#There should be italics

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: what are you doing?

Gwen: *watching a couple* matchmaking

Arthur: what's that?

Gwen: I'm like a hitman. Only that my objective is to get people together and not shoot them.

Arthur: ... Is that a thing? You can do that?

Gwen: sweety, I can do anything, I'm Gwen

Arthur: can you matchmake me and Merlin?

Gwen: consider it done

After they got together:

Merlin: I hear you're a hitman

Gwen: how can I help, dear?

Merlin: I need a hitman. I have my eye on someone who needs to motherfucking DIE

Arthur: she's not that kind of -

Gwen: *already taking out her guns* give me a name

[returnsandreturns]

have a little something

---

“Hey, what if you didn’t go out crimefighting tonight?” Foggy says, casually, after Matt makes his Dog That Heard A Noise face in the middle of a movie, one of the first nights that Foggy’s had to spend with him alone in what feels like decades but is more reasonably months.

“I know,” Matt says, sighing and getting up to get the suit, “but—I have to.”

“You don’t, actually,” Foggy says, lightly. “You could stay here and finish the movie or we could go get drinks or—go Christmas caroling. Ice skating. Over the river and through the woods. I don’t know, something seasonal. Or, I mean, I could take you to bed and fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

Matt turns back slowly, halfway to his bedroom.

“What?” he asks, face surprisingly difficult to read.

Foggy could play it off as a joke, a light jest between friends, but everything’s so fucking weird now. For all that he considers himself the most sane and level-headed person in his immediate circle, he should still be allowed to be weird occasionally, too. Or a cool, sexy wildcard, at least.

“I could take you to bed,” he says, with significantly more intent, standing up and walking closer, “and fuck you so hard that you can’t walk.”

Matt’s mouth drops open a little and he’s blushing by the time he says, strangled, “Fuck, Foggy,” and takes the step between them to pull him into a rough kiss.

—

They were nineteen the first time they fucked, after a slightly delirious kiss in the hallway outside their final exam of their freshman year, a hug went awry. Matt tasted like black coffee and one cigarette that Foggy reluctantly gave him that he took one drag of before making a low dying noise and handing it back.

“How is that worth lung cancer?” he asks, pointedly.

“Shut up,” Foggy says, leaning halfway out a window. “You’ve probably gotten caffeine poisoning like fifteen times this week. Your eye is twitching right now.”

“Your eye is twitching,” Matt mutters.

The exam takes Foggy two hours and he waits for Matt’s extended testing time to be over, slumping down against a wall to sit on the floor. He looks up when Matt comes out looking pale and grim.

Foggy stands up.

“Bring it in,” he says, opening his arms, and Matt sighs and basically falls into him for an exhausted clingy hug.

“We did it,” Matt says, pulling back, face close in a way that means Matt’s going to kiss him. Not that Matt’s ever kissed him before but Matt definitely knows how close their faces are in relation to one another and has done nothing to rectify it and that means all these little bits of the safety lock Foggy has in his head holding him back from falling for Matt Murdock almost click into place.

“We did it,” he echoes.

Matt kisses him.

Click.

—

“What are we doing?” Matt asks, when they’re half naked and crammed uncomfortably into a twin bed.

“Dunno,” Foggy says, unzipping Matt's fly. “Who cares. Feels good.”

“. . .feels good,” Matt acquieses, moaning when Foggy get a hand around his dick, adding desperately. “Feels really good.”

The decision that Foggy will fuck Matt comes during an approximately two minute brainstorming session where they agreed on everything offered and then Foggy says, “Okay, so, anal,” and Matt says, “. . .that, please,” and then suddenly Matt’s ass was in the air and Foggy’s dick was inside him and they’re fully sober except for desperation and caffeine and it’s the weirdest fucking moment of Foggy’s life.

“Have you done this before?” Foggy asks.

“Just fingers,” Matt says, groaning when Foggy thrusts in harder. “Jesus. This is. . .more.”

“Does it hurt?” Foggy asks, concerned.

“Don't stop,” Matt says, urgently.

“Okay, eager,” Foggy says, happily, patting his hip.

Matt huffs out a shaky laugh, says, “It kind of hurts but not as much as it—oh, fuck, Foggy, right there, right fucking there, please, please, please!”

It's the begging that sends Foggy over the edge earlier than he'd like but he still beats Matt, who comes just from his erection rubbing up against the sheets when Foggy fucked him harder and harder until Matt's words get swapped for incoherent moans.

Foggy gets rid of the condom then lingers awkwardly next to Matt's bed, not sure what the next step is here.

Matt's curled up on his side and he smiles sleepily, saying, “I think, all things considered, we could probably cuddle.”

“All dicks considered,” Foggy says, climbing back into bed to pull Matt into his arms.

“All asses,” Matt says, voice muffled in Foggy's chest.

“Well, really just yours,” Foggy says, kissing the top of Matt's head when he snorts softly.

After a few minutes of quiet dozing, Matt asks, almost shyly, “Do you maybe want to do that again sometime? Just for fun?”

“Sure,” Foggy says, because that’s the only option he can think of. “I’d be into that.”

They meet up every few days during that summer to hang out and hook up and then Elektra happens and then Marci happens and then it seems like the moment has passed. They’re adults and they have the firm and Matt’s a fucking vigilante superhero and those few months might have been Foggy falling in love but they were also just something that happened.

They were fun.

--

“Wait, is this all it took?” Foggy asks, when he’s got Matt on his back in bed, Matt’s legs wrapped around him. “If I had just noticed when you got that vigilante spark in your eye, do you think I could have just—fucked it out of you?”

Matt’s laugh is a little crazy as Foggy lifts him up to thrust in deeper, his head falling back on the sheets as it turns into a breathy moan.

“I want to say no,” he says, “but you’re really good at it.”

“All you had to do was ask, buddy,” Foggy says, lightly. “Or beg—I do really like it when you beg, actually.”

