#i know that i have a beard and male name and they don't know me nearly well enough to warrent me telling them i'm trans but like

[soulren]

Go spend some time on male pattern baldness or male(AMAB) balding forums/subreddits and such. I did after realizing it is happening to me and the ammount of people who truly don't realize how BRUTALLY it tanks people's confidence and mental health is insane.

There's no cure to baldness by the way, and it can start at any time and there's no way to predict how fast or slow it will go. The only real working option is a daily pill that usually just halts it, but it can stop working or just slow it down or cause major side effects. To regrow you have to use a daily topical solution, or use a roller to wound your scalp. None of these are surefire by the way, and if you stop them you'll just lose your hair and whatever you regained. It's a daily involved thing that might not work and often at best just retains. The best drug, the one that occasionaly gives regrowth, also causes shedding at the start, and can have side effects from growing breasts to brain fog to EDsyfunction(sorry, censoring cause tumblr). Now, those are INCREDIBLY rare and almost never happen but it weighs heavily on the mind of those already spiraling.

But that's just background. What I'm here to talk about is the pure woe you'll see on those forums. People speak as though their lives are over, as though they've lost every chance of finding a woman(predominantly, there's a running idea in such places that women don't like bald men or like them less) or doing anything. You can read countless stories of people who describe that they no longer go outside, are now filled with anxiety and self-hate, have gone from extroverted to never showing their face. And some of these people are kids who lost their hair in high school or even before, or are holding as best they can to a very receded hairline and feel like there is nothing they can do.

And then there's something touched upon far less in those communities, but is important to bring up here; baldness and masculinity. There's the horror of knowing so much of society sees a bald guy as a very masculine guy, at seeing that the best advice for being hot and bald is "grow and beard and big muscles bro". Imagine now you're AMAB balding and nonbinary, or a trans woman who doesn't want to be on hormones.

Just genuinely take the time to look at those forums no matter who you are. Understand what these people go through, what I am currently going through. It is soul-crushing, spiraling, brutal. I have the dream of one day being like Brennan Lee Mulligan or Matt Mercer and starting to lose my hair made me feel like I could never. I felt like and still feel like I would have to be masculine, have to be a bro-y dude, have to look older than I was(I'm fuckin 22). It was the feeling that I could never dress feminine again, never present as a woman when I wanted to again, that I'd always be viewed as a bald guy before anything else.

This is an incredibly vulnerable post for me, and I hope it reaches you all as well in a kind and understanding mood. There's a tendency online for people to joke about baldness, to make fun of it, to treat it as a playfull silly thing but it fucking ruins lives, and it shouldn't. It happens to half the population's sort of bodies and very often. It should just be a neutral thing. You don't need long hair to be feminine, you don't need hair to be feminine. You don't need hair for anything. I guess I'm just saying in general that everyone should be kinder about balding, more understanding, and view it with as much import as they'd view the pixels between this sentence and the next. None at all, I mean.

And for those like me, very feminine guys who wanna keep that and don't want a beard and are terrified of balding, here's some names and I do hope others that see this will add more; Mr. Bruce (also in The Correspondents(band) Alex Ward in LA By Night Jason Carl in LA By Night Cecil Baldwin of Welcome To Night Vale Bob The Drag Queen RuPaul(in looks alone, I know about the whole fracking stuff but this post is about looks) tananasho on instagram Also your mannerisms and style of dress will convey femininity far more than your hair. Yea sure a front-on neutral shot of you may not and maybe you need makeup and stuff, and hell maybe a lot of people might reject you more but it'll just filter down to the people for you.

And to all you artists and writers and creatives; make more bald characters. Try it out. Feminine ones, masculine ones, all sorts. None of the copout nonhuman sort, just dudes and girls and mates and individuals who are all sorts of things and also bald. It might make a few of the people going through the various vortexes of pain that balding causes feel a bit better.

And to those noticing I did not adress female hair loss much here, that was intentional. I am AMAB and currently a nonbinary guy who goes by any pronouns but often likes to present as fem. I learned I was possibly losing my hair and lost two months of my life, no work or going or anything, to male hair loss forums and research and spiraling. Checking my hair twenty times a day, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to think. And my situation was NOT unique, but it also did not give me any experience or understanding of female hair loss and what AFAB people may go through with that, so I don't feel knowledgeable enough to speak on it. Also living with baldness WILL get easier and you will find something that works for it, by virtue of simply living with it. Things get easier with time.

[charliesvarietyhour]

me while playing fo4 because i’m an opinionated bitch and i disagree with bethesda’s character design

anyway. presenting,

a detailed look at every companion’s appearance, according to me.

(these are all headcanons. they might not be yours, but they are mine. i wrote this as a fic-writing reference, but i don't mind sharing so long as we're all nice about it. also, spoilers ahead for companion quests, both in vanilla game and dlcs. you've been warned okay love you have fun. sorry in advance that you can clearly tell who my favorite character is.)

cw: heights represented by the united states customary system. sorry metric users :/

Ada. Modified RobCo Assaultron. 2074 model. SN has been sanded off and replaced with "ADA", painted carefully (lovingly) in blue script. It's clear that it has been reapplied multiple times, as many times as necessary. Post-Mechanist quest, she requests to have the names of her fallen friends painted on her body as well.

Cait. Pre-addiction recovery, scrawny-strong. Blood, muscle, bone and not much else. Very short. Like, south-side of 5'3". Has a very rectangular body shape. Hard angles. Was bright strawberry blonde when she was a kid, but it got darker as she got older. Hazel eyes. Freckles year-round and all over. She doesn't burn super easily, but she doesn't really tan either. Just freckles. Nose is crooked from being broken too many times. Post-addiction recovery she is a beef. cake. With Sole's help and resources she gains plenty of weight post recovery. Other than the normal weight gain that comes after recovering from addiction, she finds she enjoys exercise—especially weight lifting—and that it helps her manage her cravings. Her biceps are unfair. If I can be honest, I really only shared this so I can start proselytizing for my Fat Cait Agenda.

Codsworth. Standard GAI Mister Handy. 2076 Model. SN: 01HND-7619-0163. This is only visible because the 2076 Handys had their SN's embossed. All other markings that were printed or painted on have eroded away. A cute fact about Codsworth is that, despite his 200 years of wear and tear, he doesn't have a single dent on his exterior panels. Not. A. Dent. Scratches, yes. Scuffs, sure. No dents. He takes his structural integrity very seriously, thank you. He will brag about this if you let him.

Curie. Pre-companion quest, Modified GAI Miss Nanny. 2072 Model. SN has been scratched off and replaced with what is probably "CURIE", but the combination of chicken scratch writing and 200 year old marker makes it illegible. Post-personal quest, Generic Female Synth Body. Average body weight, brown hair, brown eyes. (I know she technically has "Hazel Blue" eyes but I disagree. It's my post and I get to make the rules here.) Her only deviation from "average" is her height. Generic Synth Height is 5'10", for both male and female synths. Takes time to look neat—neatly trimmed nails, trimmed hair, etc—and enjoys it.

Danse. M7-97 was a vanity design* so Danse looks a little different from the Generic Synth design. Still has the brown hair, brown eyes, but is a touch shorter than the standard. 5'8". Latino or Hispanic. His hair is insanely thick, but his beard always grows in a little patchy and with the odd blond patch just below his right ear. (This was not an intentional part of his “design.” Genetics, even synthesized genetics, get funky sometimes.) Carries weight like a strongman weightlifter. Thicker than average, even for the Brotherhood, so he's always had to have his flight suits and PA specially altered. (Thicker than average in regards to BODY TYPE you sickos– This is not that kind of post lmao.)

(This post from slocumjoe is a huge influence for my headcanon for Danse! Thank you for going through your archive to find it!)

Deacon. The Average Guy Ever™. Average height, average build. I'm firmly in the "Deacon is a Good Spy, actually" camp, so. Uncanny ability to adjust how he looks just by altering his posture. His weight has always easily fluctuated, so he can go from stick thin to bulked up in a matter of weeks. No matter how many surgeries he gets, he cannot hide the freckles. They always come back. He would have had piano hands if he hadn't been a chronic brawler in his youth. Knuckles are very crooked now. Eyes so blue they're nearly grey. Ginger. Has long eyelashes that are frankly illegal for someone who covers his eyes all the time.

Dogmeat. Dog. He has six toes on his back left foot.

Gage. 5'11". In an alternate universe, would tell people he was 5'9" just to fuck with them. Was a towheaded kid whose hair darkened significantly as he grew up. If he spends a lot of time out in the sun, though, it will turn a sandy blonde/light brown. He keeps his hair short because otherwise it gets very curly and floppy and it really kills his "bad-guy raider" vibe. Would be one of those white boys who tans super well but also thinks wearing sunscreen is for the weak. Scarred to shit. Holds onto muscle for a really long time. Underbite. Slutty little waist because I think that's funny.

Hancock. John Prime was already pretty wiry to begin with, and becoming a ghoul has only emphasized this. 5'7" but seems shorter because he's always leaning on something. Draping, even. He's like if a man was also a liquid, somehow. His remaining hair is incredibly thin, but is the most vibrant golden blonde anyone has ever seen. Eyes are dark due to discoloration, but sometimes—if he's taken in a ton of rads—the edges of his irises will glow subtly. Several piercings on his ears, but he used to have more. Lost them on account of his nose falling off. (You know how it is.) Replaced them with an astonishing collection of rings. Cheekbones that could slice a brahmin. Missing his fourth toe on his right foot.

MacCready. Definition of scrunkly. Not a lick of fat anywhere to be found. 5'5". Has a Gunner tattoo on the left side of his forehead and he hates it. It's why he wears his hat so low. Had an ear pierced once, but it got ripped out ages ago. His left earlobe is split now. He very clearly needed braces growing up but obviously didn't have access to that. Bottom teeth are crooked. His cuticles are picked to shit. Sandy brown hair. Cuts his own hair, but only cares about the hair around his face. Line of sight. Sniper. You get it. Is generally too lazy/uninterested in the rest, and will neglect it until it gets too long, so. Mullet (hot).

Nick. See, the problem with my synth grandpa is that this is the only character whose design Bethesda completely and utterly nailed. Like yeah, he does look like that. You got it. You did it. Perfect, no notes. Like all other Generic Synths, he's 5'10".

Old Longfellow. Exactly what you would expect an Old Hermit-Mariner Driven To Eldritch Madness By The Fog and The Sea would look like. The wildest eyebrows anybody has ever seen. Like you could take a comb through those bad boys. His hair is past his shoulders and fades into his beard. Stark white hair due to the stress of living alone on an island and from What He's Seen. You cannot convince me that there are not some Lovecraftian nasties living in the sea. They Know Longfellow, but Longfellow Knows Them. 6' until he stands up straight and then he's like. 6'5". Liver spots across his face and hands. Looks like he has cataracts in both eyes, but somehow can see better than you.

Piper. By far the companion whose Bethesda!verse appearance I disregard the most. In my heart she is a South Asian woman. On the taller side, between 5'8" and 5'9". Super thick, dark brown hair that in fact does just Look Like That (unfair). Her hair grows from fairly far down on her neck. Deep brown eyes. Spends lots of time on her makeup, even when she's out in the 'wealth chasing leads. Prefers red lips and dark liner close to her lid-lines. Her cupid's bow is super pronounced and she does her makeup to highlight it. On the softer side in regards to physique. Has a burn scar on her right forearm from a cooking mishap back when she was still trying to figure out how to live on her own and take care of Nat at the same time. Bites her nails.

Preston. Personification of someone telling you that everything is going to be all right. Tall, 6'. Pretty standard physique for someone who grew up on a farm and then became a soldier in a wasteland militia. Very square hands. Lets his hair grow out a little bit because he (forgets about it) likes it. Brown eyes that look like honey when the sun hits them. Other than the two scars on his face—one running down his left cheek, the other a small nick on his top lip—he has a scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder. Has a stick and poke tattoo of the Minuteman coat of arms on his left arm, just where his shoulder meets his bicep. Top lip is bigger than his bottom lip. Dimples when he smiles. Huge smile, smiles with his whole mouth. Legs like an adonis. Someone get this man into some 4' inseam shorts, STAT.

Strong. Super mutant. He was a Butcher, so he's a little beefier than your average mutant. Of course, this is only known to other mutants, as the subtleties of mutant physiology tend to be lost on non-mutated humans.

X6-88. Generic Courser Build. While Generic Synths are designed to blend in with the everyman, Generic Coursers are designed to inspire fear in every man. (booo bad joke tomato tomato) 6'3" but stands so perfectly straight that he seems taller. Has the superhero build, but like naturally. Keeps his hair in a short fade. Bottom lip is lighter than the top lip. Has little lines around his mouth from all his frowning. Has one (1) singular scar on his chin. He won't tell you where he got it (it's from him eating it on concrete steps. That was the one mission he asked for an extension on, so the evidence of him beefing it would heal.) Also chronically wears sunglasses. Behind those aviators are grey eyes that are so pale and sharp, they almost look white.

