#technically there is nothing bad about him but

[raeraesmentality]

Hey. Um.

As much as I would love to believe that Trump could get nailed with election fraud, there are several problems with this evidence.

Just, yknow, keep in mind I'm not anyone well-versed in politics, do your own research, this is just from reading articles over the past few days.

First of all, votes aren't fully counted yet. Looking at numbers right now is guaranteed to be inaccurate. So right now we don't KNOW exactly how many voted for Harris yet let alone if it's 20 million less than Biden in 2020.

Yes, the fake bomb threats were linked to Russia. Russia has tried to interfere with elections before and has interest in Trump being elected. This is in my mind the most valid thing to be suspicious about, Trump has bragged about being buddy buddy with Putin before. Everything else... not so much.

Pennsylvania did receive thousands of last-minute challenges to absentee ballots. That's what the email is about, not some "unidentifiable reason" and it's not proof of cheating. Yes, they were in bad faith and a concentrated effort to disrupt faith in the absentee ballot system, but there's nothing yet to show a connection to Trump. There are plenty of conservative groups distrustful of mail-in and absentee ballots who would have reason to do this without Trump being directly involved.

The mail-in data not being recognized, the simplest and most likely reason is software errors. I can't know for sure what it looked like in Pennsylvania, but I know in my area at least they were dealing with new voter software that they were still learning. If they were also using new software here, and are already stretched thin, it's not really surprising there would be errors like this. Unless something further comes out, there's no reason to believe it's deliberate interference.

The Milwaukee recount is because a machine wasn't sealed properly. Not one official source I can find has mentioned anything about suspicion of fraud.

I know how bad Trump being elected is for so many people, I would love nothing more than for there to be enough evidence of him cheating to stop him from taking office.

But we need to keep facts straight and not fall into misinformation, no matter how much we want it to be true.

Yes it's technically possible, we all know he's not above it, and we're all scared and angry and disappointed. But it is unlikely that most of this could be pinned on Trump, and I have even less confidence that it would even be enough to keep him from the presidency after January 6th didn't.

Still, absolutely call for a recount. This election was so messy that it can't hurt, and even if it isn't enough to turn the election in Harris' favor it could still help in the House and Senate, not to mention smaller local offices that can still do a lot of good in their communities. Just keep the facts straight.

And in the meantime keep focused on what you can do. Organize resources, make sure your vaccines are up to date, renew your ID and passport, get involved in your community, donate to families who need it, share resources with others. Hell, just be nice to your neighbors no matter their political affiliations. (many are pushed right-wing because they feel ostracized by left leaning groups while the right welcomes them.)

Just... Don't lose hope. There are still things we can do to help even in small ways.

I haven’t really seen any of the more recent U.S. election news hitting tumblr yet so here’s some updates (now edited with sources added):

There’s evidence of Trump cheating and interfering with the election.

Possible Russian interference.

Mail-in ballots are not being counted or “recognized” in multiple (notably swing) states.

30+ bomb threats were called in and shut down polling stations on Election Day.

20+ million votes are still unaccounted for, and that’s just to have the same voter turnout as 2020.

There was record voter turnout and new/first-time voter registration this year. We definitely should be well over the turnout in 2020.

U.S. citizens are using this site to demand, not only a recount, but a complete investigation into election fraud and interference for the reasons stated above:

Here is what I submitted as an example:

An investigation for election interference and fraud is required. We desperately need a recount or even a revote. The American people deserve the right to a free and fair election. There has been evidence unveiled of Trump cheating and committing election fraud which is illegal. There is some evidence of possible Russian interference. At least 30+ bomb threats were called in to polling places. Multiple, notably swing states, have ballots unaccounted for and voting machines not registering votes. Ballots and ballot boxes were tampered with and burned. Over 20 million votes that we know of are unaccounted for. With record turnout and new voter registration this year, there should be no possibility that there are less votes than even in the 2020 election.

Sources (working on finding more links but if anyone wants to add info, it’s appreciated):

FBI addressing Russian interference and bomb threats:

Emails released by Rachael Bellis (private account, can’t share original tweet) confirming Trump committing election fraud:

Pennsylvania's Centre County officials say they are working with their ballot scanner vendor to figure out why the county's mail-in ballot data is "not being recognized when uploaded to the elections software:”

Wisconsin recount:

[ID:

Multiple screenshots and images.

The first is a screenshot with a link and information for contacting the White House directly regarding election fraud. The instructions include choosing to leave a comment to President Joe Biden directly and to select election security as the reason.

The screenshot then instructs people to include any or all of the following information in a paragraph as a comment to the president:

32 fake bomb threats were called into Democratic leaning poll places, rendering polling places closed for at least an hour.

A lot of people reporting their ballots were not counted for various reasons.

This all occurred in swing states.

This is too coincidental that these things happen and swing in his favor after months of hinting at foul play.

Directly state that an investigation for tampering, interference, fraud is required, not just a recount.

The second image is from the FBI Twitter account that reads:

The FBI is aware of bomb threats to polling locations in several states, many of which appear to originate from Russian email domains. None of the threats have been determined to be credible thus far. https://t.co/j3YfajVK1m — FBI (@FBI) November 5, 2024

The next four Gmail screenshots of an email sent to Rachael Bellis from Chris T. Spackman that read together as follows:

Dear BELLIS, RACHAEL E., The Dauphin County Board of Elections received a challenge to your absentee ballot you applied for in the November 5, 2024 General Election. The challenge argues that a provision of the Pennsylvania Election Code takes precedence over the federal Uniformed and Overseas Citizens Absentee Voting Act (UOCAVA), which requires states and counties to permit U.S. citizens who move overseas to vote by absentee ballot for federal offices based on their last U.S. residential address.

The full text of the challenge that was filed appears below this email.

You may respond to the challenge in any of the following ways:

1. Call the Bureau of Registration and Election at (717) 780-6360;

2. Email a statement to the Bureau at Election election@dauphincounty.gov. Any statement you submit regarding the period during which you lived in Dauphin County, any family or connections that you still have here, and why you are now residing abroad would be read into the record.

3. Appear in person at a Board of Elections hearing scheduled for Friday, November 8 at a time to be determined in the Commissioners Public Hearing Room, 4th floor of Dauphin County Administration Building, 2 S 20d St, Harrisburg, PA 17111. The meeting is also likely to be livestreamed on Facebook on the Dauphin County channel.

Sincerely,

Christopher T Spackman

TEXT OF CHALLENGE BEGINS

Dear Dauphin County Board of Elections,

I am submitting this challenge to an absentee ballot application pursuant to 25 Pa. Stat.

