#too cliche or too mean

[swan2swan]

The biggest problem with Dominion is the dichotomy of Maisie's plotline with regards to motherhood, and the way both plots revolve around it from wholly opposite perspectives while never actually clashing.

Her plot starts off simply enough: she's angsting about not being a real person, Claire's trying to protect her, and Maisie spits at her with the "You're not my mother!" line right before she's kidnapped.

This is a classic Finding Nemo setup, which Claire takes to with gusto: she calls on favors, slips into seedy markets, fights a crime boss, eludes raptors, jumps out of a plane, and crawls through a forest to get the girl she calls her daughter back. Most stories would show this as a trial: ye olde "GASP! My parents love me!" story.

But the fact that Claire has no obligation to bring Maisie back is never challenged. Soyona doesn't bother with asking or playing the role of the tempting serpent instilling doubt; the closest the movie comes to that is Franklin giving her the "I told you this would happen" speech. It's all taken for granted, which is...okay, because we have already established who Claire is, but that's not the problem.

The problem comes with the other half of the story: Maisie mopes to Wu about how she's just a close, and Wu immediately points out how no, she was conceived and carried in a human womb just like everyone else! And he calls Charlotte "your mother".

And Maisie goes "Is that my mother?"

And when she meets Ellie, Dr. Sattler is somehow fully aware of who Maisie's REAL MOTHER, the one who created her and who she looks like, is, and gushes about how great of a eugen--person she was. Every single time Maisie talks about "her mother" with the people around her, the word is referring to Charlotte Lockwood, the woman who birthed her.

Meanwhile, that Claire woman is crawling into a slimy pond to get away from a twenty-foot-tall Kreugersaurus because she wants to get Maisie away from kidnappers.

Of course, Maisie runs back to her and yells "Those are my parents!", but there's still something missing there. Claire's side of the story is all about her powering through, risking her life time and time again to track down her daughter...but there's never really a moment between them later. Maisie even posits the "So I was just an experiment to her..." plotline that has been seen before, but even that's immediately refuted.

The movie's not wrong for avoiding the cliches and the oft-used tropes of foster motherhood, but it doesn't really break any new ground, either. Obviously, people can have more than one mom, but there's something of an imbalanced focus on Charlotte as Maisie's mother in the Maisie and Jurassic Park plotline, while Claire in the Jurassic World plotline is doing all the expected Mom Stuff.

I can't wholly express what's bothering me about it, maybe I'm overthinking it, but it...doesn't quite sit right with me.

[scarefox]

Here have some scientific elaboration for the people who still are in denial that Babe is bottoming. And not Charlie possibly riding him.

(I heard some folks didn't want to believe Babe is a bottom since ep1. I also saw such comments for a different drama where people were in denial for the same stupid reasons) 🤷‍♂️

Or maybe I just love that they very subtly show Babes leg position. Very minimal but they show it.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk

[possamble]

