I’m just thinking about you and soobin having your first times together, both inexperienced and just going at it. (sub x sub 🤭)

unsure what you guys are even doing or if you’re even doing it right. you guys just know it feels good when you suck here, it feels good when you touch there.

two bunnies humping each other desperately for release, plenty of i love you’s exchanged here and there. both getting so whiny and moans progressively getting louder as both of you cum merely from grinding against eachother :(

yall are so so confused - you’re so shocked and impatient for soobin’s dick the moment he pulls it out, soobin having such a long and pretty dick but clueless as to how to use it ><

messy and sloppy kisses happening so often there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips at some point. soobin wanting to feel you but so scared that he would hurt you at the same time.

you practically have to beg for his dick before he mans up and sticks it inside of you <3

whiny moans and incoherent mumbles spilled from your lips, voices overlapping each other, soobin thrusting faster and sloppier by the second because it feels so so good~ m’so close!

the two of you cumming at the same time, sharing an intimately quiet moment, recovering from the amazing feeling of euphoria.

this has the two of you thinking why you guys didn’t do this earlier and now you guys are definitely going to do this more often, absolutely inlove with the idea of being able to be this close to one another.

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

Okay so something about the spiderbit wedding has been sitting in the back of my mind for awhile now and I don't know if anyone's talked about it but I just recently figured out the words to articulate it (kind of) so here we go!

Prior to the q!spiderbit wedding, a lot of the fanart/fanfics I saw/read depicted Cellbit waiting at the altar while Roier is walked down the aisle by either Foolish or Vegetta. Which makes sense! It keeps with the idea of the father "giving away" the bride (or in this case, the groom) at the wedding, which wouldn't be possible for Cellbit since he doesn't have any parental figures on the island. So, I was a little surprised when the wedding day came and Cellbit was the one to walk down the aisle while Roier waited at the altar. I was a bit disappointed at first---they missed a chance to do a sweet little spin on a wedding tradition! (Found family* my beloved <3)

But then I kept thinking---something about Cellbit walking down the aisle. Something about Cellbit walking down the aisle. Something about Cellbit walking down the aisle to the altar where Roier, his soon-to-be husband and trusted confidant, stands; where Felps, his best friend whom he just got back from an unknown fate, stands; where Forever, the friend he wronged but never lost faith in and wants to do right by going forward, stands.

Something about Cellbit being alone and walking himself down the aisle towards them like he is making an active choice. After the fear and the isolation, pushing others away and hurting those close to him so he could make himself a martyr because he felt like he had to face the Federation alone and that he could only rely on himself---now choosing to walk towards the altar where they stand---walking towards his happy ending.

Because this is his happy ending. I'm not at all an advocate for the idea of "oh romance/marriage is the only thing that will make you happy in life" but not only is being married to Roier something Cellbit desperately wants, this wedding means so much more than just getting married.

Of course, this isn't really the end, but for someone like Cellbit, it's a start. A new beginning. A brand new chapter of love, friendship, and trust. So yes, Cellbit walks down the aisle at his wedding, and he does it alone, and he does it because he deserves it, and he does it because he wants to, and he does it because he has to, and he does it because he needs this.

*I would just like to note that found family does not have to follow a nuclear formula with parent-child roles and I don't wish to propagate this misconception. That's just how Roier's family is structured in canon. Foolish and Vegetta are boyfriends and Roier calls them (or at least Foolish) "dad" that's just how it is and it is beautiful &lt;3

Also apologies if I get any lore wrong. I'm not a Roier or Cellbit main viewer but I learn a lot through what I do watch of their streams and what I absorb through my dash. Hopefully this still makes sense.

You may have already mentioned this in some of your other metas, and I just missed it, so please ignore this if it's redundant.

Do you think Bruce is projecting onto Jason by pushing him as a Robin? Obviously, Jason wanted to be Robin and was excited about it, and Bruce let Jason do other things, but (if I'm not mistaken) before Tim came into play, solidifying the whole Batman needs a Robin/support to keep him upright, Bruce and Dick becoming Batman and Robin, in the beginning, was also sort of a coping mechanism.

I think there are a few examples of Bruce enabling this kind of mindset. Like in Gotham Knights #43–44 (sorry), every time Barbara brings up Jason's inner turmoil, Bruce refocuses on his ability as a Robin; similarly, when Jason finds out about Two-Face and his dad, he is hurt, and Bruce acknowledges that but then does the same thing, zeroing in on reassuring Jason that he made a mistake but is still a good Robin.

