#I did it I wrote for every day

[tj-dragonblade]

FLUFFBRUARY 2023: Feb 27 & 28

Feb 27 prompts: market friend photograph Feb 28 prompts: wreck veil wind

On AO3 - 1800-ish words

'Friend', Hob has named him; has so named him for most of their acquaintance, and Dream is pleased to be thought of thus. It means companionship, shared stories, laughter and affectionate insolence, a shoulder to lean on when the weight on his own grows heavy. It means a modern temple in the waking world and a space where he is always welcome. It means someone who will meet him on equal footing, unconcerned with his function or station or what gain can be had of him, who enjoys his company for himself alone.

Still, however. There are times, growing ever more numerous, that Hob will use the word—my friend, we're friends, that's what friends do—and Dream will agree, with a faint smile, while his own mind derides him with sneering sharpness.

Liar. Liar; you are not his friend.

Because, increasingly, he has. Concerns, about his own ability to be a friend to Hob.

A friend would not seek every opportunity to touch Hob's hand, his arm, simply to know the feel of Hob's skin warm beneath his fingers. A friend would not find distraction in the shape of his mouth, the crinkling of his eyes when he laughs, the dark hair visible at the open neck of his shirt. A friend would not observe him with predatory hunger when he walks, when he stretches, when he drinks.

A friend would not. Wonder, what his kiss might taste like, nor what magnificent sight he might make unclothed. A friend would not indulge fantasies, of being tenderly disrobed in turn, held, kissed, gently handled, split upon his cock and lovingly driven to the heights of pleasure—

A friend would not entertain such thoughts again, and again, and again, of a man who has shown no inclination that he would be amenable to them.

But. Perhaps. The fidelity of continuing to wait, when the agreed-upon meeting was missed, the devotion inherent in building the New Inn, in ensuring that Dream would find him again—might these indicate some feeling greater than friendship? The bright enthusiasm with which he greets Dream, the willingness to share so much of his time, the ready comfort when Dream is vexed of some frivolous diplomacy necessitated by his function?

No; surely, such things are simply in the nature of Hob Gadling to provide to his oldest friend, who would be foolish to hope for deeper meaning.

Incessantly he dwells upon these thoughts, day after day after day by the measure of the waking world, and finds his disquietude increasing. The Dreaming, as it does, begins to betray his emotional state; at last he flees to the waking world, where the correlation of himself to his realm is slightly muted and neither his staff nor his creations can skewer him with knowing looks.

It is a grey spring morning, damp and chill with a thrill of freshness and renewal nevertheless in the air.

He has brought himself to the New Inn. Of course.

He lets himself in the back door and up the private stair, as Hob has generously allowed of him, and knocks before entering Hob's flat.

Hob is in the kitchen, phone in hand, dictating his grocery list into it as he takes stock of his cupboards. "Dream!" he greets, and his smile is a spear of sunlight lancing straight through Dream's nonexistent heart.

"Make yourself comfortable," Hob says, opening the refrigerator now and peering within. "Let me finish up my list, then we can head to the supermarket."

He does this always, adapts on an instant's notice when Dream comes to him unannounced, seamlessly integrates Dream into his plans.

Dream is entirely grateful.

It is easy, to slip into the rhythm of Hob's day, Hob's life. They walk together to the grocery store, unbothered by the mild spring wind or the overcast sky, even when it opens in a light sprinkle before they reach their destination. The shopping is accomplished with unhurried efficiency, Hob chattering on non-stop as he navigates the aisles, Dream content to listen and push the trolley. The walk back is much the same, Hob sharing stories of his students now, canvas bags swinging in either hand. Dream carries the rest, smiling faintly at Hob's animated retelling of an attempted classroom prank.

"Let me put this all away and I'll make us some lunch," Hob says when they reach home. Dream has observed enough in this kitchen that he can easily assist with both the putting away and the preparation of food. He is pleased to help despite Hob's assurance that as a guest he need not; there is peace to be had in this domestic routine, comfort in following Hob's cheerful direction.

The fare they make together is remarkably satisfying.