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - 𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴 (4)

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: [WARNING] There is smut present in this chapter.

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: This is also long, maybe longer than part 3-- I may have over indulged. Hope it doesn't suck!!

Raven laid in her bed doing a mental recap of the night. How had they gone from fighting like cats and dogs, to not speaking, to her being on the verge of begging him to fuck her on the spot just to relieve that dull throb he'd stirred up.

Every thought she had of the night made her feel like she was right there on that dance floor all over again. She could still feel the scruff of his beard tickling her cheek, and it reignited the goosebumps on her skin. She'd been constantly going back and forth about what would drive him to do such a thing. Constantly trying to explain away his actions so she could get some peace of mind and go to bed.

She was coming up with nothing. "You know what, I'm just gonna go ask him." She spoke to herself before rising from her bed. She took one step forward before puasing to look at herself in the mirror. "Girl, no the fuck you not."

The soft knock on the door of his bedroom caused Armando to sigh in annoyance. "If it's Dorn, it's too late to talk about techy shit. If it's Marcus, I don't want to hear about something you weren't even going to tell me, man." His words were met with a brief silence before the door began to creek open.

He didn't move from his position, laid on his back with both hands behind his head. He was relaxed, which was a very rare occasion, so he wasn't going to break that. He simply turned his head to not see either of the men, but to his surprise Raven slowly stepped in.

Even in the shadows and moonlight that seeped through the window, her face was still gorgeous. He eyed her briefly. Noting that she only wore a large t-shirt that read "Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House." Whatever the fuck that meant. "Come in, blackbird." He rasped.

His eyes were trained on her, this wasn't the same woman. She was more timid than usual, softly closing the door and coming to sit on the edge of the bed near him. "Why do you keep calling me blackbird?" Her face softly contorting in confusing. "Because your name is Raven, genius." He smirked.

Raven stared at him for a moment, how was he so casual with everything that'd happened tonight. She had a million questions, and she couldn't think of a single one to start with. "I--I'm sorry for calling you a drug dealer. That wasn't a nice thing to say to someone who's trying to turn their life around." Not only was her demeanor different but so was her voice, it was soft, almost as if she was scared to break the silence of the night.

A warming balm spread across the male's heart. In his life he hadn't gotten many apologies, even when he was clearly wronged. So, hearing this from the same women who threatened to pull her gun out on him just a few days ago was surprising yet appreciated.

Raven on the other hand couldn't deny that this was a beautiful man. That Lowery DNA was something special. She studied each of his features thoroughly in the darkness of the room. Those thick and defined eyebrows accented by dark curly lashes always caught her attention. She hadn't realized how hard she was staring until Armando cleared his throat, ripping her from her trance. "I appreciate that, but tell me, little one. Did you just come here to apologize?"

With that simple question her throat grew dry and her face hot. Why did she come here? What was this going to accomplish? She'd spent ten minutes arguing with herself about this and not once had this crossed her mind. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, what the fuck was she supposed to say?

Armando sat up from his position, his bare muscular chest visible to her doe eyes. "Nah, I know that look. You're looking a little needy right now, baby." His hand gently gripped her chin while he observed her face.

She was practically spewing pheromones all over this room. "Just say the word and I can fix that for you. Cause God knows I've been fantasizing about these lips since we left that club." He spoke to her in the sultriest tone she'd ever herd. His rough thumb pad pressing into her lip and pulling it away from her teeth. His body was now on autopilot as he moved closer to her. Closing the gap between them. Thier lips inches apart, close enough to just gently brush together as his spoke. "Can I take care of you?"

The woman had no audible response, only leaning forward to fully close the space between their lips.

The kiss between these two was much like their dynamics. Feverish, rough, passionate, and yearning for more. Armando wasted no time stripping Raven of her clothes, delighted to see that she wore noting under her shirt.

The dress she wore that night had done no justice compared to the masterpiece of her bare body. "Just relax, baby." His voice was muffled while he kissed along her inner thigh. His eyes darted from her anxious face to the beautiful pink junction between her legs. Just looking at her he could see her juices coating glistening folds.

He licked over his lips before offering her the same release. His tongue traveling up her center. The soft moan that filled the space when he'd brushed against her swollen bud was music to him, it was a sound he'd commit to memory for the rest of his life.

And Raven, poor Raven had lost all of her bravado. Hell, Armando was sucking it out of her- literally. He licked and sucked along her pussy, teasing her when he'd rotate his tongue just around her clit but not fully attaching his mouth to it, not giving her the suction she'd kill for. "Eres la cosa más dulce que he probado en mi vida, nena." "Armando." She was breathless, doing her best to get out her words as her chest heaved. "P-please."

"Please what?" He questioned with a sinisterly teasing tone. "You want more?" His words were followed behind him plunging two of his thick fingers into her. Immediately, her warm walls squeezed him as his pumped his hand. "Oh god." She cried, moving her hips to meet his motions. Finally, Raven took the moment to gaze down at the male who was already staring at her in hunger. "That's right baby, be a good girl and ride my fucking fingers." A shiver ran down her spine at his words, he was going to drive her insane. "Armando, make me cum." Finally gaining some of her wits back, Raven reached down, locking her fingers into his dark hair pulling him back into her center.

Her assertion of her own dominance in this moment caused Armando's rock-hard length to ache even more as happily obliged. Diving back between her legs. This time, his lips finally wrapped her throbbing bud, sucking roughly and swirling his tongue. His fingers continued their assault on her sopping hole. Curving upwards slightly to gently press into the spongy space of her g-spot. She wouldn't last long with this combination and they both knew it.

Her hips writhing against him, pushing herself farther on to his face. "F-fuck Armando. I'm about to c-" She hadn't even been able to finish her statement before her orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks. He felt her contracting around his fingers, her clit throbbing against his tongue as he continued to lap her at juices until this wave of ecstasy subsided. It'd honestly knocked the sound out of her.

Seconds felt like hours to Raven. The pleasure that shot through her body was something no other man had made her feel. She basically had to pry Armando's mouth from her sensitive core feeling breathless, but he only smirked in pride at the whimpering bundle of nerves he'd just turned her into.

Raven sat up on her elbows, still breathing heavily as she glanced down at his exposed erection. She couldn't help but be mesmerized as he stroked himself. He was beautiful, long, thick, and veiny. She gazed up at him through her eyelashes to meet a lustful stare before turning over to all fours. She positioned herself in an arch that left her head flush to the mattress and her pussy and ass propped in the air exposed to him. "Well." She smiled innocently. "Show me what 'cha got."

That was all he needed to hear from her. He wasted no time positioning himself behind the ass that was as beautiful as he thought it would be. He stared down between the two. Watching as he drug the thick pink tip of his length through those slick folds he'd certainly be tasting again. He took a moment to apply the slightest pressure to her entrance before sinking into her.

She fit around him like a glove, squeezing and engulfing him in warmth and wetness. For Raven, he stretched her walls so deliciously she almost started to drool.

Both of them moaning in unison.

Slower strokes started their passionate session, Armando knew he wasn't small by any means and wanted her to comfortably adjust before things truly got started.

The wet sticky sounds of him slowly working into her were pornographic. With growing speed, he felt her grow better. His hands gripped her hips, thumbs digging into her soft skin as the slapping sounds of their bodies colliding together grew louder. "Joder." he growled, his head tilting back with slightly parted lips and closed eyes.

Raven couldn't believe how wet she'd grown; her arousal coated the inside of her thighs and even created a wet spot on the bed below them. Her body was rocked by Armando's powerful thrusts, damn her being sore tomorrow. She'd enjoy whatever he had to offer now. She allowed herself to come up a bit, moving her hips back to now meet his thrusts. "Throw that shit back, mami. Let me see what you can do." A challenge mirroring her own was all she needed. Immediately Raven began to throw her weight back into him, her ass bouncing off was a sight he'd be storing in his memory bank for a lonely night. Their mixed calls of pleasure and obesities filled the room along with the occasional smack of the ass he gave her.

Eventually. they ended up in a position where Armando was kneeling behind the woman who was practically seated into his lap as she bounced. Armando's large hand tangled itself in Raven's hair, yanking her head back to look at him. The sight of her flushed cheeks and a slight sheen of sweat present on her skin drove him crazy. And fuck did she fit him snugly like she was made for him. Not releasing her, he began animalistic thrusts that caused her to bellow out. "Shit.' She cursed. "Cállate, pequeña. Despertarás a los demás."

His own voice was laced with the need to release. Something they both felt coming once he began to throb inside of her. "Fuck, are you about to cum? Please cum in me, I wanna feel it. Please. I wanna feel you." Her begging cut the last remaining shred of control he had. His thrusts becoming sloppy, short, and shallow as he worked towards his own orgasm. One hand stayed tangled in her hair while the other squeezed at her double D breast and pinched at her hardened nipples. As soon as Armando felt the tensing of his abdominal muscles, he also felt the release as he shot his warm load into her. Raven experienced her own secondary orgasm, their bodies already in sync. Her fingers had been working at her clit, but they both knew it was him coating her walls that threw her over the edge.

Heavy breathing filled the room, neither one of them daring to pull away from the other. Armando placed a kiss on the woman's head. Her hair already starting to curl back up. It took a moment, but eventually Armando managed to pull himself and Raven from the bed. Cleaning them both because he'd honestly worn her out. Her attempt to return to her own room was met by Armando following behind her, stating that she might as well put that bonnet on and get comfortable, because he'd be sleeping with her for the night.

𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

"Eres la cosa más dulce que he probado en mi vida, nena." - You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, baby.

"Joder." - Fuck

"Cállate, pequeña. Despertarás a los demás." - Quiet down, little one. You'll wake the others.

[ageingfangirl2]

Fight Someone Your Own Size! Mihawk (OPLA)

Mihawk comes to your aid and is intrigued by you. Dracule Mihawk x Reader

Part 2

Y/N

You'd just finished a long shift at the local tavern and wanted nothing more than to go home and rest. The tavern wasn't in the nicest part of town, so you always made sure to have a blade on hand in case trouble came your way. Tonight you decided to take a well-known shortcut through a couple of notorious alleys because it would save you a few minutes. It wasn't that you couldn't fight, you could very well, you just weren't a big fan of confrontation.

You make it through the first alley with ease, but the second you step foot into the second alley the air changes and you immediately pull out your blade to defend yourself. Behind you, footsteps can be heard, and just as you pick up your pace, your path is blocked by four men in front of you. Looking over your shoulder you see three more.

The obvious leader of the group steps towards being a burly man with a scruffy beard and sneers at you through yellow teeth, 'Well, well, what do we have here, boys? A little birdie caught in our net.'

The rest of the men snigger and wolf whistle, as you take a deep breath and try to mask your fear, 'I don't want any trouble, just let me through. You can have my money if you want.'

The men shared a wicked laugh, and the leader stepped closer, his eyes filled with malevolence. 'Money? We'll take your money, sweetheart, but we also want a little fun.'

He reveals a blade much longer than you own, and you get into a defensive position not wanting to go down without a fight, 'not going to happen.'

Before you could react, one of the other men lunged at her, brandishing a gleaming switchblade. Instinct kicked in, and you managed to dodge his initial attack, but the odds were stacked against you. The rest of the group closed in, overpowering you with sheer numbers. You feel a sharp pain as a blade grazes your arm.

You managed to get some good stabs in before one punch to the gut sends you to your knees.

'You call yourself men yet you're a disgrace to our kind,' an unfamiliar male voice comes from behind you, his voice monotone, condescending, and a little bored.

You dare to look over your shoulder and see a tall man step out of the shadows, his eyes were piercing, and your eyes couldn't help but be drawn to his bare chest and a golden cross that looked heavy. You hadn't seen this man around town before.

Three of the men who attacked you sneer and run at the man weapons ready to strike, but the mystery man almost danced around their attacks with elegance.

'Who the hell are you?' the leader questions.

You use the distraction to get back to your feet, just in time to see the mystery man pull a large sword which was sheathed on his back that looked deadly and impressive, 'I'm bored now,' the man drawls.

He brings down the sword against all three men at once, and the sheer force actually pushes you back a bit.

The leader of the group, realising they were outmatched, grabbed his remaining men and yelled, 'Let's get out of here!' The remaining men flee, leaving you and your mysterious saviour alone in the alley.

The man sheathes his sword and ignores the three dead men at his feet as he turns towards you, 'Are you okay?' he asks in a low, soothing voice.

You nod and put your blade down, 'Err yeah...thank you...did you really have to go that far and kill them?'