“Foggy, just fuck me,” Matt says, laughing when Foggy stops abruptly, buried inside of him. “Please, okay? Fuck me, please.”

Foggy pulls out and thrusts back in as hard as he can, pushing Matt up the bed, and Matt says, “Foggy,” in a way that makes Foggy ache. He leans down to kiss Matt, messy, sitting up again to see Matt’s face looking soft and sweet. He’s always worn vulnerable difficultly, but so freaking well.

God, he wants to keep this. He wants to timestamp this as the moment things finally started to go right again. He wants Matt.

Afterward, Matt’s sprawled out on his back and Foggy’s idyly hovering over him and kissing his neck when Matt says, so quietly, “I think about what it would have been like if we got together back in college, sometimes. Like-actually got together.”

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, sitting up.

Matt nods and smiles faintly when he asks, “. . .do you wanna do it right this time? Please?”

Foggy smiles down at him.

Click.

[becauseplot]

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.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i hope this doesn't sound like a silly or weird thing to send you, but i'm autistic and have long thought of nico and a handful of other riordanverse characters as autistic and i love your posts about why nico in particular seems intentionally autistic-coded. but i've been thinking, if rick did intend for any of his characters to be autistic, why wouldn't he say so outside of the text at least? i can't think of a good reason why not, when he goes out of his way to be explicit about so many other characters' various marginalized identities and has confirmed things like reyna being asexual outside of the original text. so it gives me this nagging sort of doubt that maybe rick just made nico come off as so extremely autistic coded by accident, somehow. if it wasn't an accident i do kind of wish he'd say so because there's next to zero explicitly stated autistic representation in, like, any media so it'd be nice to have here even if not strictly necessary. either way though, like i said, i love your posts and i agree with you 100% about autistic nico! some others i like to think are autistic are annabeth and leo.

(Most of this is gonna be kind of a tangential ramble to your point and i apologize in advance just bear with me)

This actually touches upon something I've been meaning to do a write-up on recently, which is: depending on the coding, that is our explicit statement. In most coding, actually, that's kind of the point. (Also something something Death of the Author.)

You may have noticed a recent trend across media of characters saying things directly rather than expressing them in a natural way, and often this includes incredibly stilted dialogue of characters explaining things in very politically correct, wikipedia-esque descriptions and terminology that make absolutely no sense for the characters' personalities or mannerisms. This is born out of the idea that if something is not stated in explicit terms, no amount of evidence below an outright direct exact statement will ever count - if two characters of the same gender have an explicit kiss and wedding on-screen, it doesn't matter because they never said the word "gay," etc etc.

In PJO, prior to more recent books, we get plenty of examples of characters explaining parts of their identities without direct statements. Percy never needs to say in outright terms that he has PTSD from Gabe - and it doesn't make sense that he would! He's 12! He's never been diagnosed for that. He probably doesn't even know what PTSD is really. But we, the audience, know without a doubt he has PTSD, because it is clearly expressed to us. That is coding. Tyson is coded as having down syndrome. Nico is coded as being autistic. It doesn't make sense for Nico to turn to the camera and explain that he's autistic and what that means, because he definitely never got diagnosed for it and probably doesn't know what that means cause the diagnosis literally did not exist when he was growing up - and heck, autism terminology was still kind of getting sorted out back in 2007 when TTC was published, so it's unlikely we could have feasibly gotten any exact terminology wink-wink-nudge-nudges short of something like how Percy outright mentions other students called Tyson the r-slur in Sea of Monsters. And in fact we see that same exact style of coding with Nico later on in the series. Nico never turns to the camera and says word-for-word "I am gay, I am mlm, here's me wearing my exact pride flags" (until TOA/TSATS, which... did the exact thing i mentioned about characters speaking like theyre trying to get a good grade in therapy, or giving a powerpoint presentation). But it is never unclear that HoO is telling us outright that Nico is gay. It's not just hinted at. It's there, in your face. But entirely because no one ever outright says "gay" specifically it's technically still only coding. We know he's gay, we know the characters have trauma/ptsd, etc etc. We don't need it spelled out - that's just kind of condescending. It's like if you said describing a character with "eyes like moss" means they were "green-eye coded."

Nico being autistic-coded isn't hidden. It's not a secret. It's very overt. If you know what autism looks like, well, yeah, there he is. Even if you only know very vague 2007 media presentation of autism, Nico in TTC is easily recognizable enough as autistic because that's the point. Tyson is easily recognizable as being coded as having down syndrome and it's very clearly very intentional! It's just never spoon-fed in exact terms to the reader because it's not necessary! You've already been told the information necessary to tell you what is up with this character, so just plainly going "oh they're [x] in exact terms" is very much telling-not-showing and feels redundant. And while there are places for that kind of thing, most of the time it's very unnecessary. Sometimes coding is subtle, sometimes it's obvious, and yeah there are times where writers code characters unintentionally, but the textual evidence is there, and that's the whole point.

And that's what Death of the Author is about - it doesn't matter what the author intended at the end of the day, because if it's in the text it's in the text. You can look at author intent to try and figure out what that text means, but the text is the text. A Separate Peace is a very classic example - author John Knowles denies there being homosexual subtext, and meanwhile one of the protagonists living in 1942 puts on a pink shirt while saying he doesn't mind of people think of him as gay. What the author says after the fact doesn't matter - if it's there, it's there. So Rick saying anything outside of the books is completely irrelevant. And Rick talks about this a lot - he actively tells people that his statements outside of the books are just his own thoughts, but what's in the books is what's in the books, and if the text supports it then that's all the evidence you need.

