#they could've made her so complex.......

[wisteriasymphony]

@mirrorroad horror actress emilie au is definitely doing something right with her character because like. regardless of how it presents itself i feel like emilie as a character desperately needs to be framed not as a loving sacrificial mother but as a woman who is both terrified and terrifying in her own right.

I really haven't seen anybody take the broken miraculous disease as something scary in Emilie's case, and it's sort of treated more as a tragedy for those in her life to deal with rather than something she was probably fighting with for fucking years. You could do so much with that! Have her grapple with the fact that this child of hers has essentially doomed her to a slow and painful death; There's this particularly amazing conflict you could have between her possibly feeling resentful towards Adrien for slowly killing her and her loving and cherishing him that could be a metaphor for post-partum depression*! We could have her relationship with Gabriel deteriorate over misunderstandings of what the miraculous was doing to her!

Also, it feels like a huge disservice for Emilie to only be seen as "Perfect Dead Wife Trope". Imagine instead Adrien's last memories of his mother being of a haggard, sickly woman with bone-thin hands, mumbling words and phrases to herself that Adrien didn't fully understand, staying silent for days on end as the disease ate at her. Imagine if he remembered his mother constantly being on-edge and paranoid of something, floating about the halls of their mansion like a ghost, tracing images in the wallpaper. Imagine him remembering doctor after doctor visiting their house only to be screamed at by his dying mother when all their prescriptions and recommendations inevitably did nothing to keep her alive.

*Of course, PPD might be a bad direction to go in and this scenario might be a misrepresentation of it, I'm not a mom so I would not know either way.

[cherry-treelane]

I find it so ironically funny when hardcore Debbie defenders use the defense that she was just a victimised teenage girl (agreed) and then proceed to slander Fiona and express their hatred for her character and lack of sympathy

as if being an adult magically absolves an individual of the horrifying trauma that precedes them and screws up their mentality and actions

funnily enough these people get mad at others for "expecting Debbie to be an innocent angel and hating on her for acting out as a result of trauma" (also agreed, debbie does deserve more sympathy, she can't be expected to grow up to be a perfect saint when she's been through so much) yet seem to hold Fiona to the same unattainable standards and put her on a pedestal as if she wasnt a child that was forced to intensely grow up while never actually being raised

like lets put this into perspective and remember that fiona grew up surrounded by corrupt morals and insanely screwed up behaviour yet still emerged as messed up, yes, but surprisingly good considering the situation she was in??? she had to navigate basic things such as morals and being a good, responsible person on her own. imagine how difficult it must be to lead a bunch of kids, including yourself, with no previous role model or good example of your own to follow. most of the time, she always tried to do what she thought was best and would have the most desirable outcome

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

(from this video)

[persefoneshalott]

thinking about how they could've ruined madalena's character so many ways in galavant but they didn't < 3

[peachypizzicato]

listen, side order is. a fantastic dlc! a fantastic gameplay experience! its great! i love getting more little pieces of world building and character building n shit!!

but i gotta be honest. the writing (both in the dlc itself and in media that has come after) has really started to ruin pearl and marina as characters for me and that makes me awfully sad

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[crushedcoffeecups]

okay but imagine being a student of Saiki Kusuo's class. how fuckin weird would it be?

there's this guy, Saiki, that you don't know very well, but seems to be completely average in EVERY way. like, concerning average. you genuinely know nothing that he likes or dislikes or is particularly good or bad at. the only thing that sticks out about him is his weird hair clips and his tinted glasses. oh, and all the people that surround him

the weird, big, loud guy that no one really likes is his best friend. he basically follows Saiki around. one time Saiki made a completely to scale statue of him for a class fair.

the kid with a hero complex that is constantly going on about some shadow organisation and fantasy world is also his friend. the one that rips all of his clothes and always wears bright red bandages over his arms. he also follows Saiki around like they've been best friends since childhood. sometimes he talks about the both of them being soldiers in some army.

one day a psychic medium who can see ghosts and guardian spirits transfers to your school. the next day you see him hanging off of Saiki. what is it about this guy that attracts all these people? he doesn't even seem to talk to them. he's apparently the vice president of the medium's occult club.