The man tilts his head, and you can't help but admire the feather in his hat, 'oh my dear, trust me, I wanted to go much further but they ran away like cowards. You would have probably won if there were fewer, I'm intrigued y/n.'

Your eyes widen, 'how do you know my name? I haven't seen you around town.'

'I only show myself when I absolutely have to. You have a bit of a reputation around town so I was surprised to overhear those men decide to attack you.'

You scuff your feet on the ground, 'I swear I've seen your face somewhere, but I can't remember your name.'

The man turns to walk away, 'Dracule Mihawk, I sense we'll meet again y/n. You have potential.'

Before you can say anything else he all but disappears into the shadows he'd emerged from. Dracule Mihawk, that name meant something to you, but right now you needed to get out of the alley before anyone found the dead bodies and you were attacked again.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hello, hope you'er having a good time. Whatever time it is right now. I wondered if I can request 141 team x male reader who is a mercenary like in the game hitman for example. So they meet up or there are searching for him. Maybe just escapes everytime or outsmarts them. Working together with reader and they are scared of him. Because he can throw Ghost around and is very stealthy. Has perfected his craft and kill them with anything he can get his hands on. I hope good and have a nice day.

Okay, so never played hitman, but I have seen it so I know what you are talking about. I think I might have to play it. Who knows.

Summary: (Y/N) is the nightmare of 141 task force

Warning: author didn't play hitman but watched it, guns, violence, everything that goes with Modern Warfare, (C/N) = code name

Price sighed as he walked towards the meeting room. Laswell had some information on their enemy. He was a mercenary, one of the best in the world.

" Hello everyone. Lets get started. " Laswell said as Price sat down. She pulled up (Y/N)'s photo.

" We might have known whereabouts about (C/D). I have to warn you, the chances of finding him are slim. Somehow he always gets out. I don't think I need to tell you to watch out. " Laswell said, taking a cigarette out.

" Just how much we know about him? " Ghost asked, looking at the only confirmed photo of (C/D) on the screen. Those eyes seem empty and calculating.

Ghost had no doubts that (C/D) wouldn't hesitate to kill them all.

" We don't know anything about him, but one thing is certain. " Price said, looking at his team. " He won't hesitate to kill us. He has perfected his craft. " Price said, a solemn silence falling around the room.

" Where do we think he is? " Soap asked, tapping his fingers against the table. The energy has fallen very low, almost to gloomy levels.

" Mexico. Nowhere near Las Almas, thankfully. Alejandro and Rudy are busy so they won't be able to help you. " Laswell said, taking a long drag and coincidently the last drag of her cigarette.

" We are going in a couple of hours. " Price said, rubbing his beard with his hand.

" Any special advice to prepare for this mercenary? " Gaz asked, worry evident his voice. Soap nodded, agreeing with Gaz's question.

" You have to be there mentally. " Price said. Everyone nodded, knowing that there was no way to prepare themselves. It was going to be very dangerous and there was no way to tell how this mission was going to end.

The silence was heavy in the plane. Nobody dared to say anything, everyone was nervous. Soap was bouncing his leg, Gaz was sweating like never before. Ghost was, maybe for the first time ever, was scared in the field. And Price?

There was a bad feeling brewing from within him. Everyone witnessed in some way how brutal and efficient he could be. How ruthless... Merciless...

John shook his head. It wasn't good to think about. Despite the fact that he could use everything as a weapon... That was kind of concerning.

But they could persevere. They could win. All they need is some faith and a miracle to do so. The chopper dropped them off near a house. Well, it was more houses, but they were apart, around 10 meters from each other.

They would have to split.

" Gaz, you are with me. We will have to take the first house. You two take the other. " Price said, getting out of the chopper.

There was a chorus of yes sir and they split up. Everyone was on high alert. They watched their backs, knowing how (Y/N) could be a stealthy bastard. It was quiet over the comms, everyone knowing that they needed to be quiet.

A single mistake could cost them their life.

Gaz and Price moved quietly through the house, stopping at the basement door where they saw blood. Gaz and Price looked at one another. They gripped their rifles tighter and Price slowly opened the doors. The stairs were covered in blood and the smell was just horrid.

They both wanted to gag. Gaz called it in and they moved down. One of their targets from another mission was here. Their target was supposed to be dead. What was he doing here?

" Be careful Gaz. " Price whispered, moving deeper into the basement.

" Rog sir. " Gaz confirmed quietly.

Eventually Price managed to reach the light switch. He turned it on and it was a ghastly sight. Bodies just laying down dead. The worst of all, there were no signs of struggle.

Gaz felt a shudder go through his body and both of them freeze when they hear somebody walk above them. Ghost and Soap would have called it in. Gaz and Price shared a look before moving upstairs, back on the ground floor.

(C/D), standing there, nursing a cup of something.

" Captain. Sergeant. " (C/D) said, raising his cup.

" All right, drop down on your knees and show us your hands! " Price said, making (Y/N) look at him blankly.

" You two realize that I can kill you with this cup, right? " (C/D) said, clearly not impressed.

" What do you want? " Gaz asked, making (Y/N) put the cup down.

" I have a proposition. But I need the other two here too. " (Y/N) said, leaning back on the kitchen counter. Price could see a knife strapped to his thigh, not to mention a gun, tucked in the lower back of (Y/N).

Gaz called Soap and Ghost and those two came in record time. Ghost and (Y/N) stared at one another. Ghost wanted to jump him, but he knew better. (Y/N) was better than him, better than the four of them combined.

" What is happening? " Soap asked, confused to see (Y/N) so relaxed. It was eerie.

" I wanted to give you guys a proposition. " (Y/N) said calmly, looking at the task force.

(Y/N) waited for a moment before continuing, " I will work together with you guys. I will live on the base under your supervision, but there is one condition. " (Y/N) said, watching various reactions. Shock, suspicion, wonder...

" And what would that be? " Price asked.

" I get to have my privacy. I will be on base, but I want my privacy. "

" And what do we get in return? " Price asked.

" You won't be afraid of me anymore. You don't think I didn't see the fear in your eyes when you saw me? Not to mention that you will have a great asset on your team. " (Y/N) said.

Everyone looked at one another, clearly thinking. (Y/N) wasn't wrong in any way shape or form. They feared him and the fact that they might have him on the team...

" Okay, you are coming with us, now. " Price said, nodding his head towards the chopper outside.

" Just don't cuff me and we will be fine. "

Everyone entered the chopper and started flying. It was definitely tense and Gaz broke the silence.

" Is true that you could kill us with the mug? " Gaz asked, gathering attention from everybody.

" Yes. Everything is weapon. I could kill you with a bobby pin. " (Y/N) said, shrugging his shoulders.

The chopper fell into silence once more. This was going to be interesting... Partnership.

" Price, remind me again, why do we have to spar with (Y/N)? " Soap asked, watching as (Y/N) got ready to spar with Ghost. It was going to be the showdown of the decade. And the biggest showdown in the history of this base.

" Because you need to know what you need to work on. Believe it or not, he knows a lot. " Price explained.

" Oh my God. " Gaz said. (Y/N) turned his head to look at Ghost, looking at the weak spots that the big man might have.

" Wait, why did you kill our previous target? " Gaz asked, remembering the bodies.

" I went rouge. He was... A problem to me. So I got rid of him. He died slowly, just like he deserved. " (Y/N) explained, looking at Gaz.

Gaz nodded, moving away from the ropes. Ghost and (Y/N) walked into the ring. Ghost would rather die than admit this, but he was very nervous.

Price whistled and the two started sparring. Well, (Y/N) sparred. Ghost was thrown across the ring with absolute ease. Soap's jaw fell down onto the floor.

Oh my God.

Price didn't know what to say. He tried to, but no words came out. Gaz had to sit down on the floor. And poor Ghost? He just laid there... In pain... Not physical, no. His pride was hurting. And so was his reputation.

(Y/N) just wiped his hands.

" Okay, I think that this cooperation is going to go well. " Price said, clapping his hands together.

Ghost just grunted from the mat. Soap sighed and Gaz stayed silent. (Y/N) snickered quietly. Yeah, it's going to go well.

[gildedkrone]

You said I was the most exotic flower, holding me tight in our final hour 🔞

Relationships: John Price x Male Reader Synopsis: You blow John's mind through his dick. A/N: First post on Tumblr! You can find longer works on my AO3 Master List

"You feel so good for me, love."

His voice is an arrow ripping through the seas of pleasure in gleaming gold. The beard digging into your nape and his arms around your abdomen, he has you in his grasp as relentless kisses and touches glides over your bare skin. His bed is soft and large, very much befitting his rank of the captain of an elite task force.

"Stop teasing, John." It comes out more as a breathy whine and you are rewarded with a deep chuckle.

"You can take a bit of teasing, sergeant." His voice is all rumbly and deeper, all in the mood.

His hand hasn't moved in a while as thick fingers wrapped around your aching dick, the owner of which satisfied in attacking you with chaste licks and bites. The pleasure building in your core, directed by his talented and skilled hands, remained wholly unsatisfying. He chuckles at your attempts to buck into him in search of that sweet, sweet pleasure.

"Such a handful, love. Maybe I should put you on extra training next week. Have you, mhm, running laps and bloody hell—"

You won't lie, hearing his voice hitch and stutter when his dick rides into your ass gives you the thrills. It's probably red and straining and you don't need a look to know. It fits perfectly and the heat emanating from it washes over your ass in waves. You tease him a little more and lean back until his chest is against your back, knowing just how much he gets off on you being in control. He showers you with more praise and kisses.

The captain being commanded by the sergeant. Very much frowned upon in the military but John lets you know that he loves it when you are assertive.

"John, if you don't fuck me, I'm going to ask Ghost and—" Hands slapped around your mouth and muffled the rest of the sentence as a deep rumble vibrated by your neck.

"You ask him and I will make sure you won't walk straight for the next month, sweetheart."

"Is that a challenge?"

The sensation of wetness, his pre, followed by his warm dick was ever so indulgent while his hands roam your body. One of them flicks a nipple and you arch backwards into him with broken moans and subdued cries of his name. He loves this as much as you do, being the commander of your pleasure and taking full control of your pleasure.

Its his and John won't ever let anyone have a taste of this.

"Brat. Do you want to be gagged? My pretty boy, all needy and whiny during a mission?"

Oh. That, that was fucking hot and you shiver at the thought of riding his dick in the middle of an operation. Maybe in a ghillie suit and in a bush somewhere. They can see and watch, but they will never be able to taste or touch. You turn your head to look at him, barely, as more kisses assault your cheeks. The hand on your aching dick moves to your thighs and gently caresses the area there.

Ever the gentleman, making sure his partner felt just as good as he did.

"Use your words, sweetheart."

You tell him just how much you want it and he laughs again. Hands gently tug at your sides and you flip over to face him at the unspoken command. Pleasure is engrained in his eyes in golden filigrees of lust branching into something fierce and he rumbles approvingly. He shifts back on the bed and leans against the pillows and headrest while a hand comes to rest near his groin.

Suck it.

You put on a show for him. His dancer of the night, bringing him sweet and initimate sin. You crawl towards him and a flare of lust erupts from his chest at the sight of his good boy prowling like a hunter seeking prey. When close enough, you touch his thighs gently and push them apart slightly to accomodate your body. He loves it when you look at him, it makes him feel divine, he once told you. You keep your eyes on him and lower your face until it rests against his groin with your cheek against his dick. His hand ruffles your hair and his eyes gives you the command to continue.

Being a sergeant of the 141 was tough business and John only recruited the best of the best. You are determined to show him just who he selected.

His dick is just like him, large with the head glistening in pre. You slowly grab the base and lick up his engorged organ. Spitting into your hand and the sounds of rough exhales fills the room, you grip his appendange in a gentle hand and suck on it. His head falls back against the pillows and his hand gently roams over you head. You love how caring he is every time he indulges you in this and the contented sigh hopefully conveys to him how good this is to you too.

His hip thrusts against your mouth and the sounds of his grunts pick up in intensity and harshness at every movement of your damn tongue over the slit.

"Good lad, yes, fuck, yer taking it so good for me, sweets." His scouse accent slips out and it makes him all the more sexy. The Captain John Price, putty in your hands while you drowned him in a pool of gold, the strings of lust caged around his heart yours to tug and play with.

He's beautiful, and you will keep telling him that until the day you die. Which considering your career choice, isn't too far off but the fondness in his eyes and his words makes it all the more precious and worth living for. He blushed when it first happened and you were reletentless in not letting him go afterwards, teasing him all night long and into the next day.

A quake shakes his thighs and his hand cups your face. His eyes implore you answer. All good, lad? You nod and lick up the base of the bulbous head, relishing in the broken moan you pull from the man and the jump of his pelvis towards the sinful mouth around his hard dick. His groin presses against your nose and the smell of his body wash, lavender and lilac, fits him just perfectly.

