#just out of like pure existential madness

[holyshit]

.

[lenaellsi]

after my latest rewatch I am even more convinced that crowley really doesn't have the intense self-loathing issues he's commonly depicted with. like he has some regrets and bad memories and insecurities like everyone does, and he's under an insane amount of stress basically always, but he's very confident in who he is. he's not particularly happy about being a demon, but that isn't the same thing as hating himself for it. he hates hell, not himself.

like. he’s not upset about being called one of “the bad guys” because he agrees, he’s upset because he knows aziraphale is wrong, and because this is evidence that aziraphale still believes in a philosophy that has divided them since even before his fall. he has never once considered himself less than aziraphale or any other angel. I think it's clear that he's pretty offended by that implication, actually!

“crawly” as a name is too squirming-at-your-feet-ish for him because he knows who he is, and he sees value in that person. his depression and his worrying relationship with his own life and safety come from his feelings on god and predestination, not from self-loathing. crowley does not believe in the system. he doesn’t believe in the idea that people are purely good or evil, and he’s sure enough of himself to know that he's not either. that's why he's able to make the choices he does. he's able to act in the gray spaces between heaven and hell (see: job, the flood, the "virtues of poverty," armageddon, etc etc) because he is confident enough to make those decisions without worrying about what the powers that be say about what's "right" and "wrong."

that doesn’t mean that he’s not self-conscious. he’s very concerned with what humans think of him, what aziraphale thinks of him, and (out of self-preservation) what hell thinks of him. he hides his eyes and puts on a cool, flashy persona to hide the more vulnerable parts of himself. I think everyone does that, to a degree, but it's especially obvious in crowley because of how it manifests in his glasses. he's been burned (literally) before, and he knows better than to show weakness when he could be hurt like that again.

and re: the "I never meant to fall" thing--he's upset about being a demon, yeah, because the fall sounds like it sucked, and his job tortures him when he's Good or just Bad in the wrong way, and he's deeply lonely, and the love of his life has a complex about their relationship, and he's trapped in a system where he has to blindly follow one of two nearly-identical sets of bullshit morality rules or be executed. but again, he's mad at god, heaven, and hell for all of that. I'm sure he's angry at himself for all sorts of reasons often enough, because crowley is generally a pretty angry person, but he doesn't hate himself in any sort of existential "I am an unlovable monster" way.

maybe sometimes he regrets falling. maybe sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he never did. maybe sometimes he hates his fucking line manager and wishes he could do any other job for a while. but no part of crowley thinks that he is any worse of a person after the fall, or any less worthy of aziraphale's company. he just thinks aziraphale thinks that, because of the amount of times aziraphale has told him so.

[sheppardsmckay]

Me blissfully enjoying an episode of joyful and relatable Rodney comedy until my personal Sheppard brings me back to reality and I realize how messed up mine and Rodney’s brains are. Thank you very much for the therapy session Shep.

Stargate-Atlantis S2: E4 Duet

Sheppard: So we're cool?

McKay: No, you're cool. I'm fine.

The first time I saw this episode, I thought it was hysterical. This time, it made me largely uncomfortable. Cadman's constant usurping of Rodney's body feels wrong. I spent most of the episode as unhappy as Rodney. But that makes his saving of them better. In a way, Rodney is the better man. Cadman is kind of a brat. But, also, personally, I don't tend to get along with women like Cadman who are brash and cocky. My girlfriends are more like Teyla, calm and strong. So Cadman just rubs me wrong all the way around.

What I did like: Sheppard constantly checks on McKay and is there every time there is a change or a chance to fix things. Sheppard tested Ronon's skill level and wanted him on the team so bad. It made me happy. And the moment when Weir came to talk to Ronon was great. First, because Ronon has already moved from proving he belongs on the Alpha team to training the other men, and second, because as a rewatch, I know someday he'll thank Weir for taking him in. That's all I could think of. Later, when she's almost lost, Ronon will quietly thank her for giving him a home.🥺

[demodraws0606]

I'm kinda peeved off that I'm seeing a few people that have the critique that Siffrin didn't deserve their "happy ending" in the end, that he was forgiven too quickly. I'm bad about this for actually a number of reasons.

(Warning this will be long because I am irrationally passionate about this, totally not because I relate to Siffrin or anything ahahahahaha)

First, logically, Siffrin's actions definitely are not as awful as people make it out to be especially not in the context of a time loop story. The worst Siffrin has done was his actions in the Bad Touch achievement and the last loop, one being purely optional. Outside of that, any tampering Siffrin had done was purely harmless, sure it's existentially horrifying but it's not like he did any actual manipulation.

You could also argue since Siffrin was in control of the loop, they are responsible for everything that was happening but we know full well he wasn't in control literally, his emotions were in control of the loop. Considering, a whole thing in this story is how acting as though you're fine and trying to control your emotions don't work, I don't think we can make the argument Siffrin was really in control.

He only wanted to trap everyone in the timeloop when it already had destroyed his mind. I thought it was obvious it was a monkey's paws situation.

The last time loop was the breaking point of Siffrin and it's one of the things he does suffer consequences from, they do get mad at him and he does apologize. What else do you want him to do ?

The Bad Touch achievement is the only thing that could be said to be "unforgivable" but it's optional and as far as I know it's hinted that Siffrin would talk about it with Isabeau. In fact it's said that even though right now they're fine and okay, they literally say they are okay to be mad at Siffrin later.

And also, it's not taking into acount the Actual feelings of his family either. They can't remember the loops and they have their own reason to not still be mad with him, so why should they hold Siffrin accountable for feelings they don't have.

In fact, the storyline strikes the perfect balance to not have Siffrin do such horrible action that he'd actually be unforgivable but still have him do enough that it shows what the loops are doing to him but....

..it's not just logically, judging Siffrin's actions as bad/good things like that is not just what's wrong with the narrative that Siffrin should've suffered more consequences. It also goes against the narrative itself.

For me at least, ISAT is a game about mental illness but also recovery. It's not coincidental a lot of people project their own mental issues onto Siffrin, it's not just a "ahahaha they're so relatable !!", it's a genuine part of the story.

I could make an entire essay about it but that's not the point, what would a story about these themes be if the ending was just "you need to repent for the things you did during your own mental breakdown"

It may seem ridiculous after all this that they'd just forgive Siffrin after all of this, but really hasn't most of the points against Siffrin's morality been coming from Siffrin themselves.

Siffrin believed he deserved to be rejected, that he deserved the suffer, that he was disgusting. It was these belief that kept him from talking about the loop because for him, everything was his fault. Not just because he created the loop but because the desire of staying with them was the very sin he hated himself for since the beginning.

So for all that self hatred to be met with, strange acceptance. It almost seems ridiculous, and Siffrin's talk with Odile in the epilogue reinforces how almost comedic it is.

It's close to reality, isn't it ? How many times have you thought you did something completely unforgivable to someone you cared about and you were waiting for them to be furious at you, but that moment never came.

Because they just simply weren't hurt enough by what happened. And sure it was definitely a bad thing you did and they were maybe mad in the moment, but you apologized. Sure there could be more consequences for what you did but what's the point in asking for them to be more mad at you ?

Shouldn't you strive to be better than beg to be hurt for your actions ?

Do you think being hurt, being yelled at would make anything better other than just feed the voice in your head what it wants to hear ?

Weird flowery talk aside, it just doesn't fit the themes and the narrative of the story is what I'm saying. Asking for more punishement for Siffrin goes against what the story is about.

It's just like complaining that the looping mechanics are too frustrating, that's part of the package deal bb !!

Fuck the idea of "repenting by suffering through the consequences" !!! Having to deal with "blinding unrelenting forgiveness and kindness" is in !!!!

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photography.

Summary for this chapter: Brandy has a spa day with her sister, then spends a weekend at BJs, beginning on the coldest night of the year.

Characters in this chapter: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Amber Miller (Brandy’s sister)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual content, Red Shoe Diaries grade fuckery (trench coat, stilettos, lingerie, and thigh highs lol), oral sex (male receiving),  nipple orgasm, throat orgasm

Words in this chapter: 3,200

Author’s notes: this fills #Coldest Day Of The Year square for @jacklesversebingo 

Thank you @talltalesandbedtimestories @deanwinchesterswitch and @bigmouthlass for the read throughs and green lights.

Spotify Playlist

CHAPTER THREE: The Coldest Night of the Year

“OK, we’re caffeinated, swaddled in spa robes, and sipping,” Amber examines her glass, “cucumber water. What are we talking about today?”

I’m blessed to have friends like Kimiko and Maggie, but sometimes, you need your sister.

I try not to sigh too heavily, but Amber notices and makes a yikes face. “Uh-oh. What?”

“My neighbor.” I shake my head in consternation.

“Who, the merc?” 

“Yeah.” I shift in my seat.

She turns into me with a concerned brow. “Is he harassing you?”

I shake my head. “I wish that was it.”

“Then what is it?” She reaches for my hand.

“I don’t know what to call it, but we’ve... kind of...” I shrug and pick at my cuticles.

Amber’s eyebrows pop. “Reeeally?” She sits back in her seat, appraising me with interest.

I nod and blush.

“Well, what’s the angst? I know you didn’t like him at first and thought he was a creep, but maybe he was just into you from the jump. Guys like that are pretty aggressive.”

“Like a schoolyard bully? We aren’t 12, Amber.”

“But he’s not harassing you. Or... pushing you? What aren’t you saying?”

“It’s- I feel- ugh.”

“Babe.” She leans forward again, concern returning.

“He’s so not my kinda guy, ya know?” I feel like we’re kids again, confiding about our crushes. I always feel that way with Amber. It’s pure and real, and I don’t have to worry that she’ll think less of me or judge me. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. And when we’re together, I’m just- I feel wild.”

Amber nods, listening intently.

“When have I ever been into the Bad Boy?!” I whine. “Never.”

She nods. “That’s my jam.”

“He’s all scars and tattoos, and swagger and chauvinism. He’s probably a Republican.”

Amber rolls her eyes.

“No offense.”

Amber and I are cut from the same cloth but dyed with very different pigments. She and I have never agreed on one single political or social issue; in fact, we didn’t speak to each other for a month after a drunken night arguing about gay marriage. Her ex-husband and father of her children was the Captain of the football team, who peaked in high school and turned out to be a deadbeat. Guys like him made my skin crawl, and still do. 

I always look for the clean-cut guy who does his own laundry and doesn’t attempt to speak on women’s reproductive rights unless he’s trying to agree with me. Amber zeroes in on the alpha-est male in the room; the bolder, the better.

“So, you’re having an existential crisis because you’re attracted to, and, I assume, banging your hot, probably Republican neighbor.”

“Yes,” I admit.

She nods, trying not to smirk. “Well,” she prods, “is it good?” She sips her water.

“Stupid good,” I sigh. “And I want so much to be mad about it.”

Amber doesn’t hold back a cackle. “Thoroughly fucking the memory of that pansy Eric from your memory, is he?”

My amusement stutters. “Kinda, yeah, but,” I look down at my cup of water. “I don’t think about a relationship outside the bedroom. I don’t wanna know what he believes in. I don’t wanna talk.”