the perfect dream girl of your class that everyone loves is weirdly obsessed with him. constantly trying to pair up with him in class. they've been seen on multiple dates together and members of the kokomins seem hate him. you're pretty sure they tried to kidnap him one time. he doesn't even seem to like the girl.

the over-enthusiastic class president that everyone respects is also his friend. you're pretty sure Saiki doesn't play any sports, but apparently he joined him on a tennis camp over the holidays. you heard that he hit a tennis ball so hard he sunk a boat.

an ex-delinquent joins the school, and immediately tried to be friends with Saiki. within a week he has joined the large group that follows Saiki around. one of your friends apparently saw the two of them taking motorcycle lessons.

the poor girl in class, the one with a dozen jobs who's constantly searching for food? yeah, she's friends with him too. one time you walk past a cafe she works at and see him inside, talking to the owner. what does he have to do with the cafe? and why was she wearing a maid dress? there's rumours in the school that the both of them took shady clinical trials over the holidays.

also, the girl who has a new crush every week gets weirdly into him for a while. you see her try a bunch of classic cliches to try to win him over. none of it works, but she still hangs around him for some reason.

a super rich guy shows up to your school and demands to date the beloved perfect girl. no idea why, but Saiki seems to some part to play in the weird love triangle. later on, you see Saiki and his friends visit the rich guys house.

a fortune telling gyaru joins your school, insisting that Saiki is her soulmate. the two are polar opposites, yet seem attached at the hip, along with that spiritual medium for some reason.

another new transfer (why does your school get so many transfers?) who never seems to shut up insists on following Saiki around. apparently they're childhood friends? they don't seem very friendly.

that famous actor, the one who is in everything on tv? you see him yelling at Saiki one day. something about a sister? you don't have any idea how they even crossed paths in the first place

on a random school day you overhear some of Saiki's friends talking about their trip to Britain together. did they really travel that far for just a weekend?

one day you see Saiki walking around with a young man with a weird headband. he looks familiar somehow. you could've sworn you've seen him on some science program or something.

you've seen Saiki walking around plenty of times. he walks everywhere it seems, and gets to places at a pace that is logically impossible. doesn't he have a motorcycle license?

his parents seemed perfectly ordinary when you met them, if a little too lovey-dovey. how is their son so different?

the dude never seems to change his clothes. obviously he does, seeing how they never get dirty or damaged. you guess he just wears the same thing on repeat.

you see him out and about with a little boy. probably babysitting. the kid keeps calling him by the name of some superhero.

the school brings in a magician one day. he greets Saiki like an old friend and calls him 'master'. you had no idea they knew each other, or that Saiki liked magic.

you've only known of this guy for a year, yet it seems like so much longer. it feels like too much has happened for the school year to have not ended yet. when did all those people transfer again?

feel free to add to the idea!

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna lives literally next door. you live in one of those apartment complexes where you rent a room and then have a common kitchen, bathroom and stuff with your almost-roommates inside of a bigger complex made of apartments just like yours, for students only.

if it wasn't for his 9 year old brother yuuji, who casually lives across from your room (wasn't this place for college students?) and is the literal definition of a ray of sunshine, you'd hate his guts. sure, he's hot for a guy who looks like he's failing half of his classes and makes sure you hear every single one of the girls he brings into his room at night, but he's still a major pain in your ass.

"where the hell do you think you're going?" he tells his brother, leaning on his door, arms crossed. the child is rushing to put his shoes on and zipping his sweater up.

"yn said she's going to take me running!" he responds grinning, tripping on his own feet from how excited he is before softly knocking on your door, all while sukuna looks at him raising one eyebrow.

"i'm starting to think you like her more than me, brat," he grits out just as you get out.

"oh he does, he just doesn't want to hurt your feelings by saying it," you rub in his face without sparing him a glance. he huffs and rolls his eyes, really wanting to punch you in the face. you ignore him and smile at yuuji, getting at his eye level.

"ready? whoever gets tired last will be the first player tonight in mario kart," you say wiggling your eyebrows.

"deal!" he squeals happily before running out the door. you know he's going to wait for you, he's a good kid, he's not going to run away. he's more mature than any 9 year old should be.

"y'know, if you needed some cardio you could've come in my room," sukuna tells you coming closer and looking you up and down. you have this cute set on that is making him salivate, but he still maintains some kind of distance.

