#this got a bit more serious that i was expecting

[revelboo]

Welcome to Smirks and Smiles of TFA Optimus. I didn't grab any from Season one, but here are a bunch from season two, thought you might like.

Everyone, including me like to think he is a wholesome lil man, but those devious smirks say otherwise XD

Oooh yes… he’s such a good bot. Because it’s what’s expected of him. The responsible one, the serious one who always has a plan. Let him lose control a bit, be a little wild and deviant

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

TFA Optimus Scenarios

TFA Optimus x Reader

• Startling at the mass displaced mech when Optimus rests his cheek on top of your head and wraps his arms around you, you smile. Just draping himself against your back and nearly knocking you forward into the kitchen counter. Setting down the dish you’d been about to put up in the cabinet, you hold onto his arm. “Bad day?” Know no one else is around if he’s being clingy and he just groans to make you wonder what went sideways. “They’re still not listening to you?”

• “There’s no sense of team or cohesion. No communication or strategy, they just all do their own thing,” he mutters, venting to stir your hair. And you lift a hand to touch his jaw. ‘Babe, you’ve got to learn to be assertive,’ you say and he almost laughs. None of them really bother to listen to him. Not even Ratchet and he’s never been that aggressive. ‘You could practice on me.’ Stilling against you, recognizing that tone, his spike immediately stirs behind his plating. Almost whines despite himself when you slip out of his arms and back away, smiling mischievously.

• Sari and Bee are out patrolling. That buys you a few hours as long as they don’t actually find anything and comm for help. Slowly retreating as Optimus follows, those audial fins of his perk up. And you’ve been trying to get him to be a bit more aggressive during sex. Or lovemaking as he insists you call it, the big hopeless romantic getting so offended if you call it just sex. Heading into the room he’d claimed as his, you start stripping before he’s even got the door closed, watching those audial fins flatten back when he looks to make sure no one’s around to see you. Sitting down on the human height berth he’d rigged after you’d started fooling around, you ease back on your elbows and look up at him. “Okay, big guy. You call the shots.”

• Audials going back as you shift to spread your thighs in invitation, he swallows a needy growl and reaches to run a palm against your thigh. Assertive. When he prefers you to take the lead, to tell him what you need. And your expression is all challenge, looking up at him and hooking a leg against his hip. “Get up on the berth,” he manages. “On your hands and knees.” Freeing his spike when you obey him, he climbs up after you, reaching to cup you. Stroking a servo deep, checking how wet you are for him before he’s shifting against you. Slipping his servo free to catch his spike and press inside you. “This okay?”

• Shivering at the familiar burn of him stretching you, you push back against him. Feel his servos tighten on you before relaxing. “Mmm,” you murmur, as he adjusts behind you. “What do you want, babe?” And he presses a palm between your shoulders to ease your upper body down, hips up. The position making him feel even bigger inside you, making you very aware of his spike when he slowly rocks his hips.

• You’re so tight around his spike, so warm and slick as he pumps his hips. Finding a rhythm much more urgent than normal. Taking out his frustration on you. Hips snapping against you to make you moan. “Want to spark you,” he groans, hips pumping in hard drives. Imagines rutting against you, making love to you then snaring you with his spark. How that would feel. Being inside you while you’re tangled in him. Claiming you, claiming all of you as his. “Let me spark you.” Lost in those needy cries and the wet sound of his spike inside you, he bows forward, slamming a hand down on the berth for balance. Thrusting deep again and again. “Let me have this. I need it, please.”

• He’s begging again, hips snapping against you. Chasing that peak is all you’re focused on. Have no idea what he’s asking, but if he doesn’t stop moving, you don’t care. He can have whatever he wants. He’s never been this rough with you, thrusts almost wild. And you’re so close. “Please, give it to me,” you whimper, rocking back to meet him. Crying out when you come apart and he keeps moving, dragging it out. You feel his denta graze your neck as his chassis presses against your back and he’s filling you with a groan, hips still bucking even as you feel his plating shift at your back right before you’re snared in him. In his spark in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

[waytootiredforthistoo]

this was my favorite response, so I wrote it,,

After four years at Hogwarts, Remus was well aquainted with the process of recovering from a full moon. Still, this one had been particularly brutal. Somehow he'd managed to break both his legs, early enough in the night that the wolf had kept moving on them despite the pain.

Now, Remus was praying for the pain to tip him over the edge into unconsciousness, because he burned through every pain potion Poppy gave him so quickly she was too afraid to give him any more for fear he'd overdose.

She asked where his crew is. Remus recognizes the question for what it is, a welcome distraction. One Sirius, Peter, and James would usually provide. He watched her glance at the door like she's half-expecting them to break it down any minute.

"Detention." Remus says through gritted teeth. He knew they tried to avoid detentions near the moons, but sometimes needs must, and Severus had called Sirius a mama's boy, so really they had no choice in the matter.

She laughed and says “I remember those days.”

“You got detentions?” He asked, almost unbelievingly.

Her wand waves over him as she performs another scan. Remus chooses to look at that instead of the bone that's rammed its way through the skin of his knee.

“I don’t talk much about my time as a student, do I?”

Before he even had the time to react, she pressed hard with some spell and the bone slid lower. "No!" He bit out, shoving his fist into his mouth.

This was a part of their system. The waiting was always worse. He preferred if she'd just fix him, no count downs or fanfares. He'd prefer to not break at all, but there was only so much magic could do.

She hummed for a second and turned around to get another potion off her cart. "Drink this."

He exchanged the hand in his mouth for a vial of what he recognized by now as a blood-replenishing potion.

"You, detention?" He repeated, looking for anything to take his mind off the little bit of bone that still hung out.

“Yes, back then I served several detentions. I always maintained that Minnie was the real instigator, that I was just dragged along for the ride, but I think we both know how true that is.” She shot him a knowing wink. 

“Minnie?”

“Minerva- Professor McGonagall- we were classmates.” She smiled to herself. 

Remus felt his head reeling from some combination of the blood loss and the newfound knowledge that Professor McGonagall had once been a troublemaker too. 

She ran her wand down his body and all thoughts left him. A scream was pulled up his throat like knives on his already worn vocal chords. 

Eventually the pain subsided enough that he could once again hear Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. 

He swallowed roughly before he spoke. “Tell me more. Please.” 

She paused her fussing and looked into his eyes. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because as soon as she continued setting his bones, she was speaking. “Right. What to tell? There’s really so much isn’t there…”

Snap!

He jolted, which only made the pain worse. “Alright, well, this cannot leave this room, but I’ve got a story for you. Would you like to hear it?”

Snap!

Remus nodded. 

She took her time, carefully resetting his bones and telling her story. Twice, they had to pause, not because of the pain, but because they were laughing so hard in spite of it.

When the last of his skin was finally closed over, she gave him one final pain potion. He drank it as she finished talking. “-and to this day, Minerva holds the record for most house points ever lost in a single day.”

“Woah…” Madam Pomfrey’s eyes glistened with mirth and nostalgia as she turned to clean up. “I can see why she doesn’t want that one getting out.”

“Oh no.” Her tone was serious, but light. “Especially not to Misters Potter and Black.” She turned and gave him a look. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because she’s convinced if they found out that was the record, they’d try to beat her!” They were both still laughing about it when the hospital wing door flew open. 

“Moony!” His friends rushed to his side and all started talking at once, but he got the idea. It was a mix of are you okay’s, sorry we’re late’s, and what’s got you laughing so hard’s. 

Remus turned to thank Madam Pomfrey again, but she had already excused herself to her office, where she would no doubt sit for the next 10 minutes before ushering them all back out again so that Remus could get some rest. 

hc that Minerva McGonagall was a menace in her days at Hogwarts.

Specifically that a young Minerva McGonagall holds the Hogwarts record for most house points ever lost in one day.

She lives in fear that one day the Marauders will find out about it and wreck the school trying to break her record

[darlingdaisyfarm]

This honestly might be a downer or stupid, but I just got fired and I am having a really hard time. I just want to bury my head in Stan's chest and sob. I was wondering if you could write how the Stan and Ford might react to the reader being suddenly fired and maybe how they'd comfort them? I'm also really excited for the next chapter of your fic!