Amber’s grin softens with understanding. We’re different women with different desires and needs, but she’s my sister; she doesn’t want me to be unhappy. 

“Maybe you just need whatever it is right now.”

I nod as I meet her eyes. “And... I’m afraid of how much more it might become.”

“Don’t let it. Turn your brain off for once,” she says, like I can just do that.

“I don’t have a brain switch, Ber. I have regrets, and remorse, and shame.”

Amber’s eyes fill with the ache we both know so well — cut from the same cloth of a sexually repressed mother and emotionally unavailable father.

“You’re also the most disciplined person I know. Your willpower constantly amazes me. Maybe this is your chance to figure out a new way to use that power.”

She has always fallen in love so easily, takes the ride, and lets her heart break just the same. I guard my heart, make safe choices, and am terrified of letting go.

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

The spa attendant brings us a small tray of cheese and fruit and two glasses of sparkling wine. She refills our water cups and then leaves us be.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” Amber asks, popping a chunk of white cheddar into her mouth before taking a sip of her wine.

I chew my bottom lip and pull out my phone to find the most recent picture saved to my camera roll. I snapped him sleeping on his side in my bed. He’s shirtless, top leg twisted and tucked in the blanket and bottom leg hanging out over the edge of the mattress. He looks posed in the dim light, his broad shoulders and chest on display, soft hair rumpled, forehead creased, and lips plumped and prominently framed by his neat, full beard.

“Hoo,” Amber exhales, wide-eyed, reaching for my phone. “That’s a man.”

I sigh as she swipes to enlarge and inspect the image. “The manliest. Problem is, men, generally speaking, are trash.”

“Brandy,” Amber groans, handing my phone back to me.

I huff a contrite laugh. “Sorry, my misandry is showing.”

“Yes.”

“Matches his misogyny.” I slip my phone into the pocket of my robe. “We’re a nice pair.”

“See?” she laughs. “En garde!”

Our spa day includes massages, facials, blowouts, and mani/pedis. Amber talks me into a Brazilian wax because “if he’s anything like you say he is, he’ll do things to you that’d make baby boy Eric run crying to his mama.”

At the end of our day, as we part ways to our respective cars, she tells me she’s sending me a link to her favorite “sexy blog.”

“This chick has the best ideas. I never would’ve thought about putting almond oil on my pussy, but, man, does it make them go crazy. And the shea butter on the nipples-” 

“He cannot keep his fingers and mouth off my nipples.”

“Well, you’ve got great tits. It runs in the family,” she mutters, tapping her phone screen, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Just wait at least 24 hours for that Brazilian to settle before letting him loose.”

And letting him loose is exactly what I plan to do.

I arrive home two hours later. BJ’s garage door is closed, so I don’t know if he’s even around. The last time we hooked up, he commandeered my phone while I was answering a text from Kimiko, unbuttoned my shirt, and snapped a pic of my bare breasts before texting it to his phone. So, now I have his number.

The next afternoon, almost 24 hours to the minute, I text him.

Me: hey

It takes him less than two minutes to reply.

Him: hey, Applejack. What’s up?

I send him the best of the 15 pics I took of my freshly waxed undercarriage.

Him: baby that is a thing of beauty

My belly flips because I can hear that reply in his voice. His full, rich, fuck-me-into-the-floor voice.

Me: your place or mine?

Him: give me an hour then get your hot little ass over here

His specific mention of my ass makes my belly flip three more times. 

Amber was right. Eric was vanilla as vanilla gets. We had an OK sex life in that I had orgasms, but he didn’t want to try new things. He was put off by things I suggested, things I had always been interested in doing or trying. I decided that it wasn’t worth pushing the issue, and I settled.

Before Eric, I’d joyfully, albeit briefly, experimented. I like impact, bondage, and being manhandled. I also like being in control from time to time, it’s relative. I once had a boyfriend who worked me up with ass play for a week before finally fucking me, and I’ve never forgotten the way that orgasm felt. He left for the Peace Corps soon after, and I never saw him again.

I take the time allotted by BJ to shower, exfoliate, and moisturize with oils and lotion. I pay special attention to my hands, feet, and lips, per the blog Amber sent me.

I’ve learned that BJ is scent-driven, so I mix a jar of vanilla, sandalwood, and cinnamon essential oils with coconut oil and add it to my bag of other tricks. This process has wound me up, turned me on, and I’m more ready for him than ever. My skin is silky smooth, and I smell like dessert.

Last week, I ordered several pieces of lingerie from various recommended sites. My favorite, and the one I pick to wear over there, is a sheer black set of a bra, panties, garters, and thigh highs from Bluebella. I drop a red silk knicker set from Lunya and a white Fleur du Mal teddy into the bag for good measure.

He’s going to love it.

With a fresh blowout artfully pinned up on my head, I slide my feet into my black patent leather stilettos and wrap myself in my creamy winter-white trench coat, tying a tight but easily unfastened bow at the waist before slamming a shot of Jameson, shouldering my bag, and walking out my door.

It’s freezing outside. Luckily, we haven’t had a lot of precipitation because I would definitely eat it in these shoes. I don't have far to go to reach his stairwell, though, so I’m there in no time and begin to climb.

At the top of the stairs, I take a deep breath and knock.

He opens the door, and my jaw drops. 

His hair is its usual soft, fuckable fluff. He’s wearing black and white camo pants and a black T-shirt; no surprise there. But...

“You shaved.”

He smirks, and my pussy clenches from the imminent possiblity of riding that freshly shaven face and those plump lips. 

“Gotta keep up with you, don’t I?”

He takes a few steps back to let me inside, and I follow his cue.

I didn’t think it was possible for him to be hotter. I hadn’t thought about how sharp his jaw would be under that beard, how much more prominent his lips would be. I am so dumb.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

His place is surprisingly tidy. The decor is simple and masculine. There are no family pictures on the mantle of his fireplace, no plants, no vases, no candles. His walls are adorned with framed professional photographs of outdoor scenes, one of a motorcycle, and one of an anonymous woman’s nude silhouette.

I walk to his dining area and set my bag on the table.

“What’s in the rucksack, Applejack?” 

I roll my eyes at his rhyme before turning to face him. “You’ll find out.”

His gaze drags down my frame to my stilettos before slowly traveling back up to meet my eyes. “What’s under the coat?”

He slides his hands in his pockets and stares.

I hold his gaze as I untie the bow holding my trench coat around me before letting it slide to the floor and pool at my feet.

He licks his bottom lip in between his teeth and saunters toward me. “You know how cold it’s gonna be tonight?”

I nod. “Coldest night of the year, they say.”

He mirrors my nod and purses his lips. “That little ensemble’s not gonna do much to keep you warm.”

I tilt my head. “Isn’t that your job?”

He smirks, stopping short of pushing me against the table. “Honey, I’m gonna make you so hot you’re gonna call the weatherman a liar.”

“What’re you waiting for?” I think I’m challenging him, but he probably expects that response.

He pulls me close, and my heels loudly shuffle across his polished wood floors. His hands roam my body, fingering lace and gripping flesh. 

“I’ll take my time, and yours.” He dips in to press a kiss to my neck and another to my collarbone. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“So do you,” I breathe into his ear, nuzzling his smooth jaw. “God, you make me so wet.”

He tilts back to look at me, drinking in everything from the perfectly placed pins in my hair to my immaculately applied makeup.

“This hairdo’s a little too perfect. Might have to do something about that. Right before I wreck this silky smooth pussy.” One hand travels down to tuck between my thighs, and his fingers tease the sheer fabric of my crotch. “Over and over. But first, I wanna see what I’m really working with here.”

He hooks his fingers inside the leg of my panties, slips them up the back, and groans. “Now I know you aren’t leaving this place until I’ve had every inch of you.”

I spent so much time wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about him, even berating myself for being attracted to him and all he has to offer. But Benjamin James Davis III is filled and fueled by the most exquisite corruption, and now all I want to know is how and when.

His temple nudges my jaw as he mouths the thin skin of my neck, kissing, licking, and lightly scraping his straight, white teeth over my pounding pulse. With his hands at the small of my back, fingers pressed hot into my bare skin, and his hips flush against my body, I’m confident enough to relax my weight all the way back.

He effortlessly supports me as his mouth travels lower to take his time, just like he promised, tonguing the length of my collarbone. He shifts his weight to keep me steady as he reaches up to circle one of my nipples with the pad of his middle finger over the soft, sheer lace of the balconette cup. When his hot, wet lips close over my other nipple, I moan and grip his shoulder.

His tongue swirls, and his fingers rub and pinch. He reaches over to pull the fabric out of the way and blows a cool stream of air across my dampened skin, making my nipples pucker.

“So pretty,” he mutters, laving and flicking my bare nipple as he squeezes my other breast in his large, warm hand.

He works his way up to firmer pulls and sucks, alternating, pulling the lace down to expose my othe nipple. He uses his teeth and fingernails intermittently. My chest and neck heat and tingle, and my cunt throbs and weeps.

“You’re gonna make me come,” I whisper, clutching his T-shirt in my fist. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna.” He sucks hard then soft, flicking and pulling, inhaling and exhaling. “Come, baby,” he breathes.

I gasp and shake in his arms, coming silently, violently with his mouth closed around my nipple.

He gathers me into a full embrace, and I rest my head on his shoulder to catch my breath as he sways from side to side. 

“You were so quiet,” he says, pulling back to look down at me, not questioning, just stating the fact. He’s unsurprised — not smug, but rightfully pleased.

It’s funny because I’m never quiet when I come unless I try. That was something else. I can’t explain it, but I feel amazingly calm and focused.

He caresses my cheek with his knuckles and smiles. “Come sit.”

He leads me to the couch by the hand, cupping his visibly hard cock over his camo pants. He motions for me to sit on the edge of his sofa, and I do so, like I’m floating on a cloud. 

“Now,” he says, unfastening his pants. “Open your mouth, Brandy.”

I tilt my chin up to make sure I don’t miss a second of the look in his eyes and roll out my tongue like a red carpet.

He isn’t wearing underwear. His cock is red and straining hard. He cups the back of my head and guides his tip to rest on my tongue as he brushes my hair from my eyes.

“Stay still and do exactly as I tell you.” His smirk deepens, wicked and dark. “You’re gonna hate how much you love this.”

I nod, my emotions suddenly swirling, causing me to struggle with maintaining the eye contact I need and he clearly demands. I blink and breathe through my open mouth, trying to recenter myself. 

“Breathe through your nose and relax.”

I nod again, and he pushes his heavy, ridged cock along the length of my tongue. He slides forward and back, humming and massaging the back of my head. I keep breathing through my nose and holding his gaze, but my mouth begins to fall closed of its own volition.

He sharply taps my cheek. “Ah-ah. Exactly what I tell you and nothing else.”

His eyes are burning hot, and I blink in acquiescence, drawing a deeper inhale through my nose. 

He nods as he resumes gliding in and out, forging a path into the wet muscle inside my mouth. My jaw trembles, and I whimper. He delivers an unconvincing sound of sympathy before gripping my jaw, clutching the hinge with his fingers and thumb. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

All I can do is grunt and blink. 

