It wasn’t exhausting either, but that was beside the point.

He took a slow prolonged sip from his teacup. The second sip in the last hour; the flavoured water had long since cooled from the general chill in the office. Not that he could feel anything beyond the normal chill of the underwater Fortress; and with the added benefit of his cryo vision he considered himself well-suited for the climate. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss the sun. Although, he could see the sun whenever he found a reason to leave the fortress, which he often didn’t.

He sighed for the fifth time that hour.

“I hear you’ve been doing that a lot,” You said ascending the spiralled staircase.

He paused and lowered his teacup, placing it on the small pile of report papers he was using as a mat. One side of his lips raised threatening to become a half smile. He quickly wiped it away.

“Oh? Have I now?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “I think I’m going to have to report you to Sigewinne.”

“Am I to assume she isn’t the one who sent you?”

His eyes met yours as you arrived atop the stairs, a hand on your hip and that sassy look in your eyes that he had grown fond of. He realised now why he had been so distracted.

He missed you.

You often frequented the fortress. First as a commissioned messenger between Wriothesley and Neuvillette, then a ‘convict’, and after that a friend and now… he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain about the company. It was nice having someone as into tea as he was. Not that he would admit it, but it got lonely in the Fortress sometimes. More so since he met you.

“What? You afraid of a couple of stickers?”

“You know about that?” he grumbled, glancing at the pile of crumpled Melusine stickers littering the side of his desk, freshly pulled off the back of his coat.

“I have ears everywhere, Your Grace,” you smirk, withholding the crucial fact that you were the culprit providing the stickers for Sigewinne and her Melusine friends. They paid you back in giggles and smiles, and just the joy on their small faces was enough for you.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably know more about what’s happening in my humble home than me,” he said. Only a half lie on his part. You had an aptitude for making tough things bend to your will. Him being the toughest of things in question. He dismissed the thought of you flashing that blinding smile at anyone other than him.

Your shoulders rose and fell as a melodic laugh left your lips and graced his ears. If he could keep your voice in a bottle, he would.

You shook your head and pushed off the railing. His attention remained on you as you took a seat on the settee a bit away from his desk.  His throat—as if he hadn’t just taken a sip of his cold tea— felt overwhelmingly dry. He cleared it gently and picked up his teacup.

“How’s the Traveler and Paimon?” he asked, taking a sip.

The flavoured water was colder. He needed to calm down lest he froze the entire thing. He imagined you would be the only one to find amusement in him sipping ice.

You crossed your legs, and your skirt rode up. He looked away respectfully, much to his dismay and the favour of his quickly deteriorating will. He didn’t remember when it happened. When he started seeing you as more than just the middle woman between Neuvillette and himself; more than just a pawn in this game against the fatui, but now he found himself knowing the way your cheek dimpled slightly only on your right cheek when you laugh; how the skin around your eyes crow when you yawn or squint; how you change to fix your posture every thirty minutes when you’re lost in a book, and your neck starts to get sore, and your lower back begs to be stretched out. He pulled himself out of his thoughts before they had a chance to spiral further.

“They send their regards and a thank you for your help with ‘the situation,’” you said making air quotes. You didn’t mention how you didn’t plan to return to them for a while, but some things were best left unsaid with Wriothesley.  

Wriothesley nodded and gestured for you to join him in for some tea.

“If you have some time, of course,” he finished.

“Of course, If you are offering,” you responded. 

You went to stand but Wriothesley beat you to it. Thankful for the excuse to busy himself with something other than your smouldering presence. If he was an icy avalanche, then you were like a raging inferno, melting him into warm water. Perhaps it had something to do with the pyro vision dangling from your hip. He glanced at the vision and caught a glimpse of your bare legs. He froze, curious about what colour you might be wearing underneath your skirt: black, white, blue, red? Instead, he was beyond relieved when he saw black shorts. He breathed a sigh. That’s so you.

“I can heat the pot, you know?” you say, growing increasingly more tired of his strange mood and equally as obscure silence. Never had Wriothesley sighed so much. Honestly, you never would have considered him a sigher; more a hmpher or a quiet snickering type.

You and everyone in Fontaine who had the pleasure or misfortune—mostly the misfortune—of knowing the Duke, knew that recently he had been off. In truth, your visit hadn’t been to express Neuvillette’s message (though that made a great cover). No, you were there because of a chain of strange letters from Sigewinne, given to you by an equally as annoyed Clorinde, telling you of the Duke’s bizarre behaviour. According to these letters, he was more attentive than usual. He had appeared around the fortress checking in on the production zones and the inmates an alarming number of four times in the last month, nearly causing several heart attacks amongst the inmates, which as a result caused Sigewinne to be on high alert from all the overworking; he hasn’t been partaking in as many fights in the ring, and he hasn’t been drinking as much tea.

It was the last two on the list that shocked you the most and was most of the reason why you were there now. Wriothesley not drinking tea? Was Fontaine’s archon a fraud?

Uncrossing your legs, you stood and approached him. Placing a hand on the teapot, you heated the water with your vision.

“Let me do that," you said.

You sounded more breathless than you had intended to, but being so close to him does that to you. He always managed to take your breath away, but you had stupidly thought that with time those senseless reactions would die upon learning more about the mysterious brutish duke. The way all crushes faded when the mystic i.e., the lack of information and the delusions of projection, disappeared. Instead, it seemed to have only worsened. A butterfly somersaulted in your stomach when you accidentally brushed your hand against his.

Wriothesley stiffened. The touch went straight to his gut.

“Why are you here?” he responded smoothly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Not that he was concerned about why you were here—he couldn’t be happier—but you were supposed to be away for the next six months on a quest with the traveler to your home region, Natlan. Had Sigewinne called you back out of concern for him? He had to be more careful around the small nurse in the future.

“Your tea collection isn’t as depleted as usual,” you observed, staring into the box filled with other miniature boxes of tea, skilfully deflecting the question.

“An interrogation. You’re making me nervous,” he joked. “I am a busy man, I don’t always have time for tea.”

The look you fixed him with was not amused.

“You always drink at least three cups a day,” you said putting stress on the ‘at least.’ If it wasn’t tea, it would be a terrible addiction.

“Wow, you’re counting? I’m impressed.”

“Which flavour do you want?”  you said, ignoring him.

“The special blend.”

Without a second thought, you plopped the tea bag into the teapot and left it to brew.

It was your favourite, and that is why he chose it. He was more of a black tea or green tea kind of person, but the special blend he had made specifically for you. You didn’t know that though; you didn’t have to, he enjoyed hearing your quiet hums of happiness with each sip. It was great fodder for his late-night thoughts.

His heart warmed, as the skin around your eyes crowed the way he loved. Loved? He cleared his throat.

“You aren’t booking yourself as many fights. Which I would be happy about if I thought it didn’t directly correlate to why you’re acting so strange,” you lectured, and to him, you sounded like a particular short blue-haired Melusine.

“I can’t help but feel that you are worried about me,” he jested.

“As anyone would be about a friend,” you said.

Friend? Yes, that was what you were. Friends.

“Friends. Yes,” he agreed albeit stiffly.

You gave him a cautious side-eye unsure as to why his tone hurt you.

The word left a bitter taste in Wriothesley’s mouth and when you offered to fill his cup again, he accepted. Suddenly needing the soothing numbing effects of his tea more than ever. You topped up his cup before you poured the heated water into the teacup that had unintentionally become yours.

 Wriothesley didn’t let anyone else use it. It was superstitious really, and he didn’t consider himself a superstitious person. However, he worried that if he let anyone else use it you suddenly won’t come back one day. Not that you would be able to tell the difference if he did let someone else use the cup; all the teacups he owned looked exactly alike, but yours was different. It was a cup with a little chip on the rim near the handle from when you decided to have your tea with Neuvillette, Clorinde, the traveler and himself after the recent troubles with the Fatui. Your cup had chipped due to the heat of your hand; he could recall the horror on your face when he informed you how much each cup cost after letting you ramble on about owing him another cup.

You eventually fell into a comfortable silence sitting together on the settee.

“Clorinde has been visiting you a lot recently,” you said from behind your teacup. You took another sip.

Wriothesley recalled his earlier meeting with the champion dualist.

“Yes, we had some tea.”

“Really?”

“Jealous?”

You turned away.

“There is no need to be, I assure you,” he said, feeling a deep sense of relief at the way you seemed so bothered by his meeting with your mutual friend. The same friend who had been lecturing him about his ‘mutual’ feelings for you. Perhaps it was because of your reaction, that he realised that Clorinde might have been right. Or he was delusional? Maybe it was both.

Wriothesley placed his mug down on the coffee table. His hand brushed your bare thigh and you both jolt.

“Who says I am jealous?” You snapped, your lip twitching.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because your lip twitches when you’re upset, and your pyro vision makes you heat the things around you without abandon. Your eyes lose that spark which makes them look like the spotlights guarding Meropide, and you refuse to look at me because you know I’ll see right through you. And I do. I see you.”

He took another sip from his tea, pretending to not notice your tea bubbling in your hand, and the crack growing on the side of the teacup.

“It’s not nice to make jokes like that, Your Grace,” you said nervously.

Your eyes darted about the office settling on anything but him. The bookshelves looked fuller than usual. Has he been reading more books?

“Indeed. It is not but come on you should know me better than that by now. I never joke about things like this,” he said. His voice was clear and sincere. “Is it so strange that I would want to give a few words of praise out of genuine adoration?”

Especially since he saw the way you’re reacting; he knew that it was real and not a fantasy from his misguided thoughts. He wouldn’t lose this opportunity to make his feelings clear. He was a straightforward guy, after all. When he knew what he wanted was within his reach he wouldn’t simply pass it up. It would be unjust. He wanted to watch you smile, to be the one that caused that smile; he wanted to be the first person you went to when something good happened in your life; he wanted to feel your skin and not just in passing touches; he wanted to let it scold him, to embrace the flames.

“Ah, it seems I have ruined the mood,” he said smoothly.

He stood.

You went to stand too, but when you did the boiling liquid in your teacup splashed your hand. You hissed and dropped it. The porcelain shattered against the metal ground; the liquid spilt everywhere.

Wriothesley sat back down on the settee and took your warm hand in his immediately not sparing a second to glance down at his soaked boots. They encased yours and worked to chill the burn; one of the many benefits of having a cryo vision. The two of you couldn't be any more different. Fire and ice co-exist? Impossible.  Unimaginable. Dangerous. The tenderness in which he held your hand sets your heart ablaze as if it wasn’t already. Had he been telling the truth? You knew the Duke better than most, and with that knowledge you know he wasn’t the type to lie about that, but did he mean it? Could he mean it?

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Wriothesley’s attention remained on the forming boil on your soft skin. He soothed it gently, trying not to give you frost-burn. Thankfully the natural heat of your skin stopped his cryo from hurting you further.

“For what?” he responded softly, bringing your hand up to his lips and breathing out cool frosty air. You felt like mush, and if it weren’t for the dull ache in your hand you would have snatched up the opportunity to run said hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It always looked so soft and maybe he would allow you to touch it.

You pulled a face between flustered and self-loathing.

“That was one of your expensive teacups,” you managed to choke out.

He continued to blow cool air onto your hand.

“There will be other teacups,” he says, his lips barely an inch from your skin.

You wanted to melt on the spot.

“But—“

He sighed and said your name sternly looking up at you through the haze of dark lashes.

“Why would I worry about a teacup when you are hurt?” he asked and lowered your hand from his lips. “In any case, I should apologise for ruining a perfectly good meeting. If you have said all you need to say then—”

You waved your hands, flabbergasting him as you snatched them from his cool encasing, momentarily forgetting about the burn, and cutting him off mid-speech.

“No, you didn’t,” you yelped.

He half smiled at the scarlet tint of your ears, and taking your burnt hand back into his, he proceeded to gently apply cryo to the festering burn.

“Ah, is that so?” he chuckled. “Alright then, how will you pay me back?”

“Huh?”

“You broke my favourite teacup, after all. So—“ he said your name with a hint of mischief in his smooth voice. “How will you pay me back?”

“That’s not fair!” You straightened in your seat. “How can that be your favourite teacup when they all look the same? Are you just saying that to make me feel worse than I already do?”

He cocked a brow and tugged you forward. You fell into him, your free hand coming to rest on his lower abdominal. Your nose brushed his, and you felt his cool breath against your cheeks. His breathe smelt of spearmint. Your lips twitched and you tried to focus on the scar under his eye (the one you’ve always wanted to trace with the tips of your fingers) so as to not meet his icy blue stare, or to glance down at the obvious smirk on his lips. You wanted to kiss him; you could kiss him; would he let you kiss him?

Wriothesley watched your tongue dart out to swipe across your lips; he wanted to bite it; but he had more control than that. He had an image to uphold. The Duke was supposed to be fair and reasonable; he was supposed to lead by example and be a neutral figure of respect and reverence, not a brute without self-control. He pushed you back gently, hoping beyond hope that in your shock you haven’t noticed how hard he was.

“Kidding, of course,” he drawled.

Anger coloured your face and you punched his shoulder, half seriously. You hissed and shake your still very much wounded hand. You had been duelling partners for a while when you had spent a significant amount of time in the Fortress pretending to be a convict back when you were neither friend nor whatever you were now. He’d only agreed to it at the time because you managed to beat everyone and nearly him.

“You are breathtaking,” he muttered. “Come on let’s get you to Sigewinne.”

He stood and offered you his hand.

Your heart stuttered. Even though you weren’t native to Fontaine you were well-versed in their mother language, but even then, you didn’t believe your ears.

“What?” you asked.

He chuckled again, a deep and hearty sound.

“When will I stop doubting the ears of a seasoned traveler,” he said out loud although it was meant for his ears alone. He must have been mentioning your mutual friend, the blond traveler, and their small pixie pie companion, Paimon. You have been accompanying them on a few commissions and quests here and there, especially through Natlan. Which kept you away from Fontaine for significant periods of time, much to Wriothesley’s silent dismay.

However, he would never keep something so precious away from the light. He tried to keep a pet once—not that you were a pet—but he soon realised that it was wrong to keep something meant to be in the sun away from it. And if he couldn’t do it to a small animal then he definitely couldn’t do that to you. You were a traveller, not even native to Fontaine. Although you have made it clear countless amounts of times that Fontaine is your favourite region; he can’t help but feel like you weren’t meant to be chained to one place. He won’t be your administrator, the fortress won’t be your prison, and he couldn’t imagine keeping you in this cage with him. He refused to, even if his more selfish desires would have you cuffed to his desk where he could gaze upon you forever till you hated him and wished him gone.

“No, I want to talk first,” you said.

“I assure you we can talk after your hand has been seen too.”

“Wriothesley.”