✧˚⋆ Stan & Ford supporting you when you need it most ⋆｡♡˚

oh sweetheart, im so sorry ur going through this, holy shit. just the moment i received this ask, i knew i had to write smth when ill get free time today, because i feel so sorry for you. i hope these two old men gave u even a tiny bit of comfort, please be kind to urself right now, youre gonna get through this, i promise. sending u all my love !! stay strong please 🫂🫂

STANLEY

the thing about Stan is that he gets it. he gets the feeling of being chewed up and spat out, of having doors slam in your face, of working your ass off and still being told you’re not enough. he gets the quiet humiliation, the bitterness in the back of your throat, the way your hands shake when you try to act like it doesn’t matterm

you don’t even remember how you got here. your feet must’ve carried you through the streets, past strangers whose lives weren’t just ruined, past cars honking, past buildings that still stood while the whole world inside you had collapsed.

“hey, hey. what the hell, sweetheart, breathe, alright? you’re okay, you’re right here.” his rough but worried voice reaches you when you slam mystery shack's door open, standing in the doorway with shaking hands, red-eyed.

“i got fired, Stan. j-just gone, outta nowhere. i don’t know what to do, Stan, im so lost.” your throat burns

before you can say anything else, he's opening his arms. “c'mere.” and you don't even hesitate as you crash into him like a wave, burying your face in his chest. and he holds you, one big arm wrapping around your back, the other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head

“there we go. you don’t gotta keep it all in, sweetheart.” the words hit you harder than you expect. you're so used to holding it together, to swallowing everything down, to being strong. and Stan, who’s built himself up from nothing, who’s taken every punch life threw at him and still kept standing, he’s telling you it’s okay to break.

so you do. you bury your face in his chest and cry until you’re dizzy, until your breath stutters and shakes, until all the anger and hurt and fear bleed out of you. Stanley doesn’t rush you or tell you to stop. “let it out, sweetie, s’gonna be okay.” he holds you close tightly because he’s spent his whole life holding people who needed it more than he did.

“it’s not fair,” you gasp, clutching on his clothes.

“no, it ain’t.”

“i worked so hard.”

“i know.”

“i feel like—like nothing i do is enough—”

Stan tightens his hold, pressing his chin to the top of your head. “hey. you listen to me.” his voice turns serious. “some suit in an office makin’ a crap decision got nothing to do with who you are. they're dumb. absolute morons for lettin’ you go. betcha the whole place is gonna fall apart without you because you were the best thing about that shithole. if they couldn’t see that, then screw ‘em. they lost you. not the other way around.”

you shake your head, clenching your fists. “but—“

“no buts,” he growls and then, softer: “you're not trash just ‘cause some idiots don’t know how to treat their workers. you're not worthless just ‘cause some suits decided you were expendable. you are not nothing.”

Stan pulls back to tip your chin up, making sure you’re listening. his thumb wipes a tear off your cheek. “i mean, you still got me, sweetheart. ain’t no job in the world that could change that.” he smiles genuinely at you.

you close your eyes, giving him a tiny sad smile back. you let yourself breathe, let yourself believe it, hiding your face in his chest again. Stan's grip stays strong and unshaking, shielding you from the whole world as you cry until you’re too tired, so all what you do is sob into his chest. you’re just leaning into him, exhausted, letting him hold you up.

Stan sighs, resting his cheek against your hair. “ya ever heard the story of the biggest screw-up in New Jersey?”

you sniffle. “what?”

”lemme tell ya, kid grows up in a house that don’t want him. gets kicked out. loses every job he ever had. ends up in a broken-down shack in the middle of nowhere. total loser.”

you shift against him. “Stan—“

“but he keeps goin’. and somehow, somehow, that dumbass loser ends up with people who love him. ends up holdin’ someone who needs it. ends up tellin’ the best damn person he’s ever met that they’re gonna be okay.”

he lets you lean into him again, lets you breathe him in, lets you stay as long as you need. tells you stories about all the bosses he’s scammed just to make you laugh.

at some point, when the tears have slowed and the weight in your chest isn’t crushing anymore, Stan ruffles your hair and leans back, arms crossed.

“y’know, i could use an extra set of hands around the shack.“

you blink up at him, sniffing. “what? you. . .you want me to work here?”

“yeah, id rather have someone i actually like workin’ here instead of hiring some random kid who’s just gonna rob me blind.” his usual gruff tone is back, but his gaze is what speaks louder, soft and certain, making it obvious that you belong here.

you open your mouth, but he cuts in, pointing a finger at you. “and before ya say some crap about not bein’ good enough or whatever, shut up. i’m the boss, i decide who’s good enough, and i say it’s you.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your nose. “wow, such a heartfelt offer.”

he smirks. “hey, that’s as heartfelt as it gets, sweetheart. but seriously. think about it, okay? i got a spot for ya.” Stanley is not just offering a job for you, he’s offering a place, a place where you’re wanted, where you’re needed, where you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.

you take a deep breath, feeling lighter for the first time all day. “yeah. yeah, i’ll think about it.”

“good,” Stan smiles and ruffles your hair again. “now, wanna eat somethin’? watch a dumb movie? beat me at cards? or you want me to egg their car?” about the last thing, he's joking, probably. but if you say yes, you know he’ll do it.

STANFORD

Ford finds you sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed on the surface, face buried in them. you haven’t moved and spoken in a while, just sat there, motionless, like a puppet with the strings cut.

he clears his throat, stepping closer. “i, ah. noticed you didn’t come in for dinner.”

you don’t respond. his brows knit together, concern creasing his forehead. he takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table. “would you like to talk about it?”

for a moment, nothing. then, muffled: “i got fired.” slips from your mouth. so that's what happened. Ford doesn’t say oh. doesn’t say im sorry. doesn’t say what happened? he understands you because Ford Pines knows what it is to be discarded. he knows what it is to dedicate yourself to something, only to be told you are wrong. to be shoved out, unmoored, drifting in the space between who you thought you were and who they’ve decided you are now.

he knows what it is to look down at his hands and wonder if they are still meant to build something. after being betrayed.

he frowns thoughtfully. “that was. . . rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

you nod weakly. Ford exhales through his nose, gaze sharpening, analyzing. you. your sadness. the whole situation.

“it must feel unfair.“ he doesn’t just acknowledge the loss, but the injustice of it. and it makes your throat close up.

you lift your head slightly, looking at his face. “it- it is. i tried so hard. i put so much effort into that stupid job, and now it’s just—just gone.”

Ford hums. “tell me something.” he leans forward, putting elbows on the table. “do you think your value was in the work you did?”

you blink at him, but he doesn't even let you answer. “because if that were the case, then the moment you lost that job, you would have lost all worth as a person. but that’s not true, is it?” his voice is always so calm, full of absolute certainty.

you shake your head slowly, unsurely and Ford nods, satisfied. then, after a brief pause, he stands. “wait here” you don’t have the energy to question him. you just sit, staring blankly at the tabletop, until he returns a moment later with a notebook and pen.

he places them in front of you.

you glance up, confused. “what’s this for?”

Ford takes his seat again, tapping a finger against the cover. “do me a favor, darling. write down five things about yourself that have nothing to do with your job.”

your face looks tired and skeptical. you stare at the paper. “Ford, i—“

“anything,” he says softly, smiling at you. “everything. what you love. what you’re good at. what excites you, what makes you feel something. what matters to you.”

your fingers tighten around the pen. at first, you don’t know where to start. but Ford doesn’t rush you, just patiently sits beside you.

so you write. you write about the things that make you you. and at first, it feels stupid and awkward. it starts small, your favorite books, your favorite songs, the way you love thunderstorms, the way you always make extra coffee just in case someone else wants some.

but then it gets bigger. the things you’ve created. the things you’ve learned. the times you were kind when no one was looking. the people who love you, who see you. the way you keep going, even when it’s hard

Ford watches as you write, nodding approvingly at each entry.

“now tell me: did losing your job take any of that away?”

you stare at the words. the little pieces of yourself you hadn’t even thought about in the wake of everything. softly, you shake your head

Ford’s expression gentles. “then you’re still you. and you’re still worth just as much as you were yesterday. because no job, no institution, no single event defines you.” you swallow hard. Fords voice drops lower. “you are more than what you do, more than what you produce, more than what some company decides you’re worth. you are your thoughts. your curiosity. your kindness.” he gestures to the list. “you are all of this and nothing can take that from you.”

your breath wobbles. Ford’s gaze softens further. “come here, sweetheart.“ you hesitate but only for a second, then stand and he meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you. and Ford isn’t Stanley, isn’t someone used to giving big, open, thoughtless affection. but what he lacks in ease, he makes up for in intent.

because he means this. his big hand moves up and down your back slowly. “you’re not alone in this,” he murmurs into your hair. “we’ll figure something out. and until then. . . you are still extraordinary.“ his voice is so certain, and suddenly you don’t feel quite as lost.