3146.8(f).

25 Pa. Stat. 3146.8(f) Any person challenging an application for an absentee ballot, an absentee ballot, an application for a mail-in ballot or a mail-in ballot for any of the reasons provided in this act shall deposit the sum of ten dollars ($10.00) in cash with the county board, which sum shall only be refunded if the challenge is sustained or if the challenge is withdrawn within five (5) days after the primary or election. If the challenge is dismissed by any lawful order then the deposit shall be forfeited. The county board shall deposit all deposit money in the general fund of the…

The rest of the forwarded email is cut off.

The last image is a screenshot of the official statement from the Centre County, Pennsylvania Board of Commissioners released on November 6, 2024 that states:

Centre County Working with Ballot Scanner Vendor to Export Election Results.

(Bellefonte, PA) -Centre County Elections Office is working continuously to provide mail-in ballot data in order to post unofficial results.

To this point, all ballots have been scanned, including all mail-in ballots.

Centre County's Election team and IT team have identified that the data are successfully being exported from the mail-in ballot scanners, but that the data is not being recognized when uploaded to the elections software.

Centre County's Administrator, John Franek, Jr. stated, "We have not stopped working, and we will continue to work until unofficial results are posted and reported to the Pennsylvania Department of State."

As a next step, Centre County has begun working with the equipment vendor to adjust configurations to make the two systems-the mail-in ballot scanner and the elections software where data are uploaded -compatible with one another.

We will provide updates as we make progress.

/end ID]

[firewasabeast]

prompt.

In dire need of some fluff and donesticity.they both living together. Exchanging I love yous as they leave for their shift. Cuddling in sofa while watching bad tv.

They get a little horny. Sorry if that's not your thing. It's nothing explicit though!

Buck was leaning back against Tommy's chest as they snuggled on the couch. One of Tommy's hands rested over Buck's thigh, while the other gently massaged his head.

“This show sucks,” Buck sighed, leaning further into Tommy's touch.

“You're the one who put it on.”

Buck lifted his head to smile up at Tommy. “I didn't think we'd be watching it.”

“You trying to Netflix and chill me, Evan?”

“I'm trying to get in your pants, Thomas.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Well, calling me Thomas is a sure fire way to not get in my pants.”

“Oh, really?” Buck asked cheekily. He started to turn, pressing a hand against Tommy's chest as he straddled his thighs. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over Tommy's. “You sure about that?”

Tommy smiled. He dragged his hands up to Buck's hips and squeezed. “Absolutely not.”

Buck had sent a silent thank you to Joey at the local Furniture SuperPlus every single day since he sold them an extra long, extra wide couch. It was the one thing they splurged on when Buck moved into Tommy's place. Not a single regret was ever had on that purchase.

Buck gave Tommy a chaste kiss. “You're soft on me, Mr. Kinard.”

“You're just figuring that out? I must not be doing my job right.”

“Oh, trust me,” Buck reassured him. “You're doing your job perfectly.” He kissed him again, deeper this time. Tongues tangling together as their hands wandered. Buck groaned as he broke away from Tommy, peppering kisses along his jaw before working down his neck.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?” Buck hummed against Tommy's skin.

“I- I'm in love with you.”

Buck smiled against him, then licked against his pulse point. “I love you too.”

“No, I- uh,” Tommy's head lolled back as Buck sucked at his collarbone. “Evan, I- I love you too, but I'm in love with you.”

Buck froze. He sat back against Tommy's legs, staring at him. “You- You're telling me this while I'm grinding against you?”

“Is that... bad?” Tommy asked, face falling slightly.

“No, no! It's just... We can't tell that to our kids.”

Tommy grinned. “Our kids?”

“Well, yeah! One day they're gonna ask about the time we told each other we were in love, and we cannot tell them it was when we were dry humping on the couch!”

“Technically, only I've said I'm in love with you,” Tommy replied, emphasizing the point by pressing a finger to Buck's pec.

Buck brought his hands to Tommy's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I am so, incredibly in love with you, Tommy.”

Tommy took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because you don't have to-”

Buck silenced him with a kiss, tongue swiping against Tommy's lips until he opened his mouth and let Buck inside.

Tommy moaned into the kiss, eventually pulling away for air. He pressed his forehead against Buck's. “We definitely can't tell the kids that part.”

Buck shrugged. “We'll make something up. Stick to the 'I love you' story. That one's pretty PG.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting what we did on your kitchen counter afterward?”

“Okay, so we'll cut the story short," Buck whined. “Can we please have sex now?”

Tommy lifted his hips to grind up against Buck, watching as he closed his eyes and his lips parted with a happy sigh. “You know I can't say no to you.”

Buck kissed Tommy's lips, then his cheek, his jaw, his temple, before leaning toward his ear. In a whisper, he asked, “Even if I call you Thomas again?”

Tommy groaned, chills running down his spine. “You can call me whatever the hell you want,” he decided, wrapping his arms around Buck's waist and flipping them over.

[idksmtms]

Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss* 

Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy… 

Word count:  3,750 

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio. 

Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes. 

Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse. 

At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position. 

Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head. 

“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?” 

He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that. 

“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing… 

“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out. 

When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back. 

You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time. 

Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win. 

At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion. 

Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head. 

“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room. 

You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. 

The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward. 

When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears. 

The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was. 

You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever. 

You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much. 

He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.” 

“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again. 

“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land. 

He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften. 

He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered. 

“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance. 

His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back. 

You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element. 

You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress. 

At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room. 

His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.

He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole. 

You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling. 

Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body. 

You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh. 

You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt. 

Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again. 

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

[funnyinsanegirl]

Promposals [Touya Todoroki x Reader]

˙⋆✮🪩As long as I look fly by prom night!🪩✮⋆˙

"Promise to get a little better as I get older. And you're so patient and sick of waitin" Prom - Sza

High school Senior Prom AU of my fav villain ◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠

HS! Semi-Normal! Dabi x F. Reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

WC: 1008

"Soo..." my best friend, Mina, started with a coy smirk, "anyone ask you to prom yet?" She nudges my arm, obviously hinting at my boyfriend.

I shake my head, adjusting the books in my arms. "Nah, I probably won't go anyway. Seems like a waste of time, not to mention money."

"It's our senior year! You're acting like your parents aren't loaded," she scoffs, clearly unimpressed by my excuse. "And really? I thought for sure Dabi would've asked you by now. You guys have been dating for, what, five months?"

"Yeah, I thought he would too, but it's whatever. He's just not really into stuff like prom." I shrug, knowing my boyfriend is the definition of lowkey. Honestly, I’m sure he thinks going to prom would mess with his carefully crafted 'mysterious bad boy' nonchalant vibe.

