#this is fucking me up a little on an emotional level

[taelophone]

Masterpiece ݁₊ ⊹ ݁ || Ex?Luigi Mangione x Ghoster!Reader TWs: Reader is an actual supervillain, fire/animal symbolism, smut w plot, penetration, blood mention, fingering, finger sucking, spanking, hate-fucking, toxic relationships, dark-ish elements, baby trapping if you squint, arguing, again reader is a supervillain, cocky Luigi, crying, overstim, brat-taming elements, etc. A/N: This is like. Seriously depraved work😭

In your defense, the universe always tends towards disorder.

Anyone who passed grade school level chemistry could recite this law to you like it was imprinted on the back of their hand. So it was only human nature.

It had been about 5 months since you last spoke to your nerd. That’s around one-hundred and fifty-two days without his coco brown curls against your chest while he told you about his little machinery and computer nonsense while you tuned his words out as you scrolled on your phone.

You let him follow you around like a lost puppy, trailing behind you at events as you held his hand with an iron-clad bite. You do love him, really. He’s adorable, he’s smart, he’s hot.

But you just couldn’t stay tied to anyone for too long.

So as your texts slowly shifted in the blue-to-grey ratio, Luigi found himself holed up more frequently in his room, click-click-clacking away on his computer as sadness and confusion engulfed him.

Did he do something wrong? Was he too clingy? What could he possibly have done to deter you so far away from him for so long?

Time and days slipped through the cracks of his hands like scalding water; burning him with scars only evident to those that got too close to his fingers. He didn’t want to elaborate, he just wanted his baby back.

And in typical nerd fashion, what did he do? Take it out on his craft.

Hunched over the silver laptop, deep black bags under his eyes while he scanned the typed binary over and over. It still wasn’t working. The dumb robot couldn’t pick up on certain commands and froze whenever he tried to raise an arm for it to copy.

He huffed in genuine frustration, trying his hardest not to shatter the computer with his own two hands. It didn’t help that he was in constant disarray, his usually organized and neat surroundings lacking their usual order.

He was always an empathetic and caring man, putting others' needs and wants before his. He felt for those around him in a way that others normally wouldn’t. So yeah, he cried a little bit. What he thought was a deep and stable connection to someone he found so tantalizingly perfect turned out to be trivial to you!

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his vision fogged. So much stress for one person wasn’t anywhere near healthy, but something had to give. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He’d feel better when he finished his code. He’d be able to breathe when he breathed life into something else that wasn't a relationship. All he wanted to do was prove to himself that he wasn’t a total failure, and could still do something right.

Tidal waves crashed against him, the bitter salt streaming down his face as he sucked in a deep, shaky breath in an almost pathetic fashion. This is why she wanted nothing to do with me, he thought. He was an unpredictable, emotional, unorganized mess. 

There’s no way in hell someone would want to be tied to this–

Ding!

What the hell?

His brows pinched together, the wet anguish slowly coming to a halt as he picked up his phone from the table.

“hey…U awake ?”

He stared at the text, dazed and confused as his meltdown began to subside, only for it to be replaced with a whirlwind of panic. Luigi had no idea what to say. He was upset that you dared to waltz back into his recents like nothing ever happened, but he was so. So. SO. SO SO SO SO SO down to have you back.

He paused, thinking it over in his head, outweighing the pros and cons of responding or even opening the message. He didn’t wanna cry again, but he also didn’t wanna fuck up the opportunity to hold you and bask in your sweet, candy-like scent again.

You burned his tongue and thoughts like war, your everlasting enchantments invading his head every time he dared to glance at the first initial of your name. With a hand squeezed over his mouth, his pointer finger gently nudging the bottom of his nose, he picked up the phone as his large thumbs began to type in his password.

He didn’t want to answer immediately, out of fear that his quick and compliant response would scare you away like it might have done last time. Instead, he paced around his room a couple of times. He hopped, skipped, and almost flipped as he worked up the balls to open the message.

And then, he typed.

He typed for what felt like years, centuries even. But only managed to type a couple of sentences before deleting a good two-thirds of the remainder.

“ Hey! Listen, I understand you’re probably going through something and reached out bc you’ve processed some things that led to you ghosting me, but for the sake of my health, I can’t keep you around anymore. I’ve been piecing together my mental stability for a while now, and I think I should keep working on myself. ”

Ouch.