Nico specifically is a case where yeah, he's clearly autistic-coded. It's very obvious and very obviously intentional when he's younger, and as the books progress it remains a background trait of his but is still notable (except for when it gets forgotten in TOA/TSATS like everything else, including the adhd/dyslexia, but i digress). It's a clear pattern within the first few books that Rick is intentionally including. It doesn't make sense, especially for the year the book was published, for the reader to be directly told in explicit terminology that Nico is autistic, because the reader is already being told that Nico is autistic.

And yeah, Rick doesn't mention Nico being autistic-coded outside of the text, but he also doesn't mention Tyson being coded as having down syndrome. He also said one time that Percy doesn't have PTSD at all, which is very incorrect starting from book 1. Again, Death of the Author. Whatever Rick says outside of the books does not matter, because he already said it in the books. And there's plenty of other stuff in the books that Rick doesn't touch upon, particularly relating to character identity - did you know Leo is Native? Sammy mentions that the Valdez family is Native in Son of Neptune but we don't get any specifics and then it's like never brought up again anywhere. That happens all the time in the series - and outside of the series - Rick can't possibly address every single point to confirm/deny everything from the books. That's what analysis is for! And that's why my blog exists 👍

[squidthesquidd]

i said i would do it. i said i would draw drag queen odo. with and without big drag hair (lwaxana helped him style it <33333)

slime girl 🫵💥💥💥

something something,,uuhhhh odo wearing gold and uhhh quark going bonkers over it. uh um uh 👁️👁️ im normal i prommy

[motleyfam]

**Regardless of whether you actually overuse it or not, which one is the most enticing to you as a writer?

[normal-thoughts-official]

Why Joe and Nicky deserve to win the sun and moon showdown, and if they don't I'll end up in the INTERPOL Most Wanted list

A not at all dramatic essay

(Plain text version here)

1. Not only do they canonically use moon imagery to refer to each other, but their context adds new symbolism to that metaphor that other duos don't have

If you haven't seen TOG and aren't familiar with the van speech, well, I recommend that you do, but I'll transcribe it for your convenience:

"He's not my 'boyfriend'. This man is more to me than you can dream. He's the moon when I'm lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And his kiss still thrills me even after a millennium. His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of. I love this man beyond measure and reason, he's not my 'boyfriend'. He's all and he's more"

Yeah, pretty long way of saying "actually we're husbands", but let's focus on the "he's the moon when I'm lost in darkness" bit. That bit alone is already insanely romantic and enough to make us fans go rabid with this tournament, but there is an extra layer of romanticism to it, because Mr Yusuf al-Kaysani (aka Joe) is Muslim, and in Islam, the moon represents the guidance of Allah through life, the calendar is based on the moon cycles, and the brightness of the moon is compared to both the face of the Prophet Muhammad and the first batch of souls to enter Paradise. Therefore, the moon, in Joe's culture, is intrinsecally linked with the divine, guidance, holiness, and time

So, when Joe compares Nicky to the moon, he's not only saying that he brings light into a dark world; he is saying that he is the very guiding light that leads him to a blessed life, that he is the foundation through which the world and time can be understood, and that his beauty and holiness is comparable to that of the souls of Heaven themselves

Which is all already enough for me to bite through wood, but the specific relationship between the moon and the understanding of time in Joe's culture is also particularly meaningful for Joe and Nicky, because Joe and Nicky are two of the 5 people who are immortal in the entire world. And one of the core themes of the movie is how that sense of timelessness leads them to isolation, and a constant state of loss. There is a deep melancholy that permeates their entire existence due to the fact that time as we know it no longer makes sense to them, and they live outside of it, skirting around eras and history. So, by comparing Nicky to the very body that marked the passage of time for Joe, he is saying that Nicky is what helps him make sense of the impossible, that he is the constant in Joe's eternity, that he brings meaning to their confusing and sometimes alienating existence

But wait! There's more!

Because Joe and Nicky met in al-Quds (also known as Jerusalem) in the year 493 AH (also known as 1099 CE in the Gregorian Calendar) and had to travel together across the desert for a long time, which means that, for the first few years of their life together, they were in fact relying on the moon to guide them in their path. So they both have a deep intrinsic understanding of how the moon is a compass, the most reliable thing in uncertainty. And the moon has been guiding their steps, their relationship, since their paths were first joined. And they weren't separated since

Like. Listen, I'm sure Star Trek is great and its fans are lovely, and I salute the Star Trek fandom for everything it did for fandom history in general, but you cannot tell me that Spirk has this much baggage associated with the sunmoon symbolism. It just doesn't. If this were a hand touching tournament, no one would have as much symbolism linked to it than y'all, but when it comes to being the sun and moon, no one is doing it like Joe and Nicky

2. The most appealing aspect of the SunMoon dynamic is how they need to defeat all odds to be with each other, and Joe and Nicky have that in spades

"Oh I don't think that's the most ap-" IRRELEVANT. I'll talk about the other ones too. Just keep reading, okay? /joking

As you might know, Joe and Nicky met on opposite sides of a battlefield. They killed each other. (Many times). And what happened then?

They ressurrected and became immortal. That alone is already impossible, but it gets better - even for the rules of immortality in their universe, Joe and Nicky are still an impossibility that has never happened before or since

Because in The Old Guard, immortality is extremely rare. There have only ever been 7 immortals in the entire history of humanity. There are usually several millennia between the appearance of one immortal and the next one. Other than them, the shortest time gap between one immortal appearing and the next was 800 years. But Joe and Nicky became immortal at the same time, on the same day. Their very existence bends the rules of an universe that already bends the rules of the universe they lived in beforehand anyway. Joe and Nicky being together defies the very fabric of time, and if that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

But it's not just some destiny shit either. Joe and Nicky were also not supposed to be together by other standards. For starters, they were on opposite sides of a war. Nicky was a fucking priest, and he joined the goddamn actual honest to god crusades. He was hateful and ignorant and awful, and when he chose Joe, he left behind everything he knew before him. All his certainties, his beliefs, his faith, his family, everything he had ever been taught. I'm also gonna go ahead and say that that ties into the whole "the sun is what makes the moon shine" metaphor - because everything that defines Nicky as he is now is the direct result of how meeting Joe changed him