“th-thank you” you bury your face in his sweater, hands gripping his sleeves

“and don’t let anyone ever tell you you aren’t smart or brave or worthy enough.”

you stay there a while. until Ford gives your shoulder one last squeeze and pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “now. i assume you haven’t eaten?”

you smile at him, shaking your head. “no, wasn't in the mood.“

“come, sweetheart, let’s fix that.”

[genderqueerdykes]

If it's fine to send stories about cishet allies: One of my best friends is a cishet man and he's been among the most supportive people when it comes to my transition.

The thing is, he's your stereotypical corn-fed Midwestern boy. He dresses like he just walked out of a Boot Barn, he drives a massive pick-up truck, he works construction, previously voted Republican... You get the vibe. When I first came out to him as a trans man many years ago, I was fully expecting him to reject me and for our friendship to be over, but he accepted me immediately (even though it took him a bit to adjust to the change) and he's never once gone back on that. He told me that if he ever got brainwashed and started spewing bigoted shit, he wants me to smack him upside the head and then call his family so they'll tear him a new one better than I ever could. He was being dead serious too — it was funny, yeah, but he really meant it. He used to fall for conservative bullshit so he knows better than anyone how easy it is to fall down the wrong pipeline. With the current state of the US govt, he's been reiterating that he'll gladly beat the shit out of anyone who tries to hurt me, and he really wants to take me out to a shooting range and teach me how to use a gun just in case I end up needing it to keep myself safe. Like, he's always been supportive and has seen me for what I am regardless of how I've been perceived by others, but he's really stepped up as the world has gotten more hostile and I can only hope that more cis and cishet folks do the same. I don't need to be coddled or shielded from the world, but it's such a relief to know that if shit hits the fan, I've got people like him in my corner.

that's so awesome, thank you so much for sharing! i've met more guys like him that i can think of. you'd be amazed! take care!

[gorgynei]

can i be a little tmi about my transition for a moment. bottom growth is not something i expected to like or enjoy (pre T id seen many people online be weird about it and my best friend was openly disgusted by it) but actually its been awesome. having a little boner is kind of peak gender to me and its even made me consider some forms of bottom surgery. i wish people were a bit nicer and more normal about it. its really not so serious that anyone ever needs to go "ewww your clit got bigger and turned into a little dick? thats so gross and weird" like grow up and appreciate the human body's transformative capabilities before i maul you with my werewolf claws

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[sunshinemoonrx]

Hey There Sure Was A Lot Of International Espionage In The Funny Car Robot Show

AKA Boonboomger overall thoughts!

...it was kind of a weird one?

Like, odd helmet designs aside, when it was first coming out the main reaction was "oh hey, a relatively normal sentai after a few years of out-there experiments". And then it...kind of was that, and kind of wasn't? Compared to an anniversary season where 4 rangers are suit characters, Toshiki Inoue's 50 episode dick smasher, and 2.5D soundstage romance of the three kingdoms for baby, it is much more like a normal sentai.

But then the second half of this show ostensibly about a bunch of racing car drivers fighting a bunch of evil racing car drivers is increasingly about even the ostensibly benevolent powerful in society's willingness to collaborate with evil to squeeze more out of the people, and our heroes fighting the police, the government and major corporations, all while, let's not forget, still fighting the main threat this is all revolving around, which is gay alien Michael Jackson and his gang of evil racing car drivers (although to be fair, none of this would be out of place in a Fast & Furious movie at this point).

This is...more cohesive than it should be--at least, as a tokusatsu fan, I'm more than the usual level of primed to expect serious pathos from a silly car robot named Boondorio Boomderas--but I definitely was more excited about the show early on when it was in full silly baby chaos show mode than later on, as much as I think it's extremely sick when your sixth ranger is dropkicking SWAT guys. But that might be less to do with the tone change itself and more character-related?

Like, I see what they were going for with Taiya. He's kind of aloof and catty but with a heart of gold, he's got this unconventional hands-off leadership style where he gives his team a lot of independence and freedom...but they needed to go way harder on either the aloof bitchiness or the supportiveness because it all ends up a bit weak and muddled. He never gets close to the full potential of a tsun hero who needs to open up a bit more because he's also, like, an angelic friend to all children; and if he's just nice with a little sarcastic/soft-spoken tinge...look, the whole "supporting his team by being hands-off and subtly doing things for them in the background while letting them run free" idea is inherently harder to do in a show of this level of writing complexity (low!) than just, you know, showing he cares by having him obviously do things for them, and support them, and be there for them, and not just sorta stroll in at the end like ah! it all worked out just like I thought! sorry I was busy cranking it

So, I enjoyed the early episodes where he was still just kind of a funny weird cat, and equally Mira was so much fun early on. She was doing all kinds of genki red ranger bits, making weird noises, bashing things with the wrong end of the sword, loved all that. And she didn't stop being like that later on, but that stuff felt kinda crowded out by the plot and (relatively) more serious tone, so she just becomes more generically peppy. I think another thing that made it hard for them to pull off the serious stuff is. okay. this might sound like nitpicking, but the "having your own hands on your own steering wheel" metaphor catchphrase thing. I get it, I get what it means, it's a theme, it's cool. but it's kind of long enough that it's not just a word you flexibly throw into a sentence, it becomes the whole sentence, so now when you're trying to recall iconic lines and moments, half of them are just "the time they dramatically said 'I've got my hands on my wheel now'", and it becomes hard to distinguish between them. Scale it back a bit!

With all that SAID I still happily tuned in every week. Even if it was a bit less dynamically rocket-powered, I still like when we're fighting the government. I love Robot Team Rocket (I love Yarucar being a little toy they wiggle around to emote for dialogue so much), I love the world's most pathetically whipped househusband blue ranger, I love all the yaoi between cars, I love the robotfucker secret agent, I love the funny ending dance.

So yeah! It's pretty good! I liked it! But either I think they could have thought out a couple elements better to make it really support the epic serious plot stuff, or those could have not been such an issue if they just went full-on for being funny silly antics car show of all time.

oh yeah hey what was up with the literal plastic disco ball taiya dug out of the ground that was the manifestation of the earth's energy or whatever

[itsnesss]

𝐏.𝐒. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬; minho moon ( series ) O2

pairing ; minho moon x female!reader

content ; fluff, romantic tension, angst, personal conflicts, rivalry, enemies to lovers

summary ; you never imagined your life would change so much with a simple exchange. in canada, everything was predictable, but when the chance to study in seoul came, you took it. you met minho. a tall, serious guy with a cold attitude who made you feel even more out of place. from the very beginning, you hated each other. every encounter was filled with disdainful looks and harsh words. your first meeting was so uncomfortable that all you wanted was to escape his indifference. but as time went on, you realized that minho wasn’t just an obstacle—he was the beginning of something unexpected. what started with hatred and a simple fall led to a connection that made you feel more alive than ever

status ; ongoing !!

— navigation ; OO1. OO2.

TWO ; P.S. People Often Judge

You walk towards the dormitory with a slight sense of frustration. There were no available rooms for you after talking to the director. When you arrive, the girls are already settled.

"Hey, Kitty," you say, trying to sound calm. "How are we going to organize ourselves for sleeping?"

Kitty, with a somewhat uncomfortable smile, looks up.

"Well, Yuri and Julianna decided to share a bed. So, you’ll sleep with me. At least you won’t have to sleep on the couch, right?" Kitty laughs, but there’s something in her tone that makes you think she’s not entirely comfortable with the situation.

You nod, relieved that you won’t have to sleep on the couch, but you can’t help but feel awkward.

That night, when everyone settles in to sleep, you move closer to Kitty.

"Kitty, has anything weird been going on with the girls?" you ask, bluntly.

Kitty looks at you, a little surprised by the question. She doesn’t know how to respond, but when she sees your expression, she knows you want to talk.

"A bit. I feel like there’s something uncomfortable, especially with Yuri and Julianna. They’re always... sticking together. It’s weird."

You nod, feeling a slight melancholy in your gaze.

"I try to keep myself busy so I’m not the third wheel." Kitty sighs. "But the truth is, I like Yuri, and I didn’t know how to tell her. I wrote a letter. But when I got here, she was already back with Julianna. It was a blow for me." Kitty laughs bitterly.

You look at her in silence. You didn’t expect such a personal revelation from Kitty, and it makes you feel a deeper connection to her. Kitty, always so extroverted, seems to be struggling with something much deeper.

"Wow, Kitty, I didn’t know…" you say, genuinely surprised.

Kitty smiles with a mix of sadness and gratitude.