“ Oh, ok sorry I’ll go . “

“ Actually, fuck it I'm healed. Come over ”

Read 12:57 AM.

My Dear💟 reacted with👍

Double ouch.

Luigi lacked the ability to stand up whenever necessary. You knew that. It was a very easy conclusion to come to when all he did was people-please. The way his eyes scanned certain faces for subconscious approval said it all.

You threw on your grey sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and a random pair of socks before sliding on your Uggs and slamming the front door behind you. You didn’t really expect Luigi to be so…compliant. You didn’t even say anything, he just…folded.

You figured he’d be upset, or put up at least a semblance of a fight, but no. He welcomed you back with almost puppy-like resolve.

Luigi sped around his room, quickly straightening up his home like his life depended on it, and in a way, it did. You were his entire life, and he didn’t want to scare you away again with his unorganized and messy bullshit. He did his best to cover up his deteriorating mind, dressing up his room in faux warmth that he knew you’d probably be able to spot as soon as you walked in.

Things were back in their respective places, the big light was off, little lamps and ambient lights were on, and his work could be pushed to the side for a minute longer.

With his room straightened, he stumbled into his bathroom to fix his curls. He got a good look in the mirror before realizing why beauty brands made concealer and letting out a frustrated groan. He wet his curls, gently bringing the coco spirals back to life with his hands before brushing his teeth like a madman.

He could feel lady doom lingering closer and closer the longer time had passed. Her footsteps of feminine fright would soon reach his front door, and he knew he’d have to pick up the pieces of the ruins later. But he was fine with that.

In fact, he wanted you to wreck the ruins again. Your presence, and absence, had been the biggest motivating force for him to do better, even if it meant he was at his worst. His tears would drip down onto his keyboard in the days to come, and he’d grow angrier with himself for allowing this to happen for a second time.

But he loved the disorder. He’s never pushed out more concepts and projects in his life. Your chaos completed part of his brain that lacked spontaneity. He could plug you into any part of his mind, and you’d quickly help him solve any formula or theorem. Sanity be damned, you were great for him in the worst way possible.

Pain was a fierce motivator, but he’d let himself be scorched and burned in your arms every day if it meant he could keep all the pieces of his mind working.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the front door swing open, and for a second he swore he heard thunder crack and pop when you revealed yourself in the doorframe, your ringlet keychain spinning around on your pointer finger.

You waltzed in like you owned the place, gently pushing the door shut before making quick work of shuffling your shoes off by the door.

“Lui!” You called, setting your keys on the side table and making your way to Luigi’s room.

And there he was before you, in his tired, muscular, and disheveled glory. He looked like he had been crying. His eyes were slightly puffy, the tip of his nose was faintly red, and he clearly wasn’t focused on keeping up with his now stubbling beard.

“Hi, Lulu” you purred, standing up on your tiptoes to lace your arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“Hey, love…” he sighed, immediately wrapping his arms around the small of your back and hoisting you up to carry you the rest of the way to his room. “How’ve you been?”

“Ugh, terrible” you huffed, rolling your eyes as you took in the familiar, warmly-lit room. “I’ve been so tired, and my nail lady canceled on me.”

Luigi chuckled, more-or-so at the irony of your problems compared to his. You seemed completely unaffected by ghosting him. Ouch, number three.

“But I missed you…” you mused, running your fingertip along the arch of his nose teasingly.

“Did you?” He asked, raising a very unamused eyebrow as he gently grabbed your wrist, plopping himself down on the edge of his bed with you in his lap.

“Mhm…Sooo much. Sorry I flaked on you, I was going through something” You smiled, mashing your lips against his to prevent him from asking any more questions. You chuckled onto his lips gripping the back of his neck in a way you know you definitely shouldn’t be.

He winced, instinctively reaching for your hand before you smacked it away. A nonverbal way of saying “Leave it alone.”

He groaned in a mix of pain and slight frustration, opening his eyes a fraction to shoot you an unamused glare. “Whats…going on with you,” he asked between hot and fervent kisses.