And listen, listen to me. I'm not saying that he stopped being a bigot for Joe, because if he did, I doubt Joe would want him. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and he was wrong and ignorant and indoctrinated by the church. But he still had to make the choice to turn his back to all that, and that plain and simply would not have happened if he hadn't met Joe. It was Nicky's own effort, but meeting Joe was the catalyst

Joe, similarly, had to overcome a lifetime's worth of (well earned) resentment and hatred for what Nicky did. Joe forgiving Nicky at all is already nearly an impossibility (and he would be well within his right to never do that), but he didn't just forgive Nicky, he fell in love with him. And he chose him, well aware of how bloody and terrible his past was, and despite the fact that there is no way he wasn't deeply conflicted about what he felt for Nicky after everything the Christians put him through. I cannot even begin to imagine how hard this process must have been for Joe, and it was one he didn't have to go through at all - which means that he chose to

And that's not even taking into account the very personal resentments between the two of them, because they weren't just on opposing armies, they literally and personally killed each other. Several times over. And yet, impossibly, against all logic, against everything they had ever felt and believed in prior to each other, against possibly their own desires, they fell in love. They fell in love and have been hopelessly devoted to each other every since

And THEN, on top of all that at the beginning of their relationship, they lived as an interracial, interfaith*, gay couple, through what were undoubtedly the worst times in humanity's history to be either of those things. For 900 years, they had to love each other in secret and with varying degrees of risk associated with ever being found out as a couple, or even with being associated with each other at all to begin with

(*It is debatable what their current relationship with their respective original faiths is, since it isn't mentioned in the movie. But even if both of them had turned their back on their religions, they are still culturally Christian and culturally Muslim, and that makes a difference. Personally, though, I don't think either of them turned their backs on their religions, although I do believe Nicky turned his back to the Catholic Church as an institution for obvious reasons)

That's not even counting all the incredibly traumatic shit that they went through ever since (which I won't mention in detail because it's spoilers and also this is long enough already) and that would definitely break a couple with a less unbreakable bond. Through centuries and centuries of pain and regret, they have chosen nothing and no one but each other, first and foremost, no matter what that meant.

Nicky even brings it up in the comics:

[ID: Joe and Nicky touching foreheads with their eyes closed. Nicky is holding Joe's chin and he says, "why is it so difficult, Joe? We've been afforded more time than any lovers I can name. And still, every moment we scrape together feels precious. Something always happens-" End ID]

(From the Tales Through Time one-shot series. I generally think the comics are meh and the movie is where it's at, but I do recommend reading this one. It is set before the movie happens so there are no spoilers)

There has never been a time where being together was easy, and yet, Joe and Nicky chose each other no matter what. They chose each other even when it meant being separated and getting only scraps of time together in secret. If that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

3. They complement each other

And not in the dumb stereotypical "the sunshine one and the grumpy one" way either. For starters, Joe isn't bubbly, and Nicky isn't grumpy. No, they have two characteristics that I think represent the sun and moon way better than that anyway - Joe is an extremely intense person, and Nicky, an extremely cool headed one

Joe doesn't feel anything by halves, and despite the fact that he has lived through several lifetimes, it still seems as if everything he goes through is happening for the first time. Every time Nicky or another one of the family dies, Joe looks just as desperate as he would a millennium ago, despite the fact that he's had centuries to get used to the fact that they die and then come back to life. He's the only one who's that affected by it (obviously none of them enjoy seeing each other die, but the rest seem to have accepted to some degree that it's a part of their lives, or at least gotten used to it). He has experienced so many horrible things, yet he is still as affected and disgusted by it every time, going as far as lashing out sometimes. When he's angry, no one is able to hold him back from yelling at the person he's angry at (not even Nicky). Similarly, not even an actual van full of armed homophobic guards is able to stop him from simply dropping a passionate speech about how important Nicky is to him, complete with getting misty-eyed and kissing him at the end (and I'm not even bringing up the fact that both of them have their hands and their feet tied)

To me, that is the most sun-coded possible trait, because the sun is intense, hard to ignore, and quite literally burning. The intensity with which Joe feels also feels like it could burn, but it's also what makes him so warm and loving

Nicky is also a pretty intense person, but, unlike Joe, he is super cool headed about it. For starters, Nicky is a sniper; he is capable of staying still for hours at a time, observing, figuring out the best time to strike. That demands an amount of control over himself, his feelings, even his instincts, that is admirable. But he's not just like that on a mission; Nicky is very careful with what he says, when he speaks, what he lets other people see of him. His expressions are all subtle, contained, and even when he is in a state of murderous rage, he doesn't lash out. He doesn't lose control. The same way that the moon and the sun share their brightness, Joe and Nicky share their intensity, but Nicky is able to subdue it while Joe burns with it and lets that be his strength

Where Joe is expansive and wears his heart on his sleeve, Nicky is cautious and guarded. Where Joe gets lost in his own feelings and loses sight of what they need to do, Nicky keeps their heads straight and reminds him of what they need to do. Like the moon that guides one through the desert

They're different and complementary, but also intrinsecally tied to each other. They have the same spark where it matters, but present it in different, complementary ways. They are a part of each other, but they're also themselves first and foremost. That's what the sun and moon are all about

Sun and moon imagery has been the staple of the Joenicky fandom since day fucking 1, and for good reasons

VOTE JOE AND NICKY IN THE SUN AND MOON DUO SHOWDOWN

[echodrops]

I know I've posted about nothing but my job lately, but I am really struggling right now...

I honestly think one of the greatest failures of our modern education system is that teachers are expected to exhibit patience and forgiveness beyond anything that would be expected in other career fields.