Your tone went straight to his cock. You have never said his name, at least not his face. Even when you’re both around your mutual ‘friends’ you still have only ever called him ‘your grace.’ He wanted to hear you say his name again. He wanted to hear you say his name breathlessly, desperately, whilst you crumbled into each other. He cleared his throat and walked across his office hoping that the distance would stop you from noticing the obvious tent in trousers. He fiddled with the cuffs on his hips to distract himself and pulled at his tie.

“You really should go…to Sigewinne,” he said.

You approached him. He turned away from you facing a bookshelf. You brushed your fingertips to his forearm feeling the chilling aura around his skin. You expected him to pull away, for him to stop you from going past the point of no return, but he didn’t.

“Wriothesley,” you said his name again, this time with a wistful air. You don’t even realise you’re saying it. You never said it; not to him, only to the crisp cold darkness when your back arched on your sheets late into the night.

“Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

Your eyes widened as you realised your mistake. You have always tried not to say his name to separate your lustful fantasies from the real man.

He faced you, capturing your gaze and with it your heart too in his glacial eyes that looked so warm. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but obey. His name slipped out in a hushed prayer: “Wriothesley.”

In turn, he said yours; just as quiet, just as wanting.

“You really should go to Sigewinne,” he said and ghosts his thumb along your jaw.

“What if I don’t want to?” you stepped closer. “What if I want to stay right here?”

His expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t,” he said with no bite behind it.

You didn’t budge.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, sounding way more desperate than you intended. Before you could cringe at yourself, he had you caged in his arms, mouth cold against yours. He groaned when you bit down on this bottom lip, and for the first time, you felt his thick erection brush against your stomach.

None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of kissing Wriothesley and any pain in your hand disappeared altogether. He kissed you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth; like you were his last gulp of air before he dissolved into primordial water.

He tugged on your shirt.

“If you don’t take this thing off right now I’m going to rip it,” he said, his breath laboured.

You reached under your shirt, and he helped you slip it over your head. He threw it away and pulled you into another kiss. His hand wrapped in your hair.

You took off his tie and his waistcoat, his usual fur coat was already draped on the back of his large red chair. He stopped you unbuttoning his shirt, shaking his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, and down your neck as he walked you backwards to his desk. He unclasped your bra. He watched it slide down your arms and then tossed it somewhere that was going to be your future you’s problem.

“Up,” he ordered.

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grasped the underside of your thighs and placed you down on the free space of his grand desk.

He bit your shoulder, and you moaned out his name in a way that had him almost feral. He lapped at the wound and kissed it. You threw your head back biting down on your lip. He continued leaving kisses and nibbles along your collarbone, slowly lowering until your breasts were under his hungry gaze. You suddenly felt nervous. You wouldn’t say you were insecure in your looks. You knew that your looks were something to behold and of which you were very proud. They’ve come in handy in your many jobs as many times as they have caused unnecessary issues but being under the watchful gaze of Wriothesley felt different… intimate. You tried to bring your hands up to cover yourself. Wriothesley caught your wrists, looking up at you from his crouched position.

“Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

“Wriothesley,” you said.

“If you aren’t comfortable, we can stop,” he assured you, although the words pained him and his dick, consent was king—always. If you weren’t comfortable, he could always sort himself out later. You were the most important thing to him. He let go of your wrists and you dropped them, letting him feast his eyes on your breasts.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“If you change your mind, just tell me and we’ll stop,” he said. “Give me a safe word.”

“Cake,” you instantly responded.

“Cake?” He cocked a brow. “Cake, it is.”

Without a moment spared, he grasped your breasts and planted a kiss there, dragging his lips over your nipples in a way that made you shiver. He smiled to himself at the occasional whimpers that left you; even more pleased that he was the one causing them.

“I love the noises you make. I love your voice. I’m obsessed with it. I wish to capture it and listen to it whenever you’re away,” he groaned.

He dragged his tongue down, further, and further until he was on his knees, he pushed up your skirt that had been bothering him since you crossed your gorgeous legs earlier. He was tempted to have you keep it on when he fucked you, for no other reason than the thought that the next time you decided to wear that poor excuse of a skirt he knew all you would be able to think about was how he messed you up in it. The thought brought him immense pleasure.

 He slid his hands into your shorts, squeezing your thighs. The flimsy piece of black material and whatever surprise underwear beneath it were the only things keeping him from what he wanted. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to feel how you’ll curl on his tongue; he wanted to feel you gripping his hair and screaming his name as he brought you to a high only he could give you.

“These damn shorts,” he grumbled.

“I climb mountains. How else am I going to keep myself comfortable?” you asked.

He tutted and tore them open; the fabric did not put up much of a fight at all.

“I guess you won’t be climbing mountains anytime soon,” he said guiding the torn fabric down your legs.

“Those were my favourites, you brute.”

He winked up at you.

“Ah, I suppose that makes us even,” he drawled.

Was he thinking about that damn teacup right now?

“How are you?” He said, checking in on you.

“Good.”

He smiled and your heart melted a little.

He froze when he took in the sight of your lingerie.

“Were you thinking of me when you bought these?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” you said.

“Too late.”

You bit your lip. It hadn’t been intentional, your underwear matching the colour of his eyes. He trailed his nose up the soaked fabric brushing your clit. You grabbed his hair at the stimulation. You felt the beginnings of the scruff threatening to break out of his chin tickling you as he guided your lingerie aside and gave your clit an ardent lick. Wriothesley wasn’t big on savoury treats, but you weren’t savoury, you tasted like you, and you were fast becoming his favourite dessert.

“You taste divine,” he said.

“Oh Archons,” you muttered.

“They won’t hear you down here,” he said.

It didn’t take long before your toes were curling, and you were chanting his name. Wriothesley gripped your thigh with one hand and fingered you with the other, stretching you out in preparation for him; because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you were going to cum around him. He was going to feel the way you would clench around him; he was going to watch your blissed-out face twist as he fucked you hard into his desk. Although he would love to feel you climax on his face there would be time for that. He’d be damned if this was the first and only time he had you. You were his. Morals and reputation be damned, he wanted—no, needed to be inside you. He didn’t care if the entirety of Meropide could hear you; in fact, he got off on the thought.

Just when you felt like you were about to climax, he pulled away and licked his lips. You glared at him as he stood and bent over you kissing you softer than before. You could taste yourself on his lips, and instead of it turning you off it spurred you on. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, grinding against his clothed erection.

“Do you trust me?” he asked between heated kisses.

Everything felt wet like you both were melting, and you probably were. If so, you didn’t care, becoming water wasn’t half bad if it was with him. You heard his cuffs before you saw them spinning around the two fingers that had been inside you.

“Right now, no,” you lied.

He half smiled.

“I suppose I deserve that. I guess I’ll just have to persuade you then.”

You untangled from around him. He stepped back unbuttoning his shirt and revealing lean scar-littered skin. You wanted to reach out and so you did, tracing the long jagged discoloured scars, slightly keloid. Some looked fresher than others. He shivered and breathed out a low groan when you grazed over his nipple. He raised his signature cuffs.

“Give me your wrists,” he said.

It clinked when it secured around both wrists. The spiked metal looked so beautiful against your skin; he was almost tempted to throw away the key.

“Oh no, you’ve caught me, your grace,” you teased. Something you shouldn’t have done because the way he looked at you after told you that you had triggered something in him.

“You did break my favourite teacup after all,” he said.

“I thought we were even.”

You watched him slowly unbuckle his belt and step between your legs. There would be time for savouring the moment later, many moments if he could help it but not then. You felt his erection only covered by the thin fabric of his boxers press against your vagina, he leans over you caging you between his arms and the desk.

“Indeed, we are for breaking.” He nibbled on your ear, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. That was an expensive cup you know some flimsy shorts won’t cover the costs. You should know I only play fair, and you got some of the tea on my freshly shined boots.”

Your cuffed hands resting on your stomach fiddled with the lining of his boxers. You lost your breath when he nuzzled into the base of your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he grunted.

You manage to slip his cock out.

“Says the man who denied me my orgasm.”

You felt his smile on your neck.

He rubbed his cock along your folds but didn’t push in. He wanted to be sure that you’re sure.

“I don’t think friends do this,” he said as he continued to edge your hole.

“Just fuck me already,” you sassed.

He thrust into you, filling you completely. He was thicker than you expected, thicker than you had had before. You couldn’t be more thankful for the earlier foreplay because without it he wouldn’t have fit. He remained still for a while, and you slowly adjusted to his size. The dull ache of the intrusion quickly turned from discomfort to bliss.

“Wriothesley.”

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he breathed. “Don’t stop saying my name.”

You didn’t.

“Good girl,” he said.

The desk jutted, the papers shook, and books slid off the desk smacking the floor in their wake, but the sound was lost to you both. Despite his strong persona, and much to your delight, he didn’t hold back his occasional whimpers, and grunts. The sound blessed your ears like a symphony. Sometime after your first orgasm, he took off the cuffs and threw them to his settee.

He left the occasional bites and kisses on the underside of your jaw, and down to your breasts. You, in turn, added to the long scars down his back, your nails clawing into the flesh. He would treasure those when they scarred.

You guided his face up from your neck, where he had been breathing you in as if he couldn’t get enough of you into his system. In truth, he couldn’t. You kissed him deeply, filling it with all the words you hadn’t yet been able to say. You felt your third climax on the horizon as he hit the same spot that made your back arch.

“Wriothesley,” you said against his mouth. “There.”

He chased your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, rolling his hips. He slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and rubbed your swollen clit. You let out a needy moan.

 “I’ve got you,” he said as you clenched around him.

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave of primordial water. He held you to him, as he continued to thrust towards his own high, encasing you in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groaned.

 Wriothesley felt like he was on cloud nine. Being with you was entirely different from what he imagined in the best way possible. It felt like a dream having you here, in his arms, pliant to his every desire. In each kiss, he pretended that you felt the same way; that you wanted the same things. He pretended that this moment wasn’t just a moment but forever—because he wanted you forever.

He slowed down prolonging the experience and straightened up looking down at the fucked-out expression on your face. He knew he didn’t look any better. Swiping a hand through his hair, he continued to roll his hip slowly. He placed a hand on your pelvis steadying you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat which glistened under the light of the office. He felt like he was melting into you—like you were melting into each other.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered opening your arms for him, beckoning him home. And truly, to him, you felt like home.

He pushed his damp hair back once again, before leaning over you. With a final grunt and a spam of your walls around him, he came. He didn’t pull out right away, wrapping his arms around you as if afraid to let go.

Your thighs were sticky from your combined releases, and your body felt like it had been sitting in a sauna for hours but seeing the rare, satisfied look on his face made it all worth it. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You owe me new shorts,” you said.

“I’ll buy you as many shorts as your heart desires,” he uttered, tiredly.

“Really?”

He hummed and nodded slowly.

“Good because I think I’m going to need a lot of them if you’re going to rip them off every time,” you said causing him to perk up. “You know to repay for the teacup.”

“Oh?”

“Unless this was a one-time thing then—“you hesitated.

He kissed you again, unable to hide his smile.

“Next time let’s use my bed.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

He tried to intertwine your hands, but you winced when he brushed against the forming boil.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to Sigewinne, for real this time.”

“First, can we have a cup of tea?” you asked.

He laughed. Of course, you wanted to have tea. He could do with some tea too; he was famished after all. He laid a kiss on your forehead and made a mental note to send Clorinde an extra box of his finest tea.

“Of course, first let's clean up and then we'll have tea. I promise, but don’t spill it this time.”

masterlist

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[innuendostudios]

New video essay! On the Reverse Gish Gallop - how conservatives can ignore 90% of your argument and still appear to be winning.

If you would like more of this, subscribe to Nebula and/or back me on Patreon!

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you’re watching a political debate on TV. The conservative candidate has used their opening arguments to dump a truckload of dubious claims on their opponent. You recognize this maneuver: that’s the Gish Gallop! The debater makes point after dubious point, and, if the other debater doesn’t rebut every single one, they will appear to have lost the argument. These points don’t have to be good or hard to disprove, there just has to be a lot of them.

Oh, but what’s this? The liberal candidate seems to have come prepared! That’s new! They succinctly and efficiently dismantle each of their opponent’s arguments, offering a clear rebuttal to every single one. It’s obviously not the first time they’ve heard this particular gallop. So, the conservative’s petard has just fully hoisted them. [“What a hoisting!”] They’ve just lost their own game and have to go on the defensive… right?

Turns out, no! The conservative points to a minor error - maybe the liberal said their program would cost $40 million but is actually estimated to cost 43 - and treats them as an ignorant sap who can’t even count correctly. That is now the subject, everything else has been forgotten, and the liberal is backpedaling.

Wait, you exclaim, how does that work?! The liberal has to rebut each and every point but the conservative takes issue with one and stays in the driver’s seat? Are audiences fooled by this? Are liberals that easily snookered? The answer may shock you!

You’ve just borne witness to The Reverse Gish Gallop, where an entire argument falls apart if any of it can be disputed. These disputes, again, don’t have to be good, they just have to call the airtightness of the argument into question.

A good example is how conservatives obsess over gaffes. (Which, fuckin’... really guys?? [W, Trump]) Some Democrat will be all “conservatives want to shut down post offices as a form of vote suppression; they’re pushing voter ID laws and the post office is where many people get IDs; also we are relying more and more heavily on mail-in voting; they overwhelmingly try to shut down offices in Black and Latine neighborhoods; a lot of services like healthcare and courts still use physical mail by default and there can be serious consequences to getting it late; many elderly people still don’t use email, and, hey, maybe some of them like getting junk mail” “AH BA BA BA THAT’S IT THAT’S YOUR WHOLE LIFE NOW FOR THE REST OF YOUR CAREER YOU’RE THE ASSHOLE WHO SAID OLD PEOPLE LIKE JUNK MAIL.”

Your mistake was assuming that dishonest people abide by the same rules they impose on everyone else. When I was a teenager, some friends of the family would invite me along when they asked my parents to dinner, because I would play with their five-year-old and let the grown-ups chat in peace. And he’d make up games where we’d bat a balloon back and forth or whatever, and change the rules on the fly when it suited him. Because the rule wasn’t actually “you can only touch the balloon once per turn;” the rule was “Andrew wins.”

The purpose of a Gish Gallop is to establish a narrative not through argument or logic but force and volume. Once established, it takes a lot less effort for them to maintain than for you to establish a new one. If they shake confidence in your argument, the audience will often revert to the previous argument, whether or not that one was ever proven. It’s a not about which story is true, it’s about who sets the parameters for all stories going forward; who got there first. This is not a debate; this is a Zerg Rush. Understand: a dishonest argument is Lego - you haven’t dismantled it until every brick is separated. But an honest rebuttal? An honest rebuttal is Jenga.