“Not sure…” You panted, full-on yanking the back of his hair just to leave purple and blue marks all across his jugular. You were a little mean, which you acknowledged, so you let go of his fistful of hair before peppering gentle kisses to his face. “Sorry.”

Luigi sighed, holding you as close as possible while you pecked the tip of his nose. 

“What is it with you and my nose, baby? You do this every time you come see me…” He chuckled, a cocky grin forming on his face.

“You have no idea how gorgeous it is…like, none at all” You stated, smiling at him before leaning forward to push him on his back and just lay on top of him. “It’s perfect, really.”

“Weirdo…” He teased.

“Watch your mouth, Luigi” You quipped, giggling quietly at his sass before rolling off of him and getting comfortable between his sheets.

“You came all the way to my house…to sleep in my bed?” He asked, propping himself up as he stared at you with genuine confusion.

“What?” You asked, leaning up from his fluffy blankets to stare at him blankly. “You don’t want me sleeping here? Want me to go do something else?”

“No, no no you’re fine, you’re fine” he stated, shaking his head instantly as he pressed a firm hand to your chest to keep you from getting up. “Nap, sleep, die, anything you do is fine. Wait don’t die…”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes in amusement as you pulled him closer to you by his wrist. 

“You’re being so shy, come here…” You mused, positioning him next to you as you wrapped your arms around his neck again. “Tell me about your day. What’d you do today, handsome?”

He practically swooned as soon as you asked him about his day. He giggled quietly, fanboying like some sort of geek interacting with his fictional crush for the first time.

“My day was…it was fine,” He lied, ignoring the fact that he had been crying just 30 minutes earlier. “I fixed some of my code today, and… that’s it.”

You nodded, gently carding your hand through his hair while he rested the side of his head against your chest.

You hummed, nodding at his short little daily summary. He wasn’t really the type to do absolutely nothing all day, so hearing him essentially say he did nothing all day was kind of a shock.

“What? That’s it?” You teased, giving him a look of feigned shock. “I would have at least expected you to go on a jog or something…” 

“Well I did go on jogs, but my motivation significantly decreased since you ghosted me” He spat, shooting you a sassy and serious glare.

“I said I was sorry, Lu. I fell on dark times and shit, my bad!” You huffed, rolling your eyes at his sudden spite. Brat.

“Dark times but you’re going on bar-crawls and getting your nails done every two weeks…you could have at least blocked me” He huffed.

Luigi turned his face to look up at you, and for the first time in over 5 months, you came face-to-face with his vulnerability. He was hurt, and he did have some right to be, but you did what you told yourself was helping you feel better. So what if that involved having fun? You’re a grown woman.

“Oh, because turning to bars and fucking up my sleep schedule and academics is sooooo fun. Thanks, Luigi” You drawled, watching as his dark and heavy brows cinched together with repulsion.

“I don’t wanna hear that. You know damn well that’s not what was happening–”

“You weren’t there!” You shouted, immediately taking your hands off of him and throwing them up in defense.

“And who’s fault is that?” He exclaimed, giving you the most irritated and know-it-all glare ever. “I reached out every day for two months, only to get one-word responses, brushed off, any bullshit you could find in the hat! YOU are the reason I wasn’t there!”

You were nothing short of over it. You groaned, throwing your head back in bitter anger as his unfortunately correct point hit you. There wasn’t shit you could say about that.

“I wasn’t doing good, Luigi!” You growled, slowly standing up from his bed. “I just kept making stupid decisions, and I felt like you weren’t going to love me anymore!”

“When have I EVER made you feel like I was going to stop loving you!?” He stated, his arms outstretched in a half-shrug. He was growing more and more impatient with your excuses. All he really wanted to hear from you was that you were sorry.

You let out a long, drawn-out groan as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You stared at him, his arms crossed and his face slightly scrunched as he stared back at you.

“I’m not gonna keep doing this with you,” You huffed, shaking your head while your pointer and middle finger rubbed your temples.

“Oh, so you don't wanna talk now that you don't have a point. Of course. Totally” He nodded, irritants clear on his face as he rolled his eyes.

“I just fucking hate feeling like I’m being antagonized, Luigi!” You huffed, throwing your hands in the air in defense. “You’re antagonizing me when I said I was going through a rough patch, do you know how evil that is!?”