Her eyes widen happily as an idea forms. "I'm sure Kiri wouldn't mind if you tagged along with us!"

I give her a look. Her boyfriend, Kiri, is very outwardly lovey-dovey, and there's no way he'd be okay with sharing Mina on prom night. She catches the look in my eyes and immediately reads my mind.

"Yeah, you're right. Bad idea," she admits, rolling her eyes.

"Very," I agree. "You two have fun, though. I gotta head home and study for that econ quiz."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun with that," she jokes, giving my arm a playful pat before waving goodbye.

I wave back and head out of the school, walking toward my house, which is a short distance away in the suburbs. Normally, I'd ride home with Dabi in his sexy black Mustang, but he skipped today, which, knowing him, isn't too uncommon.

I unlock my empty house—my parents are in France on business, so I’ve been left to die. Well, technically  they left me to "fend for myself," but it's basically the same thing. I kick off my shoes and head upstairs to my room, changing into some comfy lounge clothes before flopping onto my bed. I open my laptop and pull up my economics notes, trying to get through the material, but after a while, I realize I have no idea what the hell an "invisible hand" is.

I lean back against the pillows and let my eyes close. Studying is overrated anyway.

I woke up to the blaring sound of my phone alarm to take my vitamins that I had already taken earlier, but the alarm still ran incase I forgot. I groggily rolled over and squinted at the screen, still half-dazed from my nap. The time read 6:15 PM. Great. I’d fallen asleep for way too long. I rubbed my eyes, stretching as I sat up. My laptop was still open with economics notes, but the words blurred together like they were written in a foreign language. Ugh.

I pushed it aside and glanced at the clock again. Dabi would usually text me around this time, or he'd show up randomly at my door, leaning against the frame with that smirk of his. But today... nothing.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone, half-expecting another generic message from my mom or dad asking if I'm alive. But instead, there was a text from Mina.

Mina: "You sure you're not going to prom? Think about it! You'd look so hot in a dress, and I'm sure Dabi would change his mind n suck it up if you rly wanted to go. If he doesn't, still come and I'll make sure Kiri brings his best friend, so you’re not stuck third wheeling!"

I snorted at the part about Kiri's best friend. Mina's boyfriend has two best friends, Bakugo, who is painfully hostile, and Kaminari, who is super enthusiastic but also a little too much of a pervert, I'm not interested in either of those personalities. Either way, I have a boyfriend that I'm pretty exclusies with, and don't feel like pissing him off.

But the thought of prom? Of dressing up, of being surrounded by everyone else—feeling normal, like everyone else for a night—was kind of tempting. Even though I pretended not to care, I always wondered what it’d be like to go, to have that experience.

I stared at my phone for a moment, texting back:

Me: "I don’t know. It feels like too much of a hassle. You really think Dabi would go if I asked?"

There was a long pause before she replied.

Mina: "If u ask him? fat chance... But if you rly wanna go, I'll help u ask him!"

I could already hear her upbeat, enthusiastic tone in my head. It was like she was daring me to do it, challenging me to take that step.

I locked my phone, rolling my eyes as I flopped back onto my bed, already overthinking everything. As much as I hated to admit it, part of me kind of wanted to ask Dabi. Maybe he’d surprise me. But then again, maybe he'd just shrug it off and tell me he wasn’t into it, and I’d be left feeling stupid for even thinking it was a possibility.

Maybe I’d just let it go.

But a part of me couldn't stop wondering: what would it feel like to go with someone who actually cared enough to make the night special?

Just as I was starting to drift off again, my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Dabi ❤︎: "You still up?"

I smiled to myself, feeling a little lighter. At least he hadn’t forgotten about me today.

Me: "Yeah, what’s up? :)" Dabi ❤︎: "Look outside." 

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking as I looked at my phone. Then, without thinking too much, I got up from my bed and walked over to my window. My heart nearly dropped when I first saw the fire—until my eyes caught the message the flames had formed.

"PROM?"

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Running downstairs, I grabbed some slippers and hurried outside.

"Yes! But you really need to put this out!" I called out, smiling wide as I watched him casually stand next to the fire, hands in his pockets, looking like he hadn’t just used his quirk to set the entire front yard ablaze.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

[yanderefarm]

How did ares wedding/proposal go with us

🐀

cw;; violence mentioned, yandere tendencies, murder, hurt/comfort

i think this was the ask that originally had me revealing that you and ares aren't actually married yet. but here's a proposal? kind of. im sure he made you do a big fancy one eventually but!! still.

you have lived with ares for a while now and despite his knack for violence it's been domestic bliss. you go to work, come home, and get adored by your boyfriend. well, boyfriend is a weird term for it. technically you two are boyfriends but somehow ares seemed to have skipped that step. whenever he would introduce himself to people in your life he would call himself your wife and you were his husband. you even got so used to calling him wife you forgot you two weren't actually married.

the only thing that reminded you of your unmarried status was that pretty golden ring around your lover's finger. you were holding his hand, your thumb mindlessly playing with the band while some trashy reality tv show played in the background. you looked at the ring as you started to slide it up his finger.

"....have you ever thought about actually getting married? ..... i mean like to me."

ares turned his head to look at you with confusion. "we're married?"

"no. we're not."

"you're playing with my wedding ring."

"yeah. the wedding ring from your ex husband."

he blinked and then looked down at his hand, his brows furrowed. "oh."

"...so? have you ever thought about marrying me?"

he looked between the ring and your face before smiling softly. "of course I want to marry you. you're my husband."

"but I'm not." you didn't realize just how deeply this was bothering you until you were pouting.

"yes you are."

"no. that stupid... that guy is still your husband. he got you first."

"are you jealous?" ares asked in his flirtatious way, a finger going up to twirl his hair.

"no. i mean... yes but I don't want you to get that way about it. I'm serious."

ares dropped his hand and shifted to face you. "you know I don't care about that man anymore, don't you?"

"i... i guess?" you let out a sigh and looked away from him. "why do you... keep so much stuff that reminds you of him?"

"it doesn't remind me of him." ares reached out and cupped your face in his soft hand, pulling you to look at him again.

you found yourself leaning into his hand. "it's his wedding ring... his heart... you still have some of his clothes."

"i got rid of the hearts like you wanted."

"god, don't say it like that i feel like I'm being unreasonable."

he chuckled. "i want to gouge out the eyes of everyone who looks at you but you're unreasonable?"

you let out a little huff and leaned against his forehead. "maybe we're both unreasonable."

"i don't want you to feel bad, honey bunny. tell me what you need from me and I'll do my best to give you it."