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )&lt;3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

[phantommaws]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Shameless smut post bc I’ve got NOTHING TO LOSE

Tag list: @youre-ackermine

18+ ONLY PLEASE, ADULT CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

The smell of fresh pine was the first thing that Hange noticed as the door swung open, but they were far too preoccupied by the taste and sensation of Levi’s lips pressed against theirs. Their legs were wrapped around his back, arms tightly locked behind his head as he carried them toward the sofa and placed her down before turning away to close the door.

They had both been taken by surprise by the two gifts they had received a mere few hours earlier, neither one entirely sure of what they thought. To be gifted with the deeds to both a house in a secluded area away from the main settlement of the island along with one for a shop situated in the centre of the village, it was unexpected. The house had been fully furnished too which had come as even more of a surprise to the pair.

No sooner had Levi bolted the door shut and returned to his lover’s side than he took them in his arms once more. Sitting them in his lap, his hands roamed over the expanse of her back which remained covered by the shirt and waistcoat that she wore.

Their suit jacket had long since been discarded, thrown in a haphazard fashion to the side out of wanton desperation. Hange whimpered impatiently as he kissed her throat, taking care to pay extra attention to the areas which elicited a sudden change in pitch.

“Levi…”

Hange’s voice was soft, steeped with emotion and yet so very full of lust and desire which was not lost on their new husband. He slid his hands under the waistband of the trousers they wore, fingers delicately trailing across the soft skin as he gently nibbled at the skin of their neck. Hange gave an impassioned yet impatient groan, their expression pleading as Levi pulled away from the kiss.

“Ever so eager, I see…I never expect anything less of you.” Levi smirked, fingers providing teasing strokes in sensitive spots as Hange moaned into the juncture of his neck.

Hange hummed in way of response, their nails digging pits into the skin of their husband’s back as he slid a finger into the wetness of their core with a sly smirk. Their toes curled as their eyes scrunched shut, their breath hitching as they hissed through clenched teeth and Levi’s smile grew even wider. How truly gorgeous they were here in front of them, their eyes sparkling with desire, and he couldn’t help but stare.

He began to move his hand, slipping another finger into Hange as they wailed in pleasure, feeling them shudder through their entire body as they clamped down on his fingers. Each thrust of his digits into them drew a moan louder than the last, his thumb tracing circles around them as they gasped. He felt their grasp on his back tighten, their nails digging deeper into his skin.

“Oh…so needy…” Levi taunted as Hange began to grind themself against his hand and thigh once he had slowed his pace, their high-pitched groans telling him of how close they were to their release.

“Sh…shit…Stop t-teasing me-aaaaaah…shorty…”

Hange only just managed to form a sentence through their gasps, their chest heaving as the softness of the cushions on the sofa met their back. Confused, they opened their eyes to meet Levi’s, who was now laying on his stomach on the sofa. Before they had the chance to ask what he was doing, he leant down and his tongue swept a line from their opening before swilling around their clit; Hange couldn’t help but throw their head back in pure ecstasy, mouth agape as they fought the intense urge to clamp their legs closed around his head.

Levi smirked as he brought his spare hand up to rest on the back of their thigh, gently pushing their legs wider to allow him more space; Hange could barely resist, dizzy with lust and overwhelmingly eager to just let their husband take control.

The sensation of his tongue against their skin was driving Hange to the edge, and the only thing that they were able to hear in that moment was the pulsing of blood in their ears and the ragged, breathless moans that they let out. Their mouth was dry, and they knew their climax was imminent.

“L-Levi…Fuck…”

The muscles in their stomach clenched, and their back arched off of the soft surface of the sofa as it felt like their entire being was trembling. Hange couldn’t help the sound that escaped their throat, a high-pitched keen not too far off a wail as they felt their body tensing. Levi continued his motions until the very end, helping them through the intense sensations until what felt like the inferno in their lower abdomen settled into a pleasant glow.

Struggling to catch their breath, Hange only just managed to push themselves up to sit against the cushions as Levi glanced lovingly at them, his mouth shining with their slick.

“Now that,” he began, making a point to slowly trace his tongue over the digits he had just removed from their core, “Was just a preview of what’s going to happen once we go upstairs…”

“Why not here, hmm?”

Hange twitched slightly as their partner pulled them up into a sitting position, and their gaze was immediately drawn down to his lower body as he lifted them to begin the ascent up the stairs towards the bedroom.

“How fair is it,” they began with as sultry a tone as they could manage as they grasped the buckle of his belt in their hands once they had reached the master bedroom of the house, “That I am fully undressed and yet you haven’t removed a single article of clothing, eh? You’d better catch up before I take matters into my own hands; I am not a very patient person, Captain.”

Levi couldn’t help but gasp slightly upon hearing them refer to him by his rank. Such a normalised word that he had heard so many times before throughout his stint in the Survey Corps, but when spoken by his lover, they had a way of making it roll off of their tongue in a way that was so very coquettish and provocative. The pleading expression on their face, pupils dilated and eyes gleaming in the warm light of the gas lamps.

“I want you…I need you…”

The desperation in Hange’s voice was what drove him over the edge. They grunted as their back met the softness of the mattress, their head nestling into the plush cushions as Levi stripped his lower garments and hastily discarded them in a pile in the corner.

Clambering onto the bed, he took in the sight of Hange laying before him; they had taken their hair out of the ponytail and removed their glasses, and the light from the lamps on the nightstands gave their body an almost ethereal golden glow. To him, they looked like some otherworldly deity in that very moment, and he was captivated by their beauty. They glanced up at him as he knelt above them, giving him a small smile as he leant down to kiss them. Their fingers wound into his hair, and their breath tickled his ear as they whispered to him.

“…Fuck me like I’m your wife…”

Levi positioned himself between their thighs and guided himself into his partner, and Hange couldn’t help the cry of intense pleasure as she felt him stretch their walls to what felt like their limits. Feeling him buried so deeply inside of them was something that never got old. Levi groaned as he felt himself bottom out inside of them, sweat trailing down his back as he panted.

Slowly, he began to thrust his hips into theirs, and Hange instinctively wrapped their legs around him with a soft grunt. Being here making sweet, tender love with their husband? There was no greater joy to them and as Levi began to increase his pace, Hange whimpered encouragingly. They wriggled slightly, moaning in satisfaction at how full they felt with him so deep inside of them.

“Levi…aaaahhhh…”

Levi couldn’t help glancing down at his lover, planting gentle kisses on their throat as their nails dug burning welts into the skin of his back.

“Oh, you…you like that, eh?”

He grasped their arms, using his position above them to his advantage and pinning their wrists above their head with one hand while his other snaked down their hip; with a gentle touch, he slipped his fingers into the crook of Hange’s leg and carefully pushed it back, hearing them cry out and clench down around him as he felt his length slip deeper inside.

Hange’s back arched off of the mattress as their eyes scrunched shut, their breath hissing through clenched teeth as the pleasure overwhelmed their body.

“F-fuck…I’m go…I’m gonnaaaaaaa!”

Hange writhed beneath Levi as their climax overwhelmed them with the intensity of the sun itself, their hands desperately grasping for handfuls of the bedding beneath them. It felt like they had been struck by a tidal wave, threatening to drown them while promising to draw them out into the depths of the ocean to never return to the shore again. The heat ebbed into a gentle simmer, leaving them panting raggedly as Levi glanced down at them, groaning at his own intense climax.

“F-fuck…”

Hange was barely listening as Levi spoke, groaning slightly as he pulled out of them; they couldn’t help the slight whimper as they felt his spend slowly trickling out of them, wriggling slightly until they were held in the comfort of his arms. He leant down to kiss their forehead, and they smiled as he did so.

“And to think that we have the rest of our lives together.” Hange mused, admiring the way that their fingers entwined with Levi’s as he held them closer to his chest, almost as though he was frightened of what might happen if he were to let them go.

[springlock-suits]

Hey there followers and friends passing by! I made a dtiys!

This isn't really a celebration of anything, I'm just a fan of draw this in your style challenges, and I haven't really seen any in awhile! Though I guess if I was celebrating anything it'd be over 60 followers on here and 220+ on my Insta! I'm glad so many like to stick around for my silly little aus and art :]

The Draw This In Your Style v

You can change the perspective, lighting, background, etc! You don't have to go for the camera filter like on the first image, and while I did use my Dave design for the drawing, you don't have to make it my version specifically ^v^

Rules, prizes, and extra versions of the art (base colors and maskless) v

Rules and Prizes v

@ this blog,( @springlock-suits ) with your finished drawing! If I don't reblog it in a day, feel free to hit me with a dm, or try some other way to contact me to make sure I see your entry!

This will be cross-posted on my insta, @ darling.dolly.darlene so you could also post your entry there instead!

No stealing art that isn't yours, tracing, ai, or anything along those lines

The deadline for this DTIYS is November 15th! But I am willing to extend it if enough ask for extra time

You can change pretty much anything in your redraw; scene, outfit, lighting, pose, perspective, etc. But you gotta make sure it's still recognizable! I'd say keeping purple guy tied up to a chair in some Freddy's location with the Springbonnie mask somehow included is all you need

And not a rule, but feel free to ask as many questions as you may need! I will answer as best I can, my asks and anon asks on here should be open ^v^

I did a poll earlier about whether or not this should have prizes, and the answer was overwhelmingly yes! How many people joining will affect how many winners, but right now I'm thinking there will only be one

As I can't offer much else, the prize will simply be digital art by me! If you win and don't want the prize, just tell me and I'll ask a runner up instead ^v^

Since my art requests are always open anyway, to make the prize special for DTIYS winners I've decided they can request I draw things I don't usually do for art requests, like their Ocs, their own designs, added backgrounds, and/or I design a character or fusion that they can own and use

Extras v

Since I did a bunch with the lighting and bluring, here's versions that show it without! This was my first time doing such strong perspective, so I did try to hide it a bit, but I think it turned out pretty alright :>

And here's a maskless version! Mostly I made this for fun at the last second, but I imagine some artists out there would prefer to draw a human over an animatronic, so feel free to do a version like this instead! It includes Springbonnie simply in the form of some shadowy ears

This was vaguely based on a panel from the tse graphic novel! I'm a big fan of the "I am one of them" scene

[stepmarchen]

wanted to ask about asm physical volumes covers they have a lot of signs and Symbolism especially Richelieu's cover , any thoughts abt them ? i love your analysis + btw i noticed an Eagle flag behind leon in the Vol.5 cover , is that the streife flag ? and who do you think will be in the next cover ? personally i think it would be ali

sure! let's get into it! but first, for my vol. 8 cover prediction! i'm also pretty inclined to think that ali will be the next cover. he's the last one on the roster for our main cast, so it's preeeetttty likely. unless Orka throws us a fastball and gives us a Letran cover for whatever reason... (i'm nervous for the day we'll get a johannes/ludovika cover)

Annnyways! So far we've got the korean/english physical releases of ASM vol. 1-6 (7, if you include Orka's teaser for vol. 7 featuring Ohara). for the sake of the length of this post, i won't be covering the japanese edition covers (they're mostly all the same, just simpler)

i'll be deep diving below the cut! Spoiler warning! be warned! it's a lot of text! (at the least, check out my vol. 6 richelieu analysis!)

Vol. 1 features our protagonist Shuri in all of her beautiful glory! This cover is so beautifully... generic (as it was meant to be) so we don't get a lot of info but.... here's what we got

The golden lions crest: I'd like to think that the family crest is symbolic of how her newfound family will come to back her up in the first volume.

Jeremy, his siblings, and Nora: The framing of the Neuschwansteins on the left and Nora on the right is both foreshadowing to their early conflict and a way to show that they're all watching over her shoulders. Whether in judgement or in protection is what new readers will come to find out.

The peridot brooch: We all know the implications of the brooch and it's connections to Shuri's death in the 1st timeline. It's a looming warning above Shuri's head, but also behind her, just like how Shuri's death is a memory that she can't seem to shake.

The red ribbon: It's the red string of fate that links eeeeeverything together. And it's also the symbol of the Empire. The red petals are a symbol of romance and violence, something that sums up ASM quite well.

Vol. 2 features a young Nora holding his sword. This is where the fun starts and Orka sneaks in more narrative symbols. The cover is bathed in blue, Nora's key color and his family's color symbol.

Broken peridot brooch: On the leftmost frame, we see Shuri's peridot brooch shattering in a pool of blood. It's a violent red flag on an overwhelmingly blue cover. It's a direct reference to Nora's investigation of Shuri's death in the 1st timeline

Knight's armor: On the right, we have a suit of armor, stoically framed in glowing blue light. Becoming a knight for the Imperial Family is the fate for Nuremberg nobles.

Shuri's portrait: In the back is a frame of Shuri as the Spider Widow. Her head is cut off ominously, another reference to her death. There's a small spotlit corner of the portrait flickering behind Nora, like he's always thinking of her.

Blue roses: Blue roses are a mysterious symbol. Shuri also happens to meet Nora under mysterious circumstances and doesn't even learn his name until their fateful second encounter.

Vines: The wrapping vines in the background are a fairytale symbol for danger and fate.

Overall, my take here is that Nora must choose between the three framing elements, aka Streife (the Brooch), Love (Shuri), or Family (Nuremberg Knights). Shuri was never a choice for him in the 1st timeline, but her ending isn't over just yet! So maybe Nora will finally get to explore his 3rd choice.

Vol. 3 features Jeremy in a much simpler setting. This volume is almost completely centric around Jeremy's trial and the cover reflects that. His pose centers focus on his right hand (the hand he almost lost) as he unsheathes his sword.

Chains: Jeremy's imprisonment. that's it

Golden Lions and the Peridot: We've gone over this. If you see a peridot, it means Shuri. She's what is holding together the Neuschwanstein estate.

Shuri and Johannes: There are two silhouetted busts of the current and former head of the Estate. Johannes, in white, has passed on his burdens while Shuri, in black, inherited the burdens of the estate. The Neuschwanstein manor is overlayed on top of the two, as the real subject at stake during the trial.

Lilies: White lilies symbolize purity and rebirth. Jeremy believed he would lose his hand that day, and knowing that Shuri was going to sacrifice herself for him was Jeremy's rebirth. The trial was reshaped the trajectory of Jeremy's entire life, which had been written from birth.

Vol. 4 features Elias and the twins. From this point forward, I don't own any of the physical volume copies, so I can't be 100% certain about it's contents... but it's a bright cover for a new season and kicks off new arcs and new characters, but i'm not sure if it includes the epilogues.

Golden lions crest: of course we can't be without the crest again. I don't think it needs any more explaining.

Streife: The eagle on the left is the Streife symbol, the Empire's secret police force. It may be in reference to Streife reporting Shuri's death but i'm honestly not sure of the relevance here, especially when i don't know which chapters are in this volume.

Golden amulet and Safavid: On the right we have a golden amulet hovering over a bird's eye view of Safavid. It's a little teaser for when we finally get Ali's first appearance

Devil's trumpet and bellflowers: The white devils trumpet flower symbolizes danger and power while the bellflower symbolizes calm. You could say that it's the calm before the storm. Season 2 introduces itself with Leon returning from boarding school. Everything seems happy and cool until Shuri reminds us that political strife has risen over the 3 year timeskip.