He went completely silent. He just stared down at you with a mix of disbelief and frustrated disdain. He bent down a bit, placing his hands on his knees as he got as close as he wanted to.

The anger in his eyes rivaled that of the goddess Lyssa, the flames of onyx searing permanent wounds into your own. It was hot. Literally.

You straightened your posture a bit for the first time in a while, daring him to say something so you could meet him with a remark just as scorching.

The floor below you was beginning to cover with soot and ash, the embers of venomous attraction breaking off and cracking on the floor.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his rabid anger; it was involuntary. Your dulled and dainty fangs flashed in front of him, a crooked and twisted smile overtaking your face as you fought the urge to laugh.

The smoke fizzled off of him, filling the poorly ventilated room rapidly as he scowled down at you.

“You’re terrible. You like arguing, and that’s scary—“ he began, each syllable aiming to draw a new coat of ruby-red lacerations across your heart. But it all stopped when he felt a pair of lips mash against his own.

He sighed internally, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist as the gears of the cycle fell back into place. There wasn’t any escaping at this point. He was used to the crying, the sleepless nights, and all of the fresh coats of pain you could pull from him.

You giggled drunkenly, high on the poison that emitted from the pair of you. You slipped your tongue past his lips, invading as much personal space as you could in such a short amount of time.

You went to speak, pulling away from him momentarily in hopes of landing another jab at him, only to yelp at a sharp sting on the back of your behind.

“Shut up,” he commanded, sparing you not so much as a second glance as he brought his hand up to the back of your neck. “You talk too much.”

His sharp and pointed canines pulled at the bottom of your lip, the fear of broken skin lingering in the back of your mind as the sizzling pain caused you to shudder.

Your lips reunited in a searing, iron-enriched kiss as you snaked your hands around his hair, tugging on it like it was your only chance at a semblance of vengeance. 

Luigi groaned, practically growling at you before he scooped you off the ground by the back of your thighs to throw you back down on his messy and crinkled sheets.

“I fuckin’ HATE you!” You spat, narrowing your eyes at him with a downright feral and harrowing smile.

He scoffed, smushing your cheeks together between his thumb and the remainder of his fingers until the skeleton of your teeth pushed against him. 

“Didn’t I say shut up? I swear I said stop talking…” He scolded, landing another sharp smack to the side of your thigh that had you flinching away from his free hand.

A quiet whine emitted from you as you made no attempts to wriggle away from him as he left hickey after hickey along the exposed expanse of your neck and shoulders.

He loomed over top of you, evidence of his growing lust straining against the fabric of his grey sweatpants. He took one look at you, tilting his head to the side a little as if he were trying to solve another one of his stupid computer problems.

Picking you apart with his eyes, he was. Your feral, lust-blown eyes, messy and slightly frizzy hair, the way your chest heaved up and down in heavy pants. Yeah, it’s over.

He hooked his hand under your sweater, glancing at you briefly for confirmation before pulling it over your head in a matter of seconds.

“Lied to my face for a whole 10 minutes…dark times my ass, you‘ve got some nerve” he rasped, his eyes raking over the absolute art of you in nothing but jean shorts and a pretty little bra.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar, bitch” you spat, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’m calling you a fucking liar,” he stated, tugging down your shorts with little care of if it hurt you or not. The fabric swept down your thighs with a burning resistance, the little zipper on the front popping immediately.

His strong hands ripped the cotton fabric of your panties, frayed and torn fabric resting on the bed before another sharp slap landed on the side of your thigh again. There was no filter to block you from his frustration this time, a loud cry fleeing from your lips as you flinched away from the sensation.

“Cried too fuckin’ much for you to look me in my face and say your day was terrible cuz your nails were late…cry me a river” he huffed, pressing his thumb to your clit.

You cried in ecstasy and slight shock. Normally Luigi was so very gentle, carrying everything in his hands with practiced cherish. Tech was fragile, and with as many years he had spent with it, he had learned to move and grasp with the strength of a newborn deer.

But all you could sense when his fingers began to maneuver around your folds, spreading your essence around was heated malice.

Right now, he hated your guts. And what do you do to something you hate?

Destroy it, of course.