"It’s not something I talk about much, but... well, thanks for listening." Kitty shifts a bit in bed, trying to get comfortable.

You nod, knowing that you understand more than she thinks. Despite the tension of the past hours, you feel closer to Kitty now.

The next day starts like any other, until you walk into the room where Mr. Moon’s project is going to take place. Kitty, as always, is with you, talking about anything to pass the time. However, before entering the room, you stop when you hear a conversation that makes you feel more distant than ever.

"I don’t like Stella that much," Minho says, with a casual attitude that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Kitty, surprised, asks with a teasing smile:

"Really? Doesn’t she appeal to you at all?"

Minho doesn’t beat around the bush:

"No, she doesn’t appeal to me. I saw her at the event, and there’s no chemistry. I don’t know, she’s just not my type." Minho shrugs indifferently. "What about you, though? How do you feel about Y/N?"

Your chest tightens when you hear your name. You can’t help it. The pain starts seeping into your chest.

Kitty responds with a nervous laugh:

"Well, yeah, Y/N is a good girl. I don’t understand why you’re asking, Minho."

Minho, with his usual tone, grimaces.

"I don’t know, I feel like something’s off about her. She doesn’t really convince me."

You freeze. It’s like you’ve been hit in the stomach. That’s the confirmation of something you already suspected. Minho doesn’t see you in a good light, and the discomfort you feel seems to be mutual. Without letting anyone see you, you turn away, your heart full of disappointment, and quickly walk off.

You walk briskly down the hall, not looking back. Minho’s words hit you like a wave, a cold pain slowly filtering into your chest. You don’t understand why he said it, why he made those assumptions about you when he doesn’t even know you well. What right did Minho have to say something like that? You think, your hands gripping the edges of your jacket as if you could erase the feeling of rejection that’s settled in your body.

At first, you try to ignore your own feelings, telling yourself it’s just a conversation without importance, something fleeting. But Minho’s words keep echoing in your head. He made assumptions without knowing you, and not only that, but he tried to sow doubt in Kitty. Why did he think he had the right to judge you?

The idea of going to the cafeteria seems like a useful distraction, so you head there to get something hot to drink.

When you arrive, you head to the coffee machine, hoping the smell of the brew can calm your anxiety. You take your drink in silence, watching as the other students chat and laugh, unaware of what’s going on in your head. You don’t want to think about Minho, but it’s impossible not to. The words he said about you, his assumptions about your life, all of it hurts.

With your drink in hand, you head to the Art Expression room. You don’t feel like socializing, but at least there you can focus on something different for a while. When you enter the classroom, you see Kitty, who is already sitting.

"Hi, Kitty," you say, dropping your backpack on the table before sitting down.

"Hey, Y/N! How’s it going?" Kitty responds, looking at you out of the corner of her eye but not pressing too much.

You sigh, preferring to leave the topic from the morning behind. But just as you’re about to say something else, Minho walks in. His presence fills the room immediately, as it always does. You tense up, and a thought quickly crosses your mind:

"It can’t be…"

Minho walks straight to his seat without even looking at you, but you already know it will be impossible to avoid any kind of interaction. The tension between you two has been in the air since the morning, and you feel it.

As if he hadn’t noticed the heavy atmosphere, Minho casts a mocking glance at you before speaking.

"Wow, what a coincidence. Seriously, can’t you sit somewhere else?" he says, looking at your seat with a mixture of annoyance and sarcasm.

Kitty, seeing the tension beginning to rise, quickly intervenes.

"Come on, guys. Can you stop fighting for five minutes? It’s not that serious," Kitty says, rolling her eyes and placing her hand in the center of the table, as if she’s some sort of mediator.

The atmosphere in the classroom becomes tense for a moment, but soon the door opens with force, interrupting the conversation. All the students turn to look at the entrance. The man who appears is tall, with a firm and elegant posture. It’s none other than Mr. Moon, Minho’s father, who is also the teacher in charge of the class. A murmur of surprise spreads across the room.

"Good morning, students," Mr. Moon greets in an authoritative voice. "Today we’re going to do something different. This isn’t just any class."

You and the rest of the students pay attention. What could he have in mind?

"Today we’ll determine who among you will earn a spot in the Advanced Voice program. We’ll also decide who we’ll cut off the mic as judges."

A feeling of excitement and nervousness fills the room. Some students seem excited, others tense. You, though somewhat surprised, can’t deny that the idea of participating in such an important event gives you a mix of anxiety and adrenaline.

"Each of you will present your performance, and I will be scoring. I’ve prepared a sheet with options for notes, so make sure you’re ready. Remember, it’s not just about talent; it’s about the connection you manage to convey. Trust your instincts," Mr. Moon adds.

You try to calm your nerves. You look at your sheet, quickly writing down some notes, before looking at the rest of the class. Minho, of course, seems completely confident, while Kitty can’t help but look at you with curiosity.

Finally, Mr. Moon begins to listen to each of the students. The room fills with singing, some more confident than others. You watch carefully, noticing how Minho, despite his arrogance, has a presence that draws attention. However, it’s not the only thing that stands out that morning.

At the end of the exercise, Mr. Moon begins announcing the results. Dae is the first to receive praise. Mr. Moon looks at him and says firmly:

"Dae has received unanimous approval. Well done!"

The class breaks into applause, and you can’t help but feel relieved for Dae, though your mind is preoccupied with what’s coming next.

Mr. Moon continues with the ratings until it’s Stella’s turn.

"Stella, I’m afraid I can’t accept your performance. Only one person voted for you... and that was the only one who agreed that your presentation had something to offer," Mr. Moon says with a neutral tone.

Stella stands in silence for a moment, looking at the other students before speaking.

"I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings," she says softly, referring to Minhee, who is in the same row.

Minho, who has been silent, can’t help but intervene.

"He’s hurtful to let someone with no talent think they have what it takes," Minho says with a cold look, making it clear that he doesn’t plan to soften his words.

You feel the anger starting to build inside you.

"And what do you know about what it takes?" you respond quickly, not thinking too much about your words. "Maybe the problem is that you think too highly of yourself to judge others without seeing what they really have."

Mr. Moon watches the interaction between the two before speaking again.

"Minho is right, in part. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it’s better to know it. We can’t let false talent take over something this important."

Annoyed but unwilling to let it go, you just looked at Minho one last time. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but something told you that your teacher’s words wouldn’t be the last word in the internal battle you felt toward him.

After a long and exhausting day, you finally returned to your dorm. The living room was empty; your roommates had gone to a gay club. A mix of relief and loneliness filled your chest. You had the whole place to yourself, with no interruptions. You decided to take advantage of the quiet to do homework and disconnect from everything that had happened.

Sitting at your desk, surrounded by books and papers, you slowly worked through your assignments while thinking about what had happened with Minho that morning. You felt exhausted, as if you were incapable of understanding everything that was going on. Despite trying to focus on your studies, your mind kept returning to him—the boy who had turned your life into chaos in such a short time.

When you finished your homework, you collapsed onto your bed, deciding to take a break. You grabbed a bowl of ice cream from the fridge and turned on the TV, looking for a romantic movie to help you forget, even for a little while, the tension you felt. You couldn't allow Minho to keep occupying so much space in your mind.

It was late, and your roommates still hadn’t returned, so you enjoyed the peacefulness of the room. However, something bothered you: Stella had gone out with Minho. What did he see in Stella? You didn’t understand. You couldn’t deny that you felt a little jealous, though you didn’t even want to admit it to yourself. What was Minho doing with a girl like Stella? It was hard to comprehend.

As you got lost in your thoughts, your phone vibrated. It was your sister. You decided to answer, hoping for some comfort in the call.

"Y/N? How’s everything going?" she asked in a calm voice.

"Hey, sis," you replied, relieved to hear her. "I’ve had a weird day. I’m here, doing homework, eating ice cream, and watching a movie… I don’t know, I’m just a little confused."

"Why?" she asked, noticing the tension in your voice.

You took a deep breath and told her everything you had been going through.

"I understand how you feel," your sister responded. "But remember, you can’t control what people do. You have to focus on yourself. That’s why you went all the way to Korea."

You weren’t sure if you felt better after the call, but at least you had a different perspective. You decided to go outside for a bit, get some fresh air, and clear your mind.

As you left your room and walked down the hallway, you ran into Minho. He was standing there as if he had been waiting to see you at that moment. You looked at him and, without being able to help it, frowned.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to control your tone, but your frustration was already evident.

As you walked toward the building’s corner, you heard footsteps. You looked up, and to your surprise, you came face to face with Minho.