Vol. 5 features Theo in a sinister red, gold, and purple palette. I should note that the Japanese releases are behind from the Korean/English releases. Specifically, Vol. 5 includes the missing epilogue episodes that were not included in Vol. 4. However, the Guardian arc and the Family Trip arc (included in Vol. 3 of the english release) are included in the Japanese version of Vol. 5. TLDR, I'm not sure which arcs are included in the official Korean/English Vol. 5 volume.

Violet roses: The violet roses are a symbol of Theo's mother, Ludovika. In the Japanese version, Theo's childhood flashback appears in this volume and we get some insight on Ludovika.

Mirrors and Richelieu: There's a strangeness in the way Richelieu, who appears a surprising 6 times, faces away from the audience. Mirrors should mean self-reflection, but Richelieu faces away from the mirrors. He's so focused on enforcing his beliefs on others and in the process, becomes the greatest sinner. He's aware of this, but he doesn't seem to care.

Cherubs: Two twin cherubs frame Theo, as they seem ready to stab him with their arrows.By season 2, Theo has already fallen for Shuri, in a toxic obsessive love.

Upside down crown: A flipped crown can mean a lack of authority or a change in power. Richelieu manipulating Theo strips away Theo's power as a royal. It also foreshadows Theo's depleting support pillars (Nuremberg and Neuschwanstein)

Vol. 6 features a young Richelieu. Like Vol. 5, the Japanese volume contains the flashbacks of Richelieu's past, which is the only main moment we see a young Richelieu. Anyway, there's a lot here.

Richelieu: This exact depiction of young Richelieu never actually appears in the manhwa (his forehead is bandaged, not his eyes). But there is significance in him being "half blind." Not to mention, there's a huge glowing iris on fire behind him.

There's a saying "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." It's about a seeing man who comes across a town of blind men. He attempts to preach his seeing knowledge to the town, knowing that he is a tier above the people. However, the town cannot understand the meaning of sight and peck out his eyes, because after all, "the king must be of his people." Richelieu's seeing eye (in the background) is going up in flames in the same way. Richelieu literally calls himself a "king" in his youth, fully aware that he is cut from a different cloth. On the cover, he sits on a throne with a divine halo behind his head. Exemplary of how he feels "chosen" by God to strike punishment onto sinners. There's even meaning in the way he is holding his book. In art history, hands on a book in this specific manner is an allegory for great power in knowledge (think Aristotle).

Wolffe: I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure of Wolffe's significance in the cover, but wherever Richelieu is, Wolffe follows.

Apple: Another symbol of knowledge. Adam's first sin was eating the fruit (apple) of knowledge.

Raven: Ravens are a symbol of transformation, prophecy, and intelligence. I've gone further into Richelieu and his connections with ravens here!

Windows: The windows in the background reference Richelieu's divine awakening. To the moment he woke up from his coma after drowning and the window light shone onto the church pendant on the wall.

Bubbles: The bubbles reference his drowning and eventual "rebirth."

Dogwood Leaves and Thorns: The red leaves can be likened to blood, sure. But did you know it's believed that the Cross of Jesus Christ was made of Dogwood? Richelieu believes his self-flagellation is a form of early repentance for his future sins.

The Vol. 7 teaser features Ohara, but it's highly filtered (for good reason) but we can soooorta only make out some things. There's a jewel? and what looks like Jeremy? I can't say much yet, but let me know what you think?

[krewekreep]

JJK Headcanons: Suit & Tie Edition

Word count: A lot I wrote this on Mobile. (Would love if somebody comments the word count for me lol)

Summary: JJK as Professionals/Corporate Boys + as BFs ((randomly began to rate them on a scale of 10, this post is really for my amusement—I hope you enjoy!!)) (I’ll update this over time to include all male JJK characters and more details, just really a random thought post), #activepost. (Will also likely end up lengthy so)

Hiromi: Lawyer

Of Course Hiromi would continue his work as a public defense attorney. He’s considerate but neurotic. Fair but cautious. And has a strong sense of principles that make his job perfect for him but also perfect for his various neurosis to fester and continue depressing this overwhelmed man.

As a Partner: At the point Hiromi (probably a mid life crisis) really realizes he’d like a relationship he’d be the guy that has everything planned out in his head but fails miserably somehow. He’s so analytical and emotional (his consideration of others not really the expression of emotion) and would end up a worry wart of sorts about being up to par with whatever imaginary standards he’s projected onto you. Less so than reassurance, you’d just be incline to remind him he doesn’t need to go above and beyond or have super grand gestures to be impressive. Likewise he’d want to communicate (maybe too much) once a conflict or issue occurred and I can see him likely being a bit overbearing with “You okay? Are you realllyyy okay??? You sureeee???” Along with literal hour long sit downs after arguments or disagreements. You end up feeling he can get parental but find him a good balance or synergy to your possibly avoidant or passive (I just end up shutting up completely lmao) conflict style. He’d work way too much in the beginning and maybe even have a moment of conflict with you about it but will level out with time as you will be his literal priority and focus. Diligent and upstanding he’s (in my taste) a 7-8/10. (I’d get immediately tired of his work schedule cause I’m “clingy”)

Nanami: Doctor

While Nanami is canonically coded as an overworked salary man I think in another universe he’s the perfect doctor. Similar to Hiromi but a bit more stoic and willing to work pass his limits. He’s the type to really be working triple, quadruple shifts off nothing but caffeine and the smiles of his patients. I think he’d be a pediatrician, dentist, or the perfect primary care physician. I see him being a talented medical student that actually does it for the love of the work. He’s the doctor everyone has the hugest crush on but are too intimidated to speak to—and who is also assumed to obviously be claimed cause who wouldn’t.

As a Partner: Kento would absolutely have the worst schedule. He’s genuinely, (probably neurotically), earnest and diligent. His patients’ care is his only concern and you would end up finding his work reputation as an anti social coworker pretty incongruent to the yeah quiet, sometimes intimidating but overwhelmingly kind and considerate man. Of course you become his “special” patient (whether you meet him as his patient or outside of work) and you begin to cutely annoy him by always being sick and needing to be seen only by him. He’ll honestly at first find it lightly irritating as a distraction but will realize how his shoulders ease and his breath steadies when he calms at your presence. As a man of a few words, and literally hands on as a health practitioner, he will communicate his love with actions and gifts. You’re surprised at work or date out with your friends with flowers and a note. Or he tells you he doesn’t want you inside all day and left his card on the nightstand. “Buy something for me ;).” How he only is ever cute or flirty in texts, and a shy even bubbling big guy who flushes red when you kiss him on the cheek. He’s the guy the upper admin want to promote but then will be even more unavailable so he doesn’t tell you about it. And at a work dinner when his coworker comments on it, lowers his head in shame for keeping it from you. In an argument, whether he feels right or wrong, he just wants you to calm down. Hate to psychoanalyze but Nanami gives the vibe he overprotects because he wasn’t protected and/or saw those he cared about hurt terribly and that those he treasures he’s pained to see disturbed in any way. So no he doesn’t want to see you mad and rightfully so he doesn’t know how to communicate he wants MORE time with you not less…and how he actually found a better job with better pay in another state so… “Y/N? Absolutely I was wrong to hold it from you…but now that I told you my other plans…would you…” (lmao I’m trolling I’m so sorry). Overall if he drops everything for me he’s a 10/10 cause he’s also my first JJK Husbando anyway blep) Strong, big, and SILENT!

Suguru: Political Consultant

Pre & Post Kenjaku Geto would be someone ending up in politics. Everyone wants to save him and give him his little tattoo shop but this man (of course once any incredibly negative event would happen cause he’s very emo coded) would be at think tanks and conferences and Capital Hill. While not sinister he’s a good bit mischievous (and messy). He’d love it for the sheer drama and mess and blackmail. He’d love how easy it would be to orchestrate against his enemies for whatever his “grand ideas” are…in reality he’s the worst (best) type of personality because he would never be “neutral,” he’d simply let it be known his “side” is whichever and whoever advances his desires. And his allegiances WILL change. He’d be the political actor in all those official photos no one really knows and that’s the point. (damn he’s just inspired a Scandal TV Show AU)

As a Partner: Boy…you better be the most apolitical person ever, devious as all hell, or truly ready to be his simp in all regards. This man will be everywhere but home. He WILL miss dates, I’m so sorry! (Even if he was jobless he’d somehow be late or miss a date and nobody can convince me otherwise.) You’d go to truly bewildering events in terms of scope and breadth of wealth, access, and political influence. As an Aquarius (real life shade too I’m sorry again) he’d be so two faced! You’d hear him drag for someone BAD and then upon meeting them realize THEY think he’s their BEST FRIEND. I’m sorry Geto is messy coded to me and you’d have to be down for being a hater at Dawn. (We’d work as friends not lovers cause I wake up and hate.) He’d spoil you monetarily from the beginning so it’s up to you if you accept them even if their very obligatory feeling. Otherwise, I see him being impressed by your ability to challenge him, call him out, or deny him. He TELLS you you’re going to be his date to an event but maybe he was way too flirty with one of his peers and thought you didn’t notice? He’s left outside in his bespoke suit with happy flowers and a sour face. 😂 BUT, he’ll weirdly respect (even possibly turned on.) Depending on how you play it he’ll be the guy who just won’t leave you alone and loves to bother you into a reaction for his amusement—or (if you decide to simp) a guy who’ll definitely see how far you’ll let him go. He’ll flirt with everyone and openly lightly disrespect you cause honestly he’s likely encountered enough simps before. Yet, the fact it’s out of pure emotion and want for him rather than money or prestige will make him feel guilty and he’ll SLOWLY but EVENTUALLY be a good partner holistically. Even to the degree he’ll break “character” upon any disrespect or unsavory comment made towards you. Politically—(I know for me I’d kill him probably) since he’d be a “only here for my own best and vested interests,” maybe you’d think hard on his principles. Maybe you’d confront him about how his “neutrality” is selfish and he should be able to stand on something and stick to it! Then maybe he’ll just simply bring out a laptop you’ve never seen before, type in a few things facing away from you, and show you terrabytes of collected info on everyone across the spectrum…maybe he’d then sit there bored as you scream “REALLY? NO WAY?? NOT HER??? Okay well I felt like he’d do something like tha….OH EWWWWW.” And scoffs to himself thinking “and that’s only what I know won’t make you throw up…” All in all I see TRUST and sincerity being the biggest dealbreaker given (and it’s fair) to feel like he’s fake with you or unsure of his feelings. But…the way he gets in bed and private lets you accept his real feelings for you. He’s a 6/10 because the flirting would KILL ME. And he’s technically my second and half JJK Husbando. Grown him would still be menace regardless of Kenjaku.

Satoru: Sports Manager/Finance

Now Satoru would either be the nepo baby that abandons it all or the nepo baby that reluctantly accepts his role at his family conglomerate. If he gets his way: I see Satoru as a sports manager. He’s a people person, athletic, and would care about the young athletes in the industry. If we convert the students of Jujutsu to athletes I definitely see him being one of the managers representing the most Olympians and medaled performers. He’s hot in his shades and open shirt suits with his iPhone against his ear and his blackberry in his hand texting off a contract or something…(Sports Manager AU coming up :/)

Now if he accepts his role at his family conglomerate he’s the CEO of an old money finance firm. He hates his life and his job and hates his responsibilities. It would be closer to his feelings of burden in the story cause he’s well off and well respected but it’s because he was born to be, so it’ll be a job of obligation. Yet, he’d definitely be a philanthropist and own a charity. He’d hate (but understand) the criticism so he’d just shrug and do the most he can. He’s the type to stay single (or marry a few times) but adopt and of course Megumi, Yuuji, and Nobara are his kids. He does conferences and speaks at events and otherwise is one of those “good” billionaires. (I’d give him a hard time about where his money comes from while telling him what color Birkin I want…cause duality…)

As a Partner: Sports Manager Satoru will not be as free and it’s likely upon cementing a committed relationship you’ll travel with him across the world. I don’t see Satoru being the kind of guy who can do LONG distance or long period of time without physically being near his partner. You’d be the wife without a ring (only for a short time, he’s definitely a “if you’re down I’m down and I love you so let’s get this show on the road” type man. He’s the kind to wait to find the right one but you’ll be a bit annoyed at how many possible “right ones” are floating around in the world. He’ll chuckle sheepishly cause every event lurks an ex somewhere. Whether for a week or a couple years—and you fight seething next to him as you take a long gulp of the alcohol in your glass. How it gets to you beyond jealousy that maybe he’s a lover boy and not retired yet? How you want to never be a numbered ex in an irritatingly lengthy list… “Did you really have to give ALL of them the partner title?” You say as you cross your arms and huff in a pout. Satoru’s the kind to always wanna laugh or kiss conflict away, usually it worked but not now. “Babe…,” he moves closer to you to which you move farther from him. “Babe…? Please?” When he has to get serious and you’re being avoidant or passive then he’s the manager everyone fears for his easy ferocity. Now your held down with no choice but to face his peering blue eyes. “Hey…I know my…past upsets you. I mean…shit it kinda upsets me too.” The scowl on your face makes him shake out of his intensity to clean up the sentence: “No I mean, I wish I knew how to love better…I wasted a lot of time and energy…and other people’s time and energy…so for what’s it worth I’m trying and we are in it for the long haul, kid.” No matter your age, he’ll clock your immaturity cutely. Big spender, pretty obvious. Lover boy, who you’ll have to keep an eye on solely for the women who will try you. You end up being at every game and rumored an athletes partner until Toru gets proper mad (extremely jealous he’s not getting the shipping attention and it’s his partner!) and will pop the question at a championship game or whatever. I see a regular fun but albeit stressful travel induced relationship. But one with a thousand memories and fun. Although (please don’t cut me) Gojo isn’t my type at all I don’t know why—he’s def still a 9/10. I can accept dealing with exes and others if you’re ACTUALLY devoted to ME.