Like, Jason got it from Bruce, but he unintentionally encouraged that kind of thinking.

oh, i definitely think that bruce is projecting on jason and that it profoundly affected jay. and, while every single one of your observations is apt, i would add that what truly made it so tragic is that he projected his own worst traits on jason while being blind to the fact that jay already shared his best qualities.

tldr: bruce projects himself on jason in terms of grief (saying that jason needs vigilantism to work his grief through) and sees his own worst traits in jason (anger) but doesn't see his own best traits in jay (compassion, love, and sensitivity). ironically, jason does end up developing all of the (projected) worst characteristics of bruce (obsessiveness, and relentlessness in pursuit of the respective perceived idea of justice). this happens even though they were barely present in his early storylines, and only ever manifested when jason was scared or lost. later, they truly came to be because of his trauma relating to vigilantism.

and the long, long version, coming with panels and quotes: under the cut.

first i want to say that the following analysis focuses very specifically on bruce's mistakes, but i don't view the overall of jay's upbringing by bruce solely in these terms. from text it is also clear that bruce deeply loves and cares about jay, and that jay enjoys being robin. now that this is clear, let's get to particularities, and start with jay's origin story.

i truly never stop thinking about the significance of bruce meeting jay in the crime alley, the place of his parents' death. there's a lot to be said about it, but here the focus is, of course, on the fact that he sees a little boy, very much similar to himself, angry and hurt, in the same scenery that brought him so much grief. and jay in some ways does appear to be a mirror of bruce's own agonies, as well as a mirror of his own inclination for seeking justice; and somehow, bruce fixates on the first one, while almost completely dismissing the latter.

bruce looks at him and assumes that the remedy to jason's pain and anger is being robin; and he doesn't stop to think about it. (it has to be noted that there's also classism at play, classism that is mostly a result of writers' own beliefs – collins did state in a couple of interviews that that the motivation behind jason's background was to make his introduction into vigilantism seem less offensive, as jason has already been exposed to crime...)

i think, in this context, it's interesting to look at the two-face storyline even closer, and from the start too. in the beginning, bruce talks of jason's 'street' roots and assumes jay would go "down the same criminal road that took his father [willis] to an early death." he also talks of jason making a lot of progress. later, in batman #411, after jason learns that willis has been killed by two-face, bruce comments that jay "has never been like this...listless...almost pouting--"

this all, along with jay's cheerful and diligent behaviour from the previous issue builds an interesting picture for us: because we essentially learn that jay has been overall an unproblematic child. bruce, of course, attributes this "progress" to the training. however, for anyone else, the logical conclusion would be that jay's quick adjustment was simply a matter of finding himself in a safe and stable environment and receiving continuous support and attention from a parental figure. i find it rather questionable that jason's personality softened down because he had something to punch in the cave–– the more intuitive explanation is of course that he was angry and quick to fight when they first met because he couldn't afford anything else and because he was scared. but months later, in a loving home, he can allow himself to drop his guard; and his cocky attitude disappears until much later.

so the rather unsettling picture that we derive is that bruce is training jay to become a vigilante in order to "channel" his (nonvisible at this point) anger into something useful and just. and he clearly links this to his own trauma in batman #416 (that’s already starlin btw), in his conversation with dick, explaining why he took jay in: “he’s so full of anger and frustration… he reminds me of myself, just after my parents were killed.” bruce also mentions that soon after their first meeting, jason helped him and "handled himself well" in the fight, but he doesn't mention that jay has ran away from a crime "school" and intended to stop injustice on his own only because he was ignored.

the theme of bruce comparing jay to himself appears again in detective comics #574 (barr), where it is approached with a much more... critical look, thanks to leslie's presence and her skepticism of bruce's actions. after jason has suffered nearly fatal injuries at the hand of the mad hatter, bruce reminisces on his own trauma and motives. he tells leslie: "i didn't choose jason for my work. he was chosen by it...as i was chosen." leslie replies: "stop that! (...) you do this for yourself... you're still that little boy (...)" then, the conversation steers to the familiar ground and the topic of anger. in bruce's words, again: “i wanted to give jason an outlet for his rage…wanted him to expunge his anger and get on with his life…” and finishes "and instead, i may have killed him."

the recognition that bruce's projection on jason and involving him with his work might have fatal consequences is, as always, fast forgotten once jay wakes up and proclaims that he wants to continue his work as robin.

but to circle back, i think there's something else worth our attention, something deeply ironic, that is showcased in that issue: that bruce has no evidence for jay's "rage." when leslie talks of bruce's past, she recalls his tendencies to get into brutal fights at perceived injustice as early as in school; when bruce talks of jason, two pictures that are juxtaposed, are that of jason fighting as robin and jason... smiling, playing baseball.

so, in the early days of jason's training and work in the field, we see bruce talking of jason's anger a lot; but we barely see it.

that being said, jay is angry sometimes– and i think your observation about how bruce deals with it is incredibly interesting and accurate.

we first see jay truly and devastatingly angry in the two-face storyline. bruce focuses on jay's reaction as robin, which is, in fact, aggressive. but something that he barely addresses is that jason's first reaction is sleeping all day, and not beating anyone to a pulp; in fact, this vengeful instinct seems to arise only when he is put right in front of two-face. and his third instinct, once the rage (very quickly) dies down after the altercation with two-face, is crying, because bruce hid the truth about willis' death from him. jay, while crying, asks bruce: "you have taken me out into combat-- but you spare me this?" in response, bruce lectures jason about how grief inspires revenge, which is, again, deeply ironic, given that jay seeking out revenge seemed to be prompted and enabled solely by the role of robin. moreover, his question suggests that at this point he saw grief ("you spare me this") and fighting as two different things.