"on my dead body, itadori senior," you lightly push him out of the way and go back into your room to get your bag.

"come on, i'll even push your head in the sheets so as not to look at your annoying ass face," he remarks, and you shoot him a dirty glance. he flips you off.

"can you talk about something that doesn't make me want to rip my ears off?" you mumble while searching for your house keys.

"i can talk about how i'll break your neck if you don't bring back my brother in two hours, if you want," he says, looking at you from the doorway, bored.

"he still likes me more."

"when you get home there will be another lock, bitch."

[ssahotchnerr]

hey i tried to see if requests are open but can’t see anything, so hungover!reader x hotch? 🙏🙏

remedies

cw; fem bau!reader, drinking mentions, hangover talk and symptoms, fluff <3

There was a brief moment of peace when you stirred. Being pulled from such heavy sleep, a moment of solitude, before you met consciousness with excruciating pain. Regret was the next sensation to sweep through your body, until your awareness vaguely focused elsewhere. You either heard footsteps nearing, or it was the repetitive throb in your head.

Aaron had a key to your place and he had let himself in. You hadn't answered any calls or texts, and he was partially worried (he had known you were going out the night prior, and did return home safely). His concerned look turned to a sweetly pitiful one as he saw you lying there, hazily blinking up at him.

"Hi sweetheart."

"Aaron?" Your head rose, your voice hoarse as it exited your lips, your dry throat to blame. You cursed your hangover for dulling the usual excitement whenever you caught sight of him. "What're you doing here?"

"We had brunch plans."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, as well as your eyes as they attempted to adjust to the light. "What time is it?" You could've answered your own question by peering at the clock besides you, but you didn't dare turn your head. The more you moved, the worse.

Aaron checked his watch, moving his jacket sleeve to view it, "Half past noon."

At his words, your eyes widened. The sudden shock interfered with your head, causing the pounding to only elevate.

"Oh god I'm sorry." You facepalmed by use of your pillow, the momentary darkness enhancing the dizziness behind your eyelids. "I'm awful."

"I wouldn't go that far." Aaron teased lightly as he sat on the bed besides you, his hand finding your back and sliding his palm along it softly. "Crazy night with the girls?"

"Penelope tried- created a new concoction of drinks." A wave of nausea hit you from the memory, your stomach swirling. You scowled in disgust, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Aaron hummed in response, another pitiful smile tugging on his face as you groaned. He felt bad you felt bad. He's had his fair share of hangovers, sure, but never one at the hands of Penelope.

"I'm never drinking again." With all you had left in you, you forced your head to lift to defeatedly meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I did have an alarm set. Or... I think? I must've slept through it."

"No it's okay, I figured. Knowing them, we shouldn't have made plans for the following morning." He flashed you an understanding smile, his hand stopping and giving you an affectionate tap.

"Probably a good idea."

"I can take an accurate guess, but how are you feeling?"

"Like the jet ran me over."

"That bad?"

"Penelope called her drink moonlight mojito blitz." Again, you nearly gagged at the thought, Aaron himself made a face. "Or something of the sort. I don't know, it had a complex name one way or another."

"Lucky for you then, I have more simply named reinforcements ." Aaron offered, gesturing to your bedside table. "Gatorade, water, ibuprofen, which I'm judging by the strain on your face, you should take now." He reached for the container, dumping the tablets into his palm. "Down the hatch."

You weakly sat up against your pillow, holding out your own hand. As you did what you were told, he produced the Gatorade.

"Drink up."

You winced at the words, "I'm having flashbacks."

He laughed softly, the sound enough to soothe any hangover, or plainly anything. "Sorry, but I'm serious. You need the electrolytes, I won't allow dehydration if I can help it. You'll need to eat something too, but that can wait at least. Until-"

You finished for him, taking a generous sip. "Until the room stops spinning."

"That's right," Aaron offered you another small, closed lip smile. "Can I get you anything else?"

You peered up at him, playing up the hopefulness in your eyes. The visual was for effect really, you knew he would implement anything you asked, as he always did. "My favorite pillow?"

"Sure honey, where-"

"You." You grabbed his wrist, weakly tugging him towards you and trying your hardest to not let your grasp drop despite the downward, heavy pull. "You're my favorite pillow."