He keeps my jaw painfully open as he swells against my tongue and works his way closer to my throat. The third brush of his tip to my uvula activates my gag reflex, and he stills, squeezing my jaw tighter.

“Relax.”

I blink slowly but maintain eye contact and do as I’m told.

When he starts to nudge down my throat, a quaking sensation begins in my gut, and my whole body heats up. My throat opens, and I beg him with my eyes to go deeper. 

My hands fly to his thighs, wanting more, but he swats them away without missing a push to fill me thoroughly. His grip loosens from my jaw, and he easily holds the back of my head with both hands, settling in, holding me still, and smothly fucking down my larynx, solid and deep.

He whispers, “Good girl,” and caresses my cheeks with his thumbs, looking down at me, adoring and commanding. The slide of his cock against my tongue and in my throat and the bump of his pelvis against my chin provokes thoughts unbidden of him fucking my pussy just as smooth and deep.

I want to grab onto him, to pull him further inside. My skin burns with heat, and I’m drooling and whining. Then, suddenly, I’m coming again, powerfully, convulsing with tears leaking from my eyes.

He takes a step back, pulling out, cradling the back of my head, and squeezes the base of his cock. “Baby, breathe. Fuck, I need to come,” he mutters.

I’m gasping as he yanks my head back and spurts hot and wet across my neck and chest.

“Fuck,” I breathe, reaching for him.

He’s chuckling and breathless as he settles down on his coffee table facing me, then pulls me in for a long kiss. It’s intense and warm, and I feel like climbing inside him and never leaving.

“That was so fucking hot,” he whispers, pressing our foreheads together. 

We breathe in each other’s air for a few moments before he pulls away. “You hungry?”

And then he’s up and headed to the kitchen, leaving me blissed out and buzzing in his living room.

Chapter Four

Series Master List | Other Soldier Boy Fic

What did you think?

[bananaactivity]

Working On my Lab Rats headcanons

Here's the more interesting stuff. Im still working on it still lol.

BTW some parts may seem pretty uhh dark??? Lots of opportunities for existentialism... dubious morality and ethical codes. It's just uhm it can be really sad and fucked up if you think about it...you can make some killer angst with ts. Especially with the levels of android sentience...

anyways you know I love ignoring angst and having shits and giggles so just ignore all that lol even though I made it hahah

Lab Rats headcanons for shits and giggles

Lab Rats is a show about a kid finding out about three bionic kids that live in the basement of his super-rich stepdad's mansion and proving that he can be a valuable asset to their good cause. Or something like that. Sometimes they do cool stuff most of the time they fuck around and do classic sitcom things. If you look deep into it or overthink it there's a bunch of fucked up shit probably played off for lols, but if you know me ya know I don't fuck with angst.  It's silly time all the time over here yo. So here comes the silly time shit:

Basic Season Overview

Season 1: Finding out about the Bionics in the basement. This Donald has already had a run-in with the gov about these guys and had to make it seem as though they were purely experiments completely so the Gov would get off his ass. Lots of bonding and silly time and school. No missions yet.

Season 2: First few missions. Confrontation with real dad and the two Andriod-pors Daniel and Marcus. Still silly bonding. Resolved YAY. Dougy and his robo kids come live with the Davenports YAY. But Dougy has a secret ooooohhhhhh

Season 3: Consistent missions. Android bros get stolen nooooo. A benefactor who helped Dougy while he was mad at Don is now mad at Dougy for defecting. ITS KRANE GASP. He teams up with Geisele and they use the Android- Davenports. Krane uses them to perfect his human bionic soldiers and Geis uses them to make her android lil shits. Krane is a stupid pants and makes his plans clear while Geis is secretive and hides away. Krane gets whooped. Android-ports and Super soldiers are saved and taken in. 

Season 4: Gov tries their big one again but it's solved and they make the island. Lots of rehabilitation is needed. No possible way to make these kid's situations less sad. But they gettin’ better yay, some faster than others but it's chill. All Human Davenports are teachers ( excludes the android-ports as they work diff tb explained) Gies and Troy n the android gang try summ but they get their ass beat. Troy is being held in confinement and Gies is in the same place as Krane. Uhm HELL. it's hot down there. Troy was the first droid. He has the same individuality as the Android ports. All the others got jackshyt so they all kicked the bucket. At the same time, all that shyt from my MM AU is goin' down. Mr. Terror gets the Rat's attention cause obviously. Doug and ABC go off to Centuim City to find shit out. Don, Leo, and the android-ports stay behind on the island and in Mission Creek

EF: Mr. Terror is in Mighty Max lol. But turns out she manipulated Rodissius now hes doin' crap while she's in jail. Leo and the island gang are doin' stuff probably. And The rats and heroes are fucking shit up too yayyy!

How Bionics and Androids Work but Im not good at pseudo science so not really

There are three levels for Bionic Humans and five for Androids, here they are in order of Rank

Bionic Levels: Superior Bionics, Partial Bionics, Soldier Bionics

Andriod Levels: Superior Bionic Andriods, Superior Androids,  Androids, Basic Androids

There are only three Superior Bionics. Guess who? You never will… It's ABC, obviously. Subjects A, B, and C. They were the first to have chips, with so much care and passion put into them over the years Doug worked on their chips and embryos. They're irreproducible. Their bodies can handle the toll of bionics well, as they were grown and raised as embryos to do that. Yes, the chips can be fixed up if pieces are smashed but brand-new ones that have the same strength of capabilities can't be done. That's why they have the glowy-eye things in my art. Leos a special case shut it. The chips are called Lazer-Punchy, Intelligence-Smarty, and Speedy-Sneaky. L-P, I-S, and S-S, chips respectively. Doug is shit at naming things. This exclusivity was done so that the 3 are extra special I wanted as much separation from the super soldiers as possible. It was a little irritating back when that season aired to see how all these new bionic people made ABC less special but I didn't want to get rid of them. So now it's a spectrum. They can activate 2 bionics at a time more if they train super hard.

The Super Soldiers and Krane are Soldier Bionics. Significantly less strong and durable than the Superiors. They had bionics implemented later in life. (Super soldiers were orphans or homeless children taken by Krane with no family to return them to and also another reason) A lot of them in the case of Krane. Little did Krane know, but even if he wasn't defeated and destroyed or wtv, his excess of bionics would have killed him eventually. His body was deteriorating rapidly and he took a bunch of shit to cover up the pain like an idiot instead of realizing the actual issue. The amount of abilities he put in is what made him so strong and formidable but again his body would've completely collapsed eventually. That's actually what Geis was waiting on cause she wasn't as much of a dumbass. The island also provides a lot of health care to the super soldiers after saving them. That's also what got the government to back off again, How much care they needed and how “useless” they would be without this constant care and upkeep. Again they just are like an iPhone 8 to ABC's iPhone 11. if that means anything lol. They can only activate one bionic at a time.

Leo is the only Partial Bionic, again the tech was something Doug spent a while on. Bionics that can be used later in life without causing trauma to the receiver. He was preparing to sell it to Krane but he didn't which is why Krane did that worse thing. After Leos's severe almost fatal injury Doug had to try something. He used his plans on the injured areas (his legs, arms, and head) and this makes Leo Bioincs less strong than Superior Bionics but more stable than Soldier Bionics. Doug destroyed these original design books ( superior and partial) as he knew Krane would do anything to get his hands on something like that. Chase however has a file saved in his computer brain that can be accessed even if his bionics have been compromised. He can activate one bionic at a time, more if he trains.

There are only two Superior Bionic Andriods. Marcus and Daniel. M.A.R.C.U.S: Modular Android Reactive Construct Utilizing Sentience. D.A.N.I.E.L: Dynamic Android with Neural Intelligence and Emotional Logic . Again trash names dunno what Doug was doin. They have a level of sentience and intelligence that's pretty much like… Vision or Ultron ig. They have this humanity to them and I treat them as such thats why they're ‘bionic” androids. They are conscious completely, they have personalities completely. There are technically no limits to their use of bionic abilities as it relates to LR universe. Minus cooling systems and child locks ( on Daniel) that stop overheating. They can eat, drink, and sleep. They're anatomically accurate to humans as well. ( Not for freaky reasons ofc just Douglas trying to replicate human processes again this is what makes them bionic, they replicate humanity very well) Any fluids that a human can have are simulated by special liquids that need to be replaced once every 10 years. That being things like sweat, digestive fluids, tears, and blood. These are all simulations though, and if they aren't replaced it's no big deal just means they can't do any of that stuff like eat or sweat. It's all aesthetic that stuff, just Doug showing off. They also grow like a human again Doug being a show-off. Doug started them before ABC meaning technically Daniel is older than Adam lol, but he finished them at different times. Daniel wasn't conscious until 4 years after Marcus and 7 years after Adam. The reason is that it was much easier to leave Androids as a WIP than actively growing bionic children. (The androids start out toddler size cause it is easier to work with. just what I think seems reasonable not any science all of this is what I deem reasonably possible in a fake world, it's not even pseudoscience) They can use as many abilities as they want with consequences if they overdo it.

There is only one Superior Android, Troy. T.R.O-7:Tactical Robotic Operative 7. Troy is not a bionic android; he only looks like a human. He doesn't replicate any human functions, and he is not anatomically correct. He can't eat, sweat, cry, bleed, sleep, or grow. He looks exactly the same as when he was first finished. He does however have a complex personality, similar to the Bionic Androids. Hes like the… Friday to their Vision. If that means anything lol. Hes very vain ofc but he misses a lot of social cues and has a harder time empathizing. Gies didn't bother to fix these for reasons that'll be clearer in the next level. Geis started Troy in secret back in college after Doug first started Marcus and Daniel. She had 6 versions before he was functioning how he does now. He still is very pervious to water, overheating, and a wide variety of things that happen to machinery. The reason hes less advanced is due to Gies not caring about the intricacies of accurately replicating humane behaviors. She thinks of androids as an easier way to do bionics—easily controllable weapons without waiting for growing embryos that can use bionics. My Doug was more of a human bio scientist with dubious ethical and moral codes. Troy can use up to 3 abilities before he begins to shut down.

Any other Androids in Gies army are Androids. Different from Troy. Troy took all of her college and 5 years after she graduated. Again the only reason she was doing this was for convenience and a leg up in this world so she used Troy as her money maker and all of the others are even less human than Troy. They were all destroyed with no hesitation while Troy was jailed. 

Basic Androids are things like Robo Perry and EDDY. Like the Siri and Alexa's of our world but with a little more spice.

thats all for now working on characters and shit layter. like algayter haha cant say bionics without saying nics like nicotine. help me

[iwenttosee]

I Went To See ... Macbeth

Blood drips into a bowl of water. A quiet, deliberate introduction - a kind of imagery that screams "Tragedy ahead!" But here is the thing: how much did the theatre audience actually see? How much did they hear? That’s the lingering question throughout Trafalgar Releasing’s “Macbeth”, a production that seems as torn between its theatre audience and its cinema audience as Macbeth is about everything in his life.