the final is, as you said, bruce focusing on making it into a lesson on vigilantism, or, in his own words, "tempering revenge into justice." personally, i think in this way bruce directs jason to bring his grief into the field as a powering force, something that he didn't necessarily have an own incentive to do. the flash of compartmentalisation between his ordinary life and being a sidekick that jay has shown by questioning bruce's decision is lost. emotions are now a robin thing, and they have an (informal) protocol, a moral code. and when jay is confronted with an emotionally exhausting case next – the garzonas case, i believe that the focus on "tempering revenge into justice" is exactly the problem– we don't see jay crying, we see him frantic about finding the solution. this, right there, is bruce's obsessiveness, that in my opinion, was developed in jay specifically as a result of how his engagement with vigilantism combines with his deep sensitivity.

and, needless to say, his sensitivity is all the same as that of bruce – they both can't stand looking at other people hurting, they both wear their hearts on their sleeve, caring way too much – the thing is, bruce never quite acknowledges how they are similar in this matter. instead, he focuses on his sparse bursts of anger, wanting to bring jason closure in his grief the only way he knows it – in a fight for a better world. so, as you said, he focuses on jason's ability as robin.

which just doesn't work for jason. at all. we know it from how his robin run comes to an end: in the first issue of a death in the family (batman #426) alfred informs: “i’ve come upon him, several times, looking at that battered old photograph of his mother and father, crying.”  to that, bruce contends: “in other words, i may have started jason as robin before he had a chance to come to grips with his parents deaths.” he also tells jay that the field is not a place for someone who is hurting; a message that is the opposite of what he's been saying for years now, and something that i imagine was difficult for bruce to conceptualise, because then he would have to question his own unhealthy tendencies. it's a bit late to come to this realisation; bruce's self-projection that caused him to worry so much about jay's anger has already turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy that will fully manifest itself in utrh, when jason does the only thing he was taught to do with grief: try to channel it into justice.

truly truly Neil Charlie Todd triumvirate is king please share any thoughts you have on them

OH BOY ANON YOU HAVE OPENED A CAN OF WORMS.

I. OPENING THESIS?

Basically, here’s my abstract for this whole thing:

(Les Misérables, trans. Isabel F. Hapgood)

And having put this down, I’ll ask you to overlook it, lol. Or treat it as a very loose guide! (If you haven’t any idea what the context of this refers to, here’s a quick rundown: a chief is a leader and someone who people rally behind. A guide is an enthusiast about all things and an advocate for progress, someone who checks the rampant idealism of the chief. The centre is warm, loyal, and acts almost as a mini-Sun for the chief and guide to orbit around, to stop them shooting off on their own wild trajectories.) In the interest of complete transparency, reading Les Mis at a young age had this irreparable effect on me where I now have to think of every triumvirate as a chief/guide/centre dynamic, but I don’t think this model applies 1:1 towards Neil/Charlie/Todd. Instead, I think of them a little as composites, interplaying with each other – Charlie as a guide who would much rather be a chief, Neil as a chief who works better as a guide, and Todd as a centre who’s never given the grace to grow into that role. Let’s go!

II. CHARLIE AS THE CHIEF-GUIDE

Charlie is like if rowdiness was a Guy. He’s big, he’s brash, he’s the instigator and he’s the captain and he’s the shameless one and he’s a side character! I have always found this very interesting whenever I watch DPS; despite Charlie’s main character-ness he is secondary, and doesn’t even get his own sideplot in the same way that Knox (for example) does. He’s a born leader who by virtue of the trappings of his story is relegated to supporting others, although you can so, so clearly see him fighting for space in the story. He gets pushed into being a guide almost by default; only the trait of enthusiasm really applies here. If Neil wasn’t there he’d be the leader of their group, no question. And the thing about Charlie is that he gets things done. He’s the one pushing the most for the re-creation of the Dead Poets Society after Neil, he’s caustic about things that are in his way (“Well, why don’t you stay home?”), people follow him! See Knox running after him, asking to be taught:

Charlie is the man of action – the telephone stunt is the biggest incident of that. And the way the boys gather around him afterwards as he regales them is chief-like; here he is acting as the chief, because this is around the same time that Neil’s chief role starts to slip away from him. But more of that later. 

The big thing is that Charlie never gets to really assume that role of chief, because Neil is always there. I talked earlier about how he pushes for the re-creation of the Society; well, Neil is the one who finds Keating’s old annual and reads it aloud to them. Charlie is the one cutting down the guys’ concerns about sneaking out after school: Neil is the one who suggests it – more than suggests it! Almost commands it, in a way that leaves little room for debate:

(Note that in this section, it’s Charlie who does the arguing for Neil, who doesn’t speak except to lay down the law and then ask who’s coming. Real king and knight energy.) 