farcille postcanon characterization warmup that got way out of hand. beware, here be spoilers, dragoncock, and bottoming as an extreme sport.

~~~

Marcille has always loved Falin’s voice. Soft, high, airy and girlish—it was always as gentle as the rest of her, even in the midst of pitched combat. When things went to hell in a handbasket, it was always Falin’s whispery incantations that kept Marcille grounded as blood and monster guts sailed through the air. 

And that hasn’t changed. No amount of dragon could really change that, Marcille thinks. Yes, she she has moments when her voice becomes rough and ragged and guttural, mostly when she’s swinging her mace or her fists, or gritting her teeth through a monster claw stuck into her side. But maybe that urge to growl was always there, and she’s just finally able to voice it now. Marcille finds that she’s loud at times she would have been silent before—grunting with exertion when she would have grimaced quietly, singing some nonsense melody over a mundane task when she would have hummed it under her breath—and that’s a good thing.

But otherwise, nothing has changed. Falin’s voice is as delicate as ever, chiming in a lilting giggle behind a dainty gesture of her hand. Rustling like pages of well-loved books as she casts her protective wards, or ponders over how to cook a new monster, or murmurs right into Marcille’s ear while she…

Well. While she’s got Marcille bent over her own desk with her nightgown pooled at her ankles. Marcille’s not sure if it’s rude or considerate that she didn’t get a chance to dress herself before she had a girthy cock shoved up her cunt first thing in the morning. 

“Marcille,” Falin whispers, unfairly shaky as if she’s the one getting fucked within an inch of her life. She’s mouthing at Marcille’s neck, draped over her and pressing as close as possible in every way, gripping Marcille’s hands tight and keening like she’s found heaven between her legs. “Marcille, Marcille…” 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she gets to do that, that she gets to sound like that—with that sweet voice she’s always had, now making obscene little noises that are still whispery fine and almost ethereal coming from her mouth. These quiet, barely voiced sighs that puff against Marcille’s ear, the dulcet moans that thrum against her skin, and that demure little gasp when she thrusts a little harder and somehow finds even more space inside Marcille to bottom out in—

“Marcille…” she whimpers like she’s in pain, on the verge of tears, fingers tight between Marcille’s as they grip the edge of the rattling desk together. “You feel—so good, oh… You’re”—another moan buried just behind her ear—"so wet, so good…” 

It’s not like Marcille got the chance to be anything else right now, did she? Not when Falin fell upon her just as she was sorting through her documents, pressed against her back and already unfastening the clasps of her gown and slipping it off her shoulders. She was fully naked before she even got a playful good morning whispered into her ear—it’s a miracle she had the forethought to push her papers out of the way just before Falin had her wrapped around her finger in the most literal sense. 

Well. Fingers in the plural, really, since she always starts with two. Usually while pawing at Marcille’s tit with her other hand until her stupid knees give out and she ends up buckling over whatever surface is nearby—in this case, her desk, mercifully free of any uncapped inkwells at the moment. Now slathered with sweat that makes her tits slip and slide along the wooden varnish, of course, but otherwise non-disastrous. 

Hopefully her nightgown is catching most of the mess running down her thighs, or she’s going to have to make the most humiliating request to the castle staff about her carpets for the third time this month—

“Yes…!” Falin digs her heels in and fucks her even harder, taken with some kind of mindless momentum all of a sudden. “I love you,” she pants in that stupid—feathery, daisy-light tone that has no business being this sweet while she’s ravaging Marcille like this— “you’re perfect, you’re perfect—” 

Marcille’s going to die like this. This is how she’s going to go: Bleating like an animal with her cheek stuck to her desk with drool, eyes just permanently rolled back in her head, toes barely touching the floor as Falin keeps fucking her further onto the desk. She hasn’t said a single coherent word since her second orgasm however many minutes ago, just broken into an endless stream of guttural noises as her cunt slobbers and squelches around Falin’s cock almost as loudly as she’s wailing. 

“Marcille,” Falin keens, sounding like a bashful princess ravished to breathlessness—just something straight out of a high-minded erotica novel—all while hammering Marcille into the desk at a shallow, breakneck pace. “You feel—feel s–o good, you’re perfect, oh—oh, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I love you, I love you—” 