Hob delves into his grading after lunch, reading essays aloud, and Dream offers input and commentary that Hob gladly incorporates with his own. It is time pleasantly spent, hours passing un-noted, wrapped in the warmth of Hob's voice and Hob's function and Hob's presence.

They spend the evening in the pub, 'people-watching', to use Hob's words, a fascination he's developed over his most recent century. He guesses at people's stories as they laugh and smile and talk around him, and while Dream is not inclined to divulge every stranger's every secret in this game, he will occasionally give affirmation if Hob has guessed something correctly.

It is, again, time pleasantly spent, and Dream is loathe to let it end, no matter the duties he must attend to in the Dreaming, no matter that Hob must soon sleep.

"I know you've spent the day here already and you've got plenty to see to waiting for you in your realm, but you're welcome to come back upstairs," Hob offers, when the hour winds toward closing. "Don't want to rush you off, if you like." His head is slightly tilted, one hand absently toying with his earlobe; Dream has observed this unconscious habit in him many times, finds it inordinately charming, and just now it fills him with immeasurable fondness.

That Hob acknowledges his duties, understands that Dream must come and go, offers him the invitation to stay if he so wishes all the same; Dream is touched. Hob respects his function; Hob is nevertheless hopeful that he will yet remain. Hob appreciates time spent with him; Hob enjoys his companionship.

And Dream would not deny himself Hob's wishes, in this. "I would keep your company awhile longer, if I might."

"Of course." Hob's smile is so blindingly warm, so sincere, so pleased; Dream aches to kiss it.

A friend would not.

He follows Hob back upstairs. Hob pours them both wine; they sit; they talk. Dream gazes his fill, enamoured of the spark in Hob's eyes, the fall of his hair, his animated hands, the relaxed and easy lines of his body. These moments are a true joy, a memory that he treasures once they part, a feeling that he cradles close in the cavity of his chest until they meet again. He loves, he knows; but Hob is his friend, and Dream would not see that friendship brought to ruin by his misplaced affections.

The hour has drawn late enough to be early again, and he knows he is keeping Hob from his sleep. Reluctant as he is to go, reluctant as Hob has been to bring their evening to a close, Dream knows it is time. The wine is gone. The conversation has lulled. He stands from the sofa; Hob follows suit.

"I thank you, Hob Gadling, for sharing your day with me. It has been a pleasure."

"Likewise. I'm…I'm glad to have you. Anytime." Hob's hands are stuffed in his pockets as though to keep them contained, prevent their reaching out; he rocks up onto his toes and back, a nervous sort of fidget, endearing. Fondness swells in Dream, spills into his smile most certainly, and Hob smiles back with the same.

Except.

There is an edge of self-recrimination in it, a twist that says careful, and a tilt to his eyebrows as if resigning himself to a want he cannot fulfill. It is a mirror of the things Dream feels in himself, and suddenly, he is re-examining every assumption he has made about their friendship, like twisting a kaleidescope until an entirely new image comes into focus.

"I really enjoyed your company, today," Hob is saying, earnestly casual. "You're welcome whenever you like, you know. Course you know. My home is your home, all that."

Dream's perception shifts, a veil drawn from over his senses, and he sees.

"Your hospitality does you credit," he says, a rote response, because he cannot tear his focus from what is suddenly crystal clear and blazing before him. The dark warmth of Hob's gaze is ripe with longing. The tilt of his brow speaks of quiet hope. The softness around his eyes betrays depthless affection, fondness, love, and the bare parting of his lips begs for reciprocation.

Dream is gazing upon the story-perfect image of a man in love, pining for some hint that it may not be in vain.

"Hob," he breathes, revelation in his voice.

The quiet of the flat thickens, draws taut, waiting.

Hob swallows audibly. His eyes never leave Dream's.

Struck to the core, Dream moves forward. His feelings…need not be his alone, are not his alone. His love need not be held in check, made quiet, kept hidden. Here is Hob before him, hoping, silently asking, and all he need do—

All he need do is reply.

He lifts a hand, touches Hob's face, cradles it reverently as he tilts in.