You moaned as quietly as you could as his fingers bullied their way into your glistening cunt. It’s hard to focus on being mad at someone when their pretty fingers are curling so deliciously against that spongy spot inside of you that reduces you to a moaning and panting mess.

“Yeah…can‘t really talk when I’m fucking you good, hm?” He patronized, literally looking down at you as his free hand came to grasp the sides of your throat.

You grasped his wrist, squeezing at the prominent veins as you stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. You smiled, your whine turning into involuntary giggles.

“Fuck…you..” you spat in between oxygen-induced delirium, your cheeks feeling warm as the sticky, sloppy noises filled the otherwise quiet room.

“You will soon,” he mumbled, taking his hand off your throat to press it over your mouth while he got to work on leaving more hickeys across your chest. Deep burgundy and purple were sure to liter your entire upper body in the morning.

He continued his brutal and rapid pace as his middle and ring finger slid in and out of you with no resistance. The sounds that he managed to coerce from you were sinful; pants of his name, whines and gasps of “please” and “keep going.”

“Actually I think I wanna hear you…” He hummed, removing his hand from your mouth as soon as he began to feel you clench down on his fingers.

You twisted and writhed under him, not wanting to give the satisfaction of pulling an orgasm from you so quickly. 

“Aww…it’s ok, you can give up,” he cooed, smiling down at you as your muscles tensed and flexed.

You froze, the rubber band that had been coiling and twisting snapping with the force of heavy thunder. It was a painfully conscious effort not to scream as Luigi’s skillful fingers caressed and coaxed your sensitive clit into crying over him.

And she wept, spilling the secrets you would never she mimicked the heavy tears Luigi had dropped nights before. Pulsing and squeezing as he withdrew his fingers, popping them in his own mouth to lick them clean.

“I love you,” he truthed, gazing down at you to take in your blissed-out and teary expression.

The baby hairs stuck to your forehead, the artificial twinkle in your eyes, and the little part in your mouth as you panted to catch your breath.

“I…I ha-hate you—!” You fibbed, watching the way he arched a brow and grabbed your ankle.

“Oh so we’re still lying,” he said, hoisting your ankle over his shoulder before pushing down his sweatpants. “Cute socks,” he added before pressing a feather-light kiss on the lateral side of your ankle.

“Lying isn’t good for the soul…We’re gonna fix that,” he said, freeing his heavy and lengthy dick from his prisoning boxers.

You chuckled, not being able to form a coherent thought as venom and euphoria swirled in your mind. He tapped his fat, grapefruit-pink tip on your pearly little clit, chuckling quietly at the way you jolted from the sensation.

“Tell me about…your shitty 5 months…” he groaned, a whine highlighting the end of his words as he slowly pushed into you, spearing you open as his right hand came to rest next to your head.

Your hands came up to his back, clawing at the tanned skin as you moaned directly in his ear.

“You suck, Luigi…” you mewled, eyes rolling to the back of their sockets. That stupid joke he consistently cracked about his PhD was no joke, and he was giving you all the proof you needed.

“You’re a nightmare,” you began, frantic butterflies zooming through your stomach as he began to slowly piston in and out of you. “So fffucking clingy…! Wish I never fuckin’ met you.”

“You’re no better” he grunted, swiftly sliding the hand that was next to your head under your neck, forcing your head upwards so you could look him in the eyes. 

“Manipulative…conniving…perfect…hot fuckin’ mess” He babbled, a ghost of a smirk forming on his face as he felt you place your other ankle over his shoulder.

He moved his hand from the back of your neck to your knee, keeping it secure in place as he began to rapidly increase in pace. His hips rocked against yours, low grunts and pathetic whines falling from his mouth as he stared down at you with a mix of desire and exasperation.

“Keep…fuckin’ talking,” he panted, using his free hand to press against the bulge he consistently created in your womb. “Tell me how I suck.”

At this point, you were full-on moaning and crying. He invaded every single one of your senses like some sort of sex parasite, blocking the receptors in your brain that allowed you to think properly.

He was everywhere; In front of you, inside of you, all in your guts as your poor achy cunt fell victim to his bullying.

“Pretentious…Asshole! I said what I said,” you said in between gasps of breath that came increasingly rare as Luigi ravaged you whole.

He chuckled, bringing both of his hands to the back of your thighs and pushing them up against your shoulders just so he could get in your face. 