For the love of—fuck. Marcille can distantly hear herself scream, can feel the desk digging into her as she flails, her grasp on sanity getting thinner and thinner with each word that tumbles out of Falin’s mouth and shoots straight through her nerves. She’s—good god, she’s not usually this talkative. It’s almost always Marcille begging and blabbering about how much she wants Falin’s cock, how good it feels, how she wants it harder and faster and more, screaming and crying Falin’s name over and over—

But now, in the absence of Marcille’s pathetic yapping—after she’s already fucked the words out of Marcille so thoroughly—Falin’s taken it upon herself to murmur a stream of honeyed nonsense into her ear, her frail and gentle voice breaking with desperation—and fuck, it’s not fair.

“Yes, yes, oh—” Falin sobs into her neck. “I love it—I love it when you sound like this, I love you—you’re so good, so good for me, my Marcille—” 

No, no, no, she can’t do that, she can’t do that—she can’t say that, in that voice, while her cock is so deep in Marcille there’s hardly room for anything else, battering all her nerve endings and rearranging her so that there’s nothing left but her, Falin, Falin—

“Ah!” Falin cries out, like she’s the one getting reamed against her stupid fucking desk so hard she can barely breathe— “Yes, please, please—please say my name again!” 

Well. She can beg all she fucking wants, but it’s not going to be pretty and she has no one to blame but herself—it’s her fault Marcille can hardly speak, it’s her fault her name is only coming in rough wails with both syllables separated with heaving, crying breaths. Marcille gives it her all, scrapes whatever intelligence she has left to speak, and sounds like a dying animal in a way that can’t possibly be anything but hideous to listen to—

And still, Falin sobs, as if in utter ecstasy as she fucks Marcille so hard the desk starts scraping along the floor in harsh jumps. 

“Yes, yes—ah—” Her voice, not so whispery gentle now but still so melodious and clear, sounding out from deep in her chest— “I—love—you—” she weeps, punctuated by the hard slams of the desk against the floor as she drops the rapid pace in favor of mercilessly hard thrusts— “Beautiful—perfect—mine!” 

Then she finally, finally comes—not that it stops her, not with how she thrusts with every spurt. Like she’s not just satisfied with letting it spill out, like she needs to fuck it into Marcille with all her strength, once, twice, then one last time, stuffing her cunt absolutely full with searing heat—

And Marcille doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s unceremoniously ejected out the other side of the high, that telltale swoop of vertigo rushing through her veins. The orgasm doesn't even have the grace to let her go limp with afterglow, of course, and she’s left there convulsing and twitching like a drowning fish. With her jaw pressed to the desk, she can actually hear her teeth chatter from how hard she’s shaking, Falin’s warm weight on her be damned. 

(One day. One day, she’ll stop embarrassing herself like this—one day she’ll finish like a normal person during sex, instead of going off like a cheap firework every half hour and wringing an orgasm out of herself as soon as she feels Falin finish inside her, whether or not she even had one left in her to begin with.) 

“M-Marcille,” Falin stammers, her voice breathless but now shy and girlish again as she slowly untangles their hands. “Are you—are you okay?” 

The gall. To ask her that, when she’s nothing but a sweaty carcass slung over her desk, still twitching erratically. To be so gentle as she straightens up and kisses the back of her neck, tenderly brushing her hair to the side as she pulls out ever so slowly—

And still. Not. Slowly. Enough—apparently! Not with the sparks that explode in Marcille’s eyes again, utterly unclear if this is another orgasm or just a particularly brutal aftershock! She just goes squeaking and shaking and sliding off the desk onto her knees, hands clapped over her cunt like they’re going to protect her from the lightning racing up and down her spine. She doesn’t even know where she landed, really, convulsing and closing her thighs around her hand as cum and slick drools into her palms, falling forward and— and smacking her head against the edge of her desk.

“Oh!” Feathered arms clasp around her before she can slide past the wood with her sweaty forehead and land on her face. “Careful—are you okay?” 

The gall. The audacity. The—something, or whatever, fuck, Marcille doesn’t even care anymore. Her head throbs with an oncoming bruise, she can’t feel her legs, she can feel her pussy way too much, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart on the spot—

“Okay… let’s…” There’s some maneuvering going on, but hell if Marcille can actually tell what Falin’s doing. “Here, let’s take a bath—I’ll go draw some water.” 

Marcille whines, because no—she doesn’t know where she is, she just twists until her face finds feathers and buries herself there. She even manages to bring one cum-covered hand to grip at the quils, because this mess is Falin’s fault and if she doesn't like it then she can wash it off herself—but she’s not allowed to leave. 