Aaron slid besides you easily, and before he was thoroughly comfortable or settled, were you clinging onto him. Your face buried itself into the skin of his neck, while one of your legs lazily draped over his waist. He molded just as equally into your body too.

Your head was still spinning - part of you feared it would never cease - but Aaron's contact allowed some sense of stillness. Like you weren't going to be picked up and somehow carried away; he would ensure you were close and grounded.

"Is this really all you need?" Due to your close proximity, you could feel his voice vibrating through his chest. "Can't I do anything more? Is the room too warm? Too bright?"

You shook your head, tightening your leg's hold on him. There was a playful tone in your voice, "I may need you to hold my hair back later."

"You say the most romantic things to me." Aaron chuckled, his lips tugging into a smile before pressing his lips atop your head. He quipped back gently, "Looking forward to it."

[riotinyellow]

"Why hasn't philza said anything?"I think tommy is on Will's side since he hasn't made a statement"

You are insufferable treating the ccs like fucking corporate entities

"Where is the statement ? Where is the statement ? Where is the statement ? Where is the statem-"

Shut up

Not everything has to be handled through a grand public disowning.

"Believe all victims" is a valid statement, but it is also one that can clash with people's emotions, believe it or not human relationships are complex as fuck. Most of these content creators were closer to will than shelby. It is natural to want to hear your friend's side even if they are the accused even if you believe the victim. It is natural to be worried you're taking the wrong side. It is natural to wish these accusations were simply not true. Some people are too afraid to burn bridges too soon, I certainly am. Is that "enabling" ? I can't imagine if my best friend got accused of something like this, how I'd feel, or how i would act.

And when the creators did release statements you fuckers accused them of saving face. You know what? I agree with that. These statements weren't necessarily for shelby they were to shut you up. All their support could've happened privately in the way they am sure wish, but no, you had to start bad mouthing people calling them enablers and such (you need to stop using words and watering down their fucking meanings). Look at how people were talking about niki and are talking about tommy.

Just because some ccs can and will be loud and proud (rightfully so) doesn't mean everyone else is loud about that shit. Aimsey is an example they are obviously closer to shelby, so they obviously released their statement much earlier. It makes sense, but you can't be sitting here calling tommy, philza and niki "enablers" because they didn't shout it from rooftops. How many of them want to keep it private ? How many who did say something publicly wanted to keep private but couldn't because of your harassment ?

I can't hold anything against these ccs, and you shouldn't either. None of them bashed shelby or demonised her in any way publicly. and it is all we need to know. If shelby felt unsupported by the lack of some ccs public announcements, that's for her to decide and dm them about it, not you.

[imjustdreamingig]

Jesus, what's a girl to do?

Part 1, Part 3

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Robin meddles, Steve is clueless, and you're freaking out. So a regular day.

A/N: i genuinely have no idea where this came from, i legit posted the first part like 2 years ago. but I guess I want to start actually writing more? idk! we shall see. anyways, this fic stems from my (occasional) exhaustion to shy!reader and i'm basing this more on how horrifically i acted around the guys i would like even tho i consider myself an extrovert. enjoy whatever this is??? and lmk if u want a part 3! also this is not proof read so bear w me

warnings: sfw, swearing, uhhh i think that's it???

You were screwed. Absolutely, terribly, fucking screwed.

You were also very angry at your mother, giving her a glare every time she glanced your way at the dinner table. She merely gave you a wink in return, not understanding the true implications of her actions.

"So, Steve," your mom began as she cut a bit of the chicken on her plate, "you play basketball, right? Is that something you want to keep doing in university?" This time, you openly stared at your mom, trying to telepathically convey that you would literally kill her if she kept talking. You haven't made up your mind if you're joking or not.

Steve cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do, I'd say I'm pretty good at it, too. Wherever I end up going, I'll probably join their team for fun." He turned to you after taking a bite of his meal, smirking. "You like basketball too, right?"

You choked on your water, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. You looked at Steve properly for practically the first time that night, but your voice never wavered. "No, not really, why?"

He turned back to his food, amusement gracing his voice. "Well, I see you and Robin sitting together at every game, even the away ones, so I just assumed." If your face could sport a visible blush, you knew it would be a bright red, hot, mess.