"Dream—" Hob's voice is hushed, breathless, taut with anticipation and Dream could not hope to stop himself if he tried.

He touches his mouth to Hob's, fits them together, kisses him with careful ardor, and all the wants that clamor and shriek within him are at long last singing in the harmony of fulfillment.

Hob has clasped ahold of his wrist, is hanging on it as though he would fall if he let go, would perish if Dream removed his hand from Hob's face, and Hob is kissing him back softly, slowly, with such thorough heartfelt tenderness that Dream cannot bring himself to end it.

It is a long moment later that he finally manages, however reluctantly. He presses a final parting brush to the fullness of Hob's lower lip, draws back softly, opens eyes he does not recall closing.

He finds his resolve utterly wrecked, then, by the enraptured expression on Hob's face as he blinks out of the kiss, lips still parted, hand still clinging to Dream's at his face. His other hand lights on Dream's waist, holds, twitches as if to draw him closer, and Dream. Would gladly have them closer, as close as possible, as close as Hob would desire.

Hob draws in a shuddering breath, meets Dream's gaze, and every line and curve of his beautiful face is begging Dream to kiss him again.

Dream would like nothing better, than to kiss him again.

And so he does.

[ruporas]

i’ll find you again in every universe. let us be a little more honest, let us have a little more time.

[tariah23]

aisjsjjensnJAJAJ

[stuckinapril]

listening to all the demos victoria monet did for ariana grande is insane bc how did this woman have it in her to sit on all this material and not be frustrated about it

[apoptoses]

Something that's been on my mind is seeing the idea that in order for smut to be valid to write it has to have a purpose. It has to say something about the characters, it has to serve as a tool for the plot, it has to have some deep meaning beyond the sex acts involved.

And honestly, that's not true no matter how much some very vocal people might insist that smut without a 'purpose' is just porn and porn is shameful to make and consume.

It's okay to write smut because you think the concept is hot. It's okay to write it just because you want to give your readers jerk off material about their favorite characters. It's absolutely, 100% fine to write smut for smut's sake.

And sure, you want it to be in character, you want to write it so that you can't just file the names off and replace them with anyone. But you can just write something because you think character X should fuck character Y in this very specific way and have that be the end of it.

Call it smut, call it porn, call it whatever. Write the stuff you want to write. You don't have to do literary gymnastics in order to make it 'valid' for anyone, and you especially don't have to make excuses to yourself to justify writing it in the first place.

[hamable]

Need low stakes DLC Psychonauts 2 levels in, at this point, anyone’s mind. Fuck shit up and kick ass in the interns brains? Hell yeah. Otto? Sasha round 2? Milla round 2? ANY Aquato? I’d eat it up om nom nom. I’m begging. As a treat for me please.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I just woke up so I’m groggy and somewhat brain dead, but I just realized your pickle post sounds like a 4chan thing. And I’m so sorry

tangentially related, your text posts and your comics do not have anything approaching the same vibe in my brain, which is NOT a complaint or criticism, honestly I love that for you, but it did make it hard to remember who chewed pickle cud.

I exist on a spectrum of extremely wholesome love stories to absolutely deranged pickle freak and it's okay that it's hard to hold those two in your mind at the same time.

But I feel like it's also a good object lesson that people are multifaceted and the batshit stories and experiences I write about are just as much a part of me as the soft squishy lovey romantic stuff.

[biscuityskies]

a couple of knights on the road

"Who knows?" his brother says, cuffing Cody sharply on the shoulder once before heading back towards the castle. "Maybe married life will suit you." Cody? Commander of the Armies of the Krayt? Supposed to just settle down and call it quits as a soldier, cozy up into his new life as a married man to a spouse he never picked, let alone met even once? Yeah, right. As if.

this is perhaps my goofiest title. my most whimsical creation. what the heck happened here. anyways here's day three of @codywanweek, with prompts arranged marriage and there was only one bed

[korperlos]

someone please flush my brain, change my battery, or whatever, i just want to be able to fully focus on things again and feel some energy in this strange body i inhabit, i want to be able to enjoy things

[the-one-who-lambs]

Reality was coming undone but I wrote some of my WIP and the Earth is turning normally again

[sesamestreep]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 1

Write about a first kiss (from this list) ➸ …this is a high school AU….? don’t ask me why, it just happened….