A little chuckle under her breath—and it’s so fucking cute and girlish like she hasn’t just demolished a full grown woman to the brink of unconsciousness, but Marcille can’t even find it in herself to be mad. Falin can ask her whatever the hell she wants, do whatever the hell she wants, so long as she doesn’t let go. 

“I’m bringing you with me, I promise,” Falin whispers so tenderly, pressing a kiss to Marcille’s head. There’s arms tightening around her back and under her knees, and she feels herself being lifted. “I wouldn’t leave you like that…” 

Better not, Marcille grumbles to herself. Not sure if it made it past her mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Falin’s going to take responsibility for turning her morning into—into this, even if it means having to draw some bathwater with an elf clinging to her the entire time. She’s going to be the one to wash her off, bring her their missed breakfast, and tell everyone why she wasn’t there at the morning meeting—

Maybe not that last part. 

“I’m sorry,” she hears, in that soft and whispery tone she’s loved for so many years. That voice that didn’t change, even with everything that happened—everything that Marcille did to her, and it’s—

It would be so, incredibly stupid if she started crying out of nowhere. 

“Liar,” she whines, digging the indignant annoyance back up to pout like a spoiled brat. “You liked… every second…” 

Another giggle that so infuriatingly lovely. “I did.” The sound of a squeaky valve turning, then rushing water that slaps against stone. “Did you?” 

Marcille just grumbles again and clings even tighter. Falin just laughs a little louder and strokes her hair, too kind to demand an answer in so many words—or, perhaps, impishly content to let Marcille incriminate herself with her silence, as she so often does.

[coolnonsenseworld]

I wanted to say that outside of semantics and divisions - I am simply happy to find communities that welcome with kindness - that welcome you by a good heart and not the ability to conform. I am happy for the opportunity to be surrounded by people who care. It's a funny world we live in - making the same mistakes over and over, multiplying the same suffering by billions. I don't think I hope for an utopia anymore, I don't think such a thing exists - but you can't call me hopeless either. And that's what matters.

As a side note - this piece is set in DanceAU, which might be better known to Patrons so far, but still it was the best and most fitting option for this occasion..... also there are 12 DanceAU pieces incoming, because I might be making another calendar so. get familiar with these mutts

[rainbowcrowley]

lights will guide you home and ignite your bones

[u5an5]

Theory: The Clone X was not Cody like some people think or even Fives (I know he's been dead for a very long time but so was Boba Fett and look where we are. Plus, Echo was supposed to be certainly dead too; making him Winter Soldier-esque storyline wouldn't be that surprising) or not even Slick.

((Also, now that we've seen his face devoid of any tattoos or scars I think first two takes are definitely not applicable anymore; they wouldn't put that much effort to make him unrecognizable))

Back to the point: In my opinion, The Clone X was none other than...

Fox.

Now let me explain.

Who else, other than X, was loyal to the law and justice dictated by it over any moral or ethic code?

Fox.

Who else was portrayed with such single-minded focus on hunting down traitors of the government he served, regardless of what it was?

Fox.

Who else could know not only Coruscant so well but also identify Rex like they knew each other?

He already was a remarkably successful tracker of traitors, why not make him more efficient by pointing them out for him?

Good soldiers follow orders, after all.

[ingravinoveritas]

(**Warning: Spoilers for OFMD season 2, episodes 6 and 7.)

Just finished watching the newest episodes of OFMD 2 and I am a complete shambles. The fact that we've now gotten multiple Ed/Stede kisses, and everything around how messy and beautiful and human they are, has left me aching. But mostly all I can think about is how badly I want to see this with Michael and David:

We've already seen how powerful their connection is--on and off screen--and I would so love to see Michael and David portray this type of intimacy, even if it's not in Good Omens. I want to see them in that afterglow, that utter domesticity of the second gif, resting against throw pillows and bathed in soft morning light. Imagine seeing Michael and David so vulnerable and messy and queer, so perfectly queer and human and alive. And I want them to do it in a context where they don't have to apologize, where there's no hemming or hawing or hedging, only bodies and hearts doing what they do when two people who belong to each other share a moment like this.