"Well, I- I get dragged by Robin because she doesn't like sitting alone or going to random schools by herself like, half an hour away. Do you even watch the news? Girls by themselves are basically the perfect bait for random kidnappings and stuff, especially girls in high school, like I mean the statistics for-"

"Y/N" You're rambling is halted by your mother's voice. Steve is looking at you in bemusement. You are contemplating death. The situation is not looking good.

"Could you grab me some water from the kitchen, with ice," your mother said with a strained smile, holding out her glass. You grab it and push your chair out. "Sure, yeah," you replied. As you made your way to the kitchen, your mind replays the last hour of the events that have transpired, wondering what you could've possibly done in your past life to deserve this.

How could your own mother, the woman who birthed you, ask the hottest guy in your grade if he wanted to stay for dinner and not consult you first, all whilst knowing you had the most ridiculous crush on the guy.

Betrayed by the ones closest to you. This is probably how Julius Caesar felt.

After overcoming your initial shock, and lets face it, mortification of being paired up with Steve for your English project, you attempted to the best of your abilities to push down your feelings and remain professional in order to actually work on the project and make sure you got an A. Your grades would not suffer over a stupid crush on a stupid boy, that's where you drew the line. Unfortunately, this plan was not working out so well.

It was actually failing, horrifically at that.

It had been about a month since the semester started and the project had been assigned—a complex analysis of a classic book of your choice and how that particular novel has inspired the creation of others and advanced its genre. You had to write a collaborative essay to hand in to your teacher, as well as create an interactive presentation for your classmates explaining your chosen novel.

This was all due at the end of the semester and you'd be given no in class time to work on it since you had an ample amount time to work on it outside of school. It would also replace the need for a final exam, which was great news. When your teacher had explained the project, you were ecstatic, knowing exactly what book you wanted to do: Pride and Prejudice.

Then, you remembered who you had to do the project with, this huge, daunting, complex, project, where you would need to interact with your partner in close proximity for an extended period of time. You felt faint.

Steve, in his defence, had tried to approach you on multiple occasions to try and figure out when you two should meet to try and start the project. But, obviously, whenever you saw so much as a glimpse of him in the hallway, you would make yourself scarce.

The only time he would actually be able to talk to you was in your shared English class. Robin was beginning to go crazy at your increasingly outlandish excuses as to why you couldn't meet up with Steve after school in order to work on your project.

"Oh sorry, my mom needs my help on some stuff tonight."

"I have to take my brother to soccer practice."

"I can't today, I have an eye doctor appointment."

"My dog actually needs to go to the vet, she's sick, sorry."

"My family and I are going on a road trip this weekend, so I'm not free."

"My sister broke her leg uh— skiing, and she needs help writing stuff for school."

"Funny story, Robin has a crazy ex thats trying to get her to meet up with him again, and I have to help her slash their tires and like, do girl stuff, it's personal, so I'm not free, maybe next week though?"

That last excuse is what caused Robin to snap. She knew that Steve knew that you were making shit up, Robin has never even been in a relationship, let alone have an ex. Also, you didn't even have a sister, what gives!

You also had no clue exactly how close the pair had gotten due to working together at the video store and that she'd told Steve she was into girls. Therefore, like the great best friend she was, Robin decided it was time she intervened, for everyones sake really, but mostly yours.

"God," you sighed, "I never thought I would be so into arms, like not the huge, bulging one, you know? All veiny and red, that just scares me, hello, his are just ones that are like slightly defined, but have a very obvious outline of muscle, like I can tell he's strong, and fuck, his biceps, is it bad that I want to like, bite them? Because every time I look and him and he's fixing his hair I just keep getting this urge to—wait where are you going? Robin? Ok, OK! I'll stop, I promise! Come back!"

If Robin had to hear another anecdote about how you wanted to bite his arms, she was going to puke.

Your continuous blabbering about how good Steve's hair looked or how good those jeans looked on him and your inability to have one proper conversation with him or stay in the same room as him for longer than two minutes was making her go insane. She couldn't take it anymore.

So, Robin devised a plan, which one day she was sure you would thank her for—hopefully.

First, she inconspicuously made sure that you had nothing planned for Thursday night, already knowing you were free but wanting to double check that no random stuff had come up.

