#what have you done to meh

[fyreflakes]

I AM GOING TO SCREAM

espio going through severe amounts of white boy withdrawals </3 Sad!

bonus under the cut:

[alonolaart]

MEGA RICH LIGHT-BENDING GUY - "Something's amiss. The light beams bend around his face and scatter in a thousand directions. It seems the laws of physics do not apply here. They are suspended, distorted, an echo."

Number 4 in my series of Disco Elysium patches 🪡

[the-sonic-crew]

"SAY NO MORE SIR!"

*grabs my leather bag and pulls out a comically long chain of handkerchiefs tied together and a lamp*

"erm one sec it's here somewhere....."

*my hand inside the bag starts glowing and a kitty of light with the gigachad face is in my arms in the simba™ pose*

"alas. Sonic you must bow before the ultimate kitty because you arent ultimate sry chat..😿😞"

"AHA NOW KITH!"

(YAYAYYAAYYAYAYAYYAYAYAYYSAYATAYYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAAYATATATTAATATATTTATATTATATAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYY)

[shadow's inner monologue at that moment went something like this:

Ugh... the... kitty- NO, MUST RESIST- but... the kitty...- NO, SHADOW. IT'S NOT WORTH IT, YOU'LL DO SOMETHING YOU'LL REGRET WHEN YOU'RE OLDER. PEOPLE WILL COME UP TO YOU IN THE FUTURE, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO TELL THEM THAT YOU AND SONIC AREN'T IN A RELATIONSHIP, AND THEY WON'T STOP BOTHERING YOU. IT'S NOT WORTH IT- but the kitty... it's... all of it... the ultimate kitty.... -that does sound pretty cool but you CAN'T SHADOW. REPULSED, REMEMBER? YOU'LL DO IT AND THEN YOU'LL FEEL THAT ANXIOUS FEELING IN YOUR STOMACH THAT GROWS AND GROWS AND YOU JUST FEEL SO OVERWHELMED AND UNCOMFORTABLE AND OH GOD-]

I... I- I- I-

[Sonic gets up from where he's been bowing, expression morphing from a playful flirt to a worried, faltering grin. His eyes train, briefly, on Shadow's chest; it's started to rise and fall at a quicker pace, faster than he's ever seen it- even during all of their races and petty fights.]

Hey, are- are you feeling alright?

[He steps closer to Shadow, but Shadow's expression only morphs further into something closely resembling horror before masking itself quickly with anger.]

GET AWAY FROM ME. I JUST- I just want- ARGH!

[He backs into a 'corner' of the space, curling into a ball.]

You're all the same. You'll force me to do such a thing... when I...

... I think maybe that was a boundary we shouldn't have crossed. Sorry guys, no kisses for Shadow in the near future. Or, uh, judging by that reaction, probably ever. Sooooooo if you don't mind, I'll justttttttt... yep that cat's ours now OK BYE

[EXPLANATION IN THE TAGS -💀]

[topaziraphale]

"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,

The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"

Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.

What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.

[n3bismel]

[seethinglikeme]

who actually suffered more? 🤔

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Can you love a machine? That's what Lasky wants to ask the Master Chief as he sits in front of Sarah's new promethean form. The Chief, immune to the Composer, but not immune to the suffering he feels about dragging her on this mission. In return, she is immune to his guilt because - well, does she even cycle emotions.

He hated seeing both of them like this. Halsey had come up with a "radical approach" for integration. To see him readily sacrifice himself once again, laying on an operating table face down with his spine exposed.

All to give him back Sarah. "Electrophysiology synced, Doctor." Roland's somber voice says from his pedestal, serving as an intermediary between the Chief and Sarah.

"John?" Halsey asks, as she monitors his gamma and beta waves to see if it dips.

He doesn't say anything, face down, probably being in the worst pain that he's ever been in with the multitude of probes across exposed nerves.

After a tense thirty-seconds, before Halsey could ask again, this time a thin underlay of panic in her voice, the Chief took a deep inhale as he, Roland, and Sarah started to make the same twitching movements.

Lasky almost leapt to stop Halsey before the monitors lit up with various things: a Forerunner, the matrices, the inner workings of Roland's complex decision trees and matrix transformations, flashes of Sarah -

"Memories, Captain Lasky." Halsey muttered, as if it was obvious, "They are in synchronization. They are attempting to rebuilt Commander Palmer's humanity from a mixture of organic electroimpluses through the filter of Roland's ... matrices."