I truly hope it does happen someday, both for Michael and David's sakes and ours...

[brazilian-whalien52]

Okay, but the reason I do enjoy Claude in who made me a princess when I use don't like the shitty dad redemption is that since the start you could see he in fact had some affection, and what makes him change from the "original" plotline is not that Athanasia becomes someone completely different or that she becomes someone useful. A lot of Manhwas just seem like the dad just see the protagonist when she starts to make money, connections or to have power. It's clear he just likes her for being who she is? The change is that he got to be around her before the spell ruined his mental health more and she was more mature too when they meet. Of course, it sucks that he used that spell instead of being there for his children. But grief is a devastating feeling, that causes people to make wrong choices.

[unnonexistence]

btw if i'm ever rambling about math on here and you have questions about it, you are ALWAYS welcome to ask. always. everyone has a different level of math education they're working from & math has a lot of technical terms & frankly i just forget stuff a lot so my rambling might not be all that coherent to begin with.

worst case is idk how to answer your question. more likely you will get some sort of explanation because it means i get to ramble more.

[crybaby-bkg]

I’m 12% in this new book and I’m struggling so bad to get through it bc it reminds me too much of like. child cartoons almost??? bc it’s three sisters who link up with three brothers and like the fairy guy connected to the water is obviously gonna get with the sister with the blue hair, the one connected to the wind is gonna get with the sister with gray hair etc etc and it just. it gives me Alvin and the chipmunks x the chippettes??? powerpuff girls x rowdyruff boys vibes LIKE?????? and it just. it’s making it so hard to get through even tho I do like the actual FMC and her guy in their alone scenes together 😭😭😭😭

[obstinatecondolement]

I have a lot of fondness for clunky Hallmark Christmas romance movies with rock bottom production values, vaguely established and extremely contrived plots, dodgy dialgoue, often questionable line readings, and child actors playing a kid who seems either three years younger or older than themselves. Hallmark have not undermined themselves with glib, self aware irony or attempted to "elevate" the delightful low artform that they excel in. Refreshing, honestly.

[pochapal]

this being the first theory battler has lampshaded and discarded as a joke is making me extremely 👁

[letsjam-art]

silly idea time

idk how this idea even started but the outfit i had in mind was way back from a doodle in 2021 or 2022, basically my 'what if' for temperance ending only instead of being wildly ooc and wearing a collared button up johnny becomes a cowboy. and because i was listening to vagrant song from wtwtlw (that whole ost really, and hardspace shipbreaker) i had the bright idea that johnny would finally become what his class in the ttrpg was an homage to and wander around collecting stories n telling them n kind of being a dead man walking/ghost story/witness/helper-bard r smthn but having been extremely tempered by the experience of v choosing to die for him, being shocked enough into actually thinking about his beleifs n what have you, humbled enough now to want to listen to others hed choose this path of wandering the continent of na, maybe for the first time in a long time actually taking in life around him yadda yadda. in my little scenario i also had it that even if/when the next corpo war broke out or the nusa annexed more free states, he wouldnt get involved like he used to, cause i think its interesting to muse on how a profound experience would greatly change someone so stuck in their ways like johnny. i think hed still be motivated by guilt and avoidance at first, but it would evolve into something more like a calling/altruism as he takes more seriously and uses more intentionally the time he was given as a dead man walking

also i realize how much of this 'outfit' is just putting v in a hat and calling them johnny like its some perry the platypus thing (also idk how to draw hats)

[nulltune]

wip from months ago that i will complete someday maybe 🥴 (delusional) BUT UNTIL THEN- i'm a self indulgent binch i want a witchy hakuno for a general fantasy verse so badddd it makes me look stupid <3 /this was rlly inspired by "wait by the shooting star falls" btw 🥺🫶

[strawbubbysugar]

Bethroned Rewrite Chapter 14

[macroglossus]

being evaluated for adhd by having one of those full psych evals that last like two hours. scared frightened etc.... last time i took it i lied extensively bc i was 13 and thought they might tell my mommy if i said i had suicidal thoughts. and i still have a habit of lying to therapists bc i'm embarrassed......... AGH idk. what if i take it and they tell me that the reason im Like This is bc im genuinely just weird and shitty and not bc im mentally ill at all. SCARED