Finance Bro Toru: This will not be an openly happy and likely extravagant or extraverted Satoru. This one would be cold and reclusive. It’s likely you only end up on a date with him because he weirdly keeps seeing you on the metro or at his coffee shop or at his favorite lounge. It’ll be nothing to him but he’ll slowly (likely having nothing better to do and being distant from others) people watch doing his best to not accept he only ever watches you. It becomes his break from pressing matters that don’t matter at all to him. How simple but frenzied you are and how you overapologize for knocking over something. How you debated out loud if it was worth asking the Barista to correct your order, then giving up upon mumbling “Oh everyone is so stressed nowadays it’s fine. I’ll just drink it.” How you bristle thinking the man behind you just laughed at you…but how silly that must be to assume on a random man. How he’ll play with his watch and phone outside the shop waiting on you. How he grows impatient and stomps his foot too used to ordering people around and having folks at his beck and call. He’ll cough loudly as you pass by and since you pay him no mind weirdly jogs to catch up to you. “Uh, hey! Hi…Hello,” this dude is weird what does he want. “I—I,” eh he’s cute but…has a stuttering problem? “Yeah guy? What’s up? My train leaves in ten minutes and I got a thirty minute walk before I even get there.” How he doesn’t know how to keep up and finds you abrasive. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to eat somewhere with me? NOT right now…of course…aha.” You look over the admittedly stunning obvious investor type with consideration. “I thought you had somewhere to be?” He teases. “Oh I do! But…the event I had to get to in ten minutes started an hour ago…lol. I think they’ve accepted my absence by now.” And the both of you would stand awkwardly for like 3-5 good minutes. “So,” you both speak. “Ah you can go sorry about that,” Toru throws. “Well…where you wanna go eat?” And Boom Satoru’s forgotten the seven meetings for today. At first thinking if anything this beautiful stranger can give me a good day. Then when he realizes he’s a late 20 something with no real social life or sense of fun so now you’re damn near seeing him whenever he can. And he’ll love to sneak off to your shabby apartment where his people won’t think to look. “Toru don’t you have a literal meeting with Wells Fargo?” He’ll sour any time you mention work. “Do I have to go to serve a real purpose or just fill in a seat and say yes to whatever they propose?” Well he ate that tbh. So you let him continue eating his Deli sandwich and watching the Bear. Once he loves you he will not even entertain the debate of leaving you because of his role. If anything he’ll propose (albeit inappropriately) at an elite event for the sole sake of making everyone mad. You want to be sure he’s with you for you and not to prove a point or be a “bad boy” and all he does is call up his best friend Suguru in DC and Shoko in Seattle to tell you about how truly terrible your man was as a youth. If anything you bring him back to the source of his actual personality. So you realize this old geezer is actually a retired trouble maker and is absolutely in love with you and getting you both in “trouble.” Easily one of the biggest spenders but deeply intimate so it’ll go either way. He could just be the guy that buys you exactly what you want when you want or the guy that yeah buys you a Rolex without blinking but makes you open ten boxes from huge to miniature all as a gag as he can’t stop laughing at your disappointment. Upon getting to the Rolex he waits for the scream and jumping into his arms. He’ll be a little shitty pervert once you’re in his arms though. 7/10 only cause I romanticized it ALOT but I hate the Uber wealthy and that lifestyle. Plus he’d be much harder to warm up and likely be someone YOU really want to be with tbh😭 AND he’d likely be a victim of a VERY small worldview so unless you code it like dumb rich man meets the real world he’d be insufferable.

Yuuji: Construction Firm CEO/Estate Broker

Yuuji would do construction. Don’t know why he just seems the type…(actually I watch Selling Sunset). He’s less a real estate agent and more an owner of a large estate development firm. If Yuuji ever would decide a life where every day is suits and ties…he’s gonna forgo the tie and remain open shirt to almost an inappropriate degree…he’ll always get requests for “personal” tours but ruins it getting lost in over explaining permitting and how difficult it was to get city approval for zoning. He has the perfect personality for it as it’s an active, hands-on job that’s still people based but also creative. Yuuji is someone who would need a holistically fulfilling job and I think the energy of real estate development is very him.

As a Partner: Full Blown Unintentional Love Bomber. I hate to say it but Yuuji is absolutely someone to fall and fall WAY too hard. I don’t see him being aggressive or forceful but he will appear wherever you are. He’s a well connected, well respected, wealthy man it’s not weird for him to end up at the parties you end at up either. It’s stranger for you to be there but whether you are in his field or of a professional career, a client or someone who just meets him, Yuuji will be the kind to sweep you off your feet. While it’s likely you won’t always physically be around him or able to—he’s the kind to have you on the phone throughout his work day, all day. “Yeah I mean again it was right for you to tell your boss you can’t do someone elses—DIDNT I SAY A DIFFERENT STYLE OF BACKWASH! Portion of the work? If they know there’s gonna be a big client coming then they should’ve—TODO CALL ABOUT THE PERMITS BEFORE I LOSE MY FUCKING MIND!!! Made sure everyone did their portfolio and presentations…do you need me to call up there? You know I know…”(insert CEO you don’t even know of your company’s Name Here lmao). It would all depend on you if how hard he loves is perfect or off putting. He’d love very publicly but would respect your request for reduced or no PDA. He’d just be so happy he has someone tbh. And someone who wants what he wants in a long term, committed way. He’s a lover boy but only in the sense he wants to truly give his heart to someone and take care of someone else’s. Big spender, big protector, big my girl said I can’t come so *shrugs*, very much a “stop telling me how much something is…numbers annoy me, here” and now you got his black card realness. In conflict he will force you into his arms and make sure you scream, cry, and whatever else ;) it all out. You get annoyed he refuses to argue with you and will literally fall silent. How he tells you everyone gets frustrated but he just can’t get frustrated with you as he leaves you for work with a kiss on the forehead. How you get a heat building in your stomach and suddenly want to shop for kid’s clothes. Upon marriage and/or creating a family Yuuji calls Megumi up to design a couple houses. “A couple houses??? We only need one Yu…” You can’t contain your laughter. “One? That is absolutely not enough. We are going to have two family homes—you decide where. You’re gonna have your own condo when you want time to yourself and—babe you know me…thinking of houses for the babies…” meanwhile nobody is pregnant. But you hold your stomach instinctively for some reason. How fatherly and intense made your initial reaction become: “Sure! I mean…how many houses we thinking…?” You chuckle nervously, to which Yuuji just tells Megumi they’ll speak later and rises from his seat towards you. “I don’t know, but for sure one has to look like me and one has to look like you…so what we gonna do about that? Guess we’ll have to keep em coming till that happens, no?” 10/10 I’m so “one and done” like? I do NOT feel like dating 😂

Megumi: Architect/Engineer

I debated whether he would be an Architect or Engineer but if we ever learn their favorite subjects we’ll know if he’s STEM-brained or more humanities based. Either way he’ll do something that’s still creative but methodical. Like Yuuji he’d need full stimulation from his job and I think of course he’d be Yuuji’s business partner who designs the buildings. Likewise a job with purpose and long lasting impact. He’s definitely about sustainability and would incorporate nature similar to Japanese architects like Sou Fujimoto (utilizes unconventional shapes and literal nature) and Kengo Kuma (utilizes shape and literal environment by means of aesthetic cohesion to the surroundings xyz I had to look it up and simplify it 😭💕).

Otherwise he’s some kind of engineer (I’m more humanities so forgive how bad I summarize). Rather than unfamiliar, I’m moreso unsure of which kind of engineering would suit him “the most” but I find of course he’d likely be an industrial, civil, or architectural engineer. He’d want to be useful and in every sense not waste his time or his energy. Maybe a concentration in environmental engineering specifically just cause I see him having a mindset of sustainability and community.

As a Partner: Openly neurotic and pathological about his work so be ready for that kind of man. Will absolutely get mad if you interrupt him working but knowing it’s a him thing will feel guilty about ghosting you for a week…so will continue to ghost you. You’ll have be angry, sad, or simping enough to endure Megumi. He’s definitely introverted and because of the insular nature of his work will be a human black cat. He’ll want his pets when he wants them, cuddles when he wants them, distance when he wants it, etc. You’ll have be used to or okay with someone who may not talk the entire day. Even if he’s not working, I see Megumi just being someone who can and will revel in peace and silence. If you relate that’s perfect and you’ll be two cats in a burrito blanket. If not, he’ll REALLY have to like you to like your possibly disruptive or hyper active nature. And may not be able to appreciate you until you meet Yuuji and Nobara and others. He’ll realize “Yeah, it’s me” realizing just like with everyone else he grew to care about he has to be open and fair and patient. All of a sudden he chuckles more at your dumb jokes or clumsy nature. As a professional, whether it be conferences or grants or fellowships Megumi will end up sought after and very busy. Likely the weight of academics and infrastructure will be visible in his pronounced dark eyes so it’ll take time for him to break out of accepting being overburdened and overworked but your trips to the beach, your propensity to miss deadlines and laugh it off, the way you went to class or work hung over and had an amazing day…he takes it all in and so maybe he won’t accept or feel pressured to do this or that or work overtime on this or help someone with that…he’ll learn how to “overwork” his own way and once he’s consulting with cities on infrastructural improvements and visiting more schools seeing little kids projects on space and noodle bridges he’ll remember how fun what he does is and will kiss you the most passionate he ever has when he gets home. How his hand rests on your stomach and rubs it lightly. “Meg (his albeit reluctantly accepted nickname) your so flirty tonight?! What’s up with you?” He’ll say nothing as he leans into the crook of your neck and breaths. He doesn’t think he’s a charmer but that’s what makes him all the more dreamy to you. How you never could question his sincerity since he’s the living embodiment of it, so how when he wants you—really wants you…it’s easy to lean into him and let him drift your bodies to your bedroom. Empty introverted all up on you cat boy Megumi: 10/10. The functionality of the relationship is a strong 3/10 because he will not prioritize the relationship for a number of MONTHS. He’s a workaholic introvert who is an engineer…whether graduate student, Ph.D, Instructor, or seasoned professional he’s def gonna be hard to deal with. Likewise you’ll have to be really strict with him about replying to you cause he’ll just…not do it. He’ll answer in his head and hope it gets to you…so once you threaten a breakup if he goes a day ever again without replying to you…he’s incredibly responsive and kicks himself at all the day to day conversation he missed out on…so he’ll make up for it.

Upcoming

Yuuta

Sukuna

Toji

Choso

Haibara

Inumaki

[maranelloangel]

charles' silverstone photodump

there are a LOT of thoughts to be thunk about regarding charles' latest instagram post because it's definitely really interesting and we KNOW he always has a way of letting his true thoughts shine through without actually saying it. like obviously i don't know him we have no idea what he's thinking but a little bit of overanalyzing like a swiftie doesn't really hurt.

first of all there's a clear intention behind the photos, considering that he took more than days to post when he normally does less than a day after the race, and most of the time his photodumps are usually just pictures of the car or him in the suit/team gear that you wouldn't normally think of

this last slide is the one everyone is talking about & when i was swiping through the post and first saw this image it truly felt like a punch to the gut. the ferrari logo is either crying or bleeding or both. charles is one foot in (or out) for the door. and the image itself just feels so overwhelmingly red in a kind of imposing way... it's very chilling.

and this is what i was talking about when i said it was intentional. he doesn't *normally* post images with fans, like i said it's usually just normal pictures of him and the car or sometimes with the team. but this time he did, and it's not like it's any special occasion—not a home race, not a podium or a win. and it's not like this is the first time he's seen banners or even taken pictures w fans either.

i take it to mean that he's aware of what discussions are taking place on f1 fan spaces right now (of course he would, this is the man that used to like hate tweets about himself) but i'm having a lot of thoughts about that forza charles banner. how it's saying forza CHARLES specifically, and the ferrari logo is hidden behind him (which could mean nothing)

and as for the caption, it's his usual "tough weekend, we'll bounce back" that he's been posting for the fourth race in a row now, just slightly rephrased... but the point is that the caption obviously isn't where the message lies

also i'm taking some time to appreciate this image because while i don't really see any meaning from it aside from self reflection (?) maybe? it does look cool and how it was posted it on the story is amazing truly our instagram king

again this is all just my own opinion, I don't really know what's going to happen in the future and i have no idea what's going on in his head, but generally i'm taking all of it to mean that he's focusing a bit more on himself rather than the normal "forza ferrari sempre". we'll just have to wait and see what happens, if they manage to improve in hungary or spa or after summer break or worst case scenario the rest of the year is just a downwards spiral, and after the season ends... who knows what happens then.

[theothergal]

Some time ago I made a post talking about a tweet about Eloise Bridgerton, where the OP said that she hoped that Eloise's friendship with Kate would eventually "teach" her that she can be herself and still do all the things she's firmly opposed to (like being feminine, getting married, having children ecc...) and I talked in general about some things that irk me of the whole NLOG discourse, but now I want expand.

A lot of people complaining about NLOGs say that they have nothing against gnc female characters, they just don't like HOW they are portrayed...and I believe them, but sometimes, the way they talk about the NLOG in question makes me wonder whether they are actually ok with a female character being gender non conforming, because the NLOG growth Is often associated with her overcoming her "internalized misogyny" by learning to love and embrace traditional femininity.

And I mean, sometimes It happens, but come on, you really think that every single tomboy/masc girl Is an internally misogynyst who just has to learn the joy of ✨girly girliness✨ to grow as a person?

And don't tell me I'm making things up, just look at the way people talk about NLOG characters, it's always:

"Ugh, another strong female character who doesn't like dresses and makeup, why cannot women be STRONG and FEMININE ?" (and then the female characters they're complaining about is a completely feminine woman with full makeup wearing *gasp* pants).

"Why cannot female characters be soft, kind and nurturing? Why do they always to act like men?" (Where acting like men means being...assertive, bold, loud, authoritative...yeah).

"I want a female character who rejects femininity because she has been forced to perform It all her life...and then she learns ✨on her own terms✨that actually makeup, pink ,dresses and embroidery are the Best Thing in the World and becomes the Girliest Girl that ever Girled™".

This is the argument that annoys me the most, the idea that a person who has been forced into femininity, if left free, will eventually start to love and perform it but "on her own terms", whatever that means. What if "her own terms" are never performing femininity again? Why do you struggle to understand that some people will NEVER like femininity, no matter how "gently" you push it on them? You really think that femininity Is only empowering and never traumatizing?

And then there's my favorite people *sarcasm alert*, the ones that say that female characters being masculine and acting "like men" (whatever that means) instead of being soft, kind and waifish Is unfeminist because It implies that women must reject femininity to be strong.

See what rubs me wrong? The fact that the complaints about NLOGs center the supposed "unfemininity" of the character, as if It's a bad thing by itself and as if female characters aren't overwhelmingly feminine.

And again, there's a conversation to be had about how femininity Is considered generally frivolous and women are expected to look effortlessly good, but I CANNOT take you seriously when you say that masc women dominate the media, when the icky masc women oppressing girly girls you're complaining about look like this:

ID 1: a picture of princess Peach from Super Mario. She's a girl with long, blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a bright pink and white racing suit and holding a halberd. She has a determined expression.

ID 2 : a picture of Eloise Bridgerton from Bridgerton. She's a young woman with medium lenght wavy hair, Hazel eyes and white skin. She's wearing a pale green empire waist dress with puffy sleeves. She's standing and holding a book.

ID 3: a picture of Rhaenyra Targaryen from House of the dragon. She's a woman with long, straight light blonde hair, blue eyes and white skin. She's standing and wearing a long, black gown with gold and red embroidery with dragon motifs.