"Halsey-" Glassman interrupts as a myriad of alarms start go off, and Roland starts screaming, "Master Chief's bios - they're all over the place and they're fluctuating wildly - he's going to go into arrest. You need to stop."

"We are almost there." She said through gritted teeth.

Memories of flashing lights, Roland screaming that it burns as the Chief started to seize on the table.

"End it, Halsey!" Lasky said, "We can't lose three people on one day."

"Almost there." She replied, her hand making a stopping motion between him and four other Spartan IVs.

"Halsey!"

"Sir, we're losing anti-grav on decks four, seven and eight. Local hydroponics have sprung leaks and S-Deck is reporting power outages."

"His Gamma waves are reaching critical values, even for an integrated Spartan, Halsey!"

"You're going to fry them all!"

"Almost there."

Cortana's face flashed on the screen, and Roland asking the question: "promise us you'll figure out which one of us is the machine"

The helplessness that Lasky felt was something that he hadn't felt since Cadmon's death, or fuck, even Chryler's death. What did he do? Just stand there and let it happen?

"Catherine Halsey, I'm ordering you to -"

A watcher deployed from the Promethean's back and in a screech, it and Roland said: "Beginning neurological reconfiguration. Recomposing harmonies. Our song has changed. We sing Alone."

Memories started to flood screens, children fighting each other, a small hand reaching for a bell. A woman in a playground asking to flip a coin.

"For heaven's sake, am I medical now?" Halsey proclaimed, grabbing a syringe and flicking her finger to turn over the table.

Then, Roland asked, whether it was Sarah, Chief or Roland himself:

"Am I a machine?"

Mehs, I am going to get you. You attack me in my own inbox, trying to hurt several of my guys at once. This is beautiful. We are getting operating tables involved? Okay Mehs okay. Hi friend

[aliferousdreamer]

ngl hotd season 2 has been really disappointing

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

So... I guess that I'm the only one who dislikes Lois and Jimmy's new designs...?????

This is just my opinion, but I don't know, they're just not appealing to me, too simple and common in other shows. Including Klark. Most of the anime aesthetic of the show just... takes me off to keep seeing it.

The story doesn't catch me either, I guess that is the Spiderman effect I catch it recently.

The villains and background characters... also not my type to watch.

I already have a list of new animes and movies to keep watching so I'm gonna drop My Adventures with Superman for now.

It's a cute show, but that's it for me.

[lateseptemberdawn]

first 8 seconds is love at first sight (SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UPPPPPPPP) the rest is meh

[icomehereforthefics]

It’s so hard to watch a show when you can’t stand the other lead… nothing against that actor but her face just annoys me lol

Also, the plot’s good and intriguing but I cannot with the romance plot. I really don’t like romance in movies or tv shows, it usually just bores me to death. I never get excited when they have a scene where it’s deliberately meant to be romantic and whatnot… this is especially true when the leads just don’t have chemistry so no matter how much they try to build the tension, I just don’t see it

If they had just stuck to the historical drama/political intrigue route I would’ve watched this in one sitting and actually paid attention. I clocked out the moment they played up the romantic scenes. Honestly, you can take out the romance b-plot and it still would’ve been so good! Like, the cinematography alone is worth it and also like the other side plots going on were actually intriguing…

[girlivealwaysbean]

okay okay i guess i do kinda want kids

[dream-thief-forever-amen]

Hello new symptom of chronic stress. Welcome to the fray.

[luna-azzurra]

How to Write a Character

↠ Start with the basics, because obviously. Name. Age. Gender. Maybe even a birthday if you’re feeling fancy. This is step one because, well, your character needs to exist before they can be interesting. But nobody cares if they’re 27 or 37 unless it actually matters to the story.

↠ Looks aren’t everything… but also, describe them. Yes, we know their soul is more important than their hair color, but readers still need something to visualize. Do they have the kind of face that makes babies cry? Do they always look like they just rolled out of bed? Give us details, not just “tall with brown hair.

↠ Personality isn’t just “kind but tough.” For the love of storytelling, give them more than two adjectives. Are they kind, or do they just pretend to be because they hate confrontation? Are they actually tough, or are they just too emotionally repressed to cry in public? Dig deeper.

↠ Backstory = Trauma (usually). Something shaped them. Maybe it was a messy divorce, maybe they were the middle child and never got enough attention, or maybe they once got humiliated in a spelling bee and never recovered. Whatever it is, make it matter to who they are today.

↠ Give them a goal. Preferably a messy one. If your character’s only motivation is to “be happy” or “do their best,” they’re boring. They need a real goal, one that conflicts with who they are, what they believe in, or what they think they deserve. Bonus points if it wrecks them emotionally.