“I thought you’d be more excited about this,” Matt says, leaning his cheek against his cane.

“I’m excited,” Foggy says, from his spot next to him on the bleachers. He’d come over to say hi when he noticed Matt loitering there after he got out of rehearsal and now they’ve been shooting the shit for thirty minutes and his mom is going to be beside herself worrying about him getting home late. That’s still not motivation enough for him to get up and leave, though.

“It is exciting,” Foggy says, aiming to sound more firm about it this time. “It’s just nerve wracking too. I don’t know.”

“It’s just pretend,” Matt says, with a smile that Foggy has categorized in his head as his charming asshole smile, the one he gives people (mostly Foggy, as far as he can tell) when he’s giving them shit just for the sake of it. He’s never called it that out loud, though, to anyone but especially not to Matt so far, thankfully. He’s not even sure why he needs a well-organized mental database of all of Matt’s smiles in the first place. “Why should you be nervous?”

“I’ve got to kiss a girl on stage,” Foggy says, and he sounds twelve. This is so embarrassing. “I mean, not yet, but eventually. We’re going to have to practice it too. What if it’s gross? What if I’m gross and it makes her cry or barf or a third worse thing I haven’t even thought of? What if she’s gross and I cry and barf and also a third thing? What if I fall in love with her and she doesn’t fall in love with me? What if we both fall in love, date for years, have children together, and years down the line, we break up because we mistook the excitement of being on stage together for love and erroneously built a life on that and not real, genuine emotion and respect for one another?!”

Matt considers him, still smiling. “Well, when you put it like that, you’ve got a lot to worry about, actually.”

“That’s not helping!”

“Okay, sorry. The girl from the play you have to kiss is Diana, right? Diana Weisfeldt?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, stretching out his legs in front of him. Diana’s nice enough, though he doesn’t know her very well, but she’s two years older than him and just pretty enough that he’s got to worry about kissing her in front of people and not embarrassing himself. He’s never thought about her much before now, when he’s suddenly got to kiss her in the spring musical.

“Okay, well, between me and you, I don’t think you have to worry about Diana falling in love with you.”

“Ouch, thanks, Matt. Between me and you, your hair looks stupid today!”

“I’m not—” Matt laughs, thrown off like he wasn’t expecting it at all. “I wasn’t trying to insult you! I just…heard something that makes me think her affections are engaged…elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, scuffing his shoe on the metal bleacher. “Sorry. In that case, your hair looks fine.”

“Sure, like I’m going to believe that now,” Matt says, with a wide smile, like he’s being sarcastic, but he does brush his hair back from his forehead, like he actually feels awkward about it now.

“What did you hear?”

“Huh?”

“I asked what you heard,” Foggy repeats. “About Diana?”

Matt rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Oh. I couldn’t—it’s not for me to say, it’s just—don’t worry about kissing her is all I meant. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s just acting, and I’m sure you can manage a normal looking kiss with her. She’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, she seems like it,” Foggy says, hiding his disappointment. Matt always seems to know what’s going on with everybody, despite the fact that he only started at this school earlier this year.

He’d gotten assigned to Foggy’s homeroom and Foggy, in turn, had gotten assigned by their teacher to give him a tour of the school, which was fine. Foggy likes meeting new people and Matt seemed cool, especially after Foggy recognized his name from the newspaper all those years ago. He had the gangly half-starved look of the frontman of an emo band, just without the eyeliner or the tight clothes, which made him handsome in Foggy’s estimation, which itself was entirely based on what he heard girls saying when they thought no one was around. Matt’s clothes are always a little too big for him and a little faded and completely unfussy in a way that suggests he doesn’t worry about the way he looks ever, which is how Foggy kind of wishes he was. Even on that first day, he noticed all that, and the sort of folded up way that Matt carried himself, like he really didn’t want to impose in any way. He’s also the only blind kid at their school and, despite the evidence that Matt can manage on his own and maybe the fact that it was a little patronizing to even think this way, Foggy felt an immediate responsibility towards him, from that first interaction.