Charlie never quite manages to edge into centre stage. You can sort of see how there might be resentment there – perhaps there would have been if they had gone on uninterrupted. But then of course Neil dies, and Charlie assumes the chief role by default, but it’s no longer glorious or something he can covet. But he does it anyway; he wakes up Todd, he breaks the news to him, very, very gently, he wipes Todd’s mouth with snow when he vomits and tells the others to leave him alone. But by this point, Charlie going into the chief role he’s so good at isn’t enough to stop the splintering of their group or his own expulsion.  

III. NEIL AS THE GUIDE-CHIEF

Part of Neil’s tragedy is that he would be good at the things his father wants him to do! He’s a wonderful all-rounder, he's the perfect all-American specimen, there’s no doubt in my mind he would have been a great doctor – except he wouldn’t, because the enthusiasm and the motivation would have been lacking entirely. (As someone who just did a shit ton of medical school interviews, yeah, they would have sniffed this guy out really fast. Or maybe they wouldn't… not sure how stringent they were in the ‘50s.) He would have been technically great. But being able to do something doesn’t mean you should; these are the things that Mr. Perry conflates and which Neil is never able to verbalise to him, except in a way in which he thinks he’ll understand:

In this scene, when he talks to him post-performance it’s not “I enjoyed it”, but a very simple, “I was really good”. And despite this concession of terms he says it when his father can't hear, because he knows he would never relent, oh God.

Actually, a lot of what I wanted to say about Neil has already been said in Charlie’s section. (The summary is basically that you must imagine me offstage with a megaphone as the movie plays, yelling, “YOU TWO NEED TO SWITCH PLACES, FUCKOS”.) Neil is a good leader, but that doesn’t mean he likes being one, or that he should be one! He has a few characteristics of a guide – he’s enthusiastic about everything, he has this boundless kind of delight in the things he loves (not idealism; that’s slightly different). But this is honestly where the model falls apart. I don’t think that Neil would make a great guide either, logic not being his forte; the irony is that the role of the triumvirate he most fits IS the chief, it’s just that that’s what kills him. The responsibility that comes with being someone who “speaks and people listen” isn’t good for him – this dichotomy of having “control” over the friendship group/no control over his personal life is terrible. He does get to lose the chief role, but it’s not in a way that is good for him; instead this manifests in a loss of control that happens very very quickly, which just makes him reach for ways in which he can control his own life. And besides, stepping outside of a leadership role with a great deal of responsibility and losing control over the course of your own life are two very different things. I just think that he should get to go offstage for a little bit and rest, with zero expectations on him ever. (Also there’s something here about how he gets to play Puck – a side character who has major effects on the story but doesn’t have to actually put his skin in the game. This is what I think Neil should get to do In Real Life.)  

IV. TODD AS THE PROTO-CENTRE 

One thing about Todd is that in my mind, I always imagine him as much redder than he actually is in the movie. I don’t mean I imagine him to blush more often – I mean ruddier, more flushed. Going back to the Les Mis quote – in my mind he does “possess all the qualities of a centre, roundness and radiance”! Todd is a catalyst like Keating in a way that Keating isn’t; this is never explicit at all but he has always felt to me like someone who inspires others by their presence. He’s such a wonderful, calming, grounding influence. Even when he talks to Neil and they have that non-argument he tempers Neil and reminds him what’s at stake without looking down on him. And when he realises how serious he is, he goes with it and supports him to the best of his ability – he says “Oh, Neil, Neil, you’re crazy” but it’s fond, he’s overjoyed for him. And you can see similar behaviour perhaps to a lesser extent with Charlie in the way particularly he calls him Nuwanda after his request, which is taken as ridiculous by other characters: 

And even after Neil’s death he does so, refusing to go back to normal:

But the reason I’ve put “proto-” for a prefix is because these are all singular occasions. The thing is that I think Todd could be that brilliant, grounding, assured man, a lighthouse of a man, almost. But he isn’t – he clearly isn’t – at the beginning of the movie he is shy and diffident and the non-argument I mentioned early does go a little sour, because while he speaks from a place of concern and love, his anxiety manifests in the conversation and makes him a little less tactful than he might have been otherwise. If things had gone on better than they went, and if Todd had been allowed to grow and develop more and without worry, he really, really would have blossomed into this kind of centre, this very steady man who would have reminded Neil of the consequences of his actions and made Charlie care about the consequences of his. But he doesn’t get to do that – by the time he grows and becomes more confident it’s too late, the worst has already happened. 

V. SUMMARY

I’m so sorry, anon, this is a prodigious answer to what was a very simple ask, but you hit on the subject I have Very Strong Feelings About. Not to toot my own fanfic horn, but there’s an excerpt from the fair folk AU which I think sums this up pretty well:

TL;DR: Charlie gets pushed into a secondary position which doesn’t suit him; Neil gets pushed into a leadership position which suits him, but he hates; Todd is willing to step into that secondary position as a behind-the-scenes supporter, but never actually gets that opportunity. Hence the tragedy. Hence the taking of lives. Hence how many fucking tears I have shed over this movie, Jesus. 

(I had a lot of fun writing this – thank you for giving me a reason to!)