Genuinely, I think the world would be a lot more functional (and better educated) currently if teachers were just allowed to be a little more real with students and tell them that, yeah, actually, it's not acceptable to continue making the same mistake after being corrected on it twelve times.

Of course, I fully understand instructors cannot expect students to master concepts they're never been taught.

But if a concept or rule has been clearly communicated to the student multiple times, it is honestly just not reasonable to expect a high grade while still continuing to make all the same mistakes. If a student refuses to learn the material, they just shouldn't pass. If I give a student a step-by-step video walk-through for how to handle basic formatting and they still fuck it up because they didn't bother to even watch the video, they should lose points. Like is that rocket science???

Imagine being a cashier, being taught the proper procedure for closing out a register multiple times, and then still fucking it up every single time you have to close.

Would you be employed as a cashier for very long? No!

Man, I don't even know. I know I'm just ranting at this point because I'm disappointed, but... Really, I do think that teachers should just be allowed to be a little more real. Sometimes calling people out for not putting in the minimum effort is fair.

If a student makes the same basic mistake after I've corrected them 20 times, it should be socially acceptable for me to tell them to stop wasting my time--and wasting their own time--in a class they don't intend to learn anything from.

I'm so tired...

[glittergroovy]

break my fall ~ lana del rey

[violant-apologia]

my recent magic card escapades have taught me the value of a signifantly informationally denser character intro than i currently have. so, here we go!

Briar Hathaway, the Violant-Scrawling Apologist

(art by ScribbleSpecters and letters-of-fire respectively!)

he is:

a correspondent, focusing on weaving the correspondence into dance and poetry

persuasive and dangerous, and skilled with mithridacy, chess-playing and the red science

steadfast, melancholy and daring

closest to bohemians (in who he is respected by) society (in who he's associated with) and the great game (in what he actually spends most of his time doing)

white on the chessboard

a vake-killer and drowning in money

an ex-criminal, ex-seeker, and ex-devil-associator (though he still likes the grand devils)

constantly torn between duty and desire

in a strange semi-relationship with mr stones (and ingratiated with the rest of the masters (not veils))

the future mr bricks in the seventh city (with the passion destiny) (he doesn't become a curator though)

owner of a pigeon, nora, who scouts on the THV Something Beautiful.

featured in a few fics of mine on ao3! go read them if you feel so inclined!

employer of a rubbery plongeur (hehe one of my pieces won a competition)

feel free to send a calling card or any social actions and i'll try to match your freak (RP with RP, you know what i mean)

bonus art:

ref sheet by waterlogged-detective

by the-insouciant-scientist, for my fic toothsome!

[jinko-hellhound]

“cancer eater” ch 1 — bungou stray dogs — atsushi, dazai, akutagawa, ensemble

True to name, Atsushi is the Man-Eating Tiger. All at once he develops fangs, a love of raw meat, and a horrible craving for his friends.

“Very dry air can make the tiny capillaries in your nose burst randomly, including in your sleep. One late, dry night in the dying days of fall, the sharp scent of copper drew Atsushi out of his closet. Barefoot and sleep-addled, he stood on the cold tatami and watched Kyouka sleep. Blood dripped down her nose, her cheek, the gentle bow of her lip. In the dark, the blood looked black.”

words: 3,559

first published: 9/3/24

characters: nakajima atsushi, dazai osamu, akutagawa ryuunosuke, edogawa ranpo, ada ensemble

relationships: nakajima atsushi/akutagawa ryuunosuke, nakajima atsushi & dazai osamu, nakajima atsushi & the armed detective agency

tags: dead dove do not eat, cannibal nakajima atsushi, graphic gore, hurt/comfort, hurt/some comfort, angst, self harm, eating disorder themes, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, armed detective agency as family

crossposted on ao3

* THIS IS NOT A DAZATSU FIC, Dazai and Atsushi’s dynamic is central and weird and toxic like in canon but firmly platonic. **NOBODY dies or is attacked by Atsushi in this fic.

warnings for this chapter: self harm, references to suicide/attempts, eating disorders/eating disorder-like behaviors, off-screen vomiting, gore, a cat dies

asks, replies, reblogs appreciated and encouraged! ask to be put on tag list!! 💕💞

It started with a dull pang in Atsushi’s stomach, a heaviness to his tongue, and an incessant craving for lentils and beef and spinach. He couldn’t stop eating, taking down two helpings for every meal, jerky sticks in between cases, protein bars while he worked. None of it satisfied him; even as his stomach bloated until he thought he’d burst, he put on no weight and his appetite only grew, and grew, and grew.

It started with his teeth becoming, somehow, too big for his mouth, forcing his lips to always hang ever so slightly open. Dazai loved this development. He liked to lean over their desks and pry Atsushi’s mouth open with his fingers and declare Look at those chompers! Hot embarrassment and overwhelming love would flood Atsushi’s cheeks when Dazai broke the monotony of work to bring the rest of the office into his jokes, or when Kunikida asked him how his gums were feeling in the mornings, or Kenji offered him a chewable necklace to ease the pain. Belonging had him floating as he walked. Belonging settled the growing pit in his stomach, or rather, belonging distracted him from how the pit was expanding exponentially each day.

The day Dazai discovered Atsushi’s growing-in teeth, Atsushi was forced to pose for a polaroid with his mouth wide and a ruler held up to his new canines. Then Yosano, with a gleeful spark in her eyes that had Atsushi shuddering, ushered him into the infirmary. She measured his canines, his nails, used some strange machine to examine his pupils. (Was she an eye doctor? Was she trained in optometry at all?) She had concerns about his braces, although it seemed like they wouldn’t pose an issue. (As always, he was embarrassed to even address his braces.) She asked after his diet and his height and his sleep patterns until she had reams and reams of notes on him. Feeling like an awful liar, he decided to keep his recent constant hunger to himself, for a reason he couldn’t quite place.