"what if i want to burn down this house with all of his belongings and your ring and run away together?"

"i could arrange that."

you chuckled letting your head fall to his shoulder. "i just... i wish i knew you didn't love him anymore... sometimes i.. i worry you're going to get bored of me, cheat, and kill me."

his fingers ran through your hair coaxing you closer into him until your nose nestled against his neck.

"you're nothing like him. he didn't love me... he was just scared of me all the time. he knew what I was doing and he hated me for it... you would never treat me like that."

"i think most people would be scared of you killing people..."

he pouted. "you're not. you love me."

"yeah because im crazy. and you're crazy."

"I'll never find someone else who loves my crazy like you."

"can i take it off?" you started to slide his ring off as you leaned in for a kiss.

"please. i only want yours. burn away everything. burn him from my skin until only you remain."

you finally caught his lips, his wedding ring discarded somewhere as you began kissing passionately. the next morning you started picking out rings together.

[rina-teatia]

“Where's the child support, daddy?!” (18+)

AU: Toji didn't die, he admitted defeat and agreed to stay away from the magical college. 

Summary: After nearly five years, Gojo Satoru comes to his humble abode in need of the Inverted Spear of Heaven, and will go to any lengths for it.

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Satoru Gojo

Tags: Parental Gojo Satoru, Bottom Gojo Satoru, DILF Fushiguro Toji, Fushiguro Toji Has a Big Dick, Child Fushiguro Megumi, Knifeplay, Improvised Sex Toys, Anal Fingering

Gojo arrived in a rather poor neighborhood in Tokyo. It had been some time since his graduation from the magical technical college, and he was now a young teacher himself, who often traveled on assignments. And today's stop for him was here. But it wasn't about the cursed spirits.

Apartment number six hundred and two was locked. Gojo knocked several times, walked past the windows, but there was no light on inside, and obviously no one was home. What was there for him to do? He couldn't leave with nothing. Looking all over Tokyo for that damn jerk couldn't do it either. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked along the ledge, kicking an empty and crumpled Coke can. All that was left to wait.

“Who do I see? An infinity shaman?”

Gojo turned around at the voice. Walking slowly towards him was him - Toji Fushiguro. The man looked as usual, his large, muscular figure obscured by the setting sun. The cursed spirit on his shoulder habitually grinned stupidly as Toji looked around the mage in front of him with mocking eyes.

“You know my name perfectly well.” Gojo wrinkled his nose.

“I have a bad memory for names.” Toji chuckled. “What's your name? Suguru?” 

“Satoru. I'm Gojo Satoru.” 

“I'll forget in five minutes.” 

The man leisurely opened the door of his apartment. Stepping back, he invited Gojo in as well. The man silently walked inside. Toji's presence so close to him sent shivers down his spine; not a pleasant sensation at all.

Toji's apartment was a small room, cluttered with junk, but still somewhat pleasant. Not by Toji's own efforts, but probably because he had not lived here long enough for it to become a branch of a dump.

Toji gestured for Gojo to sit down, while he went to the electric kettle to boil water and make ramen.

“Why are you here, shaman?” Toji stood with his back to him, leisurely opening a package of noodles. 

Gojo knew they were going to have a difficult conversation. The case he had come with would not please Toji.

“The management of the Tokyo Magic Technician thinks that you should hand over the Inverted Spear of Heaven to them.”

Toji chuckled.

“Let them rethink. The old cretins are out of their minds.”

“They sent me to pick it up from you and bring it to the technical college.” Gojo crossed his arms across his chest. Well, Toji's reluctance was understandable to anyone, but he wasn't interested in his desires. “The spear doesn't belong to you.”

“It didn't belong to them either.” Toji was lazily pouring water over a bowl of ramen. “Look, kiddo, if that's all you have to say to me, I'd get outta here if I were you. I can wield this spear very well, and now that I know where to hit, I won't lose to you again.”

Toji took the bowl and sat down at the table across from Gojo. He wasn't going to offer food to his guest; Toji obviously thought he'd already shown an extreme degree of hospitality by allowing Gojo to come into the room and sit on a chair.

“The spear belongs to the Zenin clan, whom you stole it from.” Gojo lowered his black glasses to his nose so he could see his interlocutor better. “It's a powerful cursed weapon of a special rank, capable of canceling techniques and breaking seals. The management of the technical college believes that such a serious magical artifact cannot belong to some…”

Gojo's eyes widened as he was interrupted by an extremely obscene and loud slurping sound - Toji was pulling a huge bag of noodles into his mouth with great appetite. It was enough to make Gojo cringe in disgust and clench his teeth and fists irritably.

“Enough!!! I mean it!!!”

“I still haven't heard a single reason why I should give the spear to you.” Toji spoke with his mouth full, the beautiful Gojo's feelings were of little concern to him. “If it belongs to the Zenin, let them try to take it from me.”

“They can't.” Gojo exhaustedly exhaled.

“I wonder why?” Toji was having fun, he liked the idea that the Zenin were simply incapable of opposing him.

“You know it yourself, if you're so happy about it.” Gojo was in no hurry to satisfy someone else's ego. They both understood why Gojo was the only one who had already defeated Toji in battle once. They knew that Toji would only listen to Gojo Satoru, and that he was the only one he could negotiate with. Any other shaman would die a quick death.

“You're right.” Toji propped his head up with his hand and smiled. “But why do you need the spear? What would you do with it?”

“The management of the technical college would keep the weapon until Megumi came of age.” Gojo exhaled. 

This was his last trump card - he hoped to arouse a modicum of fatherly feelings in Toji, so that he would agree to give up the Inverted Spear of Heaven without a fight. After his defeat, Toji was forced to leave Tokyo for a long time, and Gojo took full custody of Megumi. However, even when Toji returned, he was in no hurry to run to see his son. However... The opportunity to pass on a great inheritance to his child could make Toji happy and give him hope of rehabilitation in Megumi's eyes. Gojo just hoped it would work.

“Who is it?” Toji looked at him with an unchanged expression.

Gojo gave a strained smile - everything cracked inside. His faint hope failed with a deafening thud. What the hell were fatherly feelings! He didn't even remember his son's name!

“He's your son,” Gojo replied with a stony expression. He was expecting an ʼI have a son?!ʼ discussion, but Toji didn't try to deny it any further:

“Oh, right, Megumi…” he yawned, then returned to his ramen. The boy's fate was obviously of little interest to him. “Why would an infant need the Inverted Spear of Heaven?”

“Megumi is ten years old now.”