Paul Strickland in 9-1-1: Lone Star S3E18

Best character choice I've ever made is deciding to give Regulus a knife. Cause he went from genius bookworm to evil genius yandere real quick.

Regulus: You live another day, Potter, only because my brother would be saddened if you died.

Regulus: But if you hurt him even once I will not hesitate to gut you like a fish

James, utterly unaware he now has an 11 year old Nemesis who isn't even in Hogwarts yet: Why do I hear boss music?

has anyone else noticed that only very recently has the “general public” (aka non-tumblr like twitter, ig, and even some press) really accepted and started to use he/they pronouns for gerard? like i would only ever see people on other social media sites use he/him pronouns but now i see they/them all the time. which i am LOVING don’t get me wrong but like gerard said their pronouns were he/they all the way back in 2015 i feel like only recently in light of his latest stage outfits have people really started using “they.” and the correlation is very inch resting 2 me…

i am absolutely LOVING gerard’s outfits recently. like i am fully obsessed and it brings me so so so much joy to see them so joyful on stage in dresses and skirts. however i fear that people are only really starting to see gerard as gender non-conforming now that they are wearing traditionally feminine clothing. i’m glad that people are finally starting to see them for who they are, but there is no one way to be gnc. and seeing people correctly gender gerard only now that they tick the boxes for people’s stereotypes on gender nonconformity is idk.. Alarming to me??

a few years ago, gerard gave an interview for The Advocate’s “2018’s LGBT Icons, Innovators, and Disrupters” article listing “the queer people leading the change.” so he was actively broadly identifying as queer in some way. in the article, they talk about gender and how seeing laura jane grace transition made them feel “no longer ashamed” and inspired them to publicly address their gender. in 2018, gerard had a beard and a mustache and long shaggy hair, wore the same baggy clothes at every appearance, and also (kind of crucially) was not skinny. he did not fit the stereotypical image that people have of those living outside of the gender binary. but they were still actively identifying as gnc. and as someone coming to terms with their own nonbinary identity who does not tend to fit people’s ideas of nonbinary identity or androgyny, this meant the WORLD to me. and now here we are in 2022 and gerard fits into the “skinny/androgynous/crossdressing” box and only now am i noticing people really starting to see them as gender nonconforming. like i’m very glad you got there eventually but can we please PLEASE get rid of the idea that there is a right was to look and be nonbinary thx

maybe I'm comfortable with tumblr because I get to say things I don't usually tell anyone

Not a question but your account has made me spread the Aaravos and Callum agenda, thank you

And thank you for sitting on this agenda with me. I can't say how much their dynamic is the only thing that make sense to me in this entire show. As someone who firmly believes that a love doesn't need to be romantic nor fraternal to be amazing, I hope their chemistry has brought peace to your heart as much as it did mine. Truly. Thank you.(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧✨

Here's a free headcanon for you: Aaravos makes the best food ever™ Doesn't matter what kind, his food will always be the best - because he caters to Callum's taste laughs in he makes them differently according to how he feels abt the person he was feeding and how that person likes their food

i saw a monarch butterfly, and immediately, i knew it was spring—

of the earth, and of me— a confirmation of the inevitable transformation;

it is almost uncanny watching the end of a chapter, however long or short,

for it is another reminder of the machinations of evolution— of humanity—

that this will be, and already is, ingrained into my being: my soul and my dna;

and with the memory of you, my blood may never know how changed it became,

but i will,

and i will carry my shame, into the beginnings of a new year, a new chapter—

however long, or however short, for it is spring, and i know now only one thing:

a butterfly must emerge, its effervescent orange faced to the world—

i love how tim just sounds like a dad whenever he complains about his wife's.. i mean lucy's puppy lol

tim can deny it all he wants but i know he sees tamara as his own daughter. he especially gave it away in 4x11 when him and lucy were racing to get to her after they learned that her friend becca was killed by her other friend declan.

now maybe i'm delusional, but to me, this is the clear look of a dad going through every worst case scenario knowing that their baby girl is in danger. he's trying to be so stoic, but you can see it in his eyes that there's a nasty pit in his stomach at the possibility of not getting to tamara in time. and you can't tell from the image, but he has a bit of a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. this is the closest he's come to ever having a child of his own (so far 😏), and i got the impression from tim when him and lucy first talked about having children s4 that although he wants kids of his own, he thinks that window has probably closed on him already.

but tamara is his. tamara somehow gradually became his, and he's going to walk her down the aisle at her wedding one day, cause of course who else would be the one to give her away? 🥺🤧💗💗

A mutter under his breath " crazy old bitch...."

TW: BODY HORROR, VIOLENCE, ANIMAL VIOLENCE/DEATH

Delicate hands cradled a fresh skull, a prize from her most recent hunt. Her chest heaved, rising and falling in tune with her rapid, heavy breaths.