David Tennant, our Macbeth, does not just speak - he performs directly to us, his eyes meeting the camera in a way that feels incredibly intimate - like you should be taking notes. The 4th wall shatters so beautifully, a moment where slow-motion, eerie sound design, and direct address transforms Macbeth into something more than a doomed warrior: A mad king? One of the Wayward Sisters, perhaps? It was a mesmerizing choice that leans into the supernatural horror at the heart of the play. But it also raises a bigger question: who is this performance actually for? Is it for the live audience at the theatre or for us, watching through the carefully placed cameras of TR? When Tennant turns to deliver his monologues, he is not speaking to the audience in the room - he is looking right at us, as if this production of Macbeth was always meant for the silver screens of the cinemas around the world, a medieval "Fleabag" so to speak.

The staging plays with contrast: the entire cast dressed in black, except Lady Macbeth in her ghostly white. A visual cue for her inevitable unraveling? A way to make her look like a malevolent angel of death? Either way, she stands out, especially when she starts (sleep)walking through the halls like an 11PM existential crisis personified. And then, there is that dream sequence - an absolute show stopper. The lighting, the sound design, the raw physicality of it all - it is a highlight of the play, a moment of pure cinematic horror that feels closer to a psychological thriller than a Shakespearean tragedy. The slow-motion of celebrations and claps, the subtle choreography of movement - all carefully designed to make each moment of tension stretch a little longer.

But then there is that comedic scene that disrupts the play - like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the murders and schemings of Castle of Inverness. The kilt joke and the audience participation can only be described as a shift towards a stand-up routine. One second we are drowning in blood and betrayal, the next we are watching a guy riff about kilts and calling out the first row for being loaded. Is this Macbeth or a late-night show in Edinburgh? For a brief moment it feels as if we would have left the play with him entirely. However, after 3 minutes of jokes, the actor flips so effortlessly back into the routine and the rhythm of the original play. And that is what I would call some serious range!

The production also puts the whole "what makes a man?" question under a microscope. By the tenth mention of 'manhood', one might start to wonder if "Macbeth" is really about ambition, fate, and power or is it just the Elizabethan version of a toxic masculinity seminar. 

Add to that the actors are playing multiple opposing roles (which might be confusing at first, but then the following line explains all: "The tyrant's men fight on both sides"), and the glass wall that divides the stage and occasionally bisects actors in a way that feels less symbolic and more like a frustrating camera angle.

And then finally, there is the ending. Macbeth dies (spoiler alert, I guess?), but his final pose on stage is not the same one we see in the next overhead camera shot. A bold and deliberate cinematic edit? A weird continuity error? A directorial choice to make his death look better on film? Whatever the reason is, it is yet another reminder that this "Macbeth" exists in two worlds, never quite settling on which one it truly belongs.

So, was “Macbeth” made for the theatre audience or was it made for us, watching from afar? The cameras of TR decide where to look, what to focus on and even which version of a scene to present. The result? A cinematic masterpiece, which invites the cinema audience to go to London and compare the recorded version to the live one. Striking, unsettling and at times completely mesmerizing. But at its core, much like Macbeth himself, this production seems stuck in indecision - forever caught between two fates, never quite committed to one.

[itslucyhenley]

I watched Meg Ryan’s new movie What Happens Later and I just have mad respect that the absolute queen of rom-coms directed a movie where in the first five minutes one of the characters unplugs a digital sign with a generic ad flashing the words “rom-com” on it and the omniscient airport announcer sounds like 90s trailer voice man. So meta, loved it. I watched it like it was week 15 of a college course on rom-coms where we just watched every classic Meg Ryan performance and then the professor says, now let’s see what america’s sweetheart herself has to say about it all. And we think we’re going to watch a traditional rom-com, a comeback, a triumphant return to a familiar place if you will, but we’re actually watching an existential two-hander stage play about perception and aging and what it means to really be honest with someone else and with yourself. And the songs are familiar 90s songs but they sound wrong because they’re just oddly homogeneous sounding covers of the originals. And the whole thing takes place in this unnamed regional airport during a storm, a liminal space where the foreground and backgrounds are filled with blurry faces and legs walking by in the background until eventually there’s a scene later on where they’re just silhouettes. After the first 10 minutes of the movie the characters only talk to each other and the electronic voices of support kiosks and the omnipotent airport announcer and take phone calls that we can’t hear the other end of and we don’t see the phone screen telling us who is calling. They sit in restaurants with no waitstaff and bars with no bartenders. There’s no sense of direction either you don’t get any sense of the layout of the space they’re occupying and the aerial shot of the airport at various points during the movie looks sharp but the characters are almost always walking in circles. I don’t know man I was riveted, I was stroking my chin in deep thought, I just kept saying “interesting, interesting.”

edit: also I left the dvd menu screen on for like two hours after I finished watching the movie, it just kept playing this absolutely hypnotic 18 seconds of the score over a clip of them dancing in a hallway as seen from the outside looking in through falling snow and there’s a continuity error where David Duchovny’s white shirt alternates between being tucked in and untucked and I didn’t even care. During that actual scene they’re dancing to “Pure” by The Lightning Seeds which is the only not-a-cover song in the movie i think? And at one point Meg Ryan looks up and yells “louder” and the music gets a little louder and I’m sitting on the couch in my living room but I’m trying to figure out where I am actually because I thought I was gonna watch a trope-heavy romcom but I’m sat here typing out this stream-of-consciousness movie analysis on tumblr dotcom.

[moonlitonyxandopal]

Unexpected Affection

Chapter 1

Chapter 9

Rivals in Love?! The Battle for Hinata Begins!

The morning after Naruto’s existential crisis, he decided on one thing: He wasn’t going to just sit back and watch Sasuke steal Hinata.

Nope. No way. Not happening. So what did he do? He showed up at Hinata’s training session.

Again. And this time, he came ready for war.

"Oi, Hinata!" Naruto greeted, walking up with his usual grin. "Let’s spar!"

Hinata blinked, surprised. "Oh! But I was just about to train with Sasuke-kun…"

Naruto crossed his arms. "So? I can train with you too!"

Hinata hesitated, glancing at Sasuke. "Um…"

Sasuke, standing beside her, exuded danger. His arms were crossed, his glare sharp. "You’re interrupting."

Naruto scoffed. "Tch! You don’t own her, teme!"

Sasuke’s Sharingan flickered to life. "Excuse me?"

Hinata’s heart raced. "W-Wait, there’s no need to fight!"

Naruto grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Nah, I think maybe we should fight."

Sasuke smirked. "Fine." - What started as a "friendly spar" quickly escalated into an all-out battle. It started simple—Naruto lunged first, aiming a light punch at Sasuke. Sasuke dodged, countering way too aggressively.

Hinata frowned. Wait… are they… actually mad at each other?

Then—Naruto’s attacks got faster. Sasuke’s counters got sharper. Hinata felt the intensity rise. "U-Uh, guys?" she called hesitantly.

BOOM.

Naruto sent a Rasengan flying. Sasuke dodged by inches and retaliated with Chidori sparks in his hands.

Hinata gasped. "What are you doing?!"

Neither of them listened. They weren’t fighting to train anymore. They were fighting for dominance. Fighting for HER. - Kiba whistled. "Oh damn, this just got serious."

Ino beamed. "I knew this was gonna happen! Love rivals!"

Sai, taking notes, muttered, "Experiment progressing as expected. Violence was inevitable."

Shikamaru sighed, rubbing his temples. "I hate all of you."

Meanwhile, Sakura just watched silently, expression unreadable. Because deep down, she knew. Sasuke never fought like this unless it meant something. - After nearly five minutes of pure insanity, Hinata had had enough. She clenched her fists, activated her Byakugan, and— "ENOUGH!"

Both Naruto and Sasuke froze.

Hinata, for the first time ever, looked genuinely angry. "What—what is wrong with you two?!" she demanded. "You’re fighting like—like this is a personal battle!"

Sasuke and Naruto both looked away, neither willing to answer.

Hinata’s chest heaved. She felt frustrated—confused—and maybe even a little… Flattered? She shook the thought away. "If you two are going to act like this, then I—I don’t want to train with either of you today!"

Sasuke’s heart dropped.

Naruto’s eyes widened. "Hinata—wait—"

But she was already walking away. And for the first time, both of them felt like idiots. - Naruto sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. This was bad. Really bad. Because the more he thought about today’s fight—the more he thought about Hinata choosing Sasuke over him— The worse he felt.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell is happening to me?!" - Sasuke stood on his balcony, deep in thought. He had never felt like this before. But today proved something to him. He didn’t just like having Hinata around. He didn’t just enjoy training with her.

He wanted her.

And if Naruto was going to realize his feelings now— Sasuke refused to lose.

Chapter 10

[smaller-comfort]

Wip wednesday except a) it's monday and the passage of time is a subjective social construct and b) instead of a piece of actual writing, you get stupid background facts and ideas that haven't made it past the brainstorm phase. Brain is full of bees. Bees are not great at narrative or dialogue. Alas!

I'd do some sort of ask meme, maybe- give me a character and I'll give you a random fact that hasn't shown up in a story yet.

Here's some modern AU and miscellaneous necrons (tired old men, and monster boyfriends) to start.

Modern AU Aephorul has a t-shirt that says "I'm here to eat ass and chew bubblegum. And I'm all outta gum." Resh'an gave it to him for Christmas one year instead of getting him a new pair of booty shorts with ominous quotes on them.

He's not allowed to wear it out of the house ("Why did you give it to me, then?" "Because it reminded me of you. And I will treasure the look on your face when you opened that box until the day I die." The look on Aephorul's face was pure, unguarded delight, and he laughed until he cried.) But he has absolutely shown up in the background of Resh'an's zoom calls with it on when they both work from home. He's reached cryptid status among Resh'an's advisees, which he finds hilarious. Resh'an will vehemently deny that he's trying to encourage this behavior, but secretly he also thinks it's funny. (There's a whiteboard in the physics lounge with a tally of Aephorul sightings for the semester.)

-----

Anyway this is what I'm writing instead of petplay. *facepalm* It's fine. I'm also stuck in a state of minor crisis over the fact that I'm inevitably going to give Aephorul a goddamn fursona. This is both largely unrelated to the petplay and also extremely embarrassing for me. *double facepalm*

Somewhere between Oltyx leaving on his suicide mission and Denet summoning the monoliths, Erraph basically tackles Parreg in a corridor in a fit of 'holy shit we're not dead yet but we're absolutely going to die soon so this is my last chance'.

Existential crisis aside, one of them has blood streaked across his necrodermis and of course Erraph is just as cursed as the rest of them. "If I'm going to lose myself, it might as well be at your side. Better here than anywhere else."

Parreg is barely holding his shit together at this point; the destruction of his home planet, the inevitable decline of his dynasty, even his own descent into madness- fine. Okay. At least he was going to die with dignity, and not fail his king any further. But surviving? While his king goes off to die? (And this is the second time the survivors of Sedh have watched Oltyx leave on a suicide mission. Once was understandable, and he was only nomarch at the time- but twice is a pattern, and a concerning one at that.)