↠ Make them suffer. Yes, I said it. A smooth, easy journey is not a story. Give them obstacles. Rip things away from them. Make them work for what they want. Nobody wants to read about a character who just gets everything handed to them (unless it’s satire, then carry on).

↠ Relationships = Depth. Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who annoys the hell out of them? Who do they have that messy, can’t-live-with-you-can’t-live-without-you tension with? People shape us. So, shape your character through the people in their life.

↠ Give them a voice that actually sounds like them. If all your characters talk the same, you’ve got a problem. Some people ramble, some overthink, some are blunt to the point of being offensive. Let their voice show who they are. You should be able to tell who’s talking without dialogue tags.

↠ If they don’t grow, what’s the point? People change. They learn things, make mistakes, get their hearts broken, and (hopefully) become a little wiser. If your character starts and ends the story as the same exact person, you just wasted everyone’s time.

↠ Flaws. Give. Them. Flaws. Nobody likes a perfect character. Give them something to struggle with, maybe they’re selfish, maybe they push people away, maybe they’re addicted to the thrill of self-destruction (fun!). Make them real. Make them human.

↠ Relatability is key. Your character doesn’t have to be likable, but they do have to be understandable. Readers need to get them, even if they don’t agree with them. If your character never struggles, never doubts, and never screws up, I have bad news: they’re not a character, they’re a mannequin.

↠ You’re never actually done. Characters evolve, not just in the story, but as you write them. If something feels off, fix it. If they feel flat, dig deeper. Keep refining, rewriting, and letting them surprise you. That’s how you create someone who feels real.

Now go forth and write characters that actually make people feel something. And if you need a reminder, just ask yourself: Would I care if this person existed in real life? If the answer is meh, start over.

[humanjarvis]

blushing bandit: part 1

synopsis: you coax caleb into admitting his crimes against your laundry.

tags: sub!caleb, caleb steals your panties to get off, you make him admit it, fingering (main character to self), caleb praise kink, caleb whimpers again, teasing, sexual condescension, cum...licking? (off of panties) pairing: caleb x reader word count: 1.3k

PART 2

a/n: i told myself if i ever wrote panty sniffer caleb it'd have to be unique since it's done so much so i hope this is enough. sorry if not. [omg i’m proofreading rn and i am not the same person i was when i wrote this]

You’d been keeping a spreadsheet.

In the last four times that Caleb had done your laundry, four pairs of your panties had gone missing.

The first time, you’d shrugged it off. Meh, maybe the dryer sucked them in, you’d thought. The second was just a coincidence, and the third had had you this close to calling a repairman. But by the fourth? You suspected you were dealing with a repeat offender—a human one. 

This wasn’t Caleb’s first time having a…fixation with your underwear. A few times prior, you’d walked past the laundry room to see him staring down at a small scrap of lace or cotton in his hands, frantically chucking them into the washer once he spotted you. Needless to say, you were so certain of his guilt that you didn’t even care to check his room—you were right, you knew, and he’d admit what he’d done by the end of the day. 

Fifteen minutes before Caleb usually gets home, you crack your door open just enough to expose your bed. Climbing onto the mattress, you angle your panty-clad lower half to the doorway. The pair you’ve got on are simple: pink cotton with white lace borders. You honestly didn’t care which ones you wore—they just needed to be light enough to stain.

Spreading your legs, you slip your hand under the lace waistband, running your fingers up and down your slit. As you part your folds, you slowly slide your hand up to play with your clit, circling, flicking, and rubbing until you’re slick with arousal. Your movements are calculated, methodical. This wasn’t about achieving pleasure—that would come when you tormented Caleb later. For now, your goal was to soil your panties with cum. 

When the front door opens, you quicken your pace, rocking your hips into the bed so it creaks and dropping distinct moans from your lips. 

You don’t even bother to listen for footsteps—you know he’ll come. You know he’ll see. 

As you feel yourself getting close, you swipe two fingers along your glistening folds before sinking them into your core, matching the rhythm of the other hand still playing with your clit.

The pressure builds and builds, but a glimpse of the shadow moving in the cracked doorway is what finally pushes you over the edge. 

With a loud cry, you roll your hips through your orgasm, writhing sensually on the crumpled sheets beneath you. 

After a heady moment, you remove your hands from your core and press them against the outside of your panties, making sure they’re wholly drenched for what you’re about to do.

When you look back up, the shadow is gone, and you know you’ve got him.

“How was your day?” you greet, barging into Caleb’s room with your hands behind your back. 