You fucking adore this man.

You can tell that he is impatient. His hands are more insistent when they play with your hair; his fingertips making contact with your scalp is tingling. Fine, you were going to empty his balls but first, you want him to admit it.

You want him to beg for it. So, you come off his dick and grabbed the base of it while a single unfufilled whine slips past his iron jaw. John isn't as good as controlling himself when pleasure is brought into the stituation. He prided himself on being collected but your mouth certainly is not helping matters.

"Captain, I'm not sure what to do now." You put on your best impression of a lost, troubled soldier.

"You fuckin, shit, tease. Get on with it, sergeant."

You bring your mouth closer and gives him a single kiss that sends shivers up his torso as beads of sweat roll down his toned body.

"Please. Move your hands, love." Close, but not quite.

"Fuck, please, sweetheart. Let this old man cum, lad."

Since he asked so nicely, you blow a kiss onto the angry looking head, earning yourself a deep grunt and some praises of good boy and my lad. You take him in fully until his dick is fully seated at the back of your throat. It's not easy since he is so well endowed but his gaze is motivation and encouragement. Your hands, not looking to rest, fondles his balls and strokes whatever doesn't fit in your mouth. He is a lost fisherman at sea, dancing as your pulled on the strings of lust shackled against his limbs. The hand in your head forces it down while he fucks your throat, his incredible core muscles lifting his pelvis off the bed to smash against your mouth. You love how feral he gets when he is close and chasing the wet, warmth heat of your throat.

He isn't loud, per se, but he more than loves to let the world know how good you are when he does climax. Ghost had once knocked on the door and asked you to please respect the noise rules. John had simply laughed when you complained to him.

Ignore him, lad. He's just jealous.

"My good boy. I'm close, love. Just keep, shit, keep that mouth tight." His words are a whip of lust that get you absolutely going for him.

The noises are obscene at this point, the wet noises of his pre mixed with your saliva and the sound of him fucking your throat are deafening in your head. His breathing has lost all of its tempo and he has that look when he is fighting to not cum. The light frown in his eyebrows and the taut muscles around his jaw. You loved the fisting of his free hand and the flexing of his powerful and sinuous thighs. His beautiful body is flexing and prostrated in pleasure, you want to see him fall.

Fall from the pedestal of a soldier and down into your embrace. Right here, neither him nor you are a spec-ops operative. He's beautiful, he always has been and now, this man is yours.

You hollow your cheeks and suck hard without telling him and he bellows. His voice is sonorous and he sounds majestic. He's your commander, in more ways than one. Weight yanks your head forward as those thighs lock your head into position. Sorry, lad but he is not sorry at all. You almost choke on his dick when he suddenly contracts his abdomen and those thighs pushes his throbbing dick further into your mouth. A single twitch, you know its his undoing, and ropes of hot cum are splashing into your mouth. He tastes salty and his cum is thick, viscous and heavy on your tongue. He might be older, but you love that about him. His fingers continue to brush over your head.

"Fuck, darling, don't swallow." That's a first.

His hand gently lifts your head off his dick where it rests against his navel when you come off him. A thin squirt when his dick jumped at the sight of your debauched look with cum on the corners of your mouth.

"Good, keep it in."

His eyes are gleaming with satiation and he tugs your body forward until you are chest to chest with him. He kisses you and his tongue darts into your cum filled mouth and swirls the liquid inside. Fuck, he's tasting himself while tongue fucking you into submission. Dirty, perverted Brit. He breaks the kiss with another moan and strings of cum are on his lips and tongue. There's even some in his beard and he makes sure to lick it clean. It’s so fucking filthy and he knows it too.

His hands start at your ass and ends at your reawakened dick. Previously forgotten, the roles are switched and the reins of lust are in his hands now. The gilded collar is beautiful against you neck, and he is determined to take all of the pleasure that belongs to him. Rough, calloused fingers settle into a slow, shitty rhythm that has you grinding into his palms for more. More of anything that he's willing to give.

"John, please." He loves your begs muffled by the mouthful of cum.

Patience, he tells you. He dips two fingers into your mouth and draws a thin trail of cum on your torso leading down to your dick. Again, stringy cum coats his thick fingers and he is slathering his cum all over your dick. The feeling starts off as weird but quickly ends up being the most sinful thing he's ever done. The milky white liquid is your accomplishment and it mixes with your own pre with obscene squelches in the mark of him. He loves the fight occurring internally to not give into him. To not beg or plead with him.

He commands you to swallow and you comply. The bobbing of your Adam's apple and your throat and he kisses you once more.

"Good work, my lovely lad. Did you have fun, making your captain beg?" His tone turns from John to Captain Price in a second and you moan at the implications. His hand turns into a prison on your weeping dick and you instinctively buck against his firm grip. Ineffective. He reminds you ever so of his strength. They don't call him captain for no reason.

"Well, I think we will need to address your discipline, soldier." His words are punctuated with sharp bites against your neck, Soap do not ask please, and your head tilts to give him more access to the area. The look in his eyes is one of mirth and thunders in the clear summer skies.

"Let's begin, sergeant." And you are arching and begging for him just as he takes control of the situation. His response, a deep laugh and you wail for him.

[sweetenerobert]

EACH OTHER'S TEMPTATIONS

dom!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: an affair between a married man and a single father that hadn’t been together since his wife came back and each passing moment, they eventually ended back in each others arms

warnings: strong language, infidelity, joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, oral, pet names, riding, creampies, kissing, dom! joel into sub!joel ;), low-key inspired by porn; taking a page out of @/psychedelic-ink’s book!

word count: 963 words (i went overboard . . . again ;p)

a/n: soooo. i was reading @/gracieispunk HBF story and i thought of this little draft so i had to give you guys something considering i haven’t been writing anything for so long and losing motivation for anything. (but somehow had motivation for this) I just wanted to give you guys this! This is supposed to be a drabble, so it doesn't exist in the drunken series !

“Hey, Sarah? Have you seen your father?” Adaline asks.

Sarah shakes her head in disagreement, holding a thin line on her lips. “No, I haven't seen him.

Panting, moans, and smacks were radiating from your bedroom. Holding your headboard, Joel’s cock was jackhammering your ass — while Joel had laid still. Hearing your cries leaving your lips was Joel’s ecstasy. Joel’s hands on your hips were melted on your skin.

Your ass slapping against his thighs, Joel’s face had lust and determination spilling from his mouth with his grunts and low-sounding moans. He couldn't keep himself away from you. He yearned for you ever since Adaline came back home.

Attempts to keep your distance from each other failed when Joel found himself knocking on your door.

With Joel’s cock buried inside you and you moaning his name.

“Joel! JOEL!” You moan.

“Sl-slow down a bit, city boy,” Joel breathed. “I won't last long if you go so fast from the start.”

“I-I can't help it, Joel. I just missed having your monster-sized dick inside me so fucking much!” You panted. “I’m going crazy!”

“I know, just calm down for a second, city boy!”

You stopped, and Joel brought your face closer to his, and your lips melted together in an electrifying kiss.

“Are you going to punish me if I don't, Mr. Miller?” You question.

Joel has this look of rage for a split second but he gets rid of it before you can even notice.

“You asked for it, city boy!” Joel grunted. Bring your body closer to his; Joel’s hips have a mind of their own as his cock is deeper inside you. You can't help but grab the pillows he was lying on and almost rip the fabric.

“Oh Yes, Joel! Punish me, teach me a lesson!” You moaned.

“Fuck! Please fuck me harder!”

Joel had rolled you to lay you on your back and slid his cock slowly inside you. You were looking into each other eyes. Joel’s hands were branding your inner thighs as he stared at you. “You have no idea how much I missed you, city boy,” Joel confessed.

“I missed you too.” Joel leaned down and kissed you. You could feel Joel’s smile in between kisses, and it caused you to smile. You could feel the scruff of his beard under your finger tips.

Joel rested his forehead on top of yours. His eyes darken as his hips rock into you. Your moans bounce off Joel’s smirk on his face. Your hands reach his back; his back muscles clench under your touch. His face turns into a look of frustration and concentration. Joel clenches his teeth and starts rocking his hips faster into you. Your moans bounce off the walls in your room.

Joel’s grunts are music to your ears. You missed how he sounded, how his dick was the only one that could make you moan this much. Getting away from Joel was one of the hardest things you’ve had to do in a long time.

“Your pussy, misses my cock so much, city boy. It remembers the shape so well,” Joel smirked.

“You feel so good! I can't even think straight anymore!” You grit.

“Baby, I need to cum inside you again. I miss that so pussy, so bad,” Joel whined. You kiss Joel, and his hips speed up — your moans bounce in his mouth. His lips travel down your jaw onto your neck. Your moans become blissful with every kiss planted on your neck.

Joel’s cock slips out of you, and you both chuckle lightly. Joel kisses you softly, and you can't help but smile.

“Fuck it,” You mutter.

You flip Joel to be on his back and hover your ass. You slide your ass down to the base of his cock. You hiss in pain, but quickly, pain turns into pleasure.

“Ba-baby, I what are you doing?” Joel asks, dumbfounded.

“I can't take it anymore, I need your cum, Joel. I need it,” You grit, bouncing up and down his cock.

Joel’s hands and yours were intertwined, and you firmly placed them next to his head. You were going fast, and you knew it. You could feel Joel’s cock pulsate deep inside you — you knew he would cum soon.

“Fuck — baby.” Joel whimper. “You're gonna make me cum soon!”

“Please, Joel,” You state, bouncing your ass faster. “I want your it so bad.”

“Gimmie access to my hands, and I’ll give you what you want,” Joel smirked.

You shook your head. “I can't. I can feel your cock twitch inside me — I think I’m going to cum.”

“Cum on me, baby. Do what you have to do,” Joel commanded.

Your pace goes faster as you see strings of cum string along Joel’s chest. Your grip on his hands loosens, and he doesn't waste time grabbing your hands and drilling his cock inside you.

“You want my cum, city boy? I’m going to give it to you!” Joel exclaimed.

Your hands find his broad shoulders. Your moans reach Joel’s ear while his grunts get yours.

“Oh god, baby. I’m gonna cum deep inside your pussy!” Joel exclaimed.

With one final thrust, Joel’s cock twitched inside you, and groans escaped his lips. You collapse on Joel’s hardened — cum covered chest. You and Joel are both covered in sweat, cum, and lust and are both panting heavily. You missed the adrenaline rush that you used to get after Joel fucked you. You look at Joel with a smile, and Joel smiles at you.

“I need to shower, city boy. Wanna join me?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I could shower.”

The smile on Joel’s face became a shit-eating grin you hadn't seen in a long time. “Okay, let’s get going.”

[merp-blerp]

A Gaylor/Kaylor Interpretation of "But Daddy I Love Him", Despite It Being Obvious, 'Cause Happy Pride

Overblown Analysis Under the Cut ↓

"I forget how the West was won // I forget if this was ever fun // I just learned these people only raise you // To cage you"

The opening line is a reference to a film called How the West Was Won (1962). I'm not well-versed in this film, but I know that older American Western films and the American cowboy aesthetic in general often represent male masculinity, and by extension, male heterosexuality, romanticized into picture-esque imagery of wealthy, cis, white, straight manly men ruling the West through violence. All this despite the fact that historically, many cowboys (not just boys/men, of course, so cow-folk maybe, if that's even a term) were broke queer people, often people of color, trying to survive. Similarly to Taylor, these individuals have had their queer history erased all for the sake of marketability and giving a general audience a more traditionally palatable and relatable portrayal of reality to consume. (For more on this topic, Kaz Rowe has two great videos on queer cowboy history and the queerness of cowboy movies, if that interests you.)

With "how the West was won" not being capitalized like a film title, it seems clear that while she's referencing the movie, she's not directly talking about How the West Was Won (1962). I think this line might hark back to "Cowboy Like Me", a song about Taylor (and her lover) swindling the public into assuming they're straight and the industry "rich folks" into thinking they'll abide by their rules forever. If she continues to beard and swindle she'll win the hearts of the general public more and more, or the hetero "west", but she forgets what the benefits of doing that at the unknowing cost of her happiness were. From my perspective, if Taylor forgets how the West was won, she's saying she forgets what the long-term value of hiding her queerness with straight narratives and beardings had in her mind once upon a time. She forgets if she ever found the beardings/stunts fun in her youth because she has now learned that "these people", likely industry people who have had hands in her career, only closeted her for their own money benefits, not truly caring about her at all.

"Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best // Clutchin' their pearls, sighing, "What a mess" // I just learned these people try and save you // 'Cause they hate you."