Black beady eyes reflected the predatory smile that had made its home upon Carrion's features. All six of her canines staring back at her, with an air of pride surrounding the small folk. Warmth dripped down her face as crimson trails decorated fair skin, painting itself upon her canvas. Like leaves being blanketed with golden rays, Carrion's eyes glimmered, in awe of her prize. A rare moment where, if one could look past all of the blood upon her features, she looked genuinely happy. Her tongue flicked out, running across her swollen lower lip. A familiar metallic taste danced on the tip of her tongue, a bemused chuckle escaping from her. How curious. She had tried so hard to prevent such a mess from happening, and yet her cobweb shirt and skirt had been stained, given a new pattern against her will. Who knows how much blood was lost, now seeping in to the soil of the island. It wasn't all puddled together in her typical fashion, but it would have to do. The body would provide a fair amount, though it might not be enough to wash her more than twice, given how much was lost. The idea of the crimson warmth running down her figure was an intoxicating fantasy, hair falling wildly as she washes away the filth that stains her being from the giants. Their stench, a horrendous thing. Slim digits had reached out, petting the rabbits head and running across its ears. "Thank you, gentle one. For your sacrifice." A whisper, as though she was consoling someone who had just lost a loved one. True appreciation for the life given to sustain hers.

Within the reflection of the creatures eyes, Carrion spotted one of the giants. A swell of fear greeted her, tightening in her throat as she attempted to discern whether or not it was a pirate, or a lost boy. Bloodied digits wrapped around the hilt of a wolfs incisor she had been using as a dagger. Tightening her grip upon the threaded hilt, she stole a glance over her shoulder, a familiar face. It must have been her lucky day. For she could get him to carry the heavier nature of the creatures body back to the graveyard for her. If he behaved himself, perhaps she would even reward him for his efforts. Perhaps, though most likely not. He was but a thrall to the island, and what did he truly do to stay within the islands good graces? How many gallons of blood must she have watered the ground beneath their feet with over the course of her many, long, delightful years here? Even if he did not readily offer his help, she would secure her position over him. The minds of giants were always so fragile. They scream to the winds, begging for help, for someone, ANYONE to save them, and yet they never dare to try and save themselves. A funny thing that. What it must feel like to rely on others to fight your battles for you. Knowing that your mind is being taken over, and yet they still call for help as though someone else could rid them of the parasite whispering within their ears as it takes over.

"Bandit, child. Your timing is grand. I require you." That twisted smile lingered on her lips as she gingerly set the skull down. Taking to the air, she pointed towards the prize of her hunt. "You shall carry this for me, I would hate to have to make numerous trips to salvage this. Would take me half the day." His help would prevent her from many hours wasted away in the open. Instead of sectioning pieces where anything that might catch the sweet scent, could come running, she could do so from the safety of her own home, where she could keep an eye on her dearest Chrysanthemum. Such a sizeable haul would last her throughout the next month or so, and her dear Chrysanthemum would have nothing to worry about for such a long time. She needed to expand her dearests palate, and this would surely be a wonderful start. Carrion turned her attention from the Bandit child, towards her prize and began her descent to retrieve the skull. What she had not expected, was to hear the Bandit murmur beneath his breath. Whispered words that gave her pause. A fine line forming upon her lips, brows furrowing together as the she hovered in place.

"Crazy old bitch." Bandits own voice greeted them, distorted as though he was gasping for air between words. It bounced around them, filling the air. Crazy was not something Carrion was unfamiliar with, so many of her own kind had called her crazy, demented, a monster, when they discovered what she was doing to those who had perished in the colony due to the cold. When they had exiled her from the very colony she had built up and made safe for them all. The ungrateful wretches. It was the last two words that truly fanned the flame within her that had been dying out after her hunt. Old. Centuries meant nothing to her, as she had lived a good life, and a very short one considering the time span of her people. Were wrinkles massacring her features? Crows feet upon her eyes that gave her an unappealing visage? Even now, adorned in blood splatters that pooled in her collarbones and spilled over, she believed herself to be able to make a grown man swoon, human or of her own kind. But Bandit was no man, he was but a child. Foolish- idiotic and delusional in his view of the world. A giant who refuses to see the beauty in the world, the world that will outlive him ten times over. Such mindless accusations must not go unpunished, such a hypocritical remark from a gangling creature. Arms far too long for their being, as though they had been pulled and stretched. Giants were one of the most unsightly things she ever had the displeasure of turning her gaze upon. No means of hiding, from those which hunt them, and for creatures that seem to call themselves the 'apex predators' they were so very low on the food chain. It was a miracle the island hadn't sucked these disgusting creatures up, chewing them up and spitting out their bones. The only way they could ever seem even slightly appealing, would be if their heads were left to rot away on sticks, jutting out of the ground.

"Bitch." The Bandit child's voice rang out again. Yelling the word with raw anger. Vicious. The word burned, searing the smallfolk's insides. Ribs aching as though an animal were pushing against the cage to escape. To sink its teeth into the child's shoulder and hear him truly scream out in pain. Watching his eyes fill with terror as he witnessed his own body fall to pieces right before him. There was but a brief moment where Carrion turned to look at the boy. The forest surrounding them shifted as she turned, the trees forming a large circle around the two. Such a FOUL word to throw around. To direct at HER. A pitiful lost child, expendable in every way, daring to insult her. To turn up his nose at the gifts she presented him. The ability to be in her presence, the fact she had caused him no serious harm, no missing appendages. She even allowed the fool to hold conversation with her, and what does he do? Insult her three separate ways all at once. For it was brave of him to even whisper the words, but bravery only ever led idiotic children to their dooms. Within but a moment of the forest blocking out the sun above them, Carrion made her escape to the shadows.