“Really? Wow.” Toji looked genuinely surprised as he shook his head, amazed at the speed of time. Gojo was sitting with the sourest face in the world at that moment. It was over: Toji would not give him the Spear without a fight. However, it was possible to try one more small maneuver:

“Since you left Tokyo, I've taken over the boy's care. And, you know, when you're eighteen, chasing after a six-year-old is no fun at all.” Gojo frowned and rose from his chair to loom over Toji a little. “Where's the child support, daddy?!”

Hearing such a statement made Toji cringe for a couple seconds, but then he laughed, slamming his palm on the table:

“Not bad, not bad! I like you, kiddo.” He propped his cheek with his hand, looking defiantly at Gojo in return and smiling mockingly. “Well, mommy, you think we're divorced now, so I have to pay you something?”

“There's more.” Gojo grimaced and distanced himself a little. “I'm not the one who needs your money, Megumi is. And he'd be extremely grateful if you gave him the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It's a small payment for not having child support for ten years now.”

Toji slowly licked his lips after the noodles, pushing the empty bowl aside. The tip of his tongue grazed an old scar as the man stood up from the table as well. His huge figure loomed over Gojo with a mountain.

“Good. I'll give you the Inverted Spear of Heaven.” Toji smiled unkindly. Gojo's eyes widened in surprise and he tensed up a little. He had somehow agreed very easily, and it was suspicious. “But…”

“But?” Gojo guessed that nothing good was in store for him.

“But in return, you'll have to work hard for it, like Megumi's mommy.” Toji moved forward, pinning the boy against the opposite wall rather quickly. He froze, his cheeks flaming with shame, humiliation, and fear. “Do you know what I mean?”

“No…” Gojo understood, but he didn't want to believe it. This asshole is actually offering him.

“Just to get laid for the Spear,” Toji finished his thoughts instead, smiling calmly. “That's what mommies do when they want something from their daddies. Nice tradition, don't you think?” Toji pulled the Inverted Spear of Heaven out of his cursed spirit to show it off and tempt him even more into agreeing.

Panic was creeping up Gojo's throat. On the one hand, he had the Spear, which he desperately needed. On the other hand, he couldn't let that bum's cock enter his perfect, handsome body! Toji's probably got some kind of contagious disease, like syphilis or AIDS! 

“Look, I... I'll agree, but... Let's not have anal sex...?” Gojo grimaced, moving the man's hand away from his thigh. Toji stroked it slowly, pressing himself close to the guy. He couldn't believe he could even say that at all. What was he thinking! But the Spear was right there, so close and far away at the same time — Gojo knew he wouldn't have time to attack and take it away. Toji's reactions were instantaneous; if Gojo just jerked, he'd be left without a head, which would be mercilessly swept away by that same Spear.

Toji grinned unpleasantly. He pulled Gojo to him by the waist and led him smoothly to the bed, sitting him on it. He squirmed, glancing nervously at the man. The shaman killer shook off his spirit and removed his shirt. The sight was... impressive. Gojo didn't want to admit he liked it, but admiration surged inside. He himself most often used cursed techniques in battles rather than physical strength, but Toji had no cursed techniques at all. He only used the raw, primal power of his own body, and together with his weapon, he was becoming the equal of Gojo himself - the strongest mage of the modern era.

Toji slowly licked the edge of the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It was in a shorter version and looked more like a dagger.

“Take off your clothes,” Toji ordered briefly. “If you don't want my cock inside you, let it be so. You'll have what you need inside you so badly.”

He loomed over the boy, pressing him into the bed while Gojo embarrassingly unbuttoned the teacher's uniform gakurana. What did that even mean?! 

Kisses and tender foreplay were not to be expected. Toji wasn't a romantic at all, and this was sex infused with pure and mutual hatred. Gojo held firm as he was rolled onto his stomach and forced to remove his pants. The strongest mage's firm ass immediately earned a series of spankings from the shaman killer. Toji was frankly enjoying himself - the one who had defeated and banished him was now lying in front of him with his ass cocked and flexing for his weapon like a pathetic whore. It was a moment of cold, successful revenge that warmed Toji's soul and heart more than the Inverted Spear of Heaven in his inventory.

“Shall we play, infinity shaman?” Toji ran his nose over the other's shoulder, causing Gojyo to flinch. “Today with lube... Only because you acted like my obedient wife and didn't try to challenge our arrangement.”

Lubricant was surprisingly easy to find in the old bachelor's apartment. The viscous, cool liquid squirted out of the tube and onto Gojo's ass, giving him goosebumps. Strong, warm hands grasped his buttocks powerfully and stretched the tight hole with concentrated roughness, inserting their fingers into it one by one. Gojo groaned in surprise and immediately clamped his hands over his mouth. He didn't want to behave the way Toji had described him, but he was already nothing more than a whore to him! God, what humiliation…

Remembering that he couldn't get his cock in, Toji first decided to play with Gojo's ass with his hands. He inserted three or four fingers at a time, making the magician shriek and moan as the pads of his fingers traveled over his prostate. Toji was very fast - just like in battle - and Gojo soon felt himself on the verge of orgasm. There was no strength to hold back, and he moaned like the latest hentai whore. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he'd had sex where someone very strong, with a very big cock and experience, roughly takes him and forces himself all over his balls. Yes, Gojo almost regretted giving up his cock right away. However, when he was ready to cum, something quite thick and large entered him... The object had a rough surface, you could feel it even through the layer of lube. What is that...? Gojo turned around, numbly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade of the Inverted Spear of Heaven sticking out of his butt, and Toji's face was grimly satisfied.

“Do you like it, Mommy? Oh, you're doing such a good job for your dear Megumi... Just imagine how he'll fight with this Spear, holding it by the hilt.” The man licked seductively and moved the hilt further, driving it deep into Gojo so that his hips trembled and another near orgasmic moan escaped his lips.

“Toji!” The mage coughed, choking on air. The spear continued to move rapidly inside.

“I'm sure Megumi would love the opportunity to touch the thing that was deep inside his foster mommy's ass.”

“S-shut up…” Gojo gasped in arousal, cumming with a loud groan.

***

“Oh, you're back…” As the hallway light turned on, Megumi looked out of his room. The boy looked sleepy, he was yawning as he watched the older man. “Where have you been? What's this...?”

“Yeah, hi…” Gojo was finishing up his phone call, clutching some sort of bundle tightly to himself. He looked, by the way, terribly wrinkled. When he heard the questions, he jumped up and waved his hands: “Nowhere! On a mission! There's nothing there! It's none of your business!”

“I see.” Megumi grimaced. “It wasn't very interesting.” 

He was used to Gojo's antics, so he went back to his room, unaware of what his sensei was going through for him….