It didn’t help that Matt was sort of funny in a quiet way, where he’d say something under his breath that would take you a minute to really hear and then another to fully get and then you’d be laughing at a dumb joke that no one else heard way after he’d made it. That didn’t matter, though, because Foggy always caught Matt smiling to himself, secretly pleased, when he made Foggy laugh. It certainly didn’t help when a few days later, after this handsome, mysterious kid with dark glasses and perfect manners and an even more perfect jaw (according to the cheerleaders who sat behind Foggy in Pre-Calc, at least) arrived, the rumor got around that Matt had only transferred to this school because he’d gotten kicked out of his last one—a Catholic school, of all things—for fighting too much. Some people said he’d gone after a teacher, which sounded made up to Foggy. It wasn’t hard to imagine Matt getting into a fight in general because, despite his good manners, there was an edge to his pleasantries on occasion that even Foggy could sense, a limit to his good graces that no one had, luckily, discovered yet but existed nonetheless. But fighting a teacher seemed like an exaggeration on the part of the rumor mill, for sure. Foggy had never gone to Catholic school, so he wasn’t certain, but he thought the teachers there were, like, nuns and stuff. Surely, Matt wouldn’t punch a nun, would he? That would be kind of extreme.

Still, Foggy had been grateful that fate had thrown them together and given him a chance to befriend Matt before that rumor started, because Foggy didn’t want to be the guy who was only nice to Matt after he heard he had anger issues. Matt seemed to like him too, despite an abundance of cooler, better options. It was probably just loyalty that motivated him to keep seeking Foggy out. A lot of people think Matt’s cool and even more girls want to date him, from what Foggy’s heard. He could definitely do better, but he might not know that. Or maybe he just likes that Foggy didn’t ask him anything about his old school. It’s hard to tell. Foggy’s not complaining, anyway.

“It’s like I said, don’t freak out about it,” Matt says, oblivious. “It’s just kissing.”

“Right,” Foggy says, to the middle distance. There’s a pigeon on the sidewalk carrying a lottery ticket in its beak. He hopes it wasn’t a winner. “Just kissing.”

“I mean, you’ve kissed a girl before. It’s just like that, but…on stage…”

“Right. Exactly. Just like that.”

“Foggy,” Matt says, slowly. “You have kissed a girl before, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Foggy lies, and sees Matt wince. “I mean, kind of. More or less.”

“‘More or less’? What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve…you know…the concept of kissing is not foreign to me, not entirely, but…you know, technically, I’m not exactly—I haven’t precisely, well…”

“You haven’t kissed a girl,” Matt interrupts, flatly.

Foggy shakes his head miserably. “No.”

“Not at all?”

“I don’t think there’s degrees of kissing!” he practically shouts, before catching Matt’s expression. “Oh my god, there are! Okay! I’m going to go…walk into traffic.”

“Hey,” Matt says, grabbing his arm. “It’s fine! You don’t need to be embarrassed!”

“I definitely do, actually, because I am and I will be forever!”

“No, it’s really fine. And honestly, your freaking out makes way more sense to me now.”

“I don’t want my first kiss to be in drama club,” Foggy whines, now that the thing he’d been holding back is out in the open. “That’s so weird!”

“It’s not that weird! Think of it as practice!”

“That’s honestly worse. Your first kiss is supposed to be important and, ideally, romantic. Mine’s going to be in front of Ms. Calder!”

“Well, if it helps, my first kiss was not romantic either, so…”

“When was it?” Foggy asks, too eagerly. “What happened?”

Matt looks slightly uncomfortable. “It was, uh—I was 11. It was at a birthday party.”

“That sounds nice! And normal.”

“It was a part of a game,” Matt says. “So it wasn’t special or anything. The same girl kissed two other people at that party. So did I, actually.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy says, burying his face in his hands. “So not only did you have your first kiss five whole years before me, but your second and third kiss happened the same day? With different people?!”