---

I'm not writing any of this! I'm not. I have no desire to write the tragic confessions of a pair of despairing bureaucrats who have spent their eternity engaged in useless, senseless grousing. (They had a place and a purpose in necrontyr society- grain master and magistrate- but as necrons? Without purpose, without respect, without hope for anything but stagnation and madness? *foaming at the mouth*)

Nate Crowley, come here, I just wanna talk. In lieu of that, I will continue to be unhinged and unwell about these bitter old men, and maybe someone else will write it for me.

Okay, so I know we're all here for Anrakyr/Thaszar but I would like everyone to also perhaps contemplate Yenekh being sexy while he runs into Thaszar attempting to capture the aeldari battle cruiser he and his legions just boarded.

Alliances with flayers are uncomfortable at best for most necrons- but Thaszar is already a bit of a pariah in necron space, so it's not like this would make it any worse. It's a mutually beneficial relationship- the flayers are after a different sort of bounty, after all. (Oltyx is still skeptical but he isn't going to spoil Yenekh's fun. He decides to extract assurances that the Sarnekh forces will leave his people unharmed directly from Thaszar and then has to deal with the fact that oh no he's hot.)

Alternatively, Lysikor is lurking somewhere in the Sarnekh fleet- Thaszar's betrayal and overthrow of his dynasty is legendary. He could learn a lot from someone like that.

[latoyalestrange]

THE FOOL

p. pascal x f!oc

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: Naela wonders if her dream is worth her efforts. She's 25 now, and she's seen dozens of people's careers take off years before hers. Why can't she catch a break?

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: A lil childhood trauma thrown in there, loneliness, a quarter-life crisis. I'll make up for it, dw. Not edited bc I do what I want lol.

Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue

comment to be added to the taglist!

CHAPTER ONE -- HALF TRUTH

The beautiful in-between, the calm before the storm, or as Naela liked to call it, pure hell. The days, weeks, sometimes months she waited for her manager to call her with a verdict. She busied herself with her second job (the only one making her money) and other auditions in this period, but there was always a sense of existential-level dread that hung over her like a dark cloud everywhere she went. She could zone out for as long as her environment would let her, either daydreaming about getting the role or reminding herself of what she could've done better.

She was doing just that when she felt her phone buzzing on the leather booth next to her. She knew it could only be two people, her boyfriend or her manager. She recalled her last audition, a nameless Netflix show where, if she were to miraculously get the part, she would be a key character to the story. Tons of lines, a romance sub-plot, and even some character development. She also hated to admit it, but she really hoped it wasn’t her boyfriend.

It’s not that she didn’t love him, she did, but she loved acting so much more. They’d been together for close to three years. She had met him in her senior year at UCLA and they were a match ever since.

Sure enough, it was her manager, Mike's, name on her screen. Every single time he called, it left her breathless for a second. A familiar tightness in her chest and empty expression returned. She answered and hesitantly put the phone to her ear.

"Hello--"

"Naela!" She pulled her phone away, letting her eardrums recover. "Naela! Naela Rivera!"

"What? Why are you yelling?" She questioned him in a hushed tone, not wanting to attract attention on her break.

"You got the part! You're gonna be on a Netflix show!"

She was silent for a moment, then laughed, "What?" He must be joking.

"I'm serious! The Casting Director just called, the show is called Narcos, and you fly out to Columbia in two weeks." Silence again.

"I have work--"

"Hello?? So quit! You'll be shooting for six months anyway. Listen, I'll let you process this but I already told them yes. I'll send everything over." She blinked away the surprise on her face and nodded.

"O-okay, yeah, thanks..." She heard the line disconnect, but she held her phone up to her ear, still stunned, frozen.

God...this was everything she's ever wanted. She instantly thought of her fourteen-year-old self walking dogs, running lemonade stands, and babysitting every chance she got to save up. Then her at fifteen, getting her first job under the table and putting every bill they gave her in a jar. Then her at eighteen, spending so much of it to move to Los Angeles. Lastly, her now, at twenty-five...working forty-hour weeks, auditions on her days off and sometimes having to choose between an audition fee or food. On top of that, fighting with her boyfriend when she told him about her breakout role. Apparently she chose the job to spite him, knowing she’d be able to cheat on him with the illusion of it being part of her job. Eventually she convinced him that it was just a job and that she loved him, but all she kept thinking was how he should be happy for her. She wondered what her future self looked like.

The next two weeks were a blur of signing contracts, packing, setting up a direct deposit with her landlord, calling her family to tell them the news and mentally preparing herself when the madness ceased just a few days before her flight.

Even then it still didn't feel real when she got to the airport, stepped on the plane, or when she finally landed in Columbia. If the temperature change wasn't enough, the live tropical plants that decorated the airport definitely made her realize she was far from home. To Naela's surprise, and her dread, Mike was waiting for her outside of the terminal. Glasses, linen button up, slacks and all. He jogged over to her, his arms open for a hug. she reluctantly reciprocated, side-hugging him back.

"Oh, Naela, so glad to be here for you. This place is paradise! Have you seen the lounge yet?"

She gave him a tired smile, "No, I just got off the plane--"

"Right, right, getting ahead of myself. Go get yourself a juice or something, I'll go get your bags." He jogged off to baggage claim, that same chipper smile on his face. Naela stood there for a moment, confused. He wasn't normally so excited or helpful. She shook her head and turned to start towards the lounge, which looked a little crowded with chatting patrons. She weaved through the couches and tables to get to the juice bar with an array of selections and fresh fruit toppings. Naela, taking advantage of all the options, made a cocktail of pinapple juice, frozen mango, lemon, and orange. Taking one sip lifted a small weight off of her shoulders. Her first taste of paradise and fucking making it after all those years. A proud smile shown lightly through her jet-lag RBF.

The moment was short-lived, however, when Mike found her, her two large suitcases rolling behind him and her heavy duffle slung over his shoulder. He instantly dropped the patterned bag at her feet, his chest heaving a bit.

"Had no idea your bags were this heavy..." Naela repressed a chuckle as she saw her manager struggle and humble himself.

"I got it, thanks," she replied cheekily, taking both suitcases in her hands and carrying her duffle with ease. He looked shocked for a moment, then led her towards the exit. She smiled to herself as his back was turned.

Once they were outside, it was still just as crowded, but much, much, hotter. The humidity alone was bad enough but the early afternoon sun was brutal. She was sweating already, even under the shade of the building. She reluctantly took off her hoodie, which she was sure left her hair frizzy, just adding to the look. She wiped away the beads of moisture forming on her face, making her realize her deodorant was packed away in her suitcase. Luckily, she didn't have to suffer for long, the shuttle with the film company text on the side pulled into the drive after just a few minutes. Mike instantly opened the door and sat himself down in the farthest seat.

The driver, however, got out to help Naela put her bags in the trunk, at which point, four other men gathered around the shuttle to do the same. She didn't even notice them waiting with her, but she did now. Two of them were dressed more comfortably, like her, and the other two looked more polished, and professional. She immediately made the connection, more actors and their mangers.

Once her luggage was tucked away, she joined Mike in the air-conditioned van, not saying a word. The inside of the car was incredibly clean, it looked brand new and smelled that way too.

The next passenger to climb inside was older than Naela for sure. Some scruffy stubble shaped his cheekbones and sharp jaw perfectly, and he had the same curly, frizzy hair Naela had. He wasted no time sitting himself right next to her and giving her a polite smile.

"Hey, I'm Pedro," he introduced himself, a little breathless from the heat. He extended his muscular hand for her to take. She instantly look it and smiled brightly back at him.

"Naela." She added, feeling his hand totally engulf hers.

"You have a beautiful name, Naela. Nice to meet you." Other people were still getting into the car, and she could hardly focus, due in part to his confidence.

"Thank you--" Another man reached over from the row of seats in front of them and offered his hand as well.

"Boyd Holbrook. I've already met Pedro, but not you." Wow. Was every actor going to be this attractive? She already felt out of place by the second one.

"Naela. Nice to meet you." She shook his hand just as she did Pedro's. Boyd's were a bit softer, but hers were still small in comparison. He nodded, smiling and turned around to face the driver again, who was just starting the van.

The drive to the studio was mostly silent, very bumpy, but luckily not very long. When she saw all the trailed lined up outside of the warehouse, it finally sunk in. The biggest set she'd ever been on, and she was one of the stars. Everyone went their separate ways after getting out of the shuttle, and Mike led her to her trailer. Her very own trailer. It even had her name on the door. Once she got inside, she set her luggage down and looked around in awe.

"Okay, Naela! This is your home for the next six months." She didn't respond as she spotted the back bedroom, instantly going in to check it out.

"Don't forget the cast dinner at six, okay?" He called to her once she disappeared behind the curtain partition.

"Okay!" She answered. At times like these, she wondered if she really needed a manager that badly. She looked around a bit more, unpacked some things, then started getting ready. Only after she turned on the AC, though.

By five-thirty, she was ready. She put on a red two-piece sundress with sleeves that hung off her shoulders. That particular shade of red she loved; she was always told it complimented her tan skin. She refreshed her dry curls and put on some comfortable nude heels. She couldn't bare putting makeup on with the heat, so she just brushed through her brows and put a light layer of mascara on her lashes.

She knew she was early, but she also knew it couldn't hurt to get to know some of her castmates beforehand. She told herself she didn't have anyone specific in mind. To her surprise, however, she found mostly every seat filled when she arrived at the patio.

Most people didn't look up when she rounded the corner, but as soon as Pedro saw her, he started waving her over.

"Naela! Your seat is here." She was sure everyone could see her blush, everyone's eyes on her as she joined them at the table.

"Ah, there's my Lucia! The Golden Trio is all here." The director added. Wait. The Golden Trio?

He sat at the very end of the table, Boyd on one side and her and Pedro on the other. He outstretched his hand. No...that means Pedro is...Javi? She recalled the scenes she performed at the casting call with a character named Javi. From what she gathered, their characters were friends with benefits.

Out of politeness, she obliged and met his hand with hers. "Thank you, sir," was all she could think to say. Once she sat next to Pedro, she finally allowed herself to take in the scenery. Lush fruit trees grew over the courtyard and a grand fountain stood tall in the center.

"Exhausted yet?" Pedro muttered, leaning toward her.

She chuckled, "I don't think I've ever been so tired. I slept on the plane, too."

"I know, somehow sleeping made me more tired," He laughed in response, then continued, "Do you like your trailer? Definitely not what I'm used to."

She shook her head, "No, me neither. It's making my apartment look bad." They laughed again in unison. Unnoticed by Naela, Boyd was smirking over at Pedro, shaking his head too.

The extra twenty minutes they had before the dinner went by fast along with the flow of their conversation, which never stopped, aside from some interjections by Boyd and Joanna. It was honestly refreshing for her. Before they knew it, the table was being set with colorful fruits and vegetables, arepas and other appetizers, an entire roast pig for the main course, and cholado for dessert. Normally Naela would be put off by the entire pig in front of her, but she hadn't eaten a full meal in the 36 hours it took to get there.

After giving each other a few quiet moments to eat, Pedro was the first to start up the conversation again with "So Naela," he washed down his last bite with a fruity cabernet, "Tell me about your family."