At the end of it all, she said, Be right back here when you come in next Monday. Then, taking his hand in hers, she smiled and continued, We’ve all got you, Atsushi. His fingers laid over her wrist, where her pulse was steady and hot. Its rhythm echoed through him, from his hands to his heart to his stomach to his teeth.

It started with a gaze that lingered on soft thighs, on meaty arms, on the long curves of necks and the fine details of ears. Kunikida’s broad shoulders when he stretched at his desk. Fukuzawa’s strong hands when they flexed over the hilt of his sword. Atsushi could not stop staring at everyone around him, in a way he never did before.

On the third day of Atsushi’s teeth adventure, he went on a date with Akutugawa. Which was — a recent thing. Less recent than the cravings and the teeth. But recent enough that Atsushi’s heart still fluttered when he and Akutugawa’s knees knocked underneath the cafe table.

After — well. They’d barely kissed and they’d hardly held hands. Everything between them was all new and precious, previous forced amputations and vampirisms and clawing attempts notwithstanding. Akutugawa was only just managing to choke out genuine compliments, and Atsushi was still learning how to reign Byakko’s temper in. They were still getting to know each other casually despite understanding each other intimately; they were figuring out how to be kind and couldn’t help but explode on each other still, every once in a while, until Chuuya or Dazai or Kunikida intervened in their own strange ways.

Today, everything was nice. Atsushi could not believe his luck to be sitting on this quiet cafe patio downtown, the gentle sun on his face, Akutugawa focusing on him with something like softness.

Akutugawa was in a tight turtleneck and sleek pants and designer sunglasses, his long, slender fingers resting on his mug, and Atsushi could not look away from him. Byakko caught Akutugawa’s regular heartbeat, the slight wheeze of all his breaths, the jingling of his keys whenever he shifted in his seat.

“So you’re growing fangs.” Akutugawa was stirring cream into his coffee but not looking at it. His gaze was always so intent as to discomfort. Atsushi could never handle holding Akutugawa’s eye contact too long, his eyes dark and focused; Atsushi always broke first.

Atsushi laved his tongue over his fangs, which were now always pressing into his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he sighed, spilling more sugar into his mug. “Dazai’s excited about it, at least. Yosano thinks I’m becoming more tiger-like because I’m finally eating enough, and safe, and not about to die all the time.”

Akutugawa hummed. He took a long drink of his coffee; Atsushi tracked the bobbing of his throat, mouth suddenly very dry. The white of Akutugawa’s thyroid cartilage peeked over his dark turtleneck, skin tight over delicate muscle. His shirt hugged his clavicle so that the bone stuck out like a handle. “Just don’t start eating people, jinko.”

“Right,” Atsushi said, laughing. Sticky sweat gathered at the small of his back. “How’s Gin?”

It started with canines that casually grazed his friends’ skin, playing with the idea of puncturing, a touch so light as to raise no one’s suspicion but his own. He couldn’t help it. It was instinctual that when another’s flesh neared Atsushi’s face, he’d twist his head, open his mouth, and let his teeth rest. Junichiro’s forearm, when he slung his arm over Atsushi’s shoulders. Kyouka’s jugular, when she fell asleep on his chest. He was transfixed, frozen, his teeth always hovering.

Atsushi discovered himself doing this for the first time while joking around with Dazai and Kunikida. Well, mostly with Dazai — Kunikida didn’t seem to think it was very funny, the way Dazai and Atsushi were bantering back and forth, tossing paper airplanes and erasers and crumpled reports, cursing dramatically every time they were hit. Kunikida berated Dazai, who pinned it on Atsushi, who started shooting back how he knew how many stacks of paperwork Dazai had hidden in his locker. Dazai scrambled across the desk, slapped his hand over Atsushi’s mouth, and started rambling out his explanations.

Atsushi did not fight. The heat of Dazai’s palm shocked him. He only needed to open his mouth a millimeter to rest the points of his canines on the full, calloused pade of fat there, his breath shaking with the threat of sinking down. Atsushi swore he could feel Dazai’s soul marching under his rough armor of skin, could feel it in his tongue and in his gums.

Dazai was still going back-and-forth with an increasingly irate Kunikida, but his eyes slid over to Atsushi. His fingers twitched, his index pressing purposefully into Atsushi’s cheek, and Atsushi realized he should have been sputtering and stammering and swatting Dazai away that whole time. So he did — with all the drama and indignance he could — but Dazai was still watching him, in that way he did when he wanted Atsushi to know he was being studied.

It started with his cuticles.

With him curled up in his closet, his canines digging into the tough skin around his nails, his pupils blowing wide at the copper taste of his own hot blood. It was Lucy’s wrists — the sight of them twisting as she poured his tea, the sudden, horrific, desperate thought of those fragile veins bursting on his tongue — which sent him here.

It was dark and dusty in the closet in which he slept. But his pupils were as blown as they could be, and Byakko had no problem watching the trickle of blood catch in the grooves of his knuckles. She chased it with her rough tongue, bit into his fingerbones, punctured the web between pointer and middle like paper.

Everything was quiet but for soft whimpers and the gentle sound of suckling on one’s own blood. Atsushi’s mouth trailed down, down, until he hit the meat of his forearm. His jaw opened wider, the points of his teeth settled on his flesh. A breath in, a breath out. Heady anticipation. He sank in. Bliss.

Tough meat, tender fat. Move up towards his wrist, find veins — hook his teeth into them, pull them out like licorice. Dizzy with it. Blurry vision, a pounding in his temples. Byakko’s regeneration made quick work of it, and he went again, until he no longer wished it was Lucy’s cephalic vein which he worked into the gap between his two front teeth.

At some point Byakko grew tired. He stood and found that she did not regenerate blood nearly as quickly as she regenerated flesh; gasping for air, he collapsed back down and laid there, yellow fat and drying blood smeared across his cheeks.

Eventually he realized his own flesh wasn’t enough.