[lavellane]

ok i have avoided talking abt my datv thoughts but now ive finished and slept on it here it is. this is huge btw and really just a way to process my thoughts for my own peace of mind. and get out what i need to say. so yeah word salad below

2 disclaimers before i start. firstly i think im going to be SUPER blunt and clear about my thoughts on this post but then i will mostly be putting the matter to bed in my heart bc i am not someone who delights in being a hater nor do i take comfort in it. i will take from this the things i enjoyed and keep my distance from the rest. second disclaimer: ultimately i think i will still enjoy being a part of the fandom and seeing other people enjoy the game, because it will endear it to me and maybe take away the pain im feeling right now, so this isnt a long rant to make you feel bad about enjoying the game if you do like it! in fact quite the opposite. it comforts me that there are people who find value in the game and i hope in watching you play it i may be able to eventually be able to say the same

that being said . obviously i didnt like the game

which is an extremely difficult thing for me to say. i went into this game thinking "i will at the VERY least enjoy the game. not love it but at least like it. but im sure ill love it". it really is quite distressing for me that it didnt even really reach that bar for the most part. i TRIED to like it. i begged this game to give me ANY handhold at all that i could cling to, to forgive and like this game. i think the things i liked err more on the technical side. the graphics i loved, the character DESIGN was *fantastic*. the art. the pacing. the vague vision of what they were obviously nebulously aiming for. and honestly, i mostly enjoyed the main plot although i wish it had been more disciplined and constrained with the lore it was trying to expand on. act 3 was fantastic and naturally i am happy and fulfilled for the most part by the conclusion of solas's story, who i still believe was and is the best written "villain" of dragon age. sorry logang and meredith nation but i do still stand by this.

but thats really about it. as a disclaimer i am not an origins puritan or a da2 diehard or anything like that. i have loved (almost equally) EVERY single iteration of dragon age which has been released. i am one of the few people who sees equal value in inquisition and origins. i love them both so deeply. i couldnt pick between them.

for me what i love the MOST about dragon age - and which every single previous game has always nailed despite other flaws - is the characters. right under that is the world's capacity for introspection. and unfortunately nothing in this game provided that for me

regarding the characters: i do not care about a single one of them unfortunately. or at least i do not CARE about them the way that i have CARED about the other previous games companions. companions i would write banter about !!! just for fun when i was bored!!!! i would say my only exception is harding, but even then i care about her only because i care about her due to inquisition. overall i just found them all so ..... shallow. and devoid of any of the conflict or nuance or ethical quandries that make biowares stories so compelling - and sure, usually controversial! i would give ANYTHING for this game to have been controversial. for a unforgivable RO, or a problematic fave, or a cancelled wife. did bioware forget that their most beloved or at least enjoyed characters are people like anders, merrill, mordin solus, blackwall, sten, loghain, SOLAS??? i dont understand HOW they could have forgotten that, because solas is literally right there in game and handled (in my opinion as a fan) well. love him or hate him or dont care about him, he is such a hallmark of great bioware writing (in dai if nothing else) - characters who are not EASY to like. characters who are not SAFE to write and who WILL generate criticism from all sides because they are written boldly and unapologetically, strengthened by a foundation of consistent ideals, clear objectives and beautiful faults. characters that do not NEED you to like them, but instead invite you to engage with them critically. solas, even to someone who hates him, is nuanced and morally complex enough to muse and fight over for 10 whole years. hes IN this game, just as ethically murky as ever, but the morally grey hallmark of biowares writing really does kind of live and die with him alone. the rest of the companions feel like they barely made it out of their concept phase. what are lucanis's flaws??? genuinely asking. other than being a murderer who exists in an organization which buys and trains literal child slaves of course, but i'll get to that in a sec (because bioware sure as fuck didnt). um, i guess you could say hes broody?? and emmrich too. what actual flaws does he have?? he has a fear of death, as we're TOLD, but it does not really reflect in the overall convesations we have with him over the course of the game. mostly hes just.... a little bumbling i guess. bellara's flaw is being a scatterbrain. harding's is that shes..... angry??? but shes not???? fucking come on. i really felt the lack of actually being able to TALK to these people at the end of act 2, when i realized i still felt like i havent really MET any of them. and yet here rook is talking about found family and being a team. ok

and then there are the romances. which from my perspective - having romanced taash - and my friends who have romanced lucanis, neve and davrin..... WHAT romances. davrin's full romance is 20 minutes in a 30 PLUS HOUR GAME. solas had the least amount of content out of any companion in inquisition and was a last minute unintentional RO and still had like easily 50 minutes of content. so why did these romances feel like nothing. actually nothing. i was so excited for taash, but their romance straight up felt like neither rook nor taash even wanted to be there. i forgot they were technically together at certain points. zero chemistry. zero intimacy. all TELLING zero SHOWING. if you had told me that i would be saying these sorts of things about a writer like trick weekes a month ago i would call you fucking crazy to your face. i cannot reconcile that taash was written by the same person who wrote solas. i cannot reconcile that mary kirby - who wrote the fucking chant of light - wrote lucanis. its so dire. its devastating actually.

lastly i want to talk about my other point - bioware's famed emphasis on introspection and ethically quandries. again, i'm genuinely experiencing a sense of profound whiplash because when it comes solas's character you can still see it. its still there. they actually doubled down on making him worse than he was in trespasser which i LOVED and thought was so incredibly promising. they could have caved to solavellan fans and uwu-ified him but they didnt. thats great.

but where was that energy for literally anything else. everything has been defanged - even minrathous, the capital of the tevinter slave trade, does not even ADDRESS the elephant in the room of slavery. and i know because i played a shadow dragon. so tell me why i as a shadow dragon am happily allied with the crows, who solely exist to assassinate politicians and BUY SLAVES. THEY BUY SLAVES. THEY BUY SLAVES AS CHILDREN AND TRAIN/TORTURE THEM TO MURDER. HELLO??????????? there is no commentary made about the mages/templars. there is no discussion of the treatment of the elves in the north or Anywhere. there is no discussion of why exactly blood magic is or isnt acceptable - they simply tell us its bad. all the theories of the last 10 years were answered with handwaved comments or bare bones codex entries that honestly stripped so much nuance away from so many things (the blight, my BELOVED) that i dont know how im going to go about fixing it or making it right in my head. the introspective nature of dragon age always went hand in hand with player choice, but there really WAS no choice in this game as so there IS no real capacity for other interpretations or schools of thought. it is so..........................bleak.