I'm not making up a strawman, I've seen way too many people complaining that alle the above characters are too masculine, and not just whiny conservatives. In fact, talking about HOTD, I find It quite interesting that people are complaining that Rhaenyra Is not feminine enough, but there are less complaints that Baela Is not a tomboy like she was in the book. In fact, I've seen several users say that Baela being more feminine Is better, becausebit shows that WoMeN cAn Be StRoNg AnD FeMiNiNe!!1!1!

It makes me think that your problem Is not feminine female characters being disparaged (as if masculine female characters aren't), but gnc female characters existing at all.

If you say that you have nothing against masc female characters, why would you make learning to love femininity and overcoming misogyny coincide?

Unless you think being uncomfortable with femininity Is misogyny by itself.

It seems to me that you only are ok with masc female characters as long as they return to femininity at the end of their story.

[maxwellssilverbeatles]

if ABO existed in the real world, what flavor of omega would each of the beatles be?

i am here to answer this question that no but me has ever asked! IF YOU DON'T LIKE ABO OR MENTIONS OF IT, DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS POST.

first off, i fully believe that all the beatles would be omegas, maybe george as a token beta, but absolutely no alphas in the band. thinking logistically, this is the 1960s we're talking about, and ABO is basically just a second gender aka a second set of gender norms assigned to people from birth. omega = more feminine traits, alpha = more masculine traits and beta = neutral, we all know this already. but because of this we can assume that omegas experience discrimination in much the same way as women do, a form of sexism based in the fact that omegas are supposed to be subservient to betas and particularly alphas, who are meant to act as protectors of weak, defenseless omegas. in the 1960s, such sexism would be much more normalized in society, and therefore the idea of separation between the different sexes in any context other than courting would be stronger. just as the idea of boy/girl platonic friendship wasn't normalized (even to this day), the idea of casual omega/alpha friendship wouldn't be normalized either. because of that, i believe all four of the beatles would most likely be the same second gender, because of their comfortability and intimacy around one another and the way that most people's closest friends are of the same gender as it's an easily shared and relatable experience.

now, why do i believe they are all specifically omegas? they could just as easily all be alphas or betas? this is where more of my opinion comes in. ABO and the omegaverse was created as a specific way of fetishizing queer male relationships and viewing them through the lenses of staunchly heterosexual, patriarchal relationships. a way to take a homosexual relationship and distill it down to inherently harmful stereotypes of queer people, that there's always a more feminine/masculine presenting person and that whether you decide to top or bottom determines your amount of "gayness" and therefore your masculinity. the creation behind the omegaverse was just a kinky way of being able to view male/male relationships as essentially just a straight relationship in which both partners just so happen to have dicks. alphas are portrayed as big, strong, aggressive protectors with huge cocks to knot their mates with. omegas are seen as overall gentle and demure, who go through periods of heat in which their sexuality is inherently tied to wanting to be fucked and impregnated by their mates aka seen as submissive. betas rarely have any emphasis in omegaverse stories, due to them just being regular people who don't have raging horomones in them telling them to give in to their most basic, sexual, animalistic urges, but they are often portrayed as mediators between the bs of alphas and omegas.

the beatles were never and have never been viewed as pillars of masculinity in the way that other rock stars at the time were viewed. that is just a simple fact, whether it be due to their overwhelmingly large female fan base from the beginning of their careers or the way they dressed and presented themselves. much like their rise to mega-stardom, i believe it was a mix of a lot of different elements of themselves and their brand that let them get this more "soft" label that they eventually tried to break out of. it wasn't just the female fans, as elvis also had a disproportionate number of female fans and he was always seen as a masculine rocker. it was also the matching suits and haircuts, their "silly love songs", their goofy demeanor in interviews and the fact that paul mccartney just has a really pretty face and voice. because of this, i highly doubt the alpha label fits any of them, not because they were particular feminine but because they didn't express their masculinity in a particularly obvious, stereotypical way. one could just say it was the styles of the decade, and i would agree with you, but also not every rock star has people debating on whether or not they were bisexual + having an extremely large community of people fully believing they were fucking/in love their best friend to this day quite like john lennon.

so, they're all omegas imo 🤷 now here's my cringe hcs (,,◕　⋏　◕,,)

paul is a sluttyyyy omega who pretends to be a beta. because of his extremely repressed nature due to his upbringing (*cough* jim mccartney *cough*), he would probably be ashamed about his second gender and try to bottle away his inner feelings on the issue through suppressant abuse (if we're in a universe in which those exist yet) and overall randy-ness (he's a horny boy! he fucks a lot!). his repression leads to a lot of frustration, the regular kind and also the sexual kind, which he expresses primarily through his stubbornness/unwillingness to compromise and his obsession with perfectionism (both represented through his overbearing presence in the studio).

john is a confusing case. he is undoubtably an omega, just like paul, and he also has a great deal of self directed shame as most male omegas do (they're supposed to be masculine as they're boys, but they're also able to get pregnant and go through heats so they're seen as lesser and gay- derogatory). but i also believe he uses his omega status to benefit himself in ways paul does not do (paul hides and represses while john makes self directed digs at himself and his gender and then bats his eyelids to get whatever he wants). he is also more open about his feelings than paul is, talking more freely about his struggles and is more willing to be vulnerable around others. if it weren't for the fact that he was married with a kid, he would've probably received a lot of hate and controversy due to his very un-omegalike and flamboyant personality.

ringo is just a confident omega man who settles down when he's ready to settle down. due to his shorter height, he was never really going to pass as a beta or alpha and he's resigned himself to that. he was also the most disregarded member of the band, which led to him having less of a focus on himself than his other group members, and therefore less pressure to become a family man despite his age. but such inattention leads to insecurity in himself, his looks and his musical abilities which he compensates for by acting as “the funny beatle” and being generally the most easygoing of the 4.

george is the youngest of the group and because of that he was always being overshadowed by an image of innocence and the overwhelming force of johnpaul. he obviously hated this image. he got girlfriends, slept around a lotttt, made sure to be more expressive and loud in interviews, and changed his style and his hair to suit the person he felt he was on the inside but that wouldn't stop the public from viewing him as "the quiet beatle" or the most ideal omega of the 4. it also didn't help that he wanted to experiment more with music and get more of his songs onto the LPs but repressed and stubborn paul mccartney kept treating him like a baby brother.

this is unbelievably long and stupid and probably unreadable as i wrote it in one sitting as a ramble and didn't look over it at all. hope this gets no attention and forces me to realize i need to get a life and a hobby outside of being parasocial about (dead) 80 year olds. holy shit

[prettieinpink]

hi lanny <3

i haven't been posting as usually as i usually do bcuz of fatigue. do u have some tips for fatigue <33333

Fatigue is when you feel constantly exhausted, completely burnt out or lack energy so to the point fatigue disrupts your daily activities. Fatigue is a different kind of tiredness within us, which can’t be solved by a simple nap or a good night’s sleep.

If you believe that you’re currently leading a healthy lifestyle but still feel overwhelmingly tired, chances are you are experiencing fatigue. The thing is, fatigue is considered a medical symptom, so if you are experiencing fatigue to an extreme extent, go see a doctor, as I cannot say anything about how to treat fatigue.

Instead, all I can do is give you advice on how to be more energised during the day.

Also, Honey if you consider this to be serious fatigue, please go to a doctor. I worried about u <3 hope my tips help

WAYS TO RELIEVE TIREDNESS

Drinking some tea. There are many teas out there with good sources of caffeine, such as green tea. Drinking this in the morning can help boost memory and concentration.

Avoid eating refined or carbs for the time being. Eating foods like white bread, white rice, lollies or white pasta can cause your blood sugar to spike and then quickly crash, which causes you to feel tired.

Ensure your stress levels are low. Being stressed can cause us to be physically exhausted, so I recommend researching about ways to relieve stress that’s suited to you.

Get outdoors. Sunlight can wake our bodies up and help with any stress. Remember to wear some sunscreen!

Be easy on yourself. Chances are, you’ve been overworking yourself and this is the aftermath, so take it easy and slow until you regain your energy.

Keep your senses stimulated throughout the day to keep the tired at bay. Chew gum, listen to music or look at colourful images.

Sorry I couldn’t share much better advice, honey, I hope you’ll feel better soon! 😭💖

[stillness-in-green]

What do you think about Horikoshi ending the manga without a canon couple? Do you ship or used to ship MHA characters? Did you see romantic potential? Do you think Horikoshi might confirm a couple later?

No canon couple?  Au contraire, my dear anon!  The manga ended with the most important canonization of all!

(Everybody give a huge hand to The Only Hets Who Matter, Gentle and La Brava; they deserve it.)

As to the ships people actually care about or were expecting some word on (e.g. the stuff with the students), my reaction there is overwhelmingly “lol gj hori”.  I’m glad he ended it with no canon student couple to speak of!  While I do sympathize with the position of certain people on Twitter who contend that Ochaco’s arc about repression really needed her to actually confess to Deku, I hated what her crush on Deku did to her arc anyway, so I don’t have it in me to be too annoyed.  Anyway, I don’t think it’s possible to do the Iron Might 2.0 part of the epilogue if Deku and Ochaco[1] have been dating the entire time, so I’m perfectly happy to run with the headcanon that she did confess at one point and it didn’t work out for whatever reason, so by the time the last chapter rolls around, they’ve just been friends for years.

1: Or Bakugou, for that matter, but with all due respect to the BakuDekus who haven’t been seeing Shonen Jump battle manga come and go for twenty years with nary a confirmed gay MC amongst them, that was never in the cards.

I remember posting once ages ago about a Japanese fan’s hope that Horikoshi, who the fan perceived as being at least somewhat progressive about women, could manage to end the series without a bunch of timeskip romances showing up at the last minute.  While I have some deep reservations about Hori’s progressive cred at this point in time, and am not tremendously impressed with his writing of women, either, credit where credit is due: he did end the series without any timeskip romances.

As to there being any confirmation of couples in the material we have remaining, I imagine the last train station[2] for that is going to be the final volume release in December, as, on top of the usual volume extras, Horikoshi should be considerably more free to include expansions that his schedule and exhaustion kept him from in the weekly publication.  I could even see a bonus chapter of some sort, maybe something post-epilogue so we can see the power suit in action or something silly and fourth wall-breaking to celebrate the series conclusion.  There’s also going to be one last fanbook released in January, which I have been assuming will be a data book like Ultra Archive.

2: Or harbor, I suppose, since we’re talking about ships.

Now, do I think any of that stuff will confirm ships?  Eh, that’s not really in my analytical wheelhouse.  The farthest I’d venture to guess is that I would a) not be surprised to get some clarification on Deku and Ochaco, and b) definitely peg the volume release to have material like that over squirreling it away in the fanbook.

For myself, my shipping habits are somewhat erratic—it’s not really where my primary engagement in media lies, and certainly not for this series!  But that’s not to say I don’t have ships, or that I’m not happy to talk about them, so if you’re curious about that, do feel free to hit the jump.  I’ll order them by general sphere first, then by how passionate I am about them compared to ones I just think are kinda cute or funny for whatever reason.

DISCLAIMER: While I have not explicitly stated as much here before, I am a 40-year-old asexual proshipper, proshipper here meaning I'm in favor of curating your own fandom space and not harassing people about their fictional ships under any circumstances.  When I say I ship something, that does not mean I’m idealizing the relationship, want it to be canon, think it would be cool in real life, or am mentally putting myself in the place of one the characters.  It’s solely because there’s something in the dynamic I think is fun or interesting, and “interesting” can very much include the same kind of interest one might have in watching a building get demolished. 