“And my fourth,” Matt says, looking chagrined. “But that was the first girl again.”

“How many people have you kissed?” Foggy asks, turning to give him an awed expression. Matt pulls a face, and he realizes it’s a weird question. “Right. That’s not cool to ask. It’s probably a lot, though, right?”

“I haven’t kept track,” Matt mumbles, awkwardly.

“Cool,” Foggy nods. “Okay. Reminder to self: do not keep count of number of kissing partners. If and when I ever find someone who wants to kiss me.”

“You will,” Matt replies, looking pained. “It’s not—it’s fine that you haven’t yet! You’re just—!”

“So help me god, if you call me a late bloomer right now, I’m not responsible for what I do!”

“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to—everyone matures differently!”

Foggy shoves him and Matt sort of grabs his wrist to extend their scuffle a second longer. Yet another reason Foggy wouldn’t be surprised if Matt did get expelled for fighting: he loves to get up in people’s space. He does it innocently enough most of the time, being more tactile than the average guy, but Foggy can tell he kind of likes to push his luck now and then. Foggy yanks his arm away with more force than he needs to.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “You’re kissing up a storm out there!”

“Not really. I mean, I do okay.”

“You’re doing more than okay from where I’m sitting,” Foggy says, and Matt has the audacity to look guilty, which makes Foggy feel bad. He’d meant it as a compliment, but it clearly hadn’t landed that way, so he attempts to pivot. “The answer is clear. You must teach me your ways, Obi-Wan.”

Matt snorts. “Well, first you’ve got to start by skipping the Star Wars references—”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“And then—wait, you’re as handsome as me, right?”

Foggy nods vigorously, even though the physical comedy will be lost on Matt. “Absolutely,” he replies. “One might even say more handsome. In the right light.”

“Perfect,” Matt laughs. “Then, yeah, you should have no trouble with girls.”

“And yet, here I am! Unkissed! The injustice of it is hard to bear!”

“You can always just wait around for your shot with Diana…”

“Who knows how many guys she’s kissed that she’ll have to compare me to,” Foggy complains.

“Probably not a lot,” Matt says, mildly. When Foggy gives him a pointed look, he smiles in a way that’s both vague and devilish and then shrugs. “Not everyone’s as easy as me.”

“That’s certainly true,” Foggy replies petulantly and Matt laughs. “No, I mean, Diana’s nice and all, but it’s not—” He sighs, even though it’s far too dramatic under the circumstances, and continues, “It’s just not what I thought it’d be. And I’m going to be so nervous until it happens.”

“Yeah, that’s no good,” Matt says, sympathetically.

“It’s fine,” Foggy says, pushing himself to stand. It’s probably past time for him to head out. He’s been whining about this for a while and his mom is definitely going to send out a search party soon enough. And Matt probably has better things to do than listen to his problems, anyway. “I should get home. I’ve got homework and stuff to—”

Matt stands too, very suddenly, and while Foggy is still yammering on about whatever just to fill space, leans in to press his lips to Foggy’s in a brief but utterly life-altering kiss. It’s not really passionate or anything like that, but it is insistent, which helps dissipate the immediate thought that Foggy has that this is somehow an accident, that maybe Matt tripped and fell and kissed him on the mouth. He didn’t see any evidence of that and he was looking right at him when he stood up, but bleachers can be precarious and Matt’s blind and maybe Foggy blinked and missed it? It could happen, but also it seems unlikely given the way Matt is just lingering there, as if to give no room for plausible deniability. It doesn’t turn into making out and there’s no passionate embracing, like in the movies and also like Foggy was sort of hoping might happen when he finally got around to kissing somebody, just because that seems more romantic. The kiss stays closed mouthed and respectful, friendly more than anything else, really, except that Foggy now knows how soft Matt’s lips are from touching them with his lips and he’s going to be thinking about that probably forever. And even though there’s no tongues involved in this kiss, he can feel how damp Matt’s lips are from running his tongue over them right before initiating the kiss and he’s also going to need to think about that forever as well. All in all, he’s got a lot to think about and little time to really react.