She took a deep breath, "I grew up in San Antonio. It's just me, my mom and my brother, Sebastian. He helps my mom run her restaurant.”

"You guys must be close. No boyfriend, then?" he mused.

"Yes, actually. He’s Josh." she laughed. "What about you?"

"It's just me and my siblings now." His response wasn't wounded, it was more accepting than anything.

"I'm sorry," she replied instinctively. "I don't know if I could recover from that. You were right about my family being close." She chuckled painfully.

"Thank you. They make it better...they really do." He took another greedy sip from his wine glass. "I had a feeling you were Lucia," he added.

"Is that so?" she replied sheepishly, trying to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks again by looking down at the table.

"Mhm," he hummed confidently. "Listen, if at any point theres something that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me." He leaned in closer, making sure to look her in the eye as he said this.

She nodded, "Thank you, Pedro. I appreciate that." She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the company, but she could tell by the flushed feeling she had that her entire face was red. If Pedro noticed, he didn't say anything.

They continued talking as they waited for everyone to finish. Once conversation lulled and everyone was feeling even more tired from such a filling meal, the director stood at the end of the table to announce, “Alright, everyone...go get some sleep. Table reading is inside, tomorrow at 7 AM. It's gonna be a long day of reading but you'll live." A few actors chuckled but most did not. Naela stretched as she stood, she felt like she'd been sitting forever.

"Goodnight, Naela." Pedro stood too, and Naela had to fallow his eyes upward to maintain eye contact. She could feel a pit in her stomach form. Hm, didn't realize he was that tall.

"Night, Pedro..." She hesitated, smiled tiredly up at him, then finally turned to go back to her trailer. His eyes lingered for just a bit too long as she walked away, but eventually Boyd snapped him out of it by patting his back and saying his goodbyes as well.

It felt so fucking good to get ready for bed that night. She was in her comfortable clothes again at last and she was clean. She dimmed the lights and decided to scroll on social media for a bit. She came across an ad for Game of Thrones, and remembered Pedro had mentioned being in the previous seasons.

Needless to say, her curiosity got the best of her and she looked up "got pedro pascal scenes".

Holy shit.

This job just keeps getting harder and harder.

reblog if you made it to the end!

[banjjakz]

route warnings: (dubious-ish?) non-con; forced fellatio; manipulation; power imbalances; misogyny. please proceed with caution this one is kinda rough

➡ Turn back.

Shame cows your ambition, curtailing your hand’s daring arc towards the doorknob. Your arm retreats back into your body, burned by a phantom pain.

How could you be so audacious? It should be enough to simply admire Yuuta from afar… Just imagining how scared and confused he might be to see a fan in his personal quarters is enough of a gruesome mental image to shock you out of your starry-eyed stupor.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you hurry to put some distance between yourself and your tantalizing desire. Now that you are once more aligned with your cognitive reasoning and critical thinking, the darkness of the backstage corridor is kinda…spooky. Despite the deafening roar of the frenzied crowd just a few moments prior, the venue is now almost entirely empty. The only soundtrack accompanying your foolish venture is the ominous dripdripdrip-ing of the faulty, leaky water pipes hidden behind the sodden ceiling and peeling drywall.

Suddenly, this feels very much so like a place in which you do not belong. Turning on your heel, you make a mad dash to evacuate the premises from the way you originally came – only to run straight into something tough, solid, and warm.

Evidently, it is not a wall – otherwise, your nose would’ve probably been shattered on impact, considering how hard you bowled straight into the surface. But what else could be this immovable, this well-fortified and impassible? The only things that come to mind are brick and bone, which—

Oh.

Tremulously, you caution a glance upward, shivering in your grimy concert shoes at the thought of having to confront the absolute beast of a security guard who’d been eyeing you all night…

Instead, when your eyes finally grace the features of your obstacle, it is not at all the formidable security guard of your nightmares. In fact, the reality is much worse.

Looking down at you is Geto Suguru, ShinShow’s lead singer, in all of his six-footed, long, luscious haired, tattooed, gauged lobed, pierced-faced glory.

When you fail to produce any words, he smirks at you, seemingly relishing in the uncomfortable silence. With dawning horror, you realize that he intends to wait you out. His imposing stature is so broad and the dim hallway is so cramped that you would not be able to pass unless he let you. And, judging by his sardonically amused impassivity, he has no intention of doing anything of that sort.

Your gulp is audible in the dead quiet. Frozen, you linger in paralysis, an animal of prey caught in still waters.

“Well, you look lost,” says Geto Suguru, deceptively calm.

His face is the pinnacle of classic beauty: an unblemished, sanguine ivory mask. The deceptively easygoing set to his superhuman features sets the lids of his eyes low, cutting across the horizon of his irises in one neat, lethal swoop.

Any ShinShow fan with half of a functioning brain knows not to be fooled by this theatrical performance. It is this same, seemingly lackadaisical Geto Suguru who unleashes live performances inspiring pure, unadulterated horror and dread amongst an eager, addicted audience. His antics as the band’s front man have included, but are certainly not limited to: lovingly instructing his fans to refer to him as “Geto-sama”; regurgitating fake (?) blood on stage; displaying a seriously terrifying proficiency in martial arts as a form of choreography; and, of course, passionately and enthusiastically belting out self-composed lyrics lamenting the state of the world, the salvation to be found in existential dread, and the anarchist desire to destroy life as it currently manifests.

So, you know. Light work.

Point being: this is a man who you do not want to fuck around with. Even as a dedicated superfan, there are some risks best left unchallenged. You don’t even want to think about what he would say (or do…?) if he found out that you’d been sneaking around and preparing to break and enter into one of his bandmate’s dressing room…

“I am,” you lie, bowing your head in an attempt to shield your quivering bottom lip and your wet, shifty eyes. For some reason, you feel like he’ll see right through you if you let him. “Could you please direct me to the exit? I am very sorry to trouble you.”

Geto’s hearty laugh startles you into looking up at him. “Sure you don’t want a polaroid pic before you go?”

There are sparkles and glitter and sunshine and rainbows melting out of your head, leaking out of your ear canals, dripping down your neck and shoulders and onto the dirty concrete like liquified brain matter. “If—if you insist.”

This is how you find yourself posing against a disgusting brick wall with the one and only Geto Suguru. You would squee, if the thought of fangirling in front of Geto Suguru didn’t make you want to violently extinguish your own existence.

The only thing worse than fangirling embarrassingly hard in front of Geto would be the insinuation that he is your oshi and you are one of his “followers,” as he has lovingly (?) dubbed his personal fanbase. To bear the brunt of his condescending, considerably sadistic attitude which he wields against fans like a whip of love…

It would be indecent(ly erotic)! It would be humiliating(ly pleasurable)! You would not survive (with your dignity intact)!

Out of the kindness of his cold, dead heart, he takes multiple shots with you. The first picture sees the both of you shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling serenely at the camera – a standard shot for oshi and fan. The second picture is his signature M.O. for fanservice photos: your faces are deadpanned in joint, mildly disgusted unison, staring down the viewer with thinly veiled contempt. It’s a popular, ironic style for niche idols like ShinShow to poke fun at both themselves as well as the concept of idol fanservice in general. Secretly, you derive a different meaning entirely from the farcical display of scorn. It is as though you gaze at the viewer as a voyeur. Why are you here? Why are you looking at him? Why are you looking at us? Go away. You aren’t worthy.

The white-hot flash of a successfully snapped shot sears across your vision like the wink of a shooting star, immeasurably awesome, woefully transient. As you mourn this interaction’s inevitable end, Geto surprises you by asking if you’d like some digital photos as well.

Charmed, you find yourself unable to do anything but agree, albeit not too enthusiastically. Appearances are important, here.

After quickly unlocking the device, he smoothly slips your smartphone from your shaky, clammy grasp, raising it up to a fashionably high selfie angle. Inside the four-by-four digital reflection, you are confronted with a reality you have never dared hope to imagine:

Geto Suguru, long black hair loose and in disarray from a recent stage performance, makeup running down the chiseled planes of his face in pigmented rivulets, black-painted nails splayed in a facetious peace sign right underneath your chin.

Crap, his hand is really warm! You can’t help but to lean into the plush crevice of skin between his pointer and thumb…is it weird, that you’re kind of obsessed with how soft it is? For a seasoned musician with quite the gnarly disposition, his hands – much like the rest of him – are deceptively soft.

Is it really alright, to be this close to him? As he snaps the third and final photo, you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of skin-to-skin contact. Delusional from the proximity, your consciousness has been untethered from your body, entirely outside of the reach of normal human sensibilities. You are only slammed back into your own mind when a sudden, swift constriction of pressure on your lower jaw demands your attention.

Shocked, you try to turn your head to look up at your idol.  Subsequently, you are horrified to realize that it is his hand who restricts your movement.

In the mirrored image displayed by your phone camera, your trembling pupils track the slow spread of Geto’s lips which peel back from his teeth like unfurling layers of some fruit repulsively past the point of ripeness. Suddenly, his beautiful, white face of traditional peerless beauty now appears to you as an eerie mask concealing an unimaginably horrific reality.

“Did you know that I can smell your fear?” says Geto conversationally, still facing the camera, still smiling.

His mirrored image belies a reflection perhaps even more terrifying than an overtly antagonistic expression of anger or wrath. Instead of obvious malice, Geto’s undisturbed sanguineness installs within you a new and revolutionary kind of desperate terror.

“E-excuse me?” You ask, voice a tremulous, pitiful thing. “I don’t think I understand, Geto-san—”

Fast as lightning, and just as electrifyingly immobilizing, Geto’s large hand reaches upwards to smother your “You’ll use that mouth to properly address me Geto-sama, or you won’t use it at all. What is a follower’s role but to obey?”

A chill runs down the length of you, infiltrating your nervous system, hijacking your senses, arresting your higher functioning. Geto’s words sink in with fatal clarity: you are not escaping this. This is your fate.

Oddly, this realization excites you.

As though the line about smelling your fear wasn’t merely a maniacal bluff, Geto’s neatly-trimmed brows raise almost at the same time as you come to this conclusion. As a heady sort of anticipation fills your gut, his mask cracks for the first time, toeing the line between disgust and another, unnamable sentiment – one that lends a new kind of scintillating, sadistic twinkle in those small, dark eyes.

“Don’t tell me--” His fingers dig even more deeply into the supple flesh of your burning cheeks. “—that you like this.” Before you can curb it, a damning whimper flies forth from your dry throat, betraying your weakened knees, the weeping arousal between your quaking thighs.

More than being scared, you are egregiously humiliated. Not even a momentary reprive through fluttering your eyes shut is granted to you, for Geto violently shakes your skull in his palm until you are jolted back to staring into the selfie camera.

The frightened, excited tears that spill from the corners of your eyes only serve to further validate his salacious suspicions. “You do. How interesting.”

His gaze strays from your own in the phone camera, wandering to fixate on a point a few centimeters above your head. Is he plotting his next move? Does he know something that you don’t? Is he wholly sane?