I think many songs or moments in TTPD are Taylor envisioning/anticipating what could happen if she were to come out. Obviously, the main source of bigotry against queer people is warped religious beliefs, so the "Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best" are homophobes in this reading, but considering Taylor's fanbase and the feminine names chosen, they could very specifically be swifties who are overprotective of Taylor. Swifties who do deplorable things in the name of protecting Taylor's honor, such as doxxing gaylors online because they disagree with them and see suggesting Taylor's queerness as immoral. These types of swifties will often call the act of speculation on Taylor's queerness "gross" and lean on the reasoning for that being that speculation is invasive, even though Taylor herself has never commented against speculation of her queerness in any way when she very well could if it bothered her. Therefore they have no actual clue if that's how Taylor sees it, it's just their homophobic opinion that the suggestion of queerness is gross and they project the opinion onto Taylor as if anti-speculation should be universal when it's not nearly that simple. They see the act of the Taylor sexuality discourse existing as a mess.

If Taylor is queer, seeing that a number of her fans find queerness disgusting would produce incredibly negative feelings, whether it's anger or sadness. While I don't think every anti-speculation swiftie has these particular feelings towards it (it's complicated and could have a post of it's own), some hetlors hate speculation because they know that it could be correct. If Taylor were out as queer she'd become a "queer thing" they couldn't enjoy the same way anymore; she wouldn't be their mirrorball anymore, and that's terrifying because for many that's Taylor's appeal. If she's queer she's no longer this bestie, big sister, twin from your dreams type of artist to hetlors, she's this "other" that belongs to "others". This subsection of fans try to defend her because they, consciously or not, hate the idea that an assumed "straight" woman could actually be queer and unlike them. And therefore they indirectly hate her. The real her. They'd rather have the brand Taylor Swift because they can relate to it more, so they don't want to see her. "You needed me, but you needed drugs more" (from "COSOSOM"). They try to "save" her from being seen/out 'cause they hate her.

"Too high a horse // For a simple girl // To rise above it // They slammed the door // On my whole world // The one thing I wanted."

Both the "Sarahs and Hannahs" and "Elders" exhibit a sense of superiority Taylor feels like she can't rise above by being simple. Many anti-speculation people see their opinion as the politically correct thing to do. Therefore it's superior to speculation in their eyes, despite the fact that speculation can be a critical step to finding other queers and even can be used as a form of coming out—letting people speculate. They're on "too high a horse". The attempted Lover coming out was very simple, with Taylor flagging rainbows without an obvious showing of potential contempt she had for the industry that closeted her, unlike TTPD, which exhibits much anger towards it. But the simplicity was partly why the coming out attempt didn't work. Taylor's general fandom still viewed her flagging as nothing because she didn't say anything and harassed gaylors while the SBs foiled the biggest part of her plan that would've freed her. In "I Hate It Here", Taylor mentions that she only "rise(es) above" her closeting in her fantasies for now. Instead of getting to come out, her closet door was slammed shut. Her identity, her whole world, was still in the shade of the closet.

"Now I'm runnin' with my dress unbuttoned // Scrеamin', 'But, Daddy, I love him' // I'm havin' his baby // No, I'm not, but you should see your faces"

The title of the song is pretty unanimously agreed to be a reference to The Little Mermaid (1989), which of course came out the same year Taylor was born. Arial yells this at her father when he discovers her hidden interest in the human Prince Eric before destroying her collection of human artifacts.

It's worth remembering that Arial in the film says that she is 16 years old, the same age Taylor was when her first album was released. Arial is still at an age where she would still be under her father's thumb, as she's a child, even if she doesn't feel like one. Meanwhile, Taylor is now in her 30s. She should not need her father's permission to have an interest in someone. The whole scene Taylor paints with these lyrics seems comical, Taylor running after and begging her father as her clothes come undone, maybe because she was caught in the act of making love to this "him", or she's going erratic and ripping her clothes off. Then she screams that she's having her apparent lover's baby. The story becomes more and more soap opera levels of dramatic till Taylor pulls the wool from over the listeners's eyes and reveals that it was all a lie once the facade becomes too crazy to believe unless you're gullible. It's easy to see just the "No I'm not" as a direct response to simply "I'm havin' his baby", but I think it's a response to the whole first half of the chorus. She's not a teen girl begging to be allowed to date, she's an adult.

"You should see your faces" directed at the listeners could be Taylor teasing about the shock on their faces at her wild story or the fact that it's a lie, but it could also be Taylor mocking the look of enjoyment the listener gets from her fake story, which represents her real life beard narratives. The dress unbuttoned story getting crazier and crazier seems to mirror how the real-life bearding narratives get more and more fantastical, at least in my opinion. With the current "Tayvis", Taylor is selling a high school fantasy of the popular cheerleader-type girl getting with the football boy, even though Taylor has never truly been the popular cheerleader-type in reality; she was a bullied nerd during her actual schooling days and has always portrayed herself as separate from the "cheer captain", instead being "on the bleachers" in "YBWM". Then there's the Joe vs. [Rat-dacted] narrative, where Taylor was reportedly head over heels for Joe for 6 or so years, with him not caring that she was famous and seeing her for her, till they suddenly "broke up" and the narrative changed to him stifling her. Then it changed again to her actually being deeply in love with [Rat-dacted] the whole time instead, with Joe simply being an elongated rebound type of relationship. And it gets even more confusing when you try to attach the original [Beard-DJ-dacted] → Tom Hiddleston → Joe Alwyn narratives into the mix. It's all just unraveling into less and less sense. Yet the Sarahs and Hannahs probably don't question a thing because the narrative is still straight, so what's there to ponder?

TTPD's first ever easter egg was "red herring", which is a tool meant to mislead the audience in storytelling, but an attentive audience member might be able to see past it, especially in time/hindsight. The dress unbuttoned story is a red herring to distract from the real story Taylor illustrates in the next half of the chorus, especially when the song is titled after the lie portion of the song. And by extension, in her whole career, all of Taylor's beards, many of the he/him pronouns in songs, lyrics like "your buzzcut and my hair bleach" in "Dress", and songs like "London Boy" and "So High School" are thinly veiled red herrings that keep up the surface appearance of straightness to distract yet invite the listener to dig deeper into the true queer stories in her music once noticed.

"I'm tellin' him to floor it through thе fences // No, I'm not coming to my senses // I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want."

Taylor now tells the listener what she's actually doing. She's telling her lover to run away, presumably along with her, especially with the song's end depicting the lovers returning to "town", but more on the ending later. The lover is still masked by he/him pronouns, but the story is still the truth. (While I do think the "he/him" in this song is in actuality a "she/her", it is interesting to view the first half of the chorus using "he/him" as a part of the red herring Taylor is telling.) In the lie, Taylor begs for her father's permission to love, but in reality, and in a lot of her music throughout her career, Taylor disobeys any disapproving peers and flees with her lover. They could either be fleeing out of the closet, or fleeing away from disapprovers. "Floor it through thе fences" reminds me of "And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences" from "Peace". The phrase "swing for the fences" means "to make a big effort to do something that is very impressive or important, but is difficult to achieve, especially if there is a risk of failure" according to Cambridge Dictionary. Both coming out and being in a glass closet can pose many risks. So Taylor telling her lover to floor it or rush through the fences could mean to run away quickly or have the double meaning of taking a big risk, like coming out or flagging when they should be closeted, along with herself doing the same.

The recurring storyline of running away and/or disregarding naysayers has appeared in songs like "Love Story", "Run", "Call It What You Want", "Speak Now", "MAATHP", "Down Bad", the unreleased "Better Off" from as far back as 2005, and so much more. Going against the grain is her reality. In her music she was never "Scrеamin', 'But, Daddy, I love him'", or just pleading to be accepted, but always running away, dreaming of an environment where she could be accepted, and refusing to come to her senses and just letting the cookie crumble passively. But her beards don't reflect the stories in her songs beyond the surface-level red herrings. The first half of the chorus is the flimsy public narrative, and the second half is the reality.

Taylor's lover is described by her as "crazy". Asylums are a recurring theme throughout this album. Historically and culturally people who were put into asylums were often dubbed "crazy" and mistreated rather than receiving the help they might've needed if they were truly in need at all, as some people who were put into asylums weren't even ill, just perceived as such, similar to queer people who are seen by homophobes as ill when queerness is natural. In this album, asylums represent the industry that raised Taylor and treated her like she was crazy. In the song "TTPD", both she and the lover call themselves crazy, so she and the lover are both in the asylum or industry.

From a specifically Kaylor perspective, Karlie Kloss, particularly in the years before meeting Taylor, has always seemed "louder" than Taylor. And not quite as disciplined in keeping her straight narrative(s) up properly (i.e. Kar recently posting an anniversary pic about being with Josh for 10 years when it's supposed to be 12 years by now. But who has she allegedly been with for 10 years as far as the public's known for sure...?). Through my interpretation of Tay's music, it seems like Kar is Taylor's driving force to potentially come out, as her albums up to 1989 seemed more keen on staying caged and being okay with it, but albums after that have felt like attempts to at least claw on the closet door. Being in a committed relationship with someone willing to be loud might risk Taylor's safety in the cage, so being with someone as "crazy" as Kar is a risk, but she's the one she wants.

"Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid // Tendrils tucked into a woven braid // Growin' up precocious sometimes means // Not growin' up at all."

Taylor mentions growing up precocious in at least 3 different songs on TTPD, this, "The Bolter" and "I Hate It Here". It's definitely something we're supposed to pay attention to. In "You're Losing Me" Taylor mentions being a pathological people pleaser, which lines up with her talk of trying to be the perfect "good girl" who didn't force herself onto people since childhood in Miss Americana. Often, AFAB people who behave this way are told that they're being very mature by being quiet, whether it's quiet in general or quiet on world issues instead of speaking up. As someone who also grew up precocious, it was always easy to get told you were doing a good job by just sitting pretty and never expressing anything. But these traits might begin to backfire the older you get as you suddenly realize that you never got to be a child, but you also weren't really an adult when you were called "mature for your age", so you might end up regressing in a way or just confused on how to actually be an adult properly.

If you're like me, you believe Miss Americana was originally meant to be a coming-out documentary, or a documentary meant to explain Taylor's journey with her sexuality, released after coming out, before those plans were foiled. Her early developmental years are likely a part of why she isn't out yet. She wants to come out in a very specific way that's more than "just saying it". Especially since theirs a lot at stake with her coming out the bigger she gets, the more employees she has to make sure get paid, and the more she has to protect her family. She can't be a "simple girl" and "rise above it" at the same time because the situation is way more delicate now than it was during the Lover era.

In Miss Americana and "The Archer", Taylor mentions feeling like she is stuck at the age she got famous, 16. If we see the lie of the first chorus representing her flimsy bearding narratives, then she could mean that she never grew up into being openly queer. Since she began writing songs, Taylor has always written her songs with the knowledge that one day they could be publicly heard. Even unreleased songs that are very queer-coded like "Welcome Distraction" still have he/him pronouns, just like the ones she writes to this day. Songs that don't have romantic he/him pronouns or are about a girl have always had plausible deniability, such as "Angelina" or "Question...?". Even if it's just a bit of that plausible deniability, heteronormativity makes it really easy to hide when you do it as well as Taylor does.

The mention of braids calls back to "Seven", a song in-part about childhood. Tendrils can be a part of a plant, which reminds me of "Please picture me in the weeds // Before I learned civility", which could be interpreted as Taylor being more wildly queer in some way when she was young before learning how to act straighter for her own good. Tendrils can also be stray pieces of hair, or metaphorically queerness, that was hidden in a straight, rigid braid. I also think this has to do with "Peter", a song I believe to be about Taylor apologizing to her inner queer child for taking so long to come out; when Taylor began hiding her queerness in her music, I'm sure she thought it would just be till the world was ready to hear her truth some years down the line. And if the song "Change" is anything to go off of, she might've been optimistic that that was soon. "I thought it was just goodbye for now // You said you were gonna grow up // Then you were gonna come find me". But here we are over 20 years after she began writing songs and she's still writing in the same closeted way, for now. The southern drawl (if that's the phrase I'm looking for), or her choice to use words cut short like "Runnin'", "'bout", and "ain't" during this song's most tense moments make this feel like her younger, pre-pop self-speaking up finally.

(As a bit of an extra tidbit, these lines really remind me of lyrics from "Welcome Distraction" that I think are meant to be, "A life and a plan and I wasn't gonna stray // Swore I’d never let a man in my way", but I get different results when I look up the lyrics due to its unreleased status. Younger and current Taylor possibly singing similar lines really expands on the never-growing-up aspect of this reading.)

"He was chaos, he was revelry // Bedroom eyes like a remedy // Soon enough, the elders had convened // Down at the city hall // 'Stay away from her' // The saboteurs // Protested too much // Lord knows the words // We never heard // Just screeching tires and true love."