"Seriously?" you said, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to deal with him again, but there he was.

Minho looked at you with a cynical smile, almost as if he had been expecting this to happen.

"What’s wrong, Y/N? Were you hoping I wouldn’t find you here?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Without thinking twice, you immediately responded, showing all your disdain.

"And what do you want now, Minho? Keep making annoying comments and thinking you can tell me what to do?" You were fed up. There was no way you were going to tolerate more of his jokes and condescending attitude.

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly unaffected. His expression was full of arrogance.

"I’m just here to remind you that you’re not as special as you think, Y/N. Sometimes, you need to come down from that cloud you live on. You think you can control everything, but you can’t."

You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure. You stepped up to him quickly and gave him a shove, not caring what he thought.

"You know what? I’m so done with you, Minho. You’re full of assumptions, opinions I didn’t even ask for. Do you really think you have the right to talk to me like that? To make me feel like I’m beneath you?" your voice was tense and fierce.

Minho, unfazed by your shove, didn’t move an inch. He stood there, watching you with a mix of irritation and arrogance.

"You have a lot to learn, Y/N. Maybe not everyone is here to please you, did you know that?" he said, stepping closer, his voice laced with disdain.

You glared at him, your eyes burning with anger. You couldn’t believe you were standing there, letting him act like he had control of the situation.

"You know what?" you challenged, your tone sharp. "Enough. Do you still think you’re better than me just because you have some talent and people adore you? Well, don’t be mistaken, Minho—I have my own strengths, and I don’t need your approval."

Minho smirked, unfazed.

"I never said you needed my approval. I’m just making it clear that not everything revolves around you."

Without wanting to hear more, you turned around and walked quickly back to your dorm, leaving Minho behind. There was nothing else to discuss. Every word he said only fueled your hatred toward him. And you weren’t going to stop.

With your heart racing and your stomach in knots, you slammed the door shut as you entered your room, searching for the peace you so desperately needed. Why did Minho have to be like this? What did he want from you? The only thing you knew for sure was that the more you saw him, the more you hated him.

The day of the relay race competition arrived, and the atmosphere was filled with tension. Students lined up on the track, eager to prove their skills, but something was off. Q wasn’t among the runners.

"Where’s Q?" Kitty asked, her voice full of concern as she scanned the empty field. Dae and you looked around too, frowning.

"I don’t know…" Dae replied, glancing around as if expecting him to appear at any moment. "Where is he?!"

You sighed and crossed your arms, looking at the clock that marked the start time of the competition. Something wasn’t right. Q would never miss such an important race. Suddenly, an idea flashed through your mind, like a spark igniting a warning light.

"What if… Jin made him disappear so he couldn’t compete?" you murmured, causing Kitty to react with shock and anger.

"That would make total sense… He was at the bar with him all night, and Jin would totally do something like that, wouldn’t he?" Kitty said, eyeing the competition organizers.

"We can’t let it start, not without Q," Dae said, looking at you with concern. You nodded, already starting to plan a way to interfere.

"We need to act fast," you say with determination, feeling adrenaline rush through your body. Kitty gives you a quick glance before turning toward the track, her mind clearly working at full speed.

"You know what? I have an idea," she suddenly says, her tone filled with excitement. Before you can ask, you see her striding confidently toward a table where an organizer had left a microphone unattended.

Your eyes widen as she grabs it without hesitation and brings it to her mouth.

"Come on, everyone! Let’s cheer for the runners!" she exclaims with exaggerated enthusiasm.

But the silence that follows is deafening. Only a few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and though the discomfort is obvious, Kitty remains unfazed. Instead, she starts jumping, waving her arms as if that alone could ignite energy in the spectators.

"Come on, guys! Get excited, join in!" she insists, but all she gets in return are laughter and a few boos. The organizers, now visibly annoyed, approach her, signaling for her to leave the track.

"No, I’m not leaving!" she shouts, gripping the microphone stubbornly.

You take a deep breath, feeling desperation creeping in. They can't just kick her out, not after everything you've tried.

"I can’t believe I’m about to do this…" you mutter, closing your eyes for a second before moving toward her.

Without giving anyone time to react, you dramatically collapse to the ground.

The impact isn't too strong, but you force yourself to stay still. Instantly, the murmurs grow louder. You hear gasps, whispers of concern spreading through the crowd.

"What’s happening?" someone asks.

You sense Kitty’s presence close by.

"Help! Someone, please!" she shouts, her voice perfectly mimicking panic.

Rushed footsteps approach. You’d recognize that walk anywhere. Before you can react, Minho kneels beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Y/L/N, are you okay?" he asks, his voice carrying a mix of concern and amusement.

For a moment, you hesitate. Is he actually worried, or is he just enjoying watching you in this situation?

You crack one eye open slightly and murmur in a tired voice, "I’m trying to create a distraction, idiot."

The way he rolls his eyes and frowns almost makes you laugh, but you hold it in. He steps back, crossing his arms, though he doesn’t leave entirely.

Just as you start wondering if the plan is actually working, an eruption of cheers and applause sweeps through the crowd. Q comes sprinting onto the track, his figure instantly recognizable.

You spring to your feet, abandoning all pretense, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face as the students begin chanting his name.

"Q! Q! Q!"

You did it. Q is on the track. The race is about to begin.

But your joy fades quickly as the competition starts. Jin, with his usual confidence, surges ahead effortlessly, and even though Q gives it his all, it’s not enough. Jin crosses the finish line first, raising the trophy with his signature smug grin.

Your jaw tightens. After all that effort… Jin is still the winner.

"That was painful to watch," Dae comments with a nervous laugh beside you.

You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation.

"At least we tried," Kitty says, giving you a knowing smile.

You nod slowly, because even though the outcome wasn’t what you had hoped for, at least you did everything you could. And deep down, you know this isn’t over yet.

tags ; @snowyblossomsx @awhrin @rkivesfilm @dangelnleif

[drowned-captain]

The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch. 6

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay! I was focused on my studies. I took the exam, then I couldn’t focus on writing because I was too worried about whether I passed or not. I found out yesterday that I did pass! Having said that, please allow me a few extra days for the next chapter than my typical 7-10 day posting routine so I can prepare myself for my job. Once all that is taken care of, things should go back to normal. I strive to give my audience quality writing rather than trying to speed through it and have the story suffer. I know that this chapter is a bit shorter, but I wanted to give you guys at least something! Thank y’all so much for your patience <3 - Captain

MDNI (18+ only).

TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts, toxic codependency

Word Count: ~3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can’t recall when the hell you got home last night. It was almost like you woke up from a dream that was too realistic— the kind when you wake up and briefly forget where or who you are. An annoying, dull headache brushes against your skull as you kick your bedsheets off of yourself. You groaned, slowly sitting up as your headache lightly pulsed. It would have made you want to smack yourself for drinking too much last night, but every beat of pain came with fond memories of your night with Vi.

You chuckle to yourself at how dorky the two of you probably looked on the dance floor before you managed to grab some drinks. You stand up, putting a hand to your mouth to stifle a gag. You groggily walk to your bathroom and drink from the faucet to tame your nausea and hangover. You pick your head up and look at yourself in the mirror, feeling nasty for not at least washing your face before crashing out into the bed. Your eyes quickly catch some discoloration on your neck, your heart feeling like it stopped. 

You squint at the mark, your stomach flipping in a way that completely overpowered the nausea. It was faint. Bruiselike. Just enough to make your brain jump to conclusions. You put both your hands on your head, trying to squeeze out any ounce of memory that might have brought this upon yourself. You and Vi were dancing pretty closely… Did the two of you put gentle hands on each other? Well yes, how else can you steady each other after bottomless drinks? Was it your hand that tugged her closer to you by her belt loop? No, no. You did that because someone tried to dance between you guys. Her face got pretty darn close to yours. But how else were the two of you supposed to hear each other? Was dancing always that intimate? It couldn’t have been from anyone else! Vi would never let someone else do that; she was so serious about mending the friendship after all. Is it normal for new friends to be that way?

You press a finger to it, expecting the soreness of a love bite, but all you feel is a dry and chalky residue. Your brows furrow as you smear it.

‘What the hell…?’

Then it clicks. It was most likely a smudge from Vi’s gloves when she grabbed your neck to steady herself mid-laugh on the way home. You exhale, half in relief and half in exasperation, before shaking your head at yourself. You then peel off last night’s clothing to freshen up and to go about your day.