The moment it’s over, Foggy is overwhelmed by the urge to do it again, because surely now that he’s not surprised, he can do better. After all, that’s why the whole stage kissing thing was bothering him, because Diana didn’t deserve his first shot at kissing ever. She deserved someone with some skill, at least, especially since she was just acting. He didn’t want to put the burden of pretending he knew what he was doing onto someone who wasn’t even getting real enjoyment out of it. He feels the same instinct with Matt, not because it’s the same situation, but because he needs Matt to know he can rise to the occasion, that he’s not thoroughly pathetic. He improves with rehearsal and he wants that on the record.

Though, of course, he can’t do that. Matt might not be acting, but he didn’t kiss Foggy just now out of genuine feeling. He was trying to help him and be a good friend, but it was an act of pity. He was putting Foggy out of his misery, which was considerate, but it doesn’t mean he wants to keep kissing him. He’s the one who pulled away first, after all.

“There,” Matt says, looking pleased and utterly unbothered. “Now you don’t have to be nervous anymore.”

Foggy nods, not knowing how to articulate that Matt has, instead, given him several new reasons to be nervous. “Thanks,” he replies, faintly.

“I know it’s still not romantic, like you wanted, but…”

Matt trails off and he doesn’t look nervous himself, but there’s something anxious to the way his gaze, never really riveted on the person he’s talking to so much as angled in the general vicinity of their face, skitters off into the distance rather than staying on Foggy that betrays the smallest chink in the armor that is Matt’s confidence. Like he thinks Foggy might actually be mad at him for this, rather than just absolutely reevaluating everything he thought about who he is as a person as of two minutes ago.

“It’ll do,” Foggy manages to say, somewhat confidently, and the shadow of doubt passes from Matt’s expression, leaving him looking as charming and dear as he’s always been to Foggy and somehow entirely different at the same time.

[felizusnavidad]

oooh the last two anon replies got me fired up so here's my manifesto i guess.

the universal hating on lin manuel miranda comes down to a few factors that most of the time have nothing to do with his actual mistakes:

their cringe history is reflected in him and they can't deal with it. let it be known that it is not lin who created miku binder jefferson. that was entirely a monster of our making. and somehow, his enthusiasm and willingness to interact with fan content (i remember everyone loving him for it) is worthy of punishment in relation.

he's an easy scapegoat to dump criticism on because people already feel so comfortable speaking on him. like you said, it's crazy that people will paint out lin manuel miranda, the guy who changed broadway and did so much for POC roles, to be the big baddie. he's made mistakes, and there's a lot we can discuss about hamilton's legacy, etc., but damn. where's this energy for everyone else? is it a case of "he actually tried, therefore we have material to latch onto and tear down?"

a lot of what he does is successful and in the public eye! it's crazy but i see people going "why is lin manuel miranda in everything" about projects from the 2000s, like yeahh he didn't just make hamilton and then disappear for your own convenience. if anything it's a statement about how a lot of his work, like it or not, is remembered over time. the reaction to him being in percy jackson was crazy to me because i KNOW for a fact that you did not see his dark materials or tick tick boom; at most you know him from moana and hamilton. and then complaining that he "threatened disney to be in everything they do" smh.

he's not your typical white boy of the month. this might be a loaded statement but sue me, i think it's true. POC celebrities have a limited amount of time in the sun compared to white celebrities. a white actor having multiple roles in a year is okay, and it means they're a hard worker. but when it's a POC actor, their presence is conspicuous. their presence becomes bothersome. public goodwill dries up so much faster. even pedro pascal, i feel, has been talked about with eye-rolls recently. i read a very interesting paper about this.

it's fun! the internet's chosen him as their punching bag, and there are no consequences to online hating if everyone else agrees. i bet a lot of people think they're just joking.