With his broad back toward you, he freezes briefly before relaxing. “It was alright, nothing much happened,” he shrugs, still not turning to face you. 

“Alright, huh?” you repeat. Clearly, he was in need of a little push. 

“You wanna know what I did today?” you start, a saccharine excitement in your voice. “Today I went through the load of laundry you washed for me yesterday. Do you want to guess what it had in common with the three loads before that?”

Tensing, Caleb finally turns around, a noticeable tremor in his idle hands. “It...smelled like detergent?” he jokes lamely, offering a weak smile. 

“Oh, cut the shit, Caleb,” you scoff, sauntering over to him. “I know. No excuses, no stupid jokes, no changing the subject. I know.”

A startled laugh falling from his lips, Caleb flits his eyes to the side before opening his mouth to respond. “Wh—”

“Shut it,” you intercept. “Now, I came in here to make a deal—an unfair deal, to be honest. It will benefit you much more than me.” Stepping closer, you grin at his wary expression before continuing. “If you admit you've been stealing my panties, you get to keep these. No catch,” you offer, waving your underwear, coated with the evidence of your earlier climax, in front of his face. 

Caleb’s eyes pop out of his skull. Dumbfounded, he stands staring down at you, opening and closing his mouth like he’s glitching.

“Hmm? I thought you liked these,” you mock. Placing a hand on his chest, you push his dazed form onto the bed behind him. Chuckling, you crawl up his body, panties threaded between your fingers. 

When you come face to face, you take his jaw in your other hand, angling it as if inspecting him. “Are you sick?” you pout. “Where’s your enthusiasm? Where’s the man who stole four pairs of panties out of my dirty laundry? One I could understand—to each their own—but four is just greedy, Caleb.”

Through his heaving breaths, all Caleb can respond with is a shuddering whimper. He looks up at you as if you’re about to smite him, and although you’re not, there’s something exhilarating about the visual. 

“No answer? What a bummer,” you sigh dramatically. With a mischievous wink, you tighten your grip on his chin. “That’s okay, though—I think I can find him.”

Slowly, you bring the hand holding your underwear up to hover right over his face. “Is he…here?” you ask, lightly tracing the lace hem of your panties around his jawline.

At the contact, Caleb’s breath hitches, and he lets out a pitiful, incoherent noise. 

“No? What about here?” you tease, now rubbing the fabric against his reddening cheek.

When he still doesn’t break, you click your tongue. “Still nothing?” you tut. “This guy’s a tough nut to crack. But don’t worry—I think I can find him right…here.” In one fluid motion, you grip Caleb’s chin and press your soaked panties to his face, the wettest patch directly over his nose and mouth. 

Caleb's eyes roll back into his head before he gives you what you’ve been waiting for. Jolting his hand out to grab your arm, he presses the fabric harder against his face as he bucks up into you. 

He inhales deeply before closing his eyes and, with his hand still wrapped around your wrist, pushes his tongue out to taste your leftover release.  

Moaning, he opens his mouth to suckle on your panties, and you coo down at him. “Aw, there he is,” you say, caressing his cheek with your free hand. “Just needed some guidance, hm? Needed to know I wasn't mad at you for using my dried slick to get off.” 

Whimpering through the material, he nods twice. 

“Good,” you praise as he nuzzles into your hand. “But!” you continue, ripping the fabric from his mouth, to which he groans from the loss of contact. 

“Remember what I told you. You can have these,” you say, dangling your underwear in his face and pulling away when he leans forward, “if you confess what you did.”

Violet eyes look up at you in panicked deliberation, and you can visibly see when his perversion overwhelms his pride. 

“W-when I did your laundry the last few times,” he starts timidly, voice hoarse from disuse. “I took…I didn’t mean to, I swear. They were just there and they smelled like you and I couldn’t stop.”

“Couldn’t stop what, Caleb?” you prod, brow raised. “What did you do with them?”

You know what he did with them. But you want to hear it from him.

“…I used them,” he admits, voice dropping to a whisper. “I brought them back here and I smelled them and…tasted them…pretended it was you. So I could come.” When he stops, his face is flushed scarlet. 

“Mm,” you hum, stroking his cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Thank you for telling me,” you praise, and he shivers under your touch. 

“You’ve been so good for me—I'll give you what I promised,” you say, folding your ruined panties and laying them neatly atop Caleb's chest.

Shuffling off of him, you head for the door before looking back. 

“And Caleb,” you call, “cotton cannot taste that good. Next time, just ask me for the real thing.” 

PART 2

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.