Then, she called your mom, who absolutely adored Robin. She told her about your situation and how if she did nothing, your infatuation for Steve was literally going to give her an aneurysm. Robin would tell you that she wanted to hang out Thursday night so you would get ready, but instead of her showing up, it would be Steve.

Not surprisingly, your mom agreed to Robin's crazy plan. She thought it was about time you got a boyfriend. You had already talked about Steve so much to her anyways, but any time she would tell you to just try talking to the guy, you vehemently refused.

"Mom, are you insane, I'm not going to do that," you scoffed as if literally just having a conversation with another person was the most insane idea in the world.

"Mija, how else are you supposed to get to know people if you can't speak to them? Besides, you never seem to have a problem talking back to me whenever we have an argument," you mom shrugged as she continued folding the laundry you were helping her with.

"Oh come on," you sighed exasperatedly, "that's not the same thing and you know it."

"I'm just saying, by the looks of it, I don't think I'll be a grandmother."

"Mom, what, hello!?"

Getting Steve to show up at your house was easier than Robin thought. She conveniently told him right before the beginning of their shift on Thursday that you'd told Robin that they should all get together at your house to finally get started on the project. Robin smiled a bit wider than necessary when Steve enthusiastic agreed to go.

When Robin gave Steve your address and told him that she would be over a little later because she left some stuff at her house, that no, she didn't need a ride and that no, she was fine walking, Steve was none the wiser to her actual plan.

As Robin saw Steve pull out of her driveway and making his way to your house, she gave herself a mental pat on the back and started thinking about what movie she should watch after dinner, knowing that the school day tomorrow would be very entertaining.

When Steve rang your doorbell, he was still clueless about the real intentions of Robin's plan, but when you opened the door and he saw your eyes go wide and your mouth drop slightly open, almost as if you weren't expecting to see him, something clicked in his head.

This was going to be fun.

[astrowarr]

“How d’you care so little?” Joel fumes, eyes ablaze as he paces around the shattered glass and splintered wood of his car. It's pretty well decimated, and he's been growling and frothing about it in Gem's ear for an hour now. 

She prods testily at the soft, upturned earth carefully covering their pitfall. “It's not that I don't care,” she huffs, jumping back when the dirt crumbles a little under the toe of her boot. She glances up at Joel, who is practically shaking with rage. He can't keep his eyes off the dumb car. “You know, you really could've fixed it by now.”

Beat of silence. Then, pouting and everything, he grumbles feebly, “Shut up, Gem.” 

There's no heat behind it. If anything, her words seemed to have knocked the wind from his sails of war; he's slumped against the car now, arms crossed as he glares to the side dramatically. God, he sure does put on a show, she thinks with an overwhelming wave of affection. 

It's not that Gem doesn't care. But she can't get this feeling from the four mangrove walls of her stupid barn. She can't even get it from winning. So they can burn down everything she owns, take every last life she has to spare. In the end, none of that is tangible. None of that is what matters. This is a game, and games are meant to be played. That’s what counts for her. Why should she take issue if the universe works as it was so lovingly intended to? 

All she wants to leave behind is a trail of blood and ruin as she puts up a fight. She wants to leave her mark on this world and all the people it holds. She wants to make it hurt, once she's allowed to. She wants to play the game well, exactly how she was made to play it. She cares about that. 

Gem cares, too, about the love she dredges up along the way. She thinks of her hands set to the backdrop of a blood-caked cloak, of long brown hair curling over her fingers as they dig in tight. She thinks of the sharp edge of her sword pressed against pale skin, and the thud of knees hitting the ground. All of that meant something. It still does, she believes, in certain ways. 

“I care,” she says, feeling oddly self-conscious. Maybe it's because she knows Joel now: he can't stop caring. It explodes from every pore in his body, an inescapable curse. It's been his undoing, or so she's heard; he's easy to anger, but if you ask her, he's mostly just… easy to love.

It’s this fact that has her saying quietly, “Just… I gotta pick and choose, you know?”

She's not like Joel. There's only so much room in Gem's chest, and it's permanently occupied with a bleeding, open wound. It takes up a lot of her as she skirts around it, giving its raw, frayed edges a wide berth. Joel has an infected hole in his heart too, but his preferred method of dealing with it is tearing it wider with his bare hands.