That is to say, there are a handful of Too Problematic For Tumblr ships in here—one age gap but otherwise wholesome, one age gap and tacitly abusive, and one that really hits the Tumblr Trifecta by being age gap, abusive and incestuous. I've put all three at the very bottom in their own section in descending order of Most BadWrong, but if you’re one of those people deep into The Discourse about how ships need to be Morally Correct otherwise the shippers are terrible people who should kys, this is not the post for you.  The block button’s there if you need it—and be advised that it’s there if I need it, too, and I’m not afraid to use it. (I grew up in dark fantasy shoujo fandoms; I am not litigating my ships with anybody.)

~~~Stillness’s Dubious and Delightful BNHA Ship Opinions~~~

Villain-o-rama-rama:

Spinarakiya, ShigaRD, Spinaraki: Alas for my short-lived OT3!  I was really, really pumped for this in the stretch between MVA and the early stages of the first war, what with there being such interesting possible angles between all three parties, only for Re-Destro to get arrested and never seen in person again, Spinner to get snatched up by Gigantomachia and never look back, and Shigaraki to get lost to the possession plot for, at least as far as scenes with his allies were concerned, basically the rest of the series.

Not exactly great material for my shipping heart, though I’ll refrain from the rant comparing how long the PLF members were living in close contact with each other compared to the League of Villains and why that should have meant they developed stronger relationships than what we got.

But canon being what it is, I do still ship the hell out of these three in a canon divergence situation, or any number of potential AUs.  I love the connective tissue there, with Re-Destro + Shigaraki having some startlingly strong background parallels and lasting injuries courtesy of each other, Shigaraki + Spinner having the gaming and the emptiness themes, and Spinner + Re-Destro having their Big Gay Feelings About Shigaraki as well as an appreciation for patterned fabrics some shared early frustrations about Shigaraki’s seeming lack of plans or direction.

It's a good dynamic, and I think they could all do a lot for each other, though certainly not in ways that are good for the continued survival of Hero Society.  But fuck Hero Society anyway.

As to the component parts, I don’t ship Re-Destro and Spinner without Shigaraki being at least an invisible part of the dynamic (though I would read the fic where he wasn’t with considerable interest!), but I’m also very much on board with ShigRD and Spinaraki individually.  My constant refrain about Shigaraki and RD is that they have a lot of common ground but very little common language, and I’m fascinated by how much of that they could recognize in each other and how much of it they could then recognize back in themselves, versus how much you’d get one of those cases of, “This guy is a freak and I’m so normal.”

It's so, so, so important to me that Re-Destro is the first ally Shigaraki won entirely on his own merits.  He's got no borrowed reputation from Stain, no monsters on loan from Sensei, and no help from people on Sensei’s payroll, yet still, as a result of his efforts (both in his own fights and in making the League his own, even if it didn’t start that way) he wins himself an army and a follower who never saw a light that wasn’t his.

I weep for the Shigaraki/Re-Destro relationship we could have had if Horikoshi didn’t decide that Shigaraki in the endgame was to be nothing but a pawn, and therefore couldn’t be allowed to keep any of his markers of independence and growth.

As to Spinaraki, man, what is there even to say?  The relationship so clear and obvious that it had even the mhatwt bros out there saying, “Spinaraki but at what cost?” in the last chapter!  I will admit that I liked them better when their romance had that apocalyptic tinge than when it suddenly started getting painted as primarily about them being Gamer Bros, but at least that melancholic “beauty at the end of the world” shading came back when Shigaraki talked about destroying Mount Fuji for Spinner (be still my heart!).    

They will meet and be close in every world and I will hear nothing else.

RiKoku: I don’t think I truly understood the appeal of ex-lover ships until these two.  They snuck up on me in a big way, pretty much entirely a result of my realization when I was halfway through the (first and only, sadly) MLA Week event that Trumpet was pretty free-roaming and independent from Re-Destro all the way through Deika only to be glued to his side from there on out.  Together with the Spinner parallels (the subordinates who fought each other and then came together to the crater to see their worlds remade) and my jokes about wanting to see the MLA heads during their stressed-out, over-achiever college years, all the pieces fell into place for a Rikiya and Koku who had dated for a few years and then broken up when Rikiya realized that his authority as Re-Destro—and Koku’s strong subordination to that authority—meant that he could not responsibly stay in the relationship.  (This also presents several good explanations for why a man in Rikiya’s situation isn’t married with at least one child already.)

Anyway, to me, they never really fell out of love with each other; Re-Destro just couldn’t justify overlooking the power dynamic problems once he realized how extreme they were.  (This does make for a fun alternate angle on RD’s personal life post-Deika, wherein Trumpet watches RD pass the mantle of leadership to Shigaraki Tomura and then more or less immediately pounces on him because now he doesn’t have the power dynamic excuse anymore.  Look up the great Whatever Is Spared by @leftofrevolution on AO3 for more on this.)

Overhonest: I just like Nemoto much more than I like Chrono, and thus my Overhaul ship of choice follows suit.  I like the idea that their feelings are wildly unbalanced but not totally one-sided—Overhaul has more baggage than a freshly loaded airport carousel, but he does like the Shie Hassaikai, as proven by them being mentioned in the Likes section of his character page. Nemoto in particular is someone whose presence we know Overhaul finds reassuring and we know it because he told Nemoto so directly when Nemoto asked, which means it can’t be anything other than the plain truth.  He relies on Nemoto enough to make demands of him, he expects (and gets!) effectiveness, and he even bothers to take the time to justify out loud why it would be okay for him to merge himself with Nemoto physically (because Nemoto would say yes if asked, right? of course he would) rather than just doing it with no thought to Nemoto’s feelings about it because why should he care about that.

And Nemoto, for his part, is of course an obsessive weirdo who’s totally smitten with the first person he’s ever found who legitimately wants him around, so smitten that he’ll happily overlook the fact that Overhaul primarily wants him around because he’s useful.

Moving away from what’s on-the-page canon, I enjoy (and write) the take that Overhaul is sex-repulsed, not because he’s fully asexual, but as an extension of his mysophobia.  This makes his sex life extremely fraught, but not non-existent.  When I dabble with writing them (and they’re by far the ship I’ve written the most explicit material for in this fandom), I write him as basically a sex-repulsed demi (not that he would know or use that terminology!) who is attracted to Nemoto but has been largely left aggravated and sexually frustrated by their periodic experiments in non-traditional ways of getting him off.  (Nemoto, for his part, is more than willing to keep trying!  No kink is too weird for this guy if it means finding something Overhaul would actually like.)

(To get real here for a second, if Spinarakiya is meaningful to me as a person who’s comfortably poly, Overhonest is meaningful to me as an asexual person who's only ever had allosexual partners.)

AFOUji: Truly the Evil Husbands of all time.  I wish the shift from Final Boss Shigaraki to Final Boss AFO hadn’t left Ujiko with a few truly inexplicable characterization beats,[3] because I truly do love these two as just the worst pair of mutually enabling monsters making the world worse and more dangerous for everyone while being 100% supportive of each other’s passions the entire time.  Here’s to 70 years of Dark Lord/Mad Scientist domestic bliss.

3: For the record, I consider these to be his, “I've only been living for the boy's sake,” line in Chapter 269 and his clear reticence and dissastisfaction with Shigaraki getting the surgery in Chapter 240.

DabiSkep: Skeptic is the only man Dabi has ever thanked for his contributions.  Dabi goes out of his way to kidnap him.  I’m 90% convinced that they’d been working on the video together prior to the Villa raid.  The combination of Skeptic’s deep and abiding neuroticism with Dabi’s swings between lazy malice and manic pushiness is extremely funny.  What can I say; it’s just about the only Dabi ship that really clicks for me.  I enjoy leftof’s take that Skeptic had a goth phase he never completely exited and so Dabi appeals to his inner Hot Topic teen, which he is 100% aware of and 150% embarrassed by.

   

School Environs:

Mirio/Tamaki: Tamaki literally regains consciousness at the exact moment Mirio loses his quirk.  Other than cases where there’s some actual explanation for that—a magical connection, psychic powers, etc.—I have never seen that kind of beat happen outside of a shoujo manga.  The bit where one romantic lead just mysteriously has a Bad Feeling in the same instant that something Bad happens to their love interest is so shoujo-coded.  Jesus Christ, Tamaki is so moe.  And Mirio so clearly thinks the world of him, too, as evinced by what an over-the-top sobriquet he dubbed Tamaki with.  They’re great, end of story.

Monoma/Shinsou: I’ll admit I liked this somewhat better when I thought there was any chance at all Shinsou might end up in Class B—I kind of loathe that he wound up in Class A for the self-evidently terrible reason that it’s The Main Character Class, when it seems so obviously a conflict of interest for Aizawa to be teaching him.  But eh, it’s okay; it just means Monoma will have to nobly learn to look past it after a lot of time spent being completely obnoxious about it.

My annoyance with Shinsou’s class placement aside, Monoma is one of my favorite students, and I like that he immediately latches onto Shinsou as a kindred spirit.  And, like, if that were 100% one-directional, I would probably shrug it off, but Shinsou, despite trying to play at being aloof, does actually get invested enough that he gets pretty bothered by the idea of Monoma needing help, even in something as inconsequential as a class exercise.  It’s just a much, much more interesting dynamic than Shinsou has with Deku or especially Kaminari.

Also, as someone with a bit of a Thing for mind fuckery, the way Copy and Brainwash can play off each other is Good.

MomoJirou: The fanart is cute and I like Momo better than Kaminari.  And the culture clash thing is fun.

Shouto/Inasa: The fanart is cute and I like Inasa better than Deku or Bakugou.

   

Professional Sphere:

Hawksdeavor:The age gap adds flavor.  The fact that Endeavor is still married but deeply unhappily so makes it even spicier.  The difference in what they represent (or could potentially represent) to each other is the best part, with Hawks, for Endeavor, being someone who represents a totally clean page, while Endeavor, for Hawks, represents a lifelong adoration.  Finding each other’s reality in all of that would be an interesting relationship arc and could be extremely fulfilling and strengthening for both of them.

The spoiler is (or at least should have been, if I’d been writing the series) their divided feelings on Dabi.  Honestly, I really wanted to see them clash over the matter of Touya and how to deal with him, with Endeavor wanting to save him but not knowing how and Hawks just wanting him gone but not knowing how to get away with it.  A certain pair of facts is glaring to me: first, that Hawks was a chief architect of the second war’s battle plans, whereas we never saw Endeavor involved with them at all, and second, that, when the big day came, Endeavor was slated to fight All For One with Hawks at his side despite at least some guilty protests from Enji that he really ought to be facing Dabi.

It smacks strongly of Hawks making some profoundly selfish decisions under the guise of clear-headed strategy and I really wanted it to blow up in his face when Dabi found his way to their battlefield anyway.  Pushing Endeavor into a place where he had to choose between them and ultimately chose his son (say, by protecting him from an attack coming from Hawks) would have been validating for Touya, done a lot to lever Endeavor’s arc out of the reactiveness and passivity that drag it down so badly in the canon, and also handed Hawks a real consequence for how dismissively he treats the lives of Villains and how much he’s tried to avoid reckoning with both Endeavor’s abuse and Enji’s own attempts to do said reckoning!

In summary, Hawks and Endeavor could be very good for each other, and the incredible amount of baggage they’d have work through first would be key to either making that good ending feel earned or lead to them dramatically and deliciously imploding.  Either one works for me, and either one, even without the romantic angle, would have been more interesting than the pablum we got.

NightMight: Speaking of could-have-been-good relationships that dramatically imploded!  I love Sir Nighteye as the most visible cost of All Might’s lifestyle, the one he lost because he couldn’t step away from the path his ideals had set out, and how that ideal inevitably took him full circle so that he found himself standing, for Deku, in the same place Nighteye once stood for him.  And of course by then it was too late and Deku wouldn’t listen to him anymore than he himself listened to Nighteye back then.

But Nighteye didn’t give up on caring about him, even if he had no avenue left to express it but throwing himself into finding a successor All Might would accept, which led to Nighteye's own (wonderful) relationship with Mirio.

Just great, difficult, adult stuff about irreconcilable differences that never stopped them from caring about each other even as those differences forced them to their parting of ways.

Mount Lady/Kamui Woods: They’re cute and I like the idea that they both have trouble, for opposite reasons, with cameramen.  I like that he calls her just Lady when he thinks she’s in trouble.  And not to put too fine a point on it, but I like that they’re kinda the most explicit Pro Hero couple and yet she’s the more prominent and important character with the more visible arc, which is a nice contrast to most of the other hetero relationships in this benighted manga.

   

Other/Cross-faction:

Togachaco: The yuri ship that could.  My god, the canon divergence I want to give these two.  You know why I want Deku and Ochaco to not be together in the end?  Because I want Ochaco to realize that she did everything in her power to save her Villain while Deku—after all that talk on the cliff!—just killed his, and triggered Toga just before he left to do it, meaning Ochaco had a harder time with Toga than she might have otherwise.

But, I’m not here to talk about No. 2 Green; let’s talk instead about the canon divergence where Toga survives (shove that absurd death-via-blood-transfusion right into the incinerator) and then Ochaco has to come face to face with a system that does not want to let her be anywhere near as kind as she wants to be.  The canon divergence where Ochaco realizes that her forgiveness is immaterial to justice, where she watches the system she fought to defend gear up to try Toga as an adult because Japan needs a scapegoat for the destruction of the war and all of the people who are actually most responsible are already dead or dying.  Where Ochaco realizes that she has to do something drastic if she doesn’t want to live the rest of her life haunted by the knowledge that her compassion got a 17-year-old victim of emotional and psychiatric abuse executed by the state.  The one where she decides to take a fucking stand, and it forces the rest of her class to confront that need as well.

“The cutest girl in the whole world,” my god.

Kotarou and Nao: I’m not as big on it by the time we’re seeing them in the Tenko flashback, though I certainly wasn’t pulling for some mean-spirited, allegedly feel-good “Nao slaps Kotarou and the whole family walks out of him” thing like you see in fanfic sometimes.  No, what I really like with Kotarou and Nao is thinking about them when they’re both still young, in the stretch of years where they really think they'll be happy together.  That her being with him can make all his problems go away, that him being able to bury his past and be better than all the people who hurt him (and there were so many people who hurt him) will be enough, that love is the answer to everything. Sure, the cracks are there, but they’re thin, and they can be hidden beneath all the days when things are good, when the two of them hold each other and feel safe and loved and sure.

The cracks are still there, and love isn’t enough when love becomes a band-aid and a blind eye.  But the love is still there too, and it’s so fierce and so desperate, and it still won’t save them.

Sorry, everyone; they make me emotional.  They are beautiful in the way of sparks dancing above flames, or early flowers blooming right before a vicious cold snap.  Ah, me.

StainMight: GOD, All Might really needed to grapple more with Stain’s side of his legacy.  Like, StainMight is really a victim of the way the story looked like it was setting up to criticize All Might’s methodology as well-intended but not sustainable long-term, but then, like every other aspect of the series that was about systemic critique, that criticism just evaporated and Stain became an All Might cheerleader with nothing to say about the system All Might supported for thirty years.  Maddening!  But for real, All Might should have been badly hurt in that car attack and then rescued by Stain, both to give Deku some stress about how All Might could be in danger after they parted on bad terms, and also to really make All Might have to sit with this opinionated zealot all-too-prepared to talk about how no one else is really living up to his example.

And there should be UST the whole time.

Yoichi and Kudou: I am almost entirely negative towards the OFA Collective these days, especially Kudou’s role in the endgame, but I still have some fondness for what he and Yoichi could have been.  My god, the first One For All transfer really should have been because they kissed.  More beautiful, more tragic, more profound, and preserves the Yoichi that had some actual fucking agency in the life he lived instead of just constantly being AFO’s or Kudou’s trophy princess there to talk about how respectively terrible and awesome they are.

TogaTsuyu: I just think it would be interesting if Tsuyu were actually allowed to be more present in the Toga plotline, rather than only arriving as a spoiler to avert major shifts every time.  Toga says she likes Tsuyu, too, after all, and Tsuyu is so different from both Ochaco and Deku, so much more thoughtful and considered.  I dunno, I just wonder how things might have gone if, for example, it had been Tsuyu that Toga managed to draw away in the Jakku fight.  Given that side story with her snakey friend Habuko, evidence suggests that Tsuyu is a good deal more observant and intuitive than Ochaco, and I wonder if she might have been able to suss out what Toga was actually asking there better than Ochaco did, and how that might have changed things.

   