Of course he isn’t! You scream at yourself, internally. Any guy who holds a girl hostage backstage is absolutely off his rocker!!

And yet – shamefully – you’re kind of into it.

Will you die tonight? Maybe.

Will you go out with a bang? Hopefully.

“Ghkfdbmmsnnmm,” you plea from behind his fingers. Graciously, he peels back his fingers, one-by -one, partially releasing your voice from his clutches even as he still hostages your face with cautious interest.

This time, when you speak, your voice sounds like a gunshot in the empty stillness of the desolate corridor. In this atmosphere, it feels as though there is not another soul alive besides you and your captor.

“Geto-sama. Please have mercy…”

He must be able to tell it’s an act. You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. The last thing you crave is his mercy.

“My, my. Such a turn this has taken,” he muses, fingers idly tapping away at your back molars. “What shall I do with you?”

Eat me alive, supplies your brain. “Whatever Geto-sama wills, it is my duty to fulfill.”

When you lock eyes in the camera, meeting each other’s gazes through the digital mirage for the last time, Geto shuts off the phone with one quick, decisive movement. You watch the system warning flash across the screen before everything goes dark and quiet. No more camera. No more phone. No more location services. The device drops to the ground with a heart-dropping clatter. You don’t have time to wonder if it survives the fall.

Geto turns to you for the first time in what feels like eons. Without the layer of pixelated filters softening the blow, being subject to his direct line of sight paralyzes you to the core.

“Get on your knees.”

Instantly, you obey. Refusal does not even cross your mind. The grimy floor rushes to greet your knees with a firm thud! The impact reverberates throughout your entire body, setting every single nerve alight with stimulation.

He draws over to you lackadaisically, like a tiger stalking its sure kill. Playing into it, you shuffle backwards, scraping your sensitive knees and shins against the unforgiving platform until your heels hit the wall behind you.

“Your fear is waning. You aren’t scared,” says Geto, undoing his fly. “You should be.”

Without further ado, he pulls out his dick and shoves it inside the wanton cavern of your willing, wanting mouth.

It happens so fast that your eyes can’t quite keep up with his movements, unable to visually register just how large his appendage is until it’s being stuffed down your throat. Bile rises to greet the tip of his dick and he is, apparently, into that. Makes it all the wetter.

For your part, you are struggling to maintain your initial excitement. In your lust-addled, starstruck stupor, you imagined that you and your idol shared a similar appreciation for the taboo mirage of consensually non-consensual liaisons. What you had failed to realize was that you were the only imaginary in this particular fantasy scenario. What used to exist merely as the stuff of wet-dream musings has now crystallized into a concrete reality; a reality wherein there are no safe-words, no underlying currents of care or affection, and no opting out.

You realize the extent of your disadvantaged position when Geto takes a break from brutalizing your esophagus to release you from his clutches and decides that he would rather rub his dick all over your face, instead.

Not only this, but he smacks you with it.

This isn’t even the stuff of brutal pornos. You’re no stranger to the horrors of exploitative snuff film, and even those seem to pale in comparison to the way he holds the back of your skull with one hand as he beats your cheekbones, your nose, your eyelids, your mouth, your chin, your jaw, even your fucking ears with his cock. From the crest of your hairline to the peaks of your clavicles, you are sodden with wet, sticky precum, battered with blooming bruises.

It all happens so fast that you barely have time to blink – definitely no time to indulge in the privilege of breathing. Geto’s movements become frenzied, harried, washing over you dark and fast like the rolling thunder of an impending typhoon.

Caught in the midst of severely troubled waters, ears roaring with adrenaline, blood, and terror, rooted to the spot by forces beyond your body’s will, your mind sparks to life with one last-ditch attempt at a moment of clarity:

What will you do?

>  Call for help.

>  Take it.

[jaxs-beanie]

Zachary James' Hadestown headcanons

Zachary James, the West End Hades, posted a video on Cameo about his headcanons about the role and his relationships with the other characters, including a REALLY dark Worker headcanon! West End Workers have it ROUGH :(

Hades and Persephone have the greatest love of all, it's lasted millions and millions of years. "She has to leave 6 months out of the year and…I think at first it was 'okay we can do this' but…over time it's driven him mad. And he's in deep despair. Always wondering what she's doing up there, he has fear of missing out because he can't go run through the fields and all the wonderful things she does, and it affects her too." She comes back to the underworld and she doesn't have fun anymore. There's been a lot of turmoil to the relationship and he's become someone he doesn't like and she doesn't like, and because of the resentment, fear, and jealousy he's unable to be the beautiful, loving self that he was at the beginning of their relationship.

With Eurydice, she's new on the scene and he sees her and is like 'You look good. come with me. I have something to offer you, you're cold and hungry; I have food and warmth. 'I think for the Workers…he calls them 'my children' and that's what they are, he takes care of them, at a great cost to them but he doesn't see it as a great cost, he's like 'I've given you a job and you have a home and you're warm, and…y'know. And it's complicated because he really cares what they think about him…in my interpretation, he really cares. That's his only family that's always there. He's always there, they're always there, Persephone is not.'

Eurydice is just a new recruit, and he has had many recruits before--there are 5 Workers onstage, 6 with Eurydice, but it's complex because you know he has brought many, many Workers down. And I'm thinking 'it didn't work out' and when it didn't work out the Workers go to their death and their bodies are used for fuel. Cause he says he fuels this enterprise with the fossils of the dead', obviously fossils from the earth but I also interpreted it as fossils from…the Workers that didn't work out, or disobeyed.'

The power play is that if they disobey or don't do their work or whatever, they don't get to play anymore. so when ORPHEUS comes into the picture, the great challenge is that he's losing his sense of security and his sense of power and he's not powerful anymore because this guy comes in who's very charismatic and has this power of music! And music is love, right, so it's a pure love, which…contradicts the love Hades feels for things, for Persephone, for his environment, for the Workers. And when he meets Orpheus and sees that pure love, it's an existential crisis, that he's like 'Oh there's another way, I remember what that felt like, but I don't have that anymore and I can't have that anymore because of circumstances' and he questions his purpose. Hades sees Persephone loving Orpheus and the magic of Orpheus the way she used to love him, and it's very complex and painful.

Zachary definitely doesn't think of Hades as a villain, but as someone who's doing what he thinks is best, it just happens people are hurt by it. He's learned as an actor to not judge his character, cause if he thinks 'Oh I hate how he treats Persephone' it gets in the way of embodying the character and making him likable and bringing out the positive in him. 'I think he's a really tender guy and he has more feelings than anyone and that's what makes him so interesting to play.'

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №23!

Random/cursed edition!

What if I were to try and tell Fault!Wilbur where babies come from?

So. Phil has said that Tubbo's problem is not having blood in that one famous shitpost which got me into Fault in the first place. So. What if they did have blood though? Like what if some of the wax cells were filled with blood? Just spontaneously. For blood-letting purposes, yk.

I think I saw you mention somewhere that Fault!Tubbo either has or could potentially have memories from different alternative versions of themselves. Explain please?? Also does that mean that they potentially have memories from my personal au where most of my ocs and headcanons live? Btw my first reaction at that thought was "AAHH FUCK NONONONONO BITCH CHEESUS CRUST". It's not that bad though I promise I'd just be embarrassed either way.

What if. What if the Fault crew + the scp researchers got spontaneously teleported into a gacha reaction videos where they had to react to your shitposts, animations and drawings. Also throw a couple of 2018 style gacha vids in there for good measure. (While writing this I checked the lyrics of Devils don't fly and realised that it's actually a pretty serious song. Which like- damn.)

What role would the Fault crew characters get in the soldier poet king test? I do love that test a little too much maybe- here's the link to the quiz! https://uquiz.com/quiz/MYLbZ3/are-you-a-soldier-a-poet-or-a-king

This one has heavy spoilers!

1. Probably depends on how you do it, but I think he’d just take basic notes on sex-ed. Doesn’t have much puritan context of taboo or embarrassment on the subject. Fairly indifferent on the whole sex thing because he doesn’t think it’ll ever come up in his lifestyle of avoiding humans and knowing only 4 people. Probably a little irritated that its theories were so wildly off base, grumble a bit about how its own ideas about making Faustian bargains with dark entities and trading organ: [womb] for power make far more sense but whatever. He thinks pregnancy is stupid because how are you supposed to run like that? And your food is SIPHONED off by the fetus? Why can’t they get their own? And at the end you get a human. Terrible process all around. 3/10 Tommy has less ammunition to tease it now and that’s IT. 

2. Probably smell bad. Maybe they could do things like blush? Mosquitoes would go crazy for them. If this is ‘a previously weren’t a blood fruit gusher’ situation, Tubbo would be freaking out about 1. Who the muffin’s blood is this and 2. Starving 2 death babyy. Cause they really need that honey to operate. A bunch of baby larva are going to die even if all the workers can go into overdrive to feed the Hive. I think it would be very funny if Tubbo tried to break into a blood bank to donate it all. Shhh don’t worry about where this blood came from. Or what happened to the security cameras. It’s for a good cause trust trust. 

3.Heavy spoilers. The plan was that Tubbo and Wilbur get dunked through the near apocalypse via dissolving of the narrative due to SOMEONE being so depressed it fails to keep the void in check/potentially interpretable as being suicidal, thus exposing the two to pure void madness and realizing everything is a story. Which would entail having some familiarity/confusion about the source material of the dsmp, some vlogs, etc. but not necessarily AUs. But then SOMEONE turned out to be an abusive ass, and that plot point got very icky to me. I’ve been debating it for months, but realized I’m sexy and do what I want so am going to limit it to pure awareness of being a story, but not necessarily a fanfic. Still has the existential crisis of it and the philosophical implications that are going to so beautifully deal with themes of attachments, the purpose of narratives, and parallel whatever the hell trauma Tommy is dealing with during that section. But won’t actually deal with having any true awareness of stuff outside of Fault. Except maybe for realizing “Lawrence killed our muffining husband?!” because that scene was funny as hell to write. I dunno plans change. I’ve tried not to let outside events change my artistic vision, but it’s inevitable. 

4.Oh goodness they absolutely despise me for all the jokes about the horrors they’re going through. Probably think they’re being drawn ‘cute’ given they’re probably a lot freakier looking irl, and slightly distressed about being chibis. I think most would even consider it ‘out of character’ given their self perceptions don’t tend to be the most accurate. Current Wilbur is hissing and vehement about being constantly called an it because his character development is very far off from when that happens. Philza is a little disappointed that his bloodthirsty moments gets so much emphasis since he’s so chill 97% of the time. Tommy is absolutely chuffed to bits to realize he’s the main character, though trying to do damage control cause haha I’m fine guys this crazy internet person just made me seem edgy and depressed. 

Webb is going to strangle me for the Philza/Webb post tho. And the haha poor alcoholic divorcee doormat jokes. Dr. Blake assumes the blog is an anomaly and starts trying to torture it…?

5. I took the quiz sitting in the heads of all of them. 

Tommy: The Poet. “So I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me, till then my windows ache.” “The one who hurt you haunts you. In your nightmares, they say I am disappointed in you” literally happens in Fault. With Philza. “What is a sin? Inevitable” is pretty much something he tells Tubbo word for word. “What is hell anyway? Barren” "how can you love me with all that I've done ?"