The "he" being in actuality a "she" is the reading that makes the most sense for this song overall. With all the religious imagery in the song, religious elders would not object in this particular way so hard against a guy and a girl wanting to be together. It makes the most sense when Taylor's lover is thought of as another woman. If the lover is a woman, she would definitely represent chaos for Taylor, not necessarily because of her personality but through the way Taylor wants her and the trouble that want could cause. The lover was not a part of the plans laid. But the lover is also the celebratory feeling of being in love, and the celebratory feeling of pride you get from being queer once you've found someone who you can be yourself around and be proud of yourself with. Revelry.

If we think of the "elders" being the SBs specifically, than them meeting each other at the "city hall" could be them coming together to steal Taylor's masters, which recked her plans to come out the same day the news broke out.

Since I'm personally a late-stage Kaylor, I see the saboteurs saying "stay away from her" as the perpetrators and believers in the Kaylor feud, spreading the never-confirmed rumor that Karlie betrayed Taylor as if it's fact and being overprotective of Taylor by demanding Karlie stay away from Taylor since she's a "trader".

Alternatively, the saboteurs could be telling Taylor to stay away from Karlie, as even though there have been other rumored relationships with women Taylor has had, Karlie has always been the strongest suspect and the most well-known since Taylor was never really able to keep the straight facade up as well as usual around Karlie (i.e. Kissgate). I doubt this reading of the line a bit more purely because the lover has been constantly dubbed "him" through the song and it'd be odd to switch up here, but I thought it was worth mentioning. I'll move on with the former interpretation for this reading.

"Protested too much" is a reference to Hamlet by William Shakespeare. In the context of the play, Queen Gertrude says this as a reaction to Hamlet's play trying to weasel guilt out of her and mainly her new husband for marrying so soon after the original King's murder. When the queen in the play says she'll never remarry after her husband dies, Gertrude tells Hamlet, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks", meaning she thinks the queen in the play is putting on a front that shouldn't be believed. If Taylor believes the saboteurs are "protest(ing) too much" it could mean that she believes that they aren't being honest about their stance against the lover. That their hatred for them and calls for them to go away would falter if time were to prove their stance wrong. In "Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus", Taylor says "If you wanna tear my world apart // Just say you've always wondered", which I take as Taylor knowing that when she comes out, despite the strong rejection of her planting seeds to her truth right now, people will say that they had always suspected that she was queer once they feel socially safe to do so post coming out. If the lover in this song is Karlie, then it's not hard to imagine the saboteurs suddenly backtracking their hate in order to praise Kaylor and Karlie after Kaylor becomes publicly cordial again.

With "Lord knows the words // We never heard/ // Just screeching tires and true love" Taylor and her lover ignore the saboteurs's hatred and carry on with their love. Or they ignore the hypocritical words of "praise" for their relationship that'll come when they come out. I'm more inclined to believe the former due to the mention of "screeching tires", a car reference. I mentioned in my "Champagne Problems" analysis that vehicles often represent the closet/running away from the public for Taylor, so if she and the lover are enjoying "screeching tires and true love", they're making the best of their closet as they run away from the rest of the world for the time being, like how they do in "Paris".

"I'll tell you something right now // I'd rather burn my whole life down // Than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'. // I'll tell you something 'bout my good name // It's mine alone to disgrace // I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing"

I believe Taylor is gearing up to come out, reveal at least aspects of her reality, and expose the harm the industry has done to her and maybe even others. This line syncs up perfectly with the "Burning Lover House" theory, with Taylor eliminating all the red herrings of her past albums and telling her truth. If Taylor's career and good name goes down the toilet due to her being herself, it'll be her doing and she wants to be in that much control of herself. The "vipers dressed in empath's clothing" are the fans who harass and harm people like Karlie all in the name of defending and "empathizing" with Taylor, even though Taylor has never okayed that behavior and has spoken against it. The vipers pretend to empathize with the situations they think Taylor's been in and her music, but their behavior shows they don't truly see eye-to-eye with her and what she stands for. She's done catering to them.

"God save the most judgmental creeps // Who say they want what's best for me // Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see // Thinkin' it can change the beat // Of my heart when he touches me // And counteract the chemistry // And undo the destiny // You ain't gotta pray for me // Me and my wild boy and all of this wild joy // If all you want is gray for me // Then it's just white noise, and it's just my choice."

Taylor calls out the "judgmental creeps" who hurt people in the name of her. Her asking God to save the "judgmental creeps" could be sarcasm, but I also know Taylor's a Christian (and maybe catholic. I know she grew up catholic), and as a queer Christian, I know that I tend to fully see homophobia as practically an illness, like how homophobes view queerness as an illness, and hope homophobes find it in their heart to overcome those ailments. I wouldn't be surprised if Taylor felt the same way.

The creeps "Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies" that Taylor will "never see". Doing something sanctimoniously is doing something in a performative way, calling back to the saboteurs protesting too much, being hateful only because it's so normalized in the community, and who are likely going to do a 180 once their hate is no longer in style for the times. If Taylor will never see these soliloquies then she could be saying that she'll never give them the time of day, the "words we never heard" from earlier. A soliloquy is a speech that's said when alone without listeners (they're also famously associated with Hamlet so that ties back to "protested too much"), so these creeps are essentially arguing with the wall, as Taylor turns a blind eye to them no matter how much the soliloquies are made to empathize with her or impress her because they do none of those things.

The creeps think their hateful soliloquies will change Taylor's truth. They think if they pretend Karlie doesn't or never existed in Taylor's life in any way and harass Karlie, then it'll change the reality that they secretly or unconsciously know is true, but it won't. The saboteurs and Taylor's closet-ers can't change who she is and what she has with her lover. If the Sarahs and Hannahs only want the straight, beard-narcotic-giving, grey Taylor Swift™, then their pearl-clutching just becomes white noise to Taylor, and it's her choice to be in screaming color, dazzling in the daylight.

"There's a lot of people in town that I // Bestow upon my fakest smiles // Scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer."

In my "I Look In People's Windows" analysis, I viewed the "town" as a metaphor for her tour locations and fanbase. Since she's of course performing on tour, Taylor's happiness could definitely be faked if she had to make it. She can do it with a broken heart and her fans wouldn't even notice. The amount of people inside the stadiums when she tours is massive, so it really is a lot. And if her beard is at the stadium, or "in town", she can give them all the fake winks and nods she needs to keep up appearances as the time to come out approaches. "Scandal does funny things to pride" has a double meaning. Scandal can take a shot at your ego or sense of pride. But queer scandal can also make you want/have to hide your urge to be openly queer and proud, as older queer celebs like Rock Hudson had to completely deny their queerness if rumors got out of control for their own safety. Still, scandal, or hardships, can bring lovers closer as they persevere through it.

"We came back when the heat died down // Went to my parents and they came around // All the wine moms are still holdin' out, but fuck 'em, it's over."

I like to see this and the incoming chorus as Taylor predicting the wake of the coming out. She'll burn it down, things in "town" or the fandom will be chaos, and then she and Karlie will return/publicly reunite in the afterglow of it all once the fandom's shock wanes. The narrative of this song is that Taylor and her lover ran away, disobeying Taylor's father figure rather than begging him, but when they return her family accepts everything. Taylor is still seen as at most a "PG-13" artist, accessible to children, so their parents, the wine moms, could still be upset once the heat dies down, wanting Taylor to be a sanitized image for their kids to look up to and still pearl clutching at her queerness. But fuck 'em, the pain of the closet is far behind her and her lover now. It's over.

"Now I'm dancin' in my dress in the sun and // Even my daddy just loves him // I'm his lady // And, oh my God, you should see your faces."

The lie is now gone, as Taylor gets to be joyous with her lover in the daylight, out of the shade, with her Dad accepting. She's possibly surprised by that, with the use of "even". She still mocks the creeps's outrage and shock.

"Time, doesn't it give some perspective? // And, no, you can't come to the wedding // I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want."

As mentioned before, the vipers suddenly backtracked their hate, as time proved their actions wrong, but no matter how much they might kiss up now, Taylor for the rest of the song continues to mock them with the post-chorus and outro. Especially with "Tayvis", her fans have been invited to vicariously and happily experience her "relationships" through her, despite her constant singing of private relationships and disapprovers. But the majority of her fans are not invited to her real relationship, the one she truly keeps private. No, they can't come to the wedding.

I like how "he's crazy" changes to "it's crazy". Taylor knows that the post-coming-out situation will be crazy, especially if she plans to expose an awful, buried side of the industry in some mass coming out with others as some theorize. But she wants her lover and the things that come with the freedom.

Thanks for reading!

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Holy crap, you're even more beautiful in person," Richard told his Tinder date, Michelle.

She shot him a humored smirk. "Thanks.... um, not sure how to say this, I'm flattered, but....... uh..."

"I swear I'm not even trying to be corny, you're one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. It never ceases to amaze me as a doctor the results trans girls like you get when you go on blockers and start high doses of hormones in your teens. You look phenomenal."

Michelle blushed. "Dr. Klein......."

"Please, just call me Richard. We're here to have fun, not be professional. And you look like a girl who knows how to have fun. Those breasts are just divine! And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited to see that pathetic little one-inch cock of yours. When I saw those pictures on your profile, it looked so feminine and cute. Sorry to gush like this, I just--"

Michelle giggled, suddenly pulling down her pants, shifting her legs, showing she had a thick, ten-inch erection. "I'm sorry I forgot to delete my Tinder. Ummmm, soooo....... I stopped estrogen like four months ago......"

"Oh.... my. Look at that growth. Why did you stop, darling?"

She bit her lip sexily, eyeing him confidently. "I'm detransitioning."

"What!? But why? You're so gorgeous, Michelle."

"It's Michael now," he lowered his voice, which began to crack and drop shortly after stopping estrogen. "What? Surprised? My profile had no updates for like six months, dude."

"Oh, shit. I didn't notice. I was so enamored by the videos of you flaunting those breasts, stroking your tiny cock, and talking about your transition and how happy you were to be a girl."

Michael stroked his growing cock, looking around to make sure nobody was looking. "Shhhh, yeah, I'm lazy, I really need to update that. I hope you aren't too disappointed."

"Not at all, you'll make a very handsome guy, that's for sure. What made you change your mind? You seemed so proud to be female."

"Well, I've always been a guy," he curled his voice naughtily. "I dunno..... one of my trans friends, a fakegirl named Lucy, just as hot as me, breasts almost as big, too. She detransitioned out of the blue and loved being a man. He started having sex with all these cute girls, going to parties, topping soooo many hot college girls. I got mad jealous. I figured it couldn't hurt, so I stopped my hormones. Male puberty happened in, like, the blink of an eye! I have a full beard now and everything, wanna see?"

"Sure. Might as well, darling."

Michael let go of his cock, which remained rock hard out in front of him as he very femininely took a makeup wipe from his bag and removed the foundation and concealer on his chin and neck. "Tada! See? Pretty cool, huh? My mustache is coming in, too. Wish it'd grow faster but oh well."

"I still can't believe my eyes.... What a shame, you were so gorgeous!"

Michael shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Anyway, I've done voice training," he said, back in his girl voice. "So I can sound like a girl if you really want..... And I still have these oversized boy boobs for another few days."

"You're getting top surgery?"

"Uh.... duh! Why would I keep them? I'm trying to see what it's like to be a guy, plus detransing is just so much fun I can't help myself! My cock is legit hard 24/7! See?" He stroked it a few more times, softly moaning in his girl voice for him. "I can't believe I was missing out on this for so long. When I cum I feel like I'm gonna pass out it's so intense! I don't care how much I pass or how pretty I am, as soon as I saw Lucy get such a big cock, get all muscular and hairy and, well..... so manly out of the blue! God.... it's all I can think of, giving up on being some pretty little fake girl and becoming a man!"

"Well, you certainly seem to have your mind made up. Would you do me a kindness?"

"Sure, sorry I didn't delete the app and dragged you out here. I'm happy to be a girl for you, if only for the day!" Michael playfully tugged on his cock, giggling in a perfect girl voice.

"Good boy, but let's have some more fun than that."

"OK....? What do you wanna do?"

"All day, I want you to pretend to be my trans daughter, who I'm forcing to detransition."

Michael blushed hot red. "Ummmmmm, er...... wow! I....."

"Flustered? Poor boy. I want to introduce you to as many affluent, wealthy men here as possible. I'll tell them you transitioned in college, and now you've come home, and I'm forcing you to take testosterone and become a guy. Of course, I'll fuck your ass in front of them, telling them what a pathetic sissy I have for a son, showing off those flabby breasts, telling everyone I'm forcing you to have them chopped off this week. And you'll serve all these men, and ask to be treated like a naughty femboy who needs to be punished for pretending to be a girl. How's that sound?"