“You say that but you’re squeezing me like a fuckin’ hug…” he growled, knitting his brows together in ecstasy.

He was furious; fucking all of his anger into you, watching as your body jumped with the force of his thrusts. He could see why people lost their minds to women, running to grab a pencil and paper to capture the essence of someone doing something as mundane as changing their clothes.

Your hands clawing into his back, sharp enough to draw predatory reminders of red-hot passion every time he went to the gym. Your face scrunched up in euphoria as you fought to keep eye contact, the way he held you down like a ferocious beast as he threatened to put an end to your primitive barbarity.

He couldn’t capture this in code, absolutely not. He envied the artist who could recreate this scene from memory later on in the small frame of a sketchbook or the tall stature of a canvas. Art is beautiful in all its subjective beauty, and you were his perfect moving masterpiece.

He groaned and gigged into your neck as he leaned down, sucking on the sensitive flesh while he did his best to knock some sense, or maybe even a baby, into you. When he felt your velvety and warm walls begin to flutter and twitch around him, only then did he come back up to ask.

“You miss me?”

“Fuck yes, oh my god so much…” you babbled, your waterline brimming with tears as you struggled to even conceptualize the man above you. Your stomach jolted and fluttered with want, your ears rang with need, your hands scratched with fever, and your mind fogged with lust.

The coil deep within you snapped, prompting a string of swears to fly from your lips as you painted Luigi with your pearly-white release, flashes of what you could only believe to be heaven dancing behind your eyelids as your mind dished out one last command to regain a semblance of control.

Your ankles wrapped around Luigi’s waist, trapping him against you as his moans turned into high and breathy wines.

He painted your insides a new shade of angelic white, stiffing against you as he cried out your name in blissful ecstasy. 

He collapsed on top of you, huffing and puffing as he registered the little move you pulled.

“And you said you didn’t like me…”

[vagueconfusion]

halfway through the newest episode of misfits and magic and hit with the reminder that Evan gave K his shirt in the last episode to wear and they're probably still wearing it

[scattered-under-moonlight]

I'm replaying the first Outlast and Its DLC and I live for the boys notes, Also the difference in their personalities is so funny to me

Miles: I'm a professional but I'm also stuck in hell so go fuck yourself

Waylon: I miss my wife and this might suck but that wont stop me from being articulate

[primus-why]

I Feel TFOne Could've Handled This Better...

Hot take but I feel like folks have been really generous with the take that OP was unable to find ~the perfect words~ in the heat of the moment (and thus should be given some grace) when he told D to stand down and "not be like Sentinel"... namely cuz I don't feel that the narrative supports this?

Like-- after all is said and done, OP doesn't reflect on that part of their split. He doesn't have a moment where he seeks validation or voices his regrets over the choice of his words, it's actually cut-and-dry. The narrative (as it stands) supports that OP saw D-16 acting up, so he called him out and stood on business, down to the last scenes where he's basically like "yeah it's a shame but y'all knew I had to do it to 'em."

It didn't have to be much! I'm not saying to absolve Megs, just show OP looking at things from a different perspective/contemplating a bit on that tough choice and the morality of the moment. Some examples of what I wish we had:

B-127 straight up blurting the obvious by later chatting with Orion like, "Wait so you told your best friend that he was acting just as bad as the guy who enslaved us for our entire lives and was torturing him like an hour ago? Oof. Seems kinda harsh." Then have some of OP's regret show on his face.

OP asking Elita-1 after Megs is banished if he did the right thing. Have Elita back his choice up, saying, "You should have seen what he did after you were... gone. It was terrifying. I know it was tough, but you made the right call." OP is grateful for the support, but a conflicted look still flashes across his face before he steels himself to look out towards the horizon... and the future.

Have OP walk past other mechs/former miners who didn't go with the High Guard saying stuff like, "Wish I could've given Sentinel a piece of my mind!" "Yeah, but I'm glad he's gone for good." "Ugh I miss everything." "Oh, it was crazy! Megatron picked him up and then he rrrrriiipped-- oops, hey there, Mr. Optimus... Prime... sir?" And have OP wave hello, looking a bit sick when they leave.