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THE TUMBLR PROBLEMATIC ZONE:

Gentle Criminal and La Brava: I was willing to follow the canon’s initial vagary about these two, but I also like them quite a bit together, so if canon wants to put them in wedding rings at the end of the series, that’s fine by me!  Yes, I’m aware that there’s a pretty significant age gap there, which would have been at its most apparent when she first sought him out, but I don’t for one single instant believe that he’d be anything less than a total gentleman to her.  Indeed, it’d be entirely plausible to mount an argument based on his behavior that they were not at all romantically involved circa the Culture Festival arc,[4] and only become so after Gentle’s imprisonment and subsequent release.  But in general, what I’m more concerned with is the dynamic—I regard a power differential in a relationship as a reason for both parties to be cautious and mindful of that differential, but not as an immediate game-ender.

4: Most obvious is that when she says, “I love you,” he only says things like, “Thank you,” in return.

In that sense, Gentle and La Brava are great—they click together perfectly and obviously make each other tremendously happy after a lifetime of rejection.  La Brava, in Gentle’s theatrical attention-seeking, finds someone who accepts her overflowing way of showing love; Gentle, in living up to La Brava’s feelings, finds a reason for his skewed heroism beyond satisfying his pride.  To whatever extent their life together was heading anywhere bad (and there’s no evidence of this at all save that Heroes were always likely to catch up to them eventually, making La Brava’svery extreme response to Gentle’s defeat likewise inevitable), Deku’s intervention got them off of that path and back onto one that let them be accepted by the world, which they seem to have capitalized on marvelously.

They’re the only Villains I can think of whose turn to Team Hero in the endgame works for me without any significant quibbles.  Good for them!  I hope they are so, so happy together, because they deserve it.

AFO and Kotarou: MEANWHILE, IN MY OTHER KOTAROU SHIP.  I love AFO knowing Everything about what he’s doing here while Kotarou knows absolutely Nothing about what AFO is doing here.  I love an AFO who is self-amused in being friendly and reassuring and distractingly attractive to Kotarou, an AFO who knows that his toying with Kotarou would make Shimura Nana sick with terror and rage, and even if she isn’t alive to be so anymore, the fantasy of it is satisfying enough, especially since Kotarou is himself a very handsome young man, one whose hurt and resentment AFO finds beguiling to sometimes prod at, as if unable to leave a bruise alone except the bruise isn’t on his own skin.

I have an AU I’m never likely to write where Kotarou winds up successfully knocking out Tenko on the night of the accident before going on the run with him, only for them to get picked up by AFO a few weeks later, and let me tell you guys, that’s where all my guilty pleasure AFO/Kotarou really lives.

That said, I liked this one much better before we got the opening for it in canon, and not just because AFO’s disguise persona was doofy-looking instead of devastatingly handsome.  It was always one of those ships that tickled my inner hedonistic wickedness fancier but that I never wanted to be canon because my affection for the ship's vibe was not more important to me than the integrity of Shigaraki’s arc, and Shigaraki’s arc was far better served by his early childhood being as free from AFO as possible.  Alas, the reveal is very AFOtarou but at what cost.

Dabideavor: Sorry not sorry everyone, but all the people screaming about how this is SICK FILTH seem to have missed the point that it is indeed, absolutely and completely, sick filth and that’s part of the appeal.  Personally, I like it for two main reasons.

Firstly, I want Endeavor to have as hard a time as possible, and times don't get harder than this. I enjoy it when he's frozen and helpless in the face of the son whose life he destroyed because I have a long history of enjoying stoic male characters being made vulnerable through suffering.

Secondly, and more importantly, I like it because I like the version of Dabi you see in it, particularly compared to the Fanon Dabi who made so much League of Villains fan content un-fucking-readable for years.

I'm going to try to keep the hot fandom tea to a minimum here, limited to the upcoming footnote, but I hated Fanon Dabi.[5] He was an incoherent mash of a character designed to be a vehicle for the unabashed revenge fantasy of bloody murder against Bad Dads while also presenting no danger whatsoever of splash damage, a Woobie Big Brother who was completely harmless except to the father whose organs he was planning to paint the walls with. Every excuse that could be made, would be made, for Dabi's more questionable or even outright nasty moments, even if it meant minimizing or outright erasing the harm we saw Dabi do, right there on the page in literal manga monochrome.

5: There's a particular type of flanderization that goes into Fanon Dabi, the same kind of flanderization I saw attached to Steven Universe's Lapis Lazuli, and which informed the absolute umbrage certain people took with Rebecca Sugar for describing Spinel, the SU movie's villain, as toxic. There is a portion of fandom that loves abuse victims who get angry and lash out, but which will go absolutely ballistic at the slightest suggestion that abuse victims are themselves also capable of harm, that lashing out has the potential to hurt innocent people. In a perfectly executed DARVO, it becomes "victim blaming" to confront an abuse victim about the very real abuse they're inflicting on others. I only specified fictional characters here, but it's a dynamic you see in real life, too. Some people hunger for nothing so much as an acceptable target and abuse victims are not exempt from that statement.

The Dabi I thought was fun was the high-energy maniac who doesn't give a shit about anyone else getting caught in the crossfire of his revenge. Both that version of Dabi and the Endeavor who's paralyzed with guilt and despair are facilitated by Dabi’s father-obsession having a taboo sexual dimension to it that Dabi is all too ready to shove in the face of absolutely everyone who would think worse of Endeavor for it.  That means Endeavor himself, of course, but also all the good little civilians who Endeavor keeps telling to watch him.  Watch this, says Dabi, as he makes lewd hand gestures on force-streamed national television.

It's not about Dabi healing as an abuse victim, and it’s not about Dabi having a fulfilling arc—covering that stuff was canon's job!  It's about the fact that I, for reasons both personal and related to fandom spite, am personally entertained by Dabi being pedal-to-the-metal deranged about doing whatever it takes to seize Daddy’s attention and never let him look away again, which also means acting to ensure that no one is capable of or willing to save Endeavor from that fate. Like, if you want someone who would spend ten years plotting the most agonizing possible way to torment his abuser, then it’s sophistry to suddenly declare some agonizing torments off-limits.  Dabideavor is just committing to the bit.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hey 🥰

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

Hi!

30 for 🚨:

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“Dad!” Maddie exclaims brightly as she opens the door to her and Chim’s apartment. Too brightly, he thinks, for the mood the last time they all saw each other. 

“Maddie,” their dad replies with equal enthusiasm. 

Eddie straightens his posture a little. Buck watches him watch as Margaret and Phillip Buckley stride through the apartment door with arms full of baby gifts. What is he searching for by looking so intently at them? Buck’s features? Buck’s pain?

“Mom!” Maddie grins. “You guys did not have to bring presents!”

“We’re grandparents now!” Phillip says with a smile. “Spoiling comes with the job.”

Interesting observation. 

Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand so tightly it probably hurts. 

Chim steps forwards towards Buck and Maddie’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Buckley, hi, I’m Howard Han. It’s nice to finally meet you both.”

Howard Han. Right. They will be using formalities here. 

“Hi, Howard,” Margaret greets him warmly. More warmly than she ever greeted Doug. At least, on this matter, Buck and his mother share a commonality. 

“Please, let me get these for you,” Chim says, taking the gift basket from her arms. 

Eddie gives Buck a small nudge. Like now is the most natural time to make their presence known. They can’t just stand back here like house plants in the corner of the room, no matter how much Buck would prefer it.

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30 for ⚡:

---

The actual day of the wedding is sort of a whirlwind for Eddie. He thinks his memories of a good amount of the morning and hours leading up to the ceremony will be scattered and incomplete. Which is perhaps a shame, or perhaps a pretty common occurrence.

Eddie and Buck wake up next to each other, so there’s obviously no point pretending not to see each other that day. Buck has a whole list of reasons why that’s a silly tradition anyway. Really, Eddie will never know which superstition will be valid and determined by the universe and which won’t, so in this case, he just goes along with it. However, they do decide to get ready separately. Buck wakes up early, gives Eddie a lingering kiss and Chris a hug goodbye, and heads over to Maddie’s. When they see each other again, at the museum, they’ll be getting married. 

Unsurprisingly, Eddie’s family shows up to get ready at the house with them. He sure didn’t invite them, but he thinks Adriana might have. It’s hectic and loud but the mood is overwhelmingly happy. His parents even manage to get along fine, under close quarters. Something he knows is a challenge for them at this stage in their post-divorce life, but appreciates greatly. He would not be receptive to drama or bullshit today. 

Despite all the chaos, Eddie does manage to sneak a moment just for himself and Chris. That was why they had decided to get ready separately in the first place. Eddie shuts the door to Christopher’s bedroom to help him tie his tie and put on his suit jacket. 

“Phew,” Chris exhales when the noise from outside is muffled. “I forgot how much they can all be in one room.”

He sounds so grown up it drives Eddie a little crazy. He’ll be fourteen soon. Absolutely insane. 

Eddie chuckles. “You see what I grew up with?”

Chris nods. “I hope you had headphones.”

“Oh, yes. Old iPod headphones. And a walkman, before that.”

[laughroditee]

Your Ghost | a COD fanfic - Part 1 - Knight of Swords

CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood

I didn't want to make the chapters too long (I'm unsure what the proper netiquette is for word count), so it will continue in subsequent posts.

Summary: An American tarot reader finds herself inextricably linked to John MacTavish, whose ghost needs a favor from her before he can rest.

Mood Music:

The first time I knew something was wrong was a few months ago when, out of nowhere, an excruciating pain shot through my head, causing me to scream and promptly pass out.  The dreams that followed in my unconsciousness were heavy and sad: bagpipes at a funeral playing their mournful melody for a person I didn’t know.  I had been at work that day, like any other day, but when I woke up, I was in the hospital.  Doctors ran so many tests on me, thinking perhaps I’d had a brain aneurysm, but scans of my brain were clear, and subsequent tests showed that I was right as rain.  Totally healthy.  I returned to my everyday life, with the only complication being the inexplicable migraines that continued to plague me.

Then came the wanderlust.  The nasal sound of bagpipes continued to wheedle their way into my dreams, and pretty soon, I became possessed with the need to go to the UK.  It became a matter of life and death.  I didn’t even have a passport, but knew I had to go.  Where exactly, I wasn’t even sure.  Scotland would make sense, considering the bagpipes, but my gut said no.  No, that’s not right.

So I did what any good woo-woo witchy person would do: I pulled out a map of the UK and my pendulum and asked for assistance narrowing down my intended destination.  Stilling my mind, I took a deep breath, focusing on the amethyst pendulum dangling from my hand.  The crystal twitched and spun before swinging slightly right, south on the map.  I followed the pendulum south over Scotland, past Northern England, toward London, but the crystal had other ideas, sending me back north.  It spun in circles around a location: Manchester.

That’s how, months later (had to wait for my passport), I found myself at the Brittania Hotel in Manchester, in one of their “standard twin rooms without a window.”  I never really knew how much I liked windows until I didn’t have one, but that’s beside the point.  At least I got a private bathroom, a coffee maker, and a TV, so I can’t complain too much for $44 per night.  Besides, this entire trip was an exercise in insanity, so why not add in some sensory deprivation while we’re at it?

As soon as I stood on UK soil, I knew this was the right place; that intuitive nudge felt like a soothing affirmation.  And that’s a great thing because simply being up in the air triggered another migraine, and I was afraid I’d puke on the guy next to me.  After unpacking my bag in the hotel room, I flipped a card from my tarot deck: The Knight of Swords.

The Knight of Swords talks about action, as all Knight cards do.  There’s a sense of motion, movement, and moving forward inherent there, with The Knight of Swords having the connotation of almost overwhelmingly swift movement; in fact, you can interpret it as needing to take heed that you’re not leaping before you’re looking.  (What irony.)  But that’s only one part of the story as the suit of the card will tell you what’s moving.  Swords in the tarot represent the element of air, so all things related to logic, ideas, communication, words, writing, and thoughts.  Holistically, you can interpret The Knight of Swords as needing to make sure you check your words before you say things so that you become aware of any potential obstacles on this path that you’re charging down. But, ultimately, you have the clarity of mind to overcome any challenges.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

However, the court cards in tarot can also signify people: kings as men or masculine energy, queens as women or feminine energy, and pages as children or youthful energy.  Knights, though, are tricky.  They can symbolize people of any gender, anywhere from age twenty-five up to forty, people who move in and out of our lives, physical travel, change, or pure energy and where you’re focusing it.  It can be hard to know what the “correct” interpretation is in any given reading, with so many meanings to consider, but I usually just go with my gut or pull some more cards for context.  In this case, why not both?

Pulling two more cards from the deck, I laid them out on the bed next to the first one: Death and the Three of Swords.  Contrary to popular belief, the Death card doesn’t usually mean death or foretell of someone dying.  It means change and transformation, the end of a cycle and the beginning of a new one.  The Three of Swords features an illustration with three swords stabbing through a bleeding heart: heartbreak, but sometimes literal heart health problems.

"Wow, bad day," I said as I looked over the cards.

I suddenly felt a presence in the room that wasn’t there a minute ago, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms standing on end.

"Ye finally made it, lass."

My head whirled around so fast that the ends of my bobbed hair stabbed me in the eye.  I shot to my feet, spilling the rest of my cards to the floor.  “Fuck!” I whined, cradling my stinging, watering eye as I stumbled backward. 

Deep, apparently very amused laughter rang out in the room, and I was astonished to see a man there, wearing some kind of military getup, a mohawk cut into his dark brown hair. Oh, and he was semi-transparent.

I backed away slowly, my hand clapped over my eye.  There is no way in Hell.  “What the fuck, are you a ghost?” 

His expression sobered as he nodded his spectral head.  “Unfortunately.”  

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice a couple of octaves higher than it would typically be.  The urge to scream was overwhelming, and he put his hands out placatingly. 

”Easy, love,” he cooed, keeping his voice as soothing as possible so as not to spook me further.  “We have a blood tie.”

“What?”  The man — ghost? ghost man? — could tell me he was king of Scotland, and I don’t think that would change my hesitation or the level of existential panic I felt at that moment.

“We’re kin,” he said with a little more force, trying to reach me through my brain-melting anxiety.  “Family.  Somewhere along the line, we share blood.  Is it so hard to imagine?  Big world like this?”

“I’m literally talking to a dead man,” I say as my inner thoughts bleed out of my mouth.  Either my imagination is amazing, or I’m having a breakdown.  Maybe there really was something wrong with my brain, and they just couldn’t find it.  Maybe the migraines were making me hallucinate.

“Evangeline!” 

That caught my attention, my blue eyes snapping to his in shocked confusion.  “How do you know my name?”

He had the audacity to sound frustrated.  “Like I said, we share a blood tie.”

"Oh, of course.  That obviously explains everything.  I’m so relieved."

He smirked.  “Yer a wisearse ye are.”

Well, he did get one thing right anyway.  “How come I don’t know your name then?”

”Because I’m dead, and ye’re not.  It’s John, by the way.  John MacTavish.”

Examining him warily, I ask, “So we’re, like, cousins or some shit, John MacTavish?”

He shrugged, pushing his long sleeves up his forearms, which is such a mind-boggling thing to think about a ghost doing — like, what’s the purpose of that? Is he too warm?  “I dunnae know exactly, lass; I just know that I was pulled to ye.  And ye answered.”  It was then that I noticed the ghostly blood on the side of his head, his presumably fatal bullet wound in the exact place where I felt my migraines.

My stomach dropped into what felt like a vat of ice.  “Oh… Oh no. I’m not a medium!  I don’t see dead people!” I desperately pleaded with him, trying to convince him he'd gotten the wrong girl. “I just sling cards; I don’t do any of that other stuff!”

”And yet, here I am.  Here ye are.”  He put his hand on his hip.

“Yes, but… Why?  Why are you here?  What do you want from me?”  Then I saw his tattoo.  With a sudden motion, I moved quickly forward — I think I actually startled him — and I bent my head down to look at his forearm.  Nested inside of laurels was a sword with wings, topped by a knight’s helm and crown.

”Knight of Swords,” I breathed, astonished.  Rushing back, I grab my card from the bed, brandishing it as I return to where he stands.  “This is you?  You did this?”

The ghost of John MacTavish looked down at me with a serious expression.  “I did.  I need yer help, Evangeline.  Yer the only one who can do it.”

Part 2