You felt refreshed after a much needed shower. It didn’t completely douse out the hangover, but you still felt a lot better. You catch a glimpse of your reflection again: bare s/c) skin, damp hair, and tired eyes. You lean in once more, a tiny smile forming in the corner of your mouth. Just tired eyes. For once, you didn’t see hollow sadness in them; they were just tired from last night’s shenanigans. 

Most mornings were the worst. You wake up groggy despite sleeping most of the day, your face hurting from constantly crying, and feeling the weight of grief shackled to your ankles. But this time, nothing.

You blink, almost startled by your realization. Partying with Vi last night, laughing until your ribs hurt, stumbling in the streets afterwards— it had taken up all the space in your mind. There had not been any room left for reminiscing about your ex. No bitter flashbacks, no ache in your chest, no empty feeling gnawing at you the moment you woke up.

Vi was good for you. With her, you didn’t have to think about the past that much.

You ate some of your subpar leftovers for breakfast, or lunch, whatever time of day it was. You then linger in your apartment longer than necessary. There’s nothing stopping you from heading out; It’s not like you have any real obligations other than wondering about how much more cogs are needed for you to make ends meet by the end of the month. But you hesitate anyways, unsure of what exactly you’re waiting for. Your fingers tap against your thighs idly as your eyes flicker toward your door.

You could go find Vi. You know where she lives after all.

The thought comes so quickly and so naturally that it catches you off guard. You were not much for drinking or nightlife before, but now? You woke up feeling like crap, but it wasn’t the same kind of misery that used to linger after you spent countless nights dwelling on the past. Your ex hadn’t crossed your mind once since last night. But the more you stay put, the more memories of them you recall. You stare at the floor, trying to preserve what memories you had of last night before the haunting of the past smothers all that goodness. You have to make new memories– better memories—and it will start with Vi.

Vi is good for you.

Before you could even move, there was knocking on your door. It made you jump.

When you pull the door open, Vi is standing there with her hands in her pockets. Her expression is relaxed like she belongs there.

“Morning, (Y/n),” she grins, “You look alive. I half expected you to be crawling on the floor to get to the door.”

You blink, caught between relief and confusion. “Vi! What are you doing here?”

Vi tilts her head, her bangs coming off her face. “Last night you asked me to come by tomorrow. Tomorrow is now. You said something about needing help selling shit, or something. Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

You frantically search for any recollection of that conversation. Nope. Nothing.

Vi shakes her head, “ I knew you were out of it last night, but I didn’t think you were that bad,” she laughs. 

You laugh with her, albeit from confusion and not because it’s funny to you. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Vi, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Vi shakes her head once again with a smile, looking down at the floor before looking back at you. “So… you want me to come back later then?”

“No!” you protest quickly. You clear your throat. “No, no. I actually do need to get rid of some stuff. I didn’t have enough time to sell everything I wanted yesterday.”

Vi leans against the doorway before saying, “Alright, let’s get to it then. I told Loris to find a good spot, so once we find him we’ll get started. Where’s the stuff? I can carry it for you.”

Your eyes dart to the large bag by the door. It was in the exact same spot as you tossed it yesterday. Vi follows your gaze, leaning forward a bit to get a better look. You look at her as she leans forward, spotting the pink roots of her hair. You hum, curiosity piqued. You’re glad she came.

Vi watches you as you grab the bag on the floor. You pretend not to notice her trying to take a peek at the rest of your apartment before you let yourself out. She takes your bag from your hands, not giving you a chance to protest.

As the two of you walked, you kept looking at her. Especially her hair.

 “If you stare any longer, my face will have a hole burnt through it,” she jokes, her powder blue eyes meeting yours, “but if I have something on my face, you better not let me walk around with it.”

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t know that you were a natural pinkette,” you explain, your face warm from being caught, “I don’t see a lot of Zaunites with pink hair. At least not natural, from what I can tell.”

Vi clears her throat, looking away. “Ah, yeah. I prefer my hair black right now.”

“I like your black hair too. I am curious about what you look like with your natural hair color, though.”

Vi pauses before flashing you a playful smile. “Stay curious.”

You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes.

Vi wasn't sure if she felt guilty about lying to you. You never actually asked her to come by. But what was she supposed to do? Let her new friend struggle to make ends meet? The thought didn’t sit right with her. Besides, selling things was better than sitting around wondering when she’d be able to fight again. 

Yeah, lying to a friend is shitty, but she knew that her loss and absence in the arena probably took a hit on your pocket. At least by helping you sell your things, you are guaranteed to end the day with a pocketful of cogs. But there was another part of Vi that still felt that ache in her pride. You wouldn’t have had to resort to getting rid of your stuff if she was a better fighter. She felt a sense of purpose to have people– especially her friends like you and Loris– to be able to rely on her for something. That sense of purpose—of being needed by someone, of being useful—was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. For all the mistakes she’d made, maybe this could be her chance to do something right. At least for you.

Vi hadn't expected to become attached to anyone so quickly. But here she was, silently caring about how you were doing, even if she isn’t showing it right now. She wasn't used to letting people in—certainly not someone like you, who seemed so... different from the rough edges of Zaun. Yet, when she saw you that first night, when you seemed so downcast and out of place, something about that vulnerability struck a chord deep inside her. 

You needed her.

There was a HUGE part of Vi that was drawn to you because she desires being needed. It wasn't just the fighting, drinking, and amnesia from the past that she craved—it was the idea that she could be the one to help you, to fix something that had been broken. But every time she looked at you, she felt that strange, gnawing feeling deep in her chest. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy. It was something else. Something that made her feel like maybe she could distract herself from her own mess if she focused on yours. 

Her gaze lingers on you. She has failed the people who were dearest to her time and time again. But you’re still here. She fucked up with you twice, but you’re still here.

‘Let’s do it right this time.’ Your voice echoes in her head. She has never been granted forgiveness that quickly. Not by her own sister or by Caitlyn. But you did.  

However, she couldn't shake the thought that maybe she was doing this for the wrong reasons. Maybe she just wanted to feel like she was still someone worth relying on. Someone who mattered. But she wouldn’t admit that. Not to herself. Not to you.

You’re an escape to all that she has done wrong. You, (Y/n), will be everything she has done right. 

*

The two of you meet up with Loris by the heart of Zaun. If you were here alone, you would rather get yanked by your eyelashes than attempt to sell anything by yourself in this area. The place is gritty, bustling with people who’d either sell their grandmother for a cog or buy something without blinking an eye. 

“I’m glad you two are here with me,”  you say, giving Loris a small smile as you settle your bag onto the ground. You don’t want to look like you’re overreacting, but the weight of the situation is heavy in your chest. “I really appreciate it.”

Vi rolls her eyes, but the smirk she gives you is softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank us,” she grumbles. “We’re just helping you out, that’s all. Don’t get all sappy or I might start calling in favors and make you owe me your life or something.”

“Seriously?” you laugh, “How could I not thank you? It feels wrong not to.”

“You’re giving me cavities here, cupcake,” she jokes, nudging you with her shoulder. Her strength is evident, making you stumble back a few steps, but you don’t mind it at all.

“Cupcake?” you scoff, “That’s what you called me that other night.”

Vi stiffens, a look of shame crossing her face. “Oops, sorry. It’s a dumb nickname. I shouldn’t be calling you that. I used to call my—”

“I kind of like it. But don’t overuse it, alright?” you interrupt, pulling a pair of pants from the bag. Vi laughs dryly, acknowledging your words with a nod.

When she smiles at you, when she makes that sharp retort or that dry joke, you find yourself laughing without thinking. It feels so damn good, like you’ve been holding your breath for too long and now you can finally exhale. But at the same time, there’s something unsettling about it. You know you’re not looking at Vi like a person, at least not entirely. You’re looking at her as a way to escape, to forget what you’ve been trying to outrun for so long. The nagging memories of your ex, the broken promises, the pain that’s still lurking beneath the surface—it all fades when Vi’s around. 

These thoughts begin to haunt you because you don’t want to need anyone that way. You don’t want to rely on someone else just to feel okay, just to fill that emptiness inside you. You know deep down that it can get unhealthy very quickly, that leaning on Vi so much is only going to cause problems. But for now, at this moment, it feels safe. Maybe that’s enough.

Loris and Vi help you out with selling some of your valuables. Their intimidation factor made you feel secure— it was like having two scary dogs. People were more willing to give you a fair price for things rather than trying to haggle with you to lower the prices so much. The negative side about it, however, was that most people seemed too afraid to approach. Only the people who looked somewhat more well-off gave you a chance. 

“Loris, can you try smiling?” you ask him, “I feel like we’re a bit too scary.”