Well, he says eventually. But the moment he first sank his teeth into his arm, he knew it wouldn’t work. It did its job — at first — but it left him numb, and desperate, a pit still in his stomach.

He was eating a lot of raw meat, these days. He tried sushi and sashimi to satisfy that urge, but it wasn’t bloody enough, wild enough, to replace — well. It didn’t satiate Byakko. Grocery store beef and chicken worked for a while, so long as he gnawed on his own arms every few days.

When Kyouka wasn’t home Atsushi would crouch over his counter, shovel the meat into his mouth, relish in the endless chewing of the tougher bits, the fat melting on his tongue, the cartilage crunching. There was lots of cartilage, lots of bone, lots of tough bits. He always bought the cheapest stuff. And he never got sick from it.

Afterwards Byakko would rumble approval and rest. She’d curl into the back of his mind, happy as a cat with cream, and Atsushi would find himself a beast, breathing ragged in the middle of his kitchen, blood and juices dribbling down his chin, the sun sinking low in the window.

But she would always be hungry again within the hour. So he dug into himself more, and more, and more. His thighs suffered too. He was drawing more and more blood, circling it back through himself, catching his own flesh and bits of bone.

Byakko worked hard but Atsushi knew he was starting to look a little anemic — always ghastly pale like he was when Dazai first found him, stumbling wherever he went. The others noticed. Ranpo was always squinting at him these days. Where’s your lunch, Atsushi? He was Atsushi’s worst nightmare right now — asking him about blood loss, iron deficiencies, diet. Always whispering to Yosano.

Atsushi tried local farmers and hunters, buying straight from the source. Then he’d had to haltingly explain to Kyouka why there was half a deer in their freezer, and anyway, it didn’t help much. And it drained his wallet.

So all of this was just… stopgaps. Preventative measures that became more and more desperate as that persistent ache made a home in his stomach.

He began to develop a horrible craving for his friends.

Not that strangers didn’t catch his eye. He’d go on jobs and stop and stare at murder victims, mouth flooding with saliva. He’d claw down a suspect and stop himself with his teeth scant inches from their jugulars. It was becoming harder and harder to be in public for the way his gaze couldn’t help but stick. Kyouka told him he was becoming a hermit.

But murder victims and murder suspects and waitresses and bus drivers… they just didn’t appeal to him nearly as much as his coworkers. Lucy’s cheeks were wonderfully full when she smiled, he noticed over a cup of tea. Kyouka’s shoulder was birdbone frail, but if he shifted his head the right way when he leaned on her he could feel the sweet rhythm of her pulse at the base of her neck. Yosano’s calves were beautifully accentuated by her heels, and Atsushi couldn’t help but track her graceful steps. When Ranpo offered candies to Atsushi, hands outstretched, Atsushi took special note of the soft plumpness of his wrists.

And Dazai, who was always touching Atsushi — arm around his shoulders, cheek leaning into the top of his head, sides flush together when Dazai was curious about Atsushi’s work — was just so very warm.

One day, Dazai came to work smelling of blood. Dazai said nothing of it. He was walking fine; the blood smelled not like it was old, but like it was clotting, and there wasn’t much of it. This was far from abnormal from Dazai. Atsushi had long since given up on expressing any concern, because Dazai always dismissed him, and all it ever served to do was shutter Dazai’s expression and make him all closed off and fake for the rest of the day. All Atsushi could do was watch, and try to prevent.

No one else noticed the blood, except Byakko was yowling.

When they worked, Dazai was usually only a few feet away from Atsushi. Their desks were corner-caddy; this was usually wonderful. Usually, Atsushi used their position to his advantage to always spy. He liked to watch Dazai and his unpredictability out of the corner of his eye, attempt to force Dazai into something understandable.

Today, their proximity was torture. Every man’s blood, Atsushi found, had a slightly different scent to it. Atsushi had smelled Dazai’s a million times and until recently it had never smelled so sweet that he needed to chug it.

The smell was clogging his throat. Atsushi kept forgetting his work, hunched over his desk like a freak, outright staring at Dazai for tens of seconds at a time. Dazai had to have noticed, but Dazai was good at acting like he had not noticed things in a way that told you he had absolutely noticed.

Desperately, Atsushi brought one of his hands up to his face to stifle the scent. He was able to work for ten, fifteen minutes. That smell of blood — of liquor and something heavy, of wet dog and cigarette smoke — crept in, but it was slow about it, sneaky; Atsushi didn’t realize his hand had stopped being effective until his teeth were already sinking into the hill of his palm. And then helplessly he bit, and bit, unable to stop himself, to even think about stopping himself.

And Kunikida shouted, his sharp voice ripping Atsushi’s teeth out of his own flesh. Not without carnage: bits of his own flesh caught on his canines and plopped onto the desk.

This was the first time Atsushi really had to lie. With his own blood pooling in the cracks in his lips, he stammered out something about zoning out, didn’t realize my teeth had gotten so sharp! Then he stumbled off to his lunch break.

The President had a gaggle of stray cats which gathered on the windowsills and in the halls and on the front stoop. Atsushi loved them from his first day at the Office. Helped Fukuzawa name all the new ones, volunteered to feed them, spent his breaks with them.

There was a convenient alleyway behind the Agency to which Atsushi often disappeared. When work and socialization got too much, the cheap metal chair and table someone had put out here were his lifeboat. The cats were a lovely bonus.

Lady, the fat black Maine-coon Atsushi had once nursed back from starvation, was the only cat around today. As soon as Atsushi sat down Lady jumped up onto the table, shoving her head under Atsushi’s trembling hands for pets; Atsushi admired her utter lack of shame.

“Hi, love,” Atsushi said, his head ducking low so Lady could hear the tremoring softness of his voice. Lady’s face tilted up to meet him. The top of her skull met Atsushi’s nose and lips. Byakko had healed Atsushi’s palm, but when he pushed his fingers into Lady’s fur, flecks of his drying blood caught.