i think the thing that finally made it click in my head that this game had fundamentally let me down was the gloom howler quest. and i know im not alone on this. for those of you who dont know - the gloom howler, "isseya" was the protagonist of the dragon age novel "the last flight". i would HIGHLY recommend you read it, especially if you're an origins fan. super bleak, super political, not flashy at all in terms of magic. it was set 500 years pre origins, during the 3rd blight. isseya is very similar to characters like loghain and solas in a way - a richly complex, beautifully intricate, terribly thought provoking character who did HORRIFIC things for the most NOBLE reason you could imagine, under the most traumatic of circumstances. im tearing up just thinking about her story, and how the title "the LAST flight" foreshadowed that her story had a definitive, bittersweet, finite and peaceful ending.

and then this game did THAT to her. turned her into a grotesque caricature of what she was. stripping her of her nuance and her capacity for atonement or forgiveness. and once again, i do not fucking get it. she was obviously brought back because she is a parallel to the solas dilemma. so WHY is she not afforded the same opportunity for empathy that he is. why is bellara's brother not either. its insane. its literally insane. i cannot begin to imagine the oversight or laziness or WHATEVER IT WAS that occured to have this game turn out this way.

there are innumerable other problems with the game that im not going to get into because what ive said above is the main crux of my problem. introspective and character. those are all i really wanted from this game, and like..... i thought we would get that. because the game centered around solas. and i know people dislike his fans for very fair reasons, but i hope those who know me know that i enjoy him not because hes hot (he is though) but because he is terrible. i love him because they made a character who was TERRIBLE, and then gave you the task of using your head and refelcting on your own morality and values and deciding and arguing and meditating over whether he is worth loving anyway. to me, solas is the person i point to when i want to describe why i love dragon age. its complicated, its nuanced, it is terrible and wonderful and everything in between depending on the angle you look at it from. and so having the writer of a character like THAT in charge of the whole game filled me with hope and dissuaded so many of my fears for this game. but i was wrong apparently.

so now im left with a feeling akin to survivors guilt. genuinely. because at the VERY least, despite me saying all of these negative things, i at least finished the game crying happy tears and being overjoyed that my favourite character was handled well and got an ending i enjoyed. and yet that happiness *i* got to feel and that glimmer of good writing was paid for at the expense of literally everything else. i feel almost personally responsible in a way, which sucks. im sorry to all the people who did not enjoy or care about solas, im sorry that you really did get nothing out of this game. i hope we can all be comforted by the trilogy we have and will always have, and i hope we can all take what good parts we enjoyed out of veilguard and make peace with the rest

leaving this youtube comment my friend sent me which is unfortunately a summary of how i feel about the game as a whole.

[esmeriandreamer]

Okay, this post made me think a lot about characterisation in Epic, so I hope you don't mind me putting in my two cents and rambling a bit.

First thing I feel like a lot of people in the fandom forget; these characters are all flawed, they each have their good sides and bad sides, and that is GOOD writing.

Examples;

Eurylochus is strongminded, but also very prone to skepticism, to the point that he loses trust in his captain and dooms them all in 'Mutiny'.

Polites is an optimist, but prone to being too trusting, which nearly makes him and Ody eat lotus fruit, and also makes his final thought before being crushed by a cyclops be "Greet the world with open arms".

Circe is a caring and powerful queen, but past trauma is clearly making her see all men the same way and making rash choices like turning the crew into pigs, to avoid the possiblity that her nymphs and her would be killed/violated by them.

Poseidon has his reasons to hate Odysseus, he blinded his son and basically gave him the middle finger after all, but this god waited near Ithica's coast doing practically nothing for YEARS because he had beef with one (1) mortal.

And of course, Odysseus is a clever man, but he is driven by emotions (or lack thereof), and he'd destroy anything and anyone in his path to his goal, no matter the terrible cost.

Calypso is very much the same, at least in this version of the story. What she did isn't right of course, but like she says in NSFLY, she has been alone for a hundred/hundreds of years, so of course she'd practically imprint on the first person she's seen in so many years. Doesn't make her actions right, it just explains them. She is flawed, like any other character in this musical.

But I think there is one key reason why so many people are hating her so intensely. The fanworks. Now, I am not saying that fanfic authors are to blame, but if you look at it objectively, there are clear differences between Calypso in Epic and Calypso in Epic fanfic.

Calypso in the musical is a clingy and overbearing goddess, but the worst she canonically does is:

Claim Odysseus is now hers

Emotionally manipulating him by a; using phrases from his loved ones while he's having a mental breakdown, and b; saying that while she probably came on too strong, she's not sorry for loving him.

That's.. basically all that she does in the songs. Even the whole "you can't leave" thing is because there's a spell/magic keeping them BOTH stuck in paradise, making the island stay unknown. Of course, things are implied, but it's never explicitly stated that she does anything worse than basically love-bomb Ody for 7 years.

Now, fanartists have of course taken these implications and ran wild with them. Which is exactly what fanfiction is about, I fully support taking a thread of story and weaving a new one with it. But it has introduced some concepts that just.. aren't canon to Jay's story.

In the Epic canon, it's never stated that Calypso rapes Odysseus. It's never stated that she does any weird magic things to have her way with him, or keep him from leaving her. That is only a thing in the fanfictions I've seen, and something I've included in my own private writing too.

Calypso is manipulative, yes, but she isn't the same evil temptress from Homer's story. She's just a wellwritten antagonist character. A character the audience is expected to dislike, as she keeps the protaganist from going home, and yet, she still manages to tug at your heartstrings.

And that is a GOOD THING in storytelling. Flawed heroes, sympathetic villians, unreliable narrators, those make stories compelling. You're technically not supposed to look at any character and either love them unconditionally or hate them with all your being. Nuance is so, SO important while interacting with stories.

Calypso, Nuance and Misogyny

Whoop-dee-scoop I'm mad at people on TikTok again. Yippee.

I love Not Sorry For Loving You. It does so much for Calypso's characterization in this musical. And I'm tired of seeing people blatantly ignoring that.

"This is emotional manipulation!!" "She's a narcissist!" "She's not actually apologizing to Ody!"

Y'all are fucking insufferable (/lh). Yes, what Calypso did to Odysseus is bad. I am not going to say it isn't. Forcing a man to be with you is bad. But a character doing bad things doesn't mean that you can brush off everything she says under "bad woman bad".

Here's the second verse of NSFLY (via LyricFind on Google)

Let me speak I spent my whole life here Was cast away when I was young Alone for a hundred years I had no friends but the sky and sun So when you washed ashore I thought for sure that you were my dream come true I thought I knew

This contextualizes her actions. Not excuses, but explains why she did what she did.