“I’m jollier than Vi on a winning streak,” he remarks. “Trust me, kid, it's not me.”

He gestures towards Vi, who is glaring down every passerby with her arms crossed. She probably doesn’t mean to, but she’s scowling.

You take a few side steps towards her. She looks at you, her face relaxing. “Hey, (Y/n).”

You put a hand on her arms, encouraging her to unfold them. “You can relax, you know.”

“I always look like this!” She looks down at herself.

“If you keep it up, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Vi couldn’t help but chuckle at your words. She tries a more relaxed posture, putting her hands in her pockets and leaning her weight on one hip. “Is this better, ma’am?” she teases, giving you the fakest toothy smile you have ever seen.

You laugh, bumping her with your hip. “You know what I mean!”

The dimming light of Zaun’s sky was casting long shadows across the crowded streets. It made everything appear colorful; the neon lights highlighted concrete surfaces in greens, yellows, and purples. You stood on the edge of the marketplace, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, as you watched people bustle around, haggling and shouting, their voices a blend of desperation and excitement. The weight of the day pressed against you, and you found yourself feeling smaller than usual within all the chaos. 

Vi rummaged through your bag of items. There wasn’t too much left, but she was determined to help you get rid of the last of your stuff. She and Loris were the kind of people who made this kind of thing look effortless, while you had to fight yourself to not crumble under the weight of it all. 

“You can relax, you know,” Vi teases, making you eat your words, “You gonna stare at the ground all night?”

“I’m just tired,” you muttered, glancing at her.

“I think we sold enough,” Loris chimes in, “We could walk you home, (Y/n).”

Vi looks at Loris, then back at you before saying, “Wait! You don’t have to leave now. We didn’t get a chance to go out and do something else. Oh, but… if you’d rather go home we could catch up tomorrow or something?”

You didn’t catch the desperate undertone of her voice. Something, or rather someone caught your eye. A figure, standing on the opposite side of the street. You froze when you saw them. Someone you wished stayed in the past.

Your ex.

They stood with their back to you, chatting with other people. They were completely unaware of your presence. The sight of them, so familiar and so distant, made a lump form in your throat. All the happiness of being with Vi and Loris that you enjoyed was quickly overshadowed by your ex lover’s very presence.

You hadn’t seen them since you kicked them out. The way things ended between you two was still too fresh to process. You weren’t ready to completely process it. It didn’t help that they looked the same as when you saw them last: casual, laid-back, and oblivious to the weight of the pain and suffering they left on you. They had the same mannerisms as they sold a box of their special shimmer to the people who have fallen on hard times. You turned a blind eye to this behavior in the past, but seeing it happen again before you made all the feelings of guilt, shame, and disgust well up in your chest. You were just as shitty of a person as they were for looking past that. 

The image of their empty vials of shimmer lying about the ring flashes through your head. Seeing Vi struggle to fight back. The image of her laying on the floor. Now with the knowledge that it was their damn formula that they sold to The Pit, and the knowledge that they indirectly nearly ended Vi’s fighting career was enough to make you nauseous. 

“(Y/n)?” Loris speaks, sensing the shift in your demeanor. You looked like you were about to pass out. Now Vi turned her attention to you. 

“Hey,” Vi called out, walking up next to you. Her voice was soft. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too fixated on watching your ex.

 Without thinking, you took a step back. Your wide (e/c) eyes unblinking, your gaze never leaving them.

Vi tracked your movements. “You alright?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

They never even looked your way.

Vi, noticing your stiffened posture, stepped in front of you. She looked back to see who or what you might be looking at, but she couldn’t tell where exactly. She faced you again, softly putting her hands on your shoulders. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” Her voice was far from stern or harsh. It was gentle. Nurturing. 

You swallowed hard, still swimming in the feelings that whirlpooled around you. 

“They didn’t… They don’t even… They don’t even know I’m here…” you muttered under your breath, fighting the stink of a sad and angry sting in your eyes.

Vi gently nudges you, her expression serious, “(Y/n), look at me.”

Your eyes focused on hers rather than looking past her.

“Let’s just get away from here, yeah? Come on.” She turns you around, letting Loris grab your things before the three of you disappear into a quieter area. 

*

The alleyway was silent except for the distant sounds of Zaun’s hustle. Loris stood guard while Vi comforted you. She was trying to coax you into a better mood, but everything felt heavier tonight. You already cried on your walk to this area, but now you were just pissed. You were so fucking angry at yourself for letting their presence take away the glee of being with your two friends. You were mad because you didn’t expect this whole situation to hit you that hard. Most importantly, the brief self-reflection about you ever being involved with someone so distasteful made you feel like the dumbest thing to ever exist. You were fuming.

“Come on…” she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice is higher in pitch. This was an unspoken challenge wrapped in warmth to her.

You fold your arms, turning your body slightly away from her. You hated her seeing you like this. You felt like a child. You had a scowl on your lips.

Vi doesn’t give up on you. She nudges your shoulder with hers, the softness of it was a clear invitation for you to look at her. You try to ignore it, keeping your eyes averted. But she’s too persistent.

“Cupcake…?” she draws out the word.

Damn it. Your mouth twitches, the muscles in your face wanting to betray you. The nickname had no right making you smile. But Vi noticed that microexpression. A smirk spreads across her face as she steps in front of you. You turn your head away, but she follows. She’s so close now that you can feel the soft puff of her breath on your skin. 

“You know you want to,” she says with a grin, hands in her pockets. She’s beginning to enjoy this. “C’mon. You want to smile so bad.”

You grit your teeth, your jaw tightening. You are fighting your own face. You can feel the edge of a smile creeping onto your face. Vi’s silly confidence had a way of blowing away the angry cloud on top of your head. She was like a beacon of light that you couldn’t avoid. It was so new to you. 

“I don’t…” you start, but speaking made it hard for you to maintain your angry face.

Vi’s grin widens, “You don’t?” she raises her scarred eyebrow as she leans in just a bit closer. “Your mouth is kinda twitchy. Go on, let me see those teeth. Come on. I won’t tell anyone!”

The challenge in her eyes. The warmth of her smile. The way she was so damn close to you— you break. You can’t help it. Your lips curl upwards, and despite your last efforts to look mad, you end up laughing softly.

Vi steps back, nodding in satisfaction, “Ah, there it is!”

You roll your eyes, rubbing your face from the soreness of fighting it. “Whatever. You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. But at least I’m fun.” 

“You two make me sick.” Loris calls out, glancing over his shoulder.

The two of you exchange a glance and laugh. For a moment, the two of you stand there. Your tension fades as her presence grounds you. 

“I won’t pressure you to talk to me about it. But whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. Okay?” she puts a hand on your shoulder. You nod, giving her a real smile that she deserves. That she earned.

Even if you weren’t ready to open up fully, it felt a little easier to breathe.

End of Ch. 6

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

Ch. 7 (IN PROGRESS)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist Cupcakes: @ren-ren23 @captain-crabbo @baylegend6 @winchestergirlspn @charcoal-heart @brbaabs

Sorry again for the delay and shorter chapter! I'm hoping to make Chapter 7 the longest chapter since I'll be taking a few days.

[adsagsona]

Oliver was glad that Sara wouldn't push, but he hadn't expect anything else. She knew when he was serious and didn't want to spill his secrets. He smiled when Sara told him that everything had to be a competition with her. "I remember that from somewhere." Oliver grinned before he walked over to the bedroom. He noticed that Sara was watching him, making sure that he didn't keel over or make any sign that he was feeling worse. He leaned against the doorframe when Sara replied. One shoulder went up in a shrug. "Can't blame a guy for trying, right?" He smiled but then got a bit more serious. "I know that you're used to sleeping everywhere, but I'm serious. I can keep my hands to myself, you know. Sometimes."

“All right,” Sara replied with a nod of her head. And it was. It was that simple with them. Were there times where they needed to push each other, where there wasn’t any other choice? Of course. But she knew him well enough to know now wasn’t one of those times, and whatever it was, it would keep. So she let it go. Then she was slowly nodding again, “Yeah, well, you know me, everything’s a competition and I always have to win. Gotta be able to say I beat you, or I made it there first.” She tried to punctuate her words with a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. After that he was standing up, and she did the same just in case he wasn’t steady on his feet, dramatically rolling her eyes as he pointed out that he had a king-size bed if she wanted to be more comfortable, “Yeah, all you’re doing is proving my point, which is that some things never change. You’re always trying to get me into bed with you, Oliver Queen...”

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

why is cecio problematic?? 👁👁

buckle up your in for a long ride!!! this might be the most comprehensive post on Cecio yet...