and all of this makes it such that if they do find out about some of his actual mistakes, it's a relief. i legitimately saw a tiktok comment section filled with bashing, and someone said "this is so hilarious but kinda mean, the guy didn't do anything" and someone said with "actually he did this this and this" and they replied "oh thank god, i don't feel bad now!" so it's not "oh let's see if this person improved" it's "phew! i have a legitimate reason to continue what i've been doing all along!"

it's crazy because i'm not even a lmm fan necessarily. i've just been in the musical community for years and noticed all of this happening surrounding his very popular work. you all will rue the day! 10 yrs later or so people are going to start making those "he deserved better" posts but i will not forgive or forget.

i don't know if you want me to respond to every single thing you wrote here, but i appreciate the message, especially when it comes from someone who's not really a fan - it only shows me that it's possible not to be in the fandom & still be respectful.

don't even get me started on miku binder jefferson, it's probably the most ridiculous thing i've ever seen in my life. also, one thing i need to point out is that NOT EVERYONE in this fandom is like that, & i think i'm a perfect example of a person who just enjoys lin's art & likes talking about it & analizing things, but not enjoying all those weird cringe things that were created by the fandom (like the one you mentioned), so like... maybe a certain part of the fandom was the problem, not the creator of the thing? i have nothing against fanfiction in general, nothing against fanarts but like... some people are ruining the thing cause it's just too much. like the famous lmm cannibal mermaid fanfiction, come on guys, be serious, what the actual fuck???

i also agree with the percy jackson thing, i remember seeing all the hate even before the episode with him dropped & honestly i couldn't stand it, the pjo fandom ruined all the fun for me & i literally had to block pjo tag lol. then the episode was out & everyone was suddenly like OH, HE WAS ACTUALLY GOOD, well guess what bitch, i've been saying this all the time, he is actually a good actor & you are just a miserable hater. this fandom is toxic as fuck. also, you think he's everywhere? i do know a lot of other celebrities who actually ARE everywhere these days & somehow no one is sick of them??? so maybe people really are just racists. also, this is literally his job lol what do you expect him to do, disappear forever?

i will not forgive or forget either. like i said before, i'm aware that he made some mistakes, it's not like he didn't apologize for some of them, also he's not perfect, but no one is. all i'm trying to say is that there are more problematic people but somehow everyone feels the need to hate on him. you picked the wrong guy, just let him be.

[carebird]

My favourite flavour of ZOOL is this! (inspired by that one scene).

[redsodaz]

here i am face to face with a situation i never thought id ever seee its strange how a dress could take a mess and make her nothing less than... beautiful to me. it seems like my eyes have been transfigured something deep inside has changed theyve been opened wide but hold that trigger. this could mean....... daaaaaangeeeeeeeeer im falling in love falling in love falling in looooove i could be falling in love falling in love falling in loooove... with hermione grangeeeeer

what? what the hell is this you expect me to sing about her i dont care about her. its just a little make up draco wake up im mistaken. sheeeeee is the HOTTEST girl ive ever seen noooow because shes like a girl ive never seen dont know why id ever be so meeeeeeeeeeeean. this could mean........... daaaaangeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer im falling in love falling in love falling in looo oove i could be falling in love falling in love falling in looooooove. with hermione grangeeeeeeerr.

i wanna let her know i feel so queasy but i cant let it show she'd LAUGH poor weasley come on ron draco you gotta let it goooooooooooooooo you gotta let it gooooooOOOOOOOOOOOO here i what? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? i want to sing about her sing about her its stange i want to make up GRANGER WAKE UP my GOD ive been mistaken sheeeeeeee is the HOTTEST girl ive ever seen noooooow because shes like a girl ive never seen dont know why id ever be so meaaaaaaan this could mean.......... daaaaaa daaaaangeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer im falling in love falling in love falling in loooove i could be falling in love falling in love falling in looooove. with hermione grangeeeeeeeeeer with hermione grangeeeeeeeeer with hermione grangeeeeeeeeeer. daaaaaangeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer

[antlerpunk]

been here a while huh

[fdrsamericanflagduckfloaty]

just realized that the only thing i've fuckijng contributed to ao3 is a bunch of presidential fanfiction and a first couple tag bc their tag didn't exist