"Richard...... I mean Daddy, just one question."

"Yes, my confused little angel?"

"Can we make it the whole weekend instead of just today? And..... maybe we can do this again after my boobs get removed?"

"Of course, darling. Now let's find some wealthy men to flaunt that big fat fakegirl cock in front of."

[tikus-library]

"Books to Bread"

Night Hunter AU

Characters: Walter Marshall x Reader

Posted: Feb 10th

WARNINGS: none?

A/N: Have a draft dump. I want to do more for this, but life is a bit chaotic rn. I haven't posted in a minute, so this is one of my many hidden drafts. I did attempt to edit but 🤷‍♀️

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

It was hard to miss the guy.

Definitely over six foot, dark unruly curls framing a serious face with a thick beard, thick dark brows drawn down as a scowl marred his lips. Nice lips, you thought, eyes raking over his tall muscular form. No better than a man, you scolded yourself with a smirk.

You shifted, careful not to draw attention to yourself as the other women in the book shop didn't even try to hide the way they ogled him.

In the town of Port Tenebris there weren't many that looked like him and plenty more women ready to welcome him. You had heard there had been a recent new body that had moved into town, ex-detective, if gossip was right…

“I've read that one.”

You jumped at the low smooth voice that came from beside you and looked over and then up… and up again till you met deep vibrant blue eyes. You swallowed as he reached out with one thick arm, fingers catching your elbow as he offered you a smile in apology.

“I didn't mean to surprise you…?”

The way he lifted an eyebrow meant he was asking for your name, instead you looked down at the book in your hands, “into romance?” You asked instead.

He held the smile, “not ashamed of it,” he answered, “and that one is actually more of a forensic thriller.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he offered you a quick tilt of his head and a smile before going back to looking at the books in front of you. “It's a romance,” you stated.

He flipped through the book in his hands, it looked tiny, he shrugged without looking at you. He had of course seen you enter the bookstore, not that he had been following, no. He had most definitely not followed you from the tiny diner where you had verbally assaulted a jackass of a man that had been handsy with the young waitress there.

He simply wanted to get your name. Maybe your phone number… how did he do this again?

“It's a romance,” you said again. “I have every book by Billie Martinez, she writes romance.”

“I mean,” he shrugged again, suppressing the smirk that itched to fight its way to his lips, out the corner of his eye he saw you turn to him and scowl. This was something, ever since he'd stepped foot in this little Port every woman had given him the look, it had been amusing at first.

“Explain.”

He coughed to hide the short laugh that escaped him, “she hides it under the romance, but, when you read it you'll understand. You'll also want to slap the shit out of the male lead.”

You looked down at the book in your hands, he let his eyes wander to your curvy waist, “maybe… I shouldn't get it” you mused, thinking of the man at the Cafe you had laid into, “I think I've had my fair share of irritating men for the day.” He made a noise that had you looking up in time to catch his tongue flick out over his bottom lip, eyes jerking up to meet your gaze.

Had he…? No.

He cleared his throat, “fair,” it was all he could think of and watched as you started to put the book back, “but I could pay for it and then you'll not regret leaving it behind.”

You sighed, this conversation had already gone on longer than you had wanted. You had purposefully been attempting to avoid talking to him as conversations with others always seemed to go awry. In a weird way. You supposed it was your fault, no one else had that problem really.

“No, no need to buy me a book when you don't even know me.”

“Walter.”

You took a small step back, a little confused.

“Walter Marshall, Im… th-thats my name,” he smiled awkwardly, turning to you and shoving a hand into his pocket. “I started work in the Bakery in town? Owned by Kate and her husband? Uh, they offered me a job there… Now I'm not a stranger.”

You nodded, fingers tapping at the book's spine, before letting your arm drop to your side. “Nice to meet you Walter Marshall, who works in the bakery owned by Kate and her husband. I should be going.”

He had struck out yet again. Sighing heavily as you stepped away and made for the front of the store. He snatched the book up and hurried after you, eyes falling on your ass, before he rolled them scolding himself silently.

“Please, no name, let me buy you the book then. You collect her books and it'll be incomplete.”

You pulled away from him, studying him warily.

He knew that kind of look and took a step back. “I'll leave you alone,” he hummed, turning away, he shouldn't have pushed. Maybe you had moved here to hide yourself, he understood that.

“Alright,” he heard you sigh and turned around quickly. “But don't complain if I come down to find you at the bakery and yell at you there about the dumb male lead.”

Walter grinned, “you won't hear a complaint from me.” He watched you tilt your head to the side, enjoying how easily he could read your thoughts clear in your expression. “I'll even treat you to something I've baked.” Your eyes jumped back to his face, something he decided he wanted right then and there. To have your full and complete attention. “To apologize for dumb males that is.”

You snickered, eyes lighting up, “then I hope you are a baker of delicious sweets and golden bread!”

He almost forgot to breathe as your eyes scrunched up beautifully as you laughed. “You'll fall in love with my bread and butter,” Walter flashed you a toothy grin as he led you to pay for the book, “plus, this is essential to the series. You can't miss out on this book.”

“Oh, no! Then absolutely buy it.”

You followed along, noting the pairs of eyes tracking the two of you. There would be gossip and questions, a little inconvenient but nothing you couldn't handle. He thanked the cashier who nodded wordlessly and stepped towards the door where he paused, dragging a pen out of his pocket and scribbling on the receipt, tucking it into the cover of the book.

“In case the bakery is closed and you want to yell at me.”

You felt your neck heat, he wrote in all capitals, clear and neat. He crossed his sevens, huh. “No promises.”

*

Walter scowled at his phone, yet was quick to flick the screen and scan the words there blearily. It was past three am and he was due up in an hour to begin baking.. right. He was a baker now.

Unknown: I love thick slices of warm bread with butter that melts beautifully.

Unknown: He deserves to be run over…. Multiple times.

Unknown: what an idiot. He let her walk away?!

He sat up and smiled.

WM: I did warn you, suppose I owe you bread.

Unknown: Y/N

WM: ?? Uhh, which character?

Unknown: my name is Y/N

Walter woke up fully.

WM: nice to meet you Y/N.

Leave Kudos on Ao3

[vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly]

This isn't over, I hope you know.

Price x Male Reader Requested: Yes! But there were some technical issues. Pt 1 (Here! :])/ ??? Warnings: Break-up, Argument, Angsty angst angst A/N: *Drops this and scuttles away* This was intended to be longer but I'm cutting it in half to see if Tumblr will actually let me post it. If it does the 2nd-supposed-to-be-this-part will be out soon after :]

"Look, [Name], I get you need attention-" John started, following your pacing form as you quickly walked back and fourth in his office. Whipping your head to meet Johns gaze dead on. Your eyebrows raised as you stalled for a second. Jaw dropping as you quickly caught up with what he said, your blood boiling with nothing put resentment and frustration, "Attention? Atten-" Taking a deep breath you summoned all you had to just keep yourself from yelling. This was something that stayed between you, and him. "John when was the last time we slept in the same bed? Hmm?" You snarled, arms uncrossing so you could use them to accentuate your point. Anything to try and convey your anger to him, to somehow shove his own actions into his thick skull. John's eyebrows furrowed as he sat back in his seat. A calloused hand coming up to rub his beard like he did whenever a missions plan changed last minute, or a recruit did something stupid. He looked exhausted, and annoyed. Fucking. Annoyed. Like you were just a child that was having a tantrum over not getting a treat. Not like you were his boyfriend of 6 years. Like you weren't the man he'd laid in bed with, whispering honey sweet words of a distant future where you'd settle down and marry. Like you weren't justified for being upset that he'd been ignoring you for months in favor of his beloved taskforce.

"When was the last time we kissed, John?" You spat, "Do you even remember? It was a month and a half ago. 45 days ago." Throwing your hands up you began to pace again. Quickly walking back and fourth to try and do, something. You weren't even sure why you were anymore, your thoughts too muddled to make out anything coherent even if you tried. You were probably working yourself up, probably making yourself more angry then the situation called for. But at this point? You deserved to be angry. You deserved to be fucking pissed. You weren't even looking at Price, "Do you really have nothing to say, John? Do you-" John stood up, slamming his hands on his desk with a harsh slam. Making you jolt to a stop, eyes wide as you stared at him. Johns usual calm, even soft demeanor around you turning into something you didn't recognize. "[Name] for god's sake I don't have time for your shit. I have things to do and that doesn't include you having a tantrum in my office. Get your fucking act together or get out, lieutenant." John practically yelled through gritted teeth as he glared at you standing there. Probably looking like a deer in headlights. With a long exacerbated sigh he sat back down in his chair. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down to whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. You simply stood there in shock. He looked so much different now then he did when you'd first met. Johns famous mutton chops were starting to grey and all the stress he constantly held made him look 10 years older. His soft baby blue eyes now were jaded and grey. Filled with a hardness you could only get through time. Then it just, clicked. John, your John, was always a workaholic. Against his best interest he'd work himself into burnout just to be overworked and under-appreciated the next day. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all again. But your John would always make time for you. He'd always make sure, even if it was 10, hell, 5 minutes, some part of his day was spent with you. That John would be the first to seek you out after missions and check you over for injuries. To make sure you were alright. His hand resting on your shoulder just a second longer then it should as he passed you a loving look. Grinning ever-so-slightly before going back to his normal stoic appearance. But the man in front of you wasn't your John. Your sappy lover was long replaced by Captain Price, smothering John with his overwhelming force until there was nothing left of the man.

[octuscle]

im a skinny 18 year old nerd who is also a wimp and super shy. i'm 5 foot 7 inches tall with an iq of 160 .one afternoon i was walking across the college campus was on my way to  the Chemistry Lab when a pair of big burly hands grabbed me , punched me in the gut. When i came to ,i was tied to a bench with rope in the male locker room. my legs were tied to a bar below the bench and my hands two the pegs above. my mouth was coved with duct tape with a mouthguard inside my mouth. i look down to see all my clothes were gone i was wearing only a jock strap . i have never worn a jockstrap before it was so uncomfortable .i look to see my red star trek t-shirt , my jeans, my sneakers and socks & my "geeky" white briefs were are cut up on the floor. i look up to see that i was surrounded by the hairiest, most manly, most self-centered, most muscled guys on campus : The college football team. the football team was wearing gray tank tops & crimson basketball shorts. the football players were at least 6 feet 3 inches tall in height and is broad-shouldered and muscular in build .their faces have thick beards, .they took off their tank tops i saw they all have 6 pack abs , substantial pecs and arms They told me that each fall they capture a college freshman nerd they take him to the locker room & the jocks take that geek & they make that geek into one of their own. that this year i was that nerd & that soon i will be unrecognizable that my nerdy body will be going though the changes of having a nerds body into growing & becoming a jocks body. soon i will have a body of a jock. that the mouthguard in my mouth is not only collecting spit in my mouth in process of changing my high nerdy voice into a deep jock voice .they will let me keep my iq ill be the team linebacker & tutor. i will also tutor the cheerleaders& sorority girls who also will find me  the  object of sexual desire for most of the women on campus . i saw a gym bag in a corner with other pairs of boxers& jockstraps& clothes such as gym shorts, tank top, sweats, a box of  XXL Magnum condoms  and a table right in front of me on that table was a football uniform, The helmet, cleats, jersey, and gear .they shoe me the jersey with my last name. also on the table other items that will turn my nerds body into a jocks body items such as jock deodorant& shaving cream which change my hair less nerdy armpits into hairy jock armpits& will also cause my face to grow a thick brown beard. a protective cup which when the team put the protective cup under my jockstrap caused my dick to grow into a huge jock dick. i watch as they change my nerds body into a jock body with a genius iq. afterwards the team had practice then take my team picture with in my football uniform .after practice i changes my clothes into a gray tank tops & crimson basketball shorts same outfit as the other guys on the team for a party at a frat house at the frat house the guys on the team took off my tank top to show my jock body that i now have a 6 pack abs , substantial pecs and arms which lead the cheerleaders & sorority girls to bid on who i will lose my v card to now living my as a tall nerd jock hybrid with a genius iq who is a chem major . my jock build & broad-shouldered, alongside my wavy dark brown hair, perfectly puts me into the description of "tall, dark and handsome. As result of my good looks (and sometimes solely because of them), i am is often the object of sexual desire for most of the women on campus. the women on campus have been known to physically objectify me. i have also have model recruiters after me . i'm generally oblivious to my attractiveness

Bro, what else can I add… But I don't understand what you have with the cheerleaders and the chicks?

As far as I know, the smell of the quarterback's sweaty hair makes you horny and wild…

But anyway, the world needs more hot nerds. Have fun!