Post-credits scene with Starscream going on and on, asking Megs when they'll be back to teach the upstart Prime a lesson. Megs grabs his face to shut him up. "Patience, Starscream. The Prime thinks I'm no better than Sentinel... but I'll show him. He wants Iacon? He can have it. In the meantime we'll take the rest of the planet! Then I'll come back, crush Prime under my heel, and we'll take Iacon too. Sentinel's reign will barely be a footnote, because I'm about to become Optimus Prime's worst nightmare." The vocal performance would really need to sell this-- like picture Megs saying something like that from a place of anger and hurt, not so much a place of genuine evil or malice.

Basically instead of Orion's assertion being backed up as black and white/good vs bad, I wish we had some different opinions/reactions from the characters sprinkled in there. Like you can't tell me out of allllll the miners who weren't strong enough/willing to go with the High Guard and ended up sticking around that NONE of them were like "eyyo honestly?? Kiiiiinda glad Sentinel is dead. Wish I could have helped, tbh." like come onnnnn...

And you can't even argue that he's not an active threat-- I don't think everyone would see things that way! It's not just about the threat he physically has, but the threat he represents and is very likely to act upon if given the opportunity! He has a proven track record of not only being sneaky and conniving, but also capable of dealing some serious damage/killing people bigger and stronger than him, plus he has the backing of the Quints. All he'd need to do is wriggle his way out of jail and run off to his sponsors, then he'd probably be back to hurt more people! (If the Quints didn't just kill him out of incompetence lmao). There's a lot of "ifs" here, but I think it's a valid argument that not everyone would agree on what is the right or wrong way to handle Sentinel once he was down long enough to, like, do something about him.

I feel the situation needed a bit of nuance. In some way I wish they had kicked the can and had D and Orion bicker while Sentinel escaped, then have D get frustrated enough by the loss of Sentinel to point fingers (and his fusion canon) at Orion, who then falls and becomes OP. (Megs could still show some of thar emotion/remorse right after he does it too.) Not only would this open the door for a sequel, but tbh the Quint might have just killed Sentinel anyways and sought to deal with the miners uprising themselves lol. (Maybe that could have been an after credits scenes too instead of the B-127 bit??)

Would love to see a moment in a sequel where they have a calmer moment after arguing for a bit. Have OP mention how Megs was out of line, that it hurt and even scared him to see him act that way, and Megs can quietly point out "you said I was as bad as Sentinel... is that really how you see me? After everything we went through?"

Then OP can fumble the bag again lmao like "D, I... I'm sorry, that didn't come out right... but you still took things way too far..."

"Why am I not surprised-- your opinion is what matters the most! Maybe that's why you became a Prime, since you're so good at acting like the world revolves around you--!"

*gets interrupted by someone else before another yelling match ensues*

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[everybody-hit-the-pyro-cue]

specialized education and gifted children programs are so fucked up I see the purpose but the execution and expectations are genuinely horrific I've yet to meet a single one of us that's doing okay besides from those who just reached their breaking point and chose to stop caring

[rhineposting]

saw someone unironically saying "rhinedottir fed nigredo to durin to make nigredo grow better and stronger because durin's stomach is actually nurturing like hummus 😊😊😊" god if you're up there can you revoke this person's rights to speak about rhinedottir, or any morally questionable girlboss for that matter. if you can't accept that a lady had her son swallow her other son whole then just move onto characters who are actually nice instead of rewriting the actually not so good characters to fit your imaginary narrative better.

[girlivealwaysbean]

hey god if you've created someone for me can you introduce me to them sooner? i kinda need them now

[mainfaggot]

just watched challengers at the cinema w my little sister. it was so intense wtf

[tittysuckersworld]

once again asking begging for a rival

[tristanrambles]

Me through clenched teeth with a white-knuckled grip on my pen: My Art has Value, the Only One who has to Like it is Me, My Art has Value---

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Yeah but the most hilarious thing a friend said about me was— I used to have a very dear friend who was hella intimidating to me, and i dont get easily intimidated. She was loud and outspoken and provocative, she loved a good fight and sought it, she was the only friend i had who i could happily challenge and provoke and get into her head because i knew she was absolutely secure in her own skin and rarely lost her ground, she loved being challenged. We were a formidable duo together, and there was this one time a guy jokingly asked her which one of us is scarier— she pointed to me without a second thought. It was so out of the blue and everyone, including me, turned around and was like ?????