“Yeah,” Joel drawls absently, scratching his cheek. “Never been quite good at that, I reckon.”

Gem gets that. It must be hard, holding everything so tight that it rips you apart. The thought of losing that much agency has a venomous, stinging feeling crawling down the center of her back. But… 

“You're doing it right now,” she points out, gesturing vaguely at his poor car. “You could've gone on a rampage, if you wanted.”

He scoffs. “Trust me, I wanted."

“You didn't though.”

Joel blinks. “Guess I didn't.” The answer is simple, but leaden with something that has branches so complex, it nearly consumes his words entirely. Gem can't name the something; she lacks the history she'd need to do so. Even so, his face is remarkably… light? That's a word for it. Maybe he's finally cut the infection from his own wound.

She hums in lieu of response, turning her gaze back to the trap. Whatever is draped over Joel's mind, she hopes it doesn't render him too docile. The game stops for nothing, and it deserves to be played to its fullest, Gem thinks, no matter what's left standing come judgement day. 

[cynicalclairvoyantcadaver]

The thing about HOO is that it's either egregious, or amazing, or just......really plain and boring.

It retcons and ruins Nico and Percy's relationship. It ruins Percy's characterisation in PJO. Piper and Leo are 15 and haven't been attacked by monsters or brought to camp yet.

It depicts Piper and Hazel in a racist way (light hair and eyes to make them more attractive, both Hazel's parents have dark hair and eyes and no one else in the Aphrodite cabin has Piper's kaleidescope eyes)

It has a 14 year old date a 16 year old which is not entirely taboo but not entirely acceptable either, so it's controversial.

ALSO, it fools the readers into thinking that Frank is 16 and Hazel is 13 because Rick wrote Hazel saying that Frank is 3 years older than her and while Hazel is actually fourteen, RICK NEVER CONFIRMED IT. So Rick was in fact writing a 13-16 year old dating dynamic.

Reyna calls Percy dumb in front of a whole group and Annabeth laughs and agrees with her.

It has Nico's acceptance arc be smashed to pieces. It has Nico be forcibly outed.

It has Frank's fatness magically disappear after being given the blessing of Ares.

It has Percabeth be abusive (Annabeth making Percy promise not to use his poison powers again when it could save them, not accepting them even though they're a part of Percy, her laughing at his trauma when he says Tartarus smells like Gabe, her bringing up Rachel to make Percy nervous, her agreeing with Reyna in front of an entire damn crowd that Percy is dumb and couldn't find his way out of a paper bag without her apparently).

It doesn't release Calypso from her island when in TLO the gods swore on the Styx to do so.

And it puts a millenia old goddess in a relationship with a teenager, and Rick even depicts Calypso herself as a teenager while saying that she romanced adult men.

It has a wolf goddes who eats children who aren't good enough according to her standards, when those children could be amazing at something else instead of just physical training and survival.

And I do NOT know how HOO wasn't a YA series based on the last one alone.

But there are also those moments with characters where they really accept themselves, like Piper growing out of her internalised misogyny, or with Jason and Leo, or with Frank learning about and using his abilities to be a badass magical warrior, or having a nice moment with Reyna and Nico. Or how it shows Clarisse and Coach Hedge's relationship and Hedge's backstory and his understandable fear and concern for his wife.

And then it's just kind of boring at times. Jason is an underdeveloped character (with SO MUCH POTENTIAL MIGHT I ADD!!!) He should've been able to wipe the floor with Percy, Nico, Hazel and Thalia. And then his relationship with Reyna was barely expanded on. And Octavian, while initially set up to be an interesting character, was reduced to an absolute clown. Gaia could have been such an interesting, morally gray character, possibly the most complex in the Riordanverse, and Rick could've sent a message about environmental pollution and how we need to do something about it, which would definitely impact a lot of people, seeing as PJO is one of the most if not THE MOST popular book series globally. But she was just made into a cartoon villain instead. And Jason and Thalia's meet up was........dryer than the Sahara Desert, if I dare say so.

This series had so much potential-since the millenia long abusive systems are broken, why not have the camps discover each other after the Titan war? I will always mourn what HOO could have been.