That morning, Atsushi had eaten three steaks. His stomach did not seem to know this. Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Byakko was thinking. Lady purred as though attempting to distract Atsushi so he shoved his face into her neck. He took deep breaths that smelled of dirt and fish and wet cat, trying to chase out Dazai.

Atsushi’s phone chirped — it was Akutugawa texting. Ryuunosuke, Atsushi thought to himself. They were trying first names, now. It was nice. New. And kind. But this text was an awful development, not for its content but for the way Atsushi’s blood ran hotter when he saw the name.

Despite all he’d eaten, he was still so hungry. Byakko heard him think Ryuunosuke and all her crooning of Dazai became screaming, wailing for Ryuunosuke, Ryuunosuke, Ryuunosuke, for that pale throat, that handle-bar clavicle. For his adam’s apple. Byakko wanted — Atsushi wanted — to roll it around his mouth like a ball.

It was entirely unconscious, sinking his fangs into Lady’s neck. Atsushi did not realize he had done it until he was already tearing out a chunk of flesh and fur and Lady was yowling, then whimpering, then nothing. And then Lady was still warm when Atsushi found her trachea and esophagus, and then her tiny heart and lungs.

Atsushi cried with it, shook with it; Byakko trembled in pleasure. The tender meat of Lady’s thigh was Yosano’s. The dying thrum of her heart was Kyouka’s. The warmth of her was Dazai’s. And the blood was Ryuunosuke’s, all Ryuunosuke’s.

He laid Lady’s bones to rest in a dumpster, then washed off in the cafe restroom, keeping his head ducked and eyes far away from Lucy’s. He was thirty minutes late back from his break. In the office he was silent, and heavy, and kept his back to Ranpo always.

Of course, Atsushi knew Ranpo knew. Ranpo held the fatal stopwatch — he could decide, at any millisecond, that Atsushi’s secret was up. This was only a matter of time.

It was late the night after Lady’s death that Ranpo appeared at Atsushi’s front door, a cage full of rats in his hands. Pale and hovering in the soft light, Ranpo looked, as he always did, a little otherworldly. His face was carefully calm. The rats squeaked a symphony that struck cold fear up Atsushi’s spine.

“Ranpo,” Atsushi laughed unconvincingly, “what’s this?”

Ranpo set the cage on the counter with a strong degree of solemnity. The lights weren’t on in the dorm, except for the nauseous yellow glow emanating from the bathroom, where Atsushi had just been hunched over the toilet, fingers down his throat, forcing himself to throw up his own blood. He thought his knuckles might be glaringly raw. And despite his regeneration, he was sure there was still blood on his thighs and forearms and the soft white cotton of his pajamas. But he was too scared to look down and check.

“You need to eat living things,” Ranpo said in lieu of how are you. His mouth was tight, eyes sharp.

Atsushi swallowed. Ranpo was — he was always very — wonderful. Amazing. At the start of things — the very start, when Atsushi was brand new and always swinging wildly between a ravenous appetite and complete self-starvation, it was Ranpo who left candies and chips and chocolate in his desk drawers. Ranpo who always knew when Atsushi was going home feeling off, who called Kunikida to make sure someone checked on Atsushi’s dorm late at night. Ranpo who knew when Atsushi was — when he would need Yosano to come and clean him up from his own messes even Byakko couldn’t fix.

And it was Ranpo who set the cage of rats on his living room table.

Haltingly, Atsushi said: “I need to eat people.”

“…But you won’t, will you, Atsushi?” Ranpo said it softly, with the intonation of a question; But it was Ranpo, and he was absolutely assured in his own correctness. Confidence was there in the set of his jaw.

Atsushi thought this wildly hopeful, even for Ranpo. It was rare that he doubted the Agency’s greatest detective, but — Atsushi had already started to eat himself.

Gesturing to the rats, Ranpo said, “You can be like a vegetarian.”

If it was anyone else but Ranpo, and if it were any other situation, this would come off as a lighthearted joke. But it was Ranpo, and he said it with complete earnestness and self-esteem. And while Atsushi thought Ranpo was, for once, wildly off base, he realized his heart was warm with love, for the kindness of this gesture — even though really Ranpo was probably only doing it to keep Atsushi from having Kenji for lunch.

His heart was absolutely white-hot with it, and all that love swirled in him until he found that he wanted to take his claws to Ranpo’s shoulders and lap up the blood.

“Let,” Ranpo started haltingly, a hand hovering over Atsushi’s upper arm, the pads of his fingers grazing copper-stained skin, “Let Dazai or the President — or myself — know, if you need anything.”

And then because Ranpo was no more a paragon of emotional intelligence than the rest of them, he left. And Atsushi went back to his bile-yellow bathroom, where his own blood in his own toilet seat. Over the cracking porcelain bowl, he bit into a squealing rat.

[toytanks]

hi i wrote a thing abt carrie do y'all wanna read it

[sanctamater]

MOTHER OF SORROWS / LADY OF MERCY. web weaving and parallels for @doloridis <3

[compacflt]

took my two week break from opening any top gun-related word document. Was very relaxing. now starting to edit & repost chapters, in anticipation of printing out my final copy

every year-old typo i encounter makes me want to end it all i swear to GODDDD

[corvuscorona]

GUIDING PRINCIPLES:

jack is Literally Just An Earth Guy (no strong Earth Memories)

astos' haterism is powerful enough to eclipse his desire to have coherent conversations if he doesn't Watch Out

when u love someone their haterism becomes one of ur favorite flavors

????? IT'S JACKSTOS JUNE

[delivish]

Chapter 2 is finally up!!

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Kenny McCormick/Butters Stotch

Frustrated by their relationship — or lack thereof — Princess Kenny comes up with a brilliant plan to finally seduce her most beloved Paladin