because i assure you, i dont look scary, far from it in fact, and i can be loud, but it doesn't happen often. Most of my life i've been sitting in silence in a corner just listening. And i remember my friend laughing and saying that yes, she's loud and fiesty and she throws a fight and wrestles men every other Tuesday for the fuck of it, but really it's me people should be afraid of, because at the end of the day she plays along. She knows the rules, and she adapts to societal conventions, she works with people and she adheres to the implicit boundaries of different contexts (while screaming about how fucking stupid they are.) and sure, i dont look like much on the surface, and i'm mostly quiet and soft, but i don't negotiate. I dont play along and if i dont like something i'll flip the table on the game. She told the guy, "all things considered, i work with you and adapt one way or another; she doesn't adapt, she breaks through your thresholds."

And it's been 8 years and i still think about this remark. One of the most intimidating women i knew thought i'm the intimidating one because i'm a nonconformist, and so little has changed on that front. For the longest time she was resentful of me because she felt like i exist outside the rules and i think i'm exempt from them while she was stuck knee deep in societal conventions and "this is how things are done around here". I never really got it in my 20s, but now i think i do, which is to say; i pay my own price for willingly existing outside the thresholds of common protocols and societal codes of conduct, but that's just what i do. I never really learnt how to play along, and i guess i didn't want to, wasn't worth the effort. This isn't to say that i pick a fight with every single person i meet; quite the contrary, i dont respond to 98% of people i come in contact with, it's sort of a somewhat eternal state of "i dont care". I have very limited amount of energy, always did, so response is a privilege i only gift the people i absolutely love. The rest of the times i just leave, or if i decide to do something, i do it anyway, i throw myself into the thing without bothering to correct anyone or infouence their point of view.

But also, during the years i have met a select few people like me, and what always catches me offguard is, people dont tell you how much courage it takes to flip the table and go down the path everyone else is scared of. And i know this because i have met many cowards along the way too. People think that courage and bravery is the absence of fear. They think you must be so fearless in order to be an iconoclast, which is absolutely not the case; i have been afraid and vulnurable everyday of my life, i hear my bones rattle in my ears everytime i do the simplest tasks and i have always been thin-skinned, i get hurt very easily. And i always seem to pick up fights other people find impossible; it's not because i'm not terrified. Courage is not the absence of fear, it's the presence of purpose. You either have something that's important to you, something you want to accomplish, or you dont. Something either matters to you, or it doesn't, you cannot negotiate it. Everytime i flipped the table on things and said "i wont do that" "i will not become that" "this doesn't fucking sit with me" "i will not compromise" i was crying and i did it anyway, because my integrity as a person comes above societal conventions on any given day, and i dont fucking negotiate.

And the thing is, the older i get the less respect i have for cowards. I find value in fear, in uncertainty, in vulnurability, in grief, in pain, but nothing makes me lose faith in a person faster than "i want to do X, but i'm scared, so i'm not doing it." Lack of courage and resolve immediately makes me go "that's nice, good for you. You're lovely, and do take your time and go at your pace while you're detangling this yarn of yours, i know you got this, i believe in you even when you dont believe in yourself. But i dont have to be here while you do this, i dont have to exist besides people who choose their own manifactured comfortzone over change. " Because at the end of the day, i'm a noncomformist and i value change; not in pretty socially acceptable "oh i love change! let's have a discourse!" talks, but in action. Values are not pretty words, they're something that inherently translate into your behavior, you uphold them. And i think that's what makes me very scary to the average person; i dont talk about changing status quo, i bring it. And i dont care for standing besides people who dont really want anything to change after all because "that's scary and uncomfortable". Everything was scary and uncomfortable too when you were a toddler Jennifer, the difference was, back then you had courage.

[bmpmp3]

now that virvox has basically handed me my own personal slightly clunky boyband with the voicevox humming update to play with i now fully understand the urge for anime idol companies to give all the vocal lines to one specific character. i want to put my specialest little guy of all time (takehiro) in like every part LOL

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[exopelagic]

one day I’ll stop vagueposting abt The Guy but that day is not today

[thingswhatareawesome]

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