"Ungrateful. You selfish fool. How much will you test my patience?" Her words were sharp, harsh. The smallfolk watched the Bandit, her hands forming tight fists that shook ever so slightly. A fire burned within her that was threatening to burn her alive, raging against her insides until nothing but charred wood remained. He would not simply walk away from this, from her. A child must learn their lesson when they step out of line. To insult her pride is to truly forfeit your life. Through the trees, a wind began to kick up. Branches groaning in pain as they bent, some snapping and crashing to the ground near the Lost Boy. "You have lied to me, how many times? How many more will you risk leaving your life to chance? To the mercy of MY good graces?" The words swirled, circling him. A wolf hunting its prey, stalking, planning. At the Bandit child's feet, the body of Carrion's hunt, twitched. The rabbits feet kicking as it adjusted to it's new found center of balance. "I should flay you for your insolence. Leave your body for the birds to pick apart and feast upon." Carrion boomed. The warmth upon her lips tingled, a desperate, silent call for fresh warmth. Sage hues eyed the bare skin of the Lost Boy. Chops salivating at the idea of a meal, the flesh of a giant. Something she only ever got in small doses to ensure none of the Lost Boys would catch on. Oh how hungry she was. Hunger mixed with anger, it left her electrified. Such an invigorating sensation. The thrill of the hunt, a cat playing with a cornered mouse. The rabbits body charged towards Bandit's feet, and at the same time, Carrion swooped down. Her teeth made sweet contact with the skin of his neck. Sinking into the soft flesh, and with a feral rip, a small piece tore away. No sooner than she had come, was she retreating back to the shadows. It was warm, and the smell that enveloped her was intoxicating. Blindingly so.

The trees moaned in agony as the wind grew stronger. An invisible howling accompanying the mischievous laughter that passed through Carrion's lips. How long it has been since she was able to rip the flesh of a giant straight from the source. To feel the warmth rush to the surface of new wounds, lingering on her lips as she moved away. The rabbits feet kicked against the ground as it circled Bandit. The still, detached head watched him. Beady black eyes focused on his figure as though it was staring straight through him. A loud thump that served as a distraction for Carrion to rush the boy again. Sharpened nails caught his bare arm, piercing the skin. "The only crazy thing here-" She cooed, her claws ripping upwards. Her nails were far from clean and smooth, instead they were jagged and pointed in an intricate pattern. Like razor wire being dragged across the flesh. The fresh scent of metal was overwhelming for the smallfolk. It left her desperate for more. It left her mouth salivating, she wanted more. That sweet, indescribable flavor on her tongue. "-are those who believe it is survival of the fittest, instead of survival of the worst." Shrill giggles filled the Lost Boys ears, the winds high pitched whine taunting him. No matter how long she stayed here and tormented the child, it would never be enough to satisfy her, for he would draw his last breath before she felt as though her pride had been honored. "What if I buried that dagger of yours beneath your flesh? Would your ribs protect it so? Would you writhe in agony as it destroyed you from the inside out?" The idea of her crude sewing being the only thing that protects him from his insides spilling out, was enough to send a shiver of pure ecstasy down her back.

A vine slowly crawled up the Bandit's leg, wrapping around his ankle. Carrion had gotten so caught up in the idea of keeping her little game going, that she allowed her personal glamour spell to fade away. The untamed, mess of black curls, returned to their natural state of gold. An appearance she hadn't allowed others to see since she had been exiled from her own colony, but the power would be better used to keep the Lost Boy, a withering wild force, prisoner in her game. Another quick dive, canines meeting the tougher flesh of his elbow. For a sizable chunk had gotten pierced from her bite, and as she ripped her head, thrashing like a wild dog, the blood slinging 'round, his skin ripped. Chewy, fatty bits dangled from her mouth as she flew away. "So is that what you believe me to be? Crazy? Oh Bandit you have seen nothing of the sort. I can be most creative. Perhaps I should see if I could get the wolves to come to us? They could lend me their teeth and create a glove for you. One where every time you flinch, or squirm, they tighten their grip and allow you to be in charge of your own fate. Oh I wonder what kind of scars you would earn?" Carrion's voice bounced, distorted and low. A mutilated echo of her normal tone.