[background info: Cecio is an oc of mine that atm mainly resides deep in the background of part 5 of jjba alongside his older sister Celia and their fucked up found family. that are also in a criminal organization. Cecio is... well read on. warnings for mentions of gross misuse of police power, read more as this got longg]

Hes a self centered man who was manipulated into not only throwing away his only shot at escaping the poverty and violence he was born into, but metaphorically sold his soul to the devil twice, by becoming a mafia plant in the local police force.

He has no shame and while he spins a tale of a dead sister- [Who is very much alive but took the opportunity to shed her old legal life] wrapped up in gang violence to earn money for him, with him not knowing until it was to late, then after learning the horrifying truth because of her death, joining police training to avenger her- its nothing but lies wrapped around a tiny kernel of truth. what truth? who knows. certainly not anyone around him

Reality is subjective to Cecio, his mind bending facts and obscuring the aftermath of his actions so he can stomach himself, playing a constant game of deluding himself that he has no other choice and is just trying his best- on some days he even believes it

He uses his power often and to devastating effect, setting up rivals and traitors and even just people who got in the way for jail or death, using faked evidence and emotional manipulation. a snake of a man he plays the moral man in a den of greed and yet leads all people who join with even the faintest shred of good in their hearts into the jaws of greed and despair.

Cecios greatest trick is those grains of truth and genuine emotion at the heart of his greatest lies- his false flames of passion for justice are instead fueled from a desire for him and his loved ones to survive, his kindness stolen and reused from others, little lies he tells himself as so to create 'genuine' emotional reactions. Every victim is his dead mother and supposedly dead sister, every corrupt cop not on his side is the man who manipulated him, every little thing a lie and misdirection.

He has killed, lied, maimed and set people up to do and have done to them worse. his elder sister Celia may justify everything she does as for their family, but Cecios justifications pile up so high all they are is truly hollow- no semi-noble sacrifice for the good of their family, but a selfish desire for power and survival with only his tenuous connection to that family as what stops him from being entirely heartless- or if you look at it another way if it wasn't for his family he could have a heart without risking others if it is weak and fails.

Life handed him suffering over and over and because of that he sees himself as the ultimate underdog- no matter how much power he grows to hoard. He is always sixteen and being told he has to do this to help his sister, after all she has done for him.

[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[b4kuch1n]

Hello! As you guys have seen, I’ve been figuring out the dip pens recently for a project, and I’d love to draw a guy of your choice as practice!

Head Over Here (Or Input The Link In The Picture Above) To Get A Slot

Three slots will be available every time I open for this! Please read and follow the instruction for sending references upon purchase; if references are not sent after 24 hours since the purchase is made, I’ll assume you’ve cancelled the commission and refund. If you need an extension on that, please leave me a word in Tumblr message or email!

UPDATE 20/06/2023: 3/3 slots filled. Thank you so much for your support, and please stay tuned for the next round!

[swordmaid]

i love serious businesswoman pirate marina she's so real to me, love that for her !

yeah like she doesn't fuck around when it comes to her business!! she's a professional pirate - and merc on the side - she has a reputation to uphold!!!

like to me, the ~whole saving the world from the elven gods business~ is another gig she signed up for so she's treating it like one. she's very practical and pragmatic, and she does whatever she can to succeed in this particular endeavor. like she hardly banters with people when she's in business mode lmfao the only time she jokes around is when she's out of her office hours.

one thing that i wish for though is for the dialogues to be much more mean/stricter. i've gone past the weisshaupt quest and i wish you can be more mean on lucanis for flopping LMFAO like sorry king but to me marina would be sm harder on him since she hired him for that job but he didn't do it right, so what is he good for? if he can't do the one thing she asks for then she has no need for him, and she'd just get someone else. likewise i don't see her being sad about the prospect of davrin sacrificing himself when he's going to kill the archdemon bc that's like. why he's in here in the first place LMFAO like to me, marina would be like well this is what you signed up for 🤷 like she detaches her personal feelings from business. like in a personal level ofc she would be sad if davrin did die but in the end that comes with the job u know.... like she's so serious business woman to me she'd thrive in succession

[starrynight-edits]

Sorry for the absence, i was finishing up House of Leaves and got too caught up in it to do anything else. Regular scheduled posting coming soon :D

[theinfinitedivides]

this is so random but i would love to hear your opinion on mydramalist as a fellow asian drama lover. because it’s obviously well known as a reliable wiki of sorts in dramaland but i beg to differ. (the only plus i feel being the summary and cast list for info)

i mean, i’ve not seen a single comsec w more than two brain cells as a whole? there’s always complaints about female leads rooted from misogyny, they are never happy about story progression, and i just find so many of them kinda dumb sorry lol. like zero media literacy to be found, insufferable arguments, etc. the star ratings are rly just given to popular dramas w high profile actors too.

and i personally find it disheartening that so many ppl end up referring to mdl when considering dramas because so many gems are then lost and not given appreciation.

anon. anon anon anon if you know the way i sat straight the f*ck up when i saw the notification and then read through this ask bc yes. yes to everything here that is exactly it. almost three fourths of what i've watched this year was either 1. not received well by the general MDL crowd (Moon in the Day. where is the taste brethren to not like MITD and not even for reasons that actually make sense), 2. received well but had a good chunk of people bitching in the comment section, or 3. received well but had the main point of the show (and its relevant characterization) go over their heads. (The Worst of Evil aka TWOE comment section, i am f*cking looking at you. i can count on one hand the number of people who understood what that show was supposed to be about) the one fourth that managed to escape was bc the toxicity did not reach the comment section and everyone was pretty f*cking civil. alas if only it could be like that all of the time

case in point for the ratings example, since we've already briefly tackled the lack of media literacy—j-dramas on MDL are notoriously rated much, much lower than either k- or c-dramas. half of the time that's bc there are less users watching (and rating) them therefore the average is lower but the other half it's bc people simply do not understand good media when they see it. don't get me wrong there's some freaky ass sh*t in the j-drama world that i would not touch with a Grinch level pole but to see MDLers out here talking about how slow j-dramas are and that nothing's happening. have you considered that you are either watching the wrong genre or you shouldn't be watching j-dramas in the first place bc their entire setup and general narrative framing arcs are not your style. have you even thought about that for six seconds or are you too busy expecting it to read like a typical tropey rom-com k-drama with your trending oppas. (no hate on my tropey rom-coms with [most of] said oppas, i need them when i don't want to think i just want to see sh*t on my screen and scream about hot people and the Hand Umbrellas in the Rain and the Back Hold when the male lead catches the female lead before she falls and you have the fifteen second focus on their faces just looking at each other)

and the misogyny. oh God do not get me started on the dichotomy that was the Cult, as we affectionatly called ourselves, on the feeds while THEE sageuk of the year My Dearest was airing (beloved show [that i still need to finish. JangChae i'm sorry ily life hates me like the mf it is 😭], beloved commentary on the feeds. they saw the vision on the feeds) vs the sh*tshow that was the landmine field of the comment section (the takes i saw on Gil Chae, Eun Ae AND Ryang Eum respectively.......... the misogyny wasn't enough we had to add the homophobia into the mix. buy one get one free deal fr fr). you mad man. that sh*t was insane there was a point i banned myself from scrolling farther than the cast section until the show finished airing. i kid you not on average they didn't have even half a braincell. maybe a quarter of a quarter of one. f*cked up just say you are not decent people and go

this is not to say that all of MDL is like this. i have gotten tuned into absolute masterpieces of content (and have tuned others, amen) bc of a comment comparing a show i'm watching to another one or a review being posted in the feeds about a film with less than 500 people interested. i have reconsidered my choice to not watch something after having spirited discussions in private messages discussing the pros and cons of the premise and whether they managed to get it done without f*cking sh*t up. i still contribute semi-regularly by adding relatively unknown actors and crew members to the database so they can get the credit due them. if you know where to look, you can get some good sh*t out of that place. problem is most users who are new to both the site and East/Southeast Asian cinema as a whole don't know where to look, and the cycle continues, and the ratings continue to be skewed/bloated and no one pays attention to the plot, if there even is any to pay attention to.

tl;dr: begging people to not let MDL be the be all end all for their drama recs a la 'well MDL doesn't like it so i won't watch it'. babe we have said MDLers complaining about how the ratings on Viki are too high but in my entire time watching dramas i've found that in the past two to three years the Viki ratings are making more sense than the MDL ones. sit with that for a sec. when you're done branch out and see the world (literally and cinematically), i promise you will be a better person for it