The Blade: The Soldier. “if you were to wear a crown it would be covered in blood. The one of the guilty.” “The sword is at your side. It bore your name long before you did.” is rather literal both for his name and The Blood God. “but how can I sleep with the world in my head?" “What is hell anyway? Doubt”

Wilbur: The King. “Despite all your attempts, you have never been a healer. You hurt people and they leave and you are alone in a room full of silence. You sing to try and forget, but it does not work” everything about this. Trying to heal but being made of destruction, his fears of devouring his family, singing, memory loss, everything everything it’s so Wilbur. "come and be human with me" “The one who hurt you haunts you. In your nightmares, they say I love you." <literally Phil’s last words when Wilbur killed him in the Whumptober au. "but how can I sleep with the world in my head?" why it has insomnia.

Philza: The Poet. “There are rules. How many? One, and you will follow it.” For his Collected. “Fear: You did your best and it wasn't enough. You tried and failed and kept trying and it wasn't enough. You had the power to change things and it wasn't enough.” For all his dead children. "you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist" it's him reaching out. I love the reverse imagery with Phil, a god worshiping his mortals “anger is a strength in a world of apathy.” He feels no shame or burden for his anger, knowing well the good it can do. “Who taught you about guilt? The silence” 

Tubbo: The King. Absolutely perfect as a foil to The Blade btw. “What is duty? Undeniable” “The throne looks golden, and covered in flowers” “Fear: You did your best and it wasn't enough. You tried and failed and kept trying and it wasn't enough.” Saving people from Philza. “The one who hurt you haunts you. In your nightmares, they say I forgive you” Rosaliiiiiind. “Who taught you about guilt? God”

[abronzeagegod]

ETS WIP Chapter 12: Here's The Problem, It's a Big One

[first]|[more]

"How do you know I'm the real one?" Aeth asked Lyta as they looked down at the dead body of the nightmare.

Lyta looked at Aeth. "Really?"

"There are weirder things out there. I can be anyone! Anything!"

"There's only one of you and you're it."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because the Aeth I know and love doesn't have a body that looks like a shed skin and eat and consume people. And you came first."

"But-"

Lyta cut off their existential crisis with pure, simple, concrete statement. "You are you. That's how it works. This thing is not you because it couldn't be by virtue of being itself."

"What?"

"Exactly," Lyta said firmly.

"But-"

"Nope."

Aeth clearly wasn't allowed to have a moment of self-doubt with Lyta around. Not about their nightmares becoming them.

"Why is my apartment so cold and covered in snow?"

Lyta finally faltered. "That's a longer story."

Several minutes later when Aeth had recovered enough and get into a shower, with Lyta outside cleaning up she explained.

"My magic font was all rage and vengeance and with this Swwarm app doing something weird to everyone is was super mad, I was super mad, and I was basically overflowing with magic. When I finally snapped out of whatever was happening I raced over here," Lyta explained as she tried, and failed, to mop the snow up.

"Why did you choose rage and vengeance?" Aeth asked loudly from within the shower.

"I didn't really, I built a font and kind of had to figure it out."

"Why is your rage cold?"

"Look, we can get into this all day later, and I'm happy to talk about this with you, but there's a whole thing with this App that seems terrible and I'm covered in magic power, and your nightmare got out. This all feels bad."

"I was looking into it before... everything," Aeth said as they finally turned the shower off.

"What did you find out?" Lyta asked from her position outside the bathroom door. She had given up trying to clean up the snow. She hadn't fully managed to desummon her sword and it wasn't helping so she just kind of gave up and leaned against the wall outside Aeth's bathroom.

Aeth exited the bathroom with a towel around their head and a fluffy bathrobe on. Whatever they said was lost on Lyta.

Even though it wasn't an especially sexy look, or anything even remotely revealing, Lyta was still a bit stunned. Aeth was here, they were back, they were looking cleaned and better, and that made Lyta so inexplicably happy.

"What? Do I have something on my face still?"

"No. You look fine. I'm just happy to see you."

Aeth moved quickly into their room because suddenly they felt very hot despite the freezing temperatures in the apartment. "As I was saying. I went looking into the app and it's all very suspicious."

"Suspicious how?"

"It basically has no listed creator, team, company, or anything that would indicate it was actually an app that was made."

"As opposed to what?"

"A virus."

"To like harvest data or something?"

There was silence before Aeth came out in their favorite worn overalls and black tank top. "This is my new crazy idea, so hear me out."

"Always."

"I think this app is a ritual, something to make people tense and on edge."

Lyta stopped to consider it, and to consider Aeth. "For what purpose?"

"Chaos? Maybe? Or to feed off our anger or something."

Lyta frowned, "I don't know this feels like we're missing something."

"I have notes I was making, some of them are still open on my phone."

"You remember what they were?"

Aeth shook their head. "I don't everything has been a bit fuzzy the last couple of days."

Lyta frowned. "Just be careful. I still have a terrible feeling about this whole thing."

Aeth went to find their phone, itself a small task, since 3812 didn't use the thing and Aeth couldn't remember where they left it since the whole vent started. When they did eventually find it underneath the the dining room table.

They reached for their phone, put in their password, and things immediately went wrong.

A purple-pink tentacle reached out of the phone screen and swiped at Aeth.

They quickly dropped the phone as the tentacle drew blood. The moment the phone hit the floor another three tentacles drew themselves out of the phone screen and started to flail around madly to prevent anyone from getting close.

Lyta, without thinking, summoned and threw a frozen spear at the phone. The fractal blade cut the device in half and embedded itself in the floor.

"What the hell?" Lyta asked.

Aeth rubbed the back of their hand. The cut wasn't that bad. Their heart was pounding though, and wasn't showing any signs of slowing down.

"What do we do now?" Lyta asked. "Is there somewhere we can go? Someone we can talk to? This is getting so far out of hand that I don't even know what to do."

"I have one idea. It might not be the best idea though."

"Am I going to hate this?"

"No. But it might be awkward."

Several minutes later, and inside of Lyta's car, that mercifully hadn't been ticketed or towed, Aeth gave their friend directions.

The drive was the opposite of pleasant. It was deeply terrible actually. More so than usual it felt like no one was able to drive. The road rage was heightened and Lyta was holding on to the wheel with both hands and a grip that could crush glass.

They were cut off constantly, with people driving recklessly and distracted.

Lyta's grip on her anger was tenuous at best, if it wasn't for Aeth being next to her she might have lost it and succumbed back to the anger spiral.

The drive took entirely too much time, but they finally made it.

Their destination was a small, cozy looking house. It felt like a home.

A small child runs out of the house to greet them as Lyta parked the car in front.

"Hey!" she screams in the bright voice of a happy child that can only communicate the sheer level of happiness via screaming. "Sir Lance Corporal wanted to see you! He's gonna be so excited to see you!"

"What the fuck is happening?" Lyta whispered to Aeth.

"It's a very long story, but this is a place where we might be able to get something to help us out."

i have a kofi if you'd like to leave a tip to encourage me to write more

[crystalelemental]

Full tierlist is here, breakdown of the B-tier. Now these ones I generally like, they've got something great going on. They don't quite hit the same highs or personal connection, but this is where I feel like we get something strong coming out.

Also, it took until after I did all this to realize that Leaf was not listed. Apparently they just posted Green and considered them the same. Which would be funny, except they did the wrong iteration. If Lear existed, she would be here, somewhere around Briar.

Arven: I adore the boy, he just barely misses out on evoking the stuff that hits A-tier. This is a personal problem and I hope to make a full recovery some day.

Adaman/Irida: Very fun duo, not a huge shipper of the two, but I think they do shine independently as well. Truth be told, I think Irida is the more interesting of the two, but Adaman is more my kind of person being a time-obsessed lunatic.

Penny: See Arven. I should like her more than I do.

Drasna/Sabrina/Lorelei: just really solid designs with some things I strongly latch on to.

Larry: Oooh boy. Okay. Listen. I like Larry a lot, but I also find his thing kinda uninspiring. Like sure, it's funny, he's got stuff going on, but I think the "regular guy" bit plays against him a bit too strongly in a generation that actually produced some Grade-A lunatics.

Bede: He's grown on me so much. I wanted to punch him when we first met, but now I want to punch him with affection.

Bianca: once my favorite rival. I think she's got a fun arc, in that she's the first rival to truly back down and find an alternate path. "But Brendan/May-" always keep up the battle pretenses. I dunno, Bianca just hit because they examined what someone who's just not into the battling thing goes through on these journeys. It was cool.

Iris: I want to like her more but her games shortchange her.

Shauntal/Cheryl/Lacy: They're just cute designs with some neat quirks.

Wally: Soft boy rival who I cherish.

Peony: Love me an over-enthusiastic father figure.

Clavell: Cheugy. In all seriousness, he's just a very cool dude. I expected him to be forgettable, but he is a serious man who is an absolute buffoon at heart.

Gladion: What if Hugh were interesting?

Dana: Masters sold me on her. She's constantly angry. Mood.

Alder: Does not get nearly the respect he deserves. Very interesting Champion figure who does interesting champion things like give children existential crises.

Iscan/Palina: I am not one to ship, but these two do it for me. They're cute.

Turo/Sada: I assume the people? They're fascinating case studies in terrible parents and kinda terrible people. The AI are your real parents and are a delight.

Tyme/Saguaro: I love these professors, so good.

Katy: Design-wise I like her a lot, and she's got a bit of the airhead vibe. And she is a baker, which is bonus points. I dunno. Katy gets it. She had my heart when she tried to rap and failed so badly she couldn't even rhyme words. Same, girl. Same.

Marshal: Punch man. Bottom text.

Briar: God, I should adore Briar, just look at her! But Indigo Disk was nothing if not an overwhelming disappointment on the whole, and she completely failed to stick the landing. I think they just tried too hard to avoid a serious confrontation of ethics on her part. They should've made her less hinged.

Archie/Maxie: listen, they're idiots, but they're fun idiots.

Grimsley: He's a fun guy.

Literally can't remember his name: Funny man. Clavell's ex. Love this dude. Christ I cannot remember his name. CYRANO! Fuck I'm up late to do all this, that is not a good sign for later.

Eusine/Morty: Similar deal, nice boys who are after their legends and are very pure in their pursuit. They have grown on me wildly.

Tate/Liza: I'd normally be mad about them being put together but they are evenly matched.

Bugsy: I have a soft spot for the little nerd professor. He's just really into bugs. Fun fact, did you know there's a super edgy fan rom where they made an OC that's like Bugsy's sister, and decided it was totally in character to have Bugsy be abusive? I'm sleepy and this is where my stream of consciousness has led us.

Elesa/Skyla: Gorlfriends. Elesa is slightly higher ranked for being the bigger dork.

Kahili: Great design, I really vibe with her look and general attitude, I desperately wish we got more.

Gardenia/Candice/Kabu/Clay: just some fun gym leaders. Clay is Peak American.

Atticus: probably my favorite Team Star member. Actually did nothing wrong.