The rabbits body fell limp once more as Carrion released her hold over it, turning her attention to something . . . bigger. "Bandits must have a sharp tongue, though you are more likely to meet a sharpened edge upon yours." The sensation of fingers creeping up from beneath the Bandits skin, tapping against the underneath of his skull. Sharpened nails tap tap tapping away, touching the back of his eyes. Demented laughter rang out, like a voice that speaks only within your own head. "Do remember, that you will not always be the one in charge of this vessel." Carrion's words were but a soft whisper within his mind. Her fingers could be felt beneath his skin as she fought her way in. Threatening to take a hold of his form. Fingers pressing along the underneath of his arms as they trailed down to his fingertips. A new host getting used to its skin. "One day, it might just be me." The words were sickeningly sweet as Carrion allowed a soft laugh to escape her. Moments passed as she felt her way around his skin, a potential coat for her. Within a moment, she released him. The trees returned to normal, sunlight dancing upon the ground once more. Golden rays casting a light on the Lost Boy, and the small folk who fluttered before him, ever out of arms reach. Outstretching her arms towards the Lost boy, a feigned hurt pout dancing across her lips, Carrion tilted her head to the side.

"Now, what is it you shall call me? Was it, bitch?"

i finished sign a few weeks ago and although i didn’t process what i just watched at first i just want to say… im a very changed man. i want to make a whole ass essay on why ram is an amazing character. i want to squeeze her like those little stress balls, affectionately of course.

just the idea of how much she was able to change, because of the people around her. she was able to grow, she was able to develop and change.

from wanting to fight humanity, to loving it. to loving those emotions that she used to hide and be ashamed of.

this series is just so… wow

like here’s the thing. i do not have many ocs (for DA, at least) that deep down at their core are not good people. there are some that fuck up, some that are yknow. may have some questionable ethics, but i consider them mostly people that want to see good in the world and will contribute to the greater good. but eric is not a good person, and he is very deeply convinced that he is, and he is good at convincing others that he is. i think he would make a good inquisitor, but i also think that that inquisition would be a quietly horrifying one.

Tell us about a small, passing relationship your muse has with someone in their everyday life. Are they on a first name basis with their barista? What about the busdriver?

Frankieboy! — as he is so often called in the neighborhood he grows up in, knows EVERYBODY. NEW YORK CITY might be a big sprawling metropolis of some eight million souls, but his little slice of BAYSIDE, QUEENS is so much smaller than that. It's the kind of place where your neighbor's house literally touches your own sometimes and there's no such things as walls thick enough to muffle loud Italian voices and families.

He knows the butcher his mother favors by name, like he knows the names of the priests at The Sacred Heart of Jesus where his ears get pulled on the regular. He knows them and they know him in return, the surprisingly late in life baby given to the Castigliones from 27th St.

He calls them all by name or nickname when the relationship is informal enough to allow it, even for a teen like himself, or by honorific and surname when respect demands it. Days are filled with quick greetings called out and given with a nod or a wave. "Mornin', Big Paul! — Hey, Nico!" There are juniors and seniors and ma'am's and Frankie does his duty by them all, nodding his hellos or allowing his cheeks to be kissed or pinched-- or worse, having his gelled hair ruffled and fucked up.

Where he comes from? There are no such things as strangers; be they paper boys, corner shop workers, tokenbooth people, delivery van drivers, or beyond. If you existed within his neighborhood someone was bound to ask why and who you were and then word would get out about it and you wouldn't be a stranger anymore.

Frank doesn't come into more of the traditional Mind Your Business way of life that all New Yorkers cleave to until he's back from Basic. By then though, the amount of time he spends in Queens is minimal, with the bulk of his free time actually goings to Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. There he only sometimes requires a name or introduction. People are reminded or introduced that he's Sal's boy!

In that neck of the woods Frank maintains a plethora of passing relationships formed by the various errands he runs for his family of choice-- or the ones he escorts Eve to and from. Because of his association with them those passing relationships see him almost always on his best behavior. He's polite-- a generous tipper when it's called for, patient when it comes to waiting on something, and generally the opposite of troublesome. He's always got a chuckle for the same five recycled jokes told at the Post Office window by the old timer who works it and hands him his packages-- he always leaves promising to buy some more shit so he can come back sooner. He's like that at the dry cleaner's, the bread baker's, and the local florist where he keeps Sal's account current and updated so that Mrs. Scozzari is never bored by their deliveries.

He's an easy-going guy with people who have no cause to trip his temper and he remembers everyone who comes across him twice, just in case they ever be an important cog in something greater.

Pete Castiglione on the other hand exists purposefully in a way he hopes is forgettable. This is something in which he's been trained, and yet that even earlier childhood rearing trumps the subterfuge later taught to him in the service. On security camera he may just be another scruffy shadow of a shambling man, but in person he's the type of guy who play-flirts with old waitresses that greet him with coffee pots at the diners he frequents. His voice is a rasping growl of a thing that leaves an impression-- he shouldn't use it so much, but he's always got a joke in his pocket to lighten moods and let people go off of something other than his intimidating build and harsh appearance. He knows he looks like a threat but he NEEDS people to be calm.

He still knows people by their names even if they know him as Pete-- and try as he might to make things different, to move through the world like a ghost, he's still out here befriending the pet shop owners who sell him kibble and the corner-store dames who make the only coffee left in the city that costs less than a dollar. He lives in mortal peril that he's painting targets on them all but sometimes there's just no teaching an old dog new tricks.