Calypso was banished to her island because she's Atlas' daughter and not much else from what I've gathered. And she's telling the audience that she's spent more or less her entire life completely alone. Of-fucking-course she's gonna be overly/unhealthily attached to the first other person she's seen in the last hundred years or so. She finally has someone to talk to. And ignoring that nuance is not fair to her character.

There's also the simple truth that Homer didn't write EPIC. He wrote The Odyssey, which EPIC is based on, but Jorge's the one that actually wrote EPIC, meaning that this is Jorge's version of Calypso, which is clearly more humanized/sympathetic than Homer's.

Speaking of the original Odyssey, if you've gotten this far you might be wondering why I put misogyny in the title. The answer's simple:

Homer was a misogynist. So were most all men in Ancient Greece.

As I'm sure a good chunk of people in this fandom know, Ancient Greece… wasn't kind to their women. When one of the healthiest marriages in the mythos starts with the woman being kidnapped, it's hard to argue anything else. And surprise to no one, this also affected the written versions of the myths, including Homer's works.

The original Calypso is no exception. She's an evil temptress who's only motive for being evil is being rejected sexually. There was nothing else to her character. In fact, every woman in Greco-Roman mythology is either "evil typically temptress mwah-ha-ha" or "I have absolutely no agency whatsoever"

On the flip-side, the version of Calypso that Jorge's written is more three-dimensional than that (well, as much as she can be with only two songs). So effectively, in brushing off the context given to her character because "well she's evil so…" is in my humble opinion, reinforcing the misogyny that was woven into her that modern retellings are trying to remove from her character.

Anyway, it's almost midnight. I'm tired. Thanks for reading to the end, and goodnight.

[beeholyshit]

Missing and old F/O that I feel bad for missing is so painful bruh

[somegrumpynerd]

Killer's nightmare

He has many, but the one he has most often is of coming out of stage 3 and finding he's killed his new family too alone again. Or maybe worse, that he'll never quite be without someone from his past.

Luckily, it is just a nightmare, and he has a different Nightmare he can see to help him calm down.

[fueioekjfisks]

Im so sorry im losing my absolute mind but please hear me out for a second.

Mild tw for implied SA - NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED PEOPLE JUST THINK IT HAPPENED

You know the common misunderstanding au in the danny phandom rn about vlad being a creep and people thinking hes like a CREEPY CREEP and not just a supervillain creep?

Well imagine danny is going on break or something and his dad wants to bring the whole family up to vlads castle for whatever reason.

Danny, obviously, does not want to waste his ONE FREAKING CHANCE of getting some god damn sleep being tormented by vlad and his stupid birds. Plus, vlad will probably plan some big murder plot for his dad and danny CAN. NOT. HANDLE. THAT. RIGHT. NOW.

So danny decides to make a PowerPoint presentation about why he doesnt want to go.

Obviously he cant reveal vlad or his own halfa status so its mostly just really jumbled information about vlad being creepy.

He gets backup from sam, tucker, jazz, and even val. He also knows his mom already dislikes vlad and knows hes a total creep so all he really needs to do is convince his dad.

But??? As hes compiling evidence??? And rehearsing his presentation with hes friends??? He realizes that it sounds super fucked up???

And like, it’s mostly just bad without all the context. But he realizes that Vlad is actually kinda sick in the head. Danny knows he would never actually do something that terrible, but its supper concering how similar his actions are to like, actual bad people.

Danny isnt mad about it or anything, he’s actually just worried about it Vlad.

Danny is not perfect by any means. But Vlad is the only other member of his species besides, like, his fucking clone (which holy shit Vlad what the fuck) or maybe dan who is also fucked up.

Danny knew that Vlads death definitely messed him up, but he never really thought about Vlads actions beyond “obsessive fruitloop, at it again :/“ and is just now realizing that vlad might need psychological help. Which he feels pretty (REALLY) bad about.

Danny has no idea what to do, and no idea who to go to.

So he sneaks out, doesnt even go ghost as he takes the powerpoint to vlad who obviously freaks tf out because holy shit thats SO MUCH WORSE THAN ANYTHING HE COULD HAVE POSSIBLY IMAGINED. What if he had actually hurt daniel? What if he had hurt his precious Madeline?? He needs help like yesterday! How did he ever get so bad???!

So Vlad freaks, trashes his own house, apologizes to danny, and books it through the portal to find the far frozen or somewhere else he can get help.

Danny is somewhat shellshocked about the whole situation. It doesnt get better when people start investigating Vlads disappearance.

The state of the manor indicates foul play and the police look into it further. Find security tapes. They see danny, frazzled and paranoid, enter Vlads property, everything goes to static, and only danny leaves.

Hes arrested of course, and he and his friends/family are interrogated.

Everybody vehemently denies that Danny would ever do such a thing, but when they are asked if danny has potential motives everyone (except for jack) gets all squeamish.

Its practically common knowledge in Amity Park that the mayor and the weird Fenton child had beef. People just were unsure why.

I think it would be really cool to focus a story around the polices pov of the investigation/ random Amity Parkers interpretation of the events.

Danny being kinda creepy after the accident (because death) could totally make people assume he did it and that would be awesome.

We can also add in de-aged Dani/Ellie and or Dan for that extra spice.

Imagine the fentons finding out about Dannys supposed kids in the context that they are MOTIVES FOR THEIR SON TO MURDER THEIR COLLAGE FRIEND ( AND DANNYS OWN GODFATHER) WHO APPARENTLY GROOMED HIM???!? AND THEY DIDNT EVEN NOTICE??!?

This could totally be a crossover too. Lucifer tv show. Batman. Supernatural. All are good.

Anyway, thought this could be kinda interesting

Please continue if you want

[jessicas-pi]

if I had a nickel for every time I came up with an oc x oc ship that was a girl with Nightsister heritage who had a Nightsister mom and a psychometric Jedi dad, and a young awkward Jedi boy with a Jedi dad and a Mandalorian mom and an older sister who teases him mercilessly about his crush on said Nightsister girl, I would have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[thelemonsnek]

[video description: a turnaround video of an abstract clay model. It is of a creature walking forward with fin-like tendrils coming off its back in waves. End id]

Model I did for class! Probably I'll be choosing this one for my larger sculpture :)

[derpinette]

english used to be the normie filter & how you could tell someone was a Trve Internethead but after the DAMNED 2020 quarantine for obvious reasons EveryBody & They Momma is acceptably fluent so now i have to learn swedish or something. -_-

[quietwingsinthesky]

the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head

[electrobiology]

you only get better at writing through writing but how do people think of things to write about....... but that's not even my problem it's how do you turn your thoughts into words....... and how do you make it meaningful.....