[soft--dragon]

Loosen Up

So recently I finished Vox Machina and if you haven't seen I highly recommend it!! SUCH a good show oh my lord. Can't wait for the third season to drop :D

You can view the relationships however you like, I don't mind ^^ (except Vex and Vax, they're siblings, don't be weird :/)

Word Count: 3,138

Warnings: Kinda spoils a plot line in season one but nothing major ^^

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

It isn’t a secret that Percy is a bit of a stick in the mud.

Rarely did he let his walls down and simply be. Too caught up in his world of smoking guns and exploding inventions. A lifetime of heartache shutting his heart away in a cast iron keep that very few had a key to access. This also meant emotions such as joy, love, and contentment were rare to be exposed from behind those defensive gates.

That was before Vox Machina. 

A chaotic, rambunctious group of outcast individuals working with the skills they had to make it through another day. A ragtag family doing its best to survive in a world that would spit at their feet and tell them to fuck off. 

However, this family knew how to tell the world right back to fuck off too. 

Percy honestly couldn’t imagine his life with these people a few years ago, but now he simply could not fathom a reality without them. Tight-knit and stupid and loving, never faulting in their care. It was something Percy told himself to never take for granted, no matter how much they tested his patience. 

Much like tonight, where he was being subjected to the most irritating forces known to man: Vex and Vax when they were on the hunt for entertainment.

Percy is sitting near the fire, sketchbook in hand with rough charcoal drawings of new inventions scattering the pages. Vex and Vax have boxed him in by sitting on either side, peering at his notes and asking such incomprehensibly odd questions Percy wanted to know who the hell tutored these two monsters.

Honestly Vax, why would a pistol need a compartment for snacks? 

It took almost fifteen minutes before Percy's patience gave in and the notebook snapped shut with a dull thud. “Are you two quite finished?” Percy demands, staring at the duo with a narrow gaze. 

Vex grins, raising a hand in surrender. “We’re curious about your new inventions, love. Is there something wrong with that?”

Percy huffs, tucking his book into the folds of his jacket that is laid not too far from the flames, warming up for the night ahead. “Only when you keep badgering me to make a glove that turns whatever it touches into gold.”

“It would be quite helpful, dear.”

“And far out of my current capabilities, I’m not a wizard.”

“Oh, give yourself some credit, Freddy,” Vax grins. “Grow a beard and I’d say you’re plenty wizard-like. With your lifespan, you’ll need a cane before you know it, and it could act as your staff.”

Percy glares at him under half-lidded eyes. “Thank you, Vax’ildan,” he says sarcastically. “Remind me that I will die much sooner than the rest of you, just what I needed to hear tonight.”

Vex snickers, gently bumping his shoulder with her own so those green eyes look at her. “Oh come on, we’re just messing with you, Percival. What’s got you so grumpy this time?”

Percy gave her a mildly incredulous look. “I’m not grumpy.”

“He says while glaring, and with a bitter tone of voice,” Vax murmurs with a grin. 

Percy shoots him a dry look which the male elf only laughs at. “See? That’s exactly what I mean, man!”

Vex’ahlia laughs, dropping her arms over her bent legs and cocking her head to the side. “What is it gonna take to make you loosen up, Percy?”

“A good bottle of wine, some peace and quiet, and a book.”

“We have two silver to our name and a bear,” Vax counters. “Can’t quite match your aristocrat taste, but Trinket tells great stories.”

Trinket, nestled comfortably at the edge of the cave where the other party members are conversing, does not indicate that he knows, nor cares that his owners are talking about him. Percy envied that damn bear, able to go to sleep and easily block out the surrounding sounds. What a dream life. 

“Trinket is busy sleeping,” Percy tells them, “his stories will have to wait.”

Vex isn’t dissuaded by Percy’s bristling attitude, instead leaning more into his personal space just because she can. “Darling,” she says, “We just want to help you relax, is this such a big ask?”

“...Yes.”

“Aeugh, the drama of this man,” Vax chuckles through an exasperated breath, elbowing Percy’s side gently. 

The white-haired human flinches away from the contact with a start, his hand shooting down to rub the area. “Yes, yes, you’ve stated I am a dramatic piece of shit more than once, Vax. I believe your point is made.” 

The twins aren’t listening to Percy’s grumbles. The second he flinched, they’d locked eyes, a conversation played out with expression alone.

Vex narrows her gaze. Hurt?

No. Healed by Pike from the last mission.

Just startled, then? 

Seemed more than that. He knew we were right there.

So what are you thinking? 

Perhaps…

Vex perks a brow at her brother when his expression suddenly brightens in some kind of realization. Her eyes flit over to Percy who was unaware of their silent musings, still resolutely crossing his arms with a scowl that the fire did not deserve to be subjected to. She looks back to her sibling who is grinning now. Vax gives a small flex of his fingers, his eyebrows jumping up and down. Understanding hits Vex and her smile turns evil, nodding minutely. They wink at each other, the excitement for a game making them giddy though they contained it. Couldn’t let Percy catch on too early after all. 

“Percy~” Vex coos in her sultry voice, not missing the slight twitch in his face from her tone. The sight makes her all the more eager to extract the plan she and her brother had silently communicated. She lifts her fingernails to her eyes to examine them. “You sure we can’t convince you to loosen up at least a little?”

There was a scoff. “I’d like to see you try,” Percy muttered.

Oh excellent, an invitation. 

“Well, if the man insists, Stubby, who are we to ignore him?” Vax leaps for the opportunity with a grin that’s all charm and Cheshire-like. 

“I agree,” Vex smirks. “Shall we?”

Simultaneously, the two half-elves grab one of Percy’s wrists each and fling him onto his back, his arms being pinned by his head. A startled yelp leaps out of the human, the sudden gravity shift leaving him to stare up at the pair of matching grins. He tugs at his arms. They won’t budge. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Percy asks, bewildered and slightly on edge. 

“You said we could try and loosen you up,” Vex answers.

“By wrestling me to the dirt and pinning me down?” 

“Oh no, we just had to get you in a better position, dear heart,” Vax smirks.

“A better pos- for what?” 

The bemused and exasperated question only delights his captors further, and this is where Percival Fredrickson de Rolo the Third realizes a very fatal error. He had been encouraging the chaotic force that was the Elf Twins. He'd practically been asking for trouble. This realization only sinks in further when Vax’s free hand comes down to rest on Percy’s clothed stomach.

“Percy, you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish would you?” 

Oh.

Oh gods, no.

Memories spring to Percy’s mind of laughing himself hoarse while dogpiled under his siblings from the silly battles. The sensations scuttling everywhere, unstoppable and unbearable. His realization shows up in his face in the form of a pink flush and the beginnings of a wobbly grin that he desperately tries to keep under control.

“Oh, I see a smile trying to come out there!” Vex leers keenly, lowering her own hands to wiggle her fingers close to Percy’s side, delighting in his immediate response to wriggle away despite his efforts to seem indifferent to his dilemma. 

“V-Vex, this is ludicrous-” Percy splutters, his grin becoming wider by the second, his resolution foiled from years of inexperience in this game. 

“So you are ticklish, then?” Vax questions, his fingers gently pressing from where they are resting atop Percy’s lean stomach. 

The flinch and sharp intake of breath was answering enough. Percy’s ears were starting to burn from the attention, torn between wanting to wrench away and escape this playful teasing, or staying and trying to muscle through in a show of defiance. 

“I’m- it’s been a very long time since someone has tried,” Percy answers stiffly. 

The way the twins lit up made him cringe back, instantly knowing that was the worst thing he could’ve said.

“Well now we have to tickle you,” Vex exclaims like her word is law. Though, with her role in the group, it may as well be. 

Percy is most definitely blushing now. It was honestly adorable. “N-No you don’t!” He protests, his boots now shuffling into the dirt in hopes of dislodging his sudden capture. “I’m not even tihicklish!” Damn it.

“Was that a laugh?” Vax coos, delighting in a sound so rare from Percy who barely even grins on a good day. Percy is doing his best to try and become an ostrich with how far he’s turning his flushed face into the ground, stumbling refusals not quite managing to leave his lips coherently. 

“Why my dear brother, I think it was,” Vex chuckles. ‘Shall we see what else we can pull from our resident sour puss?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Electricity crackles through Percy’s sides and stomach in a split second, a strangled sound being pulled from a forgotten section of his vocal cords. His whole body instantly jack-knifes, legs trying to pull to his stomach to protect the sensitive areas suddenly under attack. Stubbornness makes him clamp his lips shut and bite his tongue, not wanting to give the twins the satisfaction of hearing him laugh again. He refused.

“Hmm, seems we’ve got a stubborn one in our hands, Vex,” tuts Vax, his fingers probing up and down Percy’s ribcage, noting every flinch and muffled grunt let out by the human. 

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll crack eventually.” Her eyes meet Percy’s and her smile makes his stomach twist in anticipation. She winks. “They all do.”

Her hand starts to slink down to his hip bones and- Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna happen, he’d rather get possessed by a demon again. Percy’s struggling kicks up, trying to find momentum with his legs to dislodge the grip pinning his wrists to the cave floor, still fighting not to crack as Vax’s fingers deftly squeeze his sides. He almost manages to heave himself to sit up, but a well-placed scratch at his lower back sends him crashing back down. His legs fly up to his stomach again, desperate to protect some part of his sensitive body while his chest shakes with restrained laughter. 

“Uh uh, not yet mister, we’re not done with you until you laugh~” says Vex, her hand dropping to lightly scuttle behind Percy’s knee that was right beside her.

Percy yelps, immediately kicking his legs back out, and scrunches into himself in a fast motion. The reaction made the twins pause, and he knew he was royally screwed. 

“Interesting, he might be like you. I think the gentler stuff works better on him,” Vex says to her brother, her hand dropping to Percy’s hips once more and scuttling her nails featherlight across the man’s skin.

“NoHAHaha!” Percy protests, his yelp swimming between stolen laughter that tries vainly to escape his throat, his head being tossed back against the floor as his body tries to do an emergency lockdown on his vocal cords. 

“Brilliant, sister,” Vax chuckles, and before Percy can prepare himself, he spiders his claws up along Percy’s stretched torso with a softened touch.  

Immediately, Percy sputters, and the dam finally cracks. “S-Shihihihit! Vehehex! Vahahax! Ohoho gohohod!” Percy gasps out through fits of boyish laughter, a sound so out of character for the gunslinger that it takes the twins aback in surprise.

His cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, standing out against his pale complexion and white hair. A wide, mirthful smile cracked out against his brooding face, nose scrunching in a way that couldn’t be described as anything but endearing. His body didn’t know whether to fight or fold, the long-forgotten instinct of childhood leaving him withering and laughing from the soft fingertips spidering along sensitive skin.

“Well, how about that,” Vax murmured, something gentle in his voice despite the mean wiggling of his nails on a particularly sensitive rib. “He can laugh.”

“Oh much more than that, dear brother,” Vex smiled fondly. “He isn’t grumpy now.”

Experimentally, her fingers swirl up Percy’s unprotected ribs to dance gently under his arm to see if it would have much effect. Oh, and it does. Percy practically squeals. High-pitched and panicked and childlike, his struggles for his pinned arms make a reappearance as the sensitive hollows are attacked by softly brushing nails. 

“Nononononohohoho VEHEehehex!” He pleads, scuffing the heels of his shoes into the floor in a half-baked bid for relief. “Fuhuhucks sahahake!” 

“That is utterly adorable,” Vax laughs, his own hand coming up to stroke deftly down Percy’s arm from wrist to armpit in a maddening pattern of soft touch. The strokes only elicit more half-bitten squeals and squeaks of protest, most noises swallowed up or blended into Percy’s laughter.

He knew he should feel embarrassed, his pride shattered into pieces from a few measly fingers and well-picked words to crack his defenses, but Percy couldn’t recall a time he’d last been in the middle of a play fight such as this. The sensations are foreign but not forgotten, too much and yet not enough at the same time. It was a conflicting state of escape or endure.

However, when Vax slipped a hand under his buttoned shirt to ghost gentle nails on his bare lower back, he was pretty sure his body got struck by lightning. 

“VAHAHAX! OHOHOhoho mihihy gohohod plehehehease! P-PLEHEhehehease!”” 

Vex and Vax pause in their movements and watch with awed amusement as Percy laughs himself mad from the briefest touch to his back, his full-bodied laughter quickly melting down into rich, honey-sweet giggles that shake his entire body. It didn’t seem real, that a sound so adorably childish could come from Percy’s mouth, and yet here he was, half curled on the ground, giggling up a storm. 

Vex and Vax share a fond, endeared smile and let go of Percy’s wrists, leaning away so he could have space to collect himself. The human wheezes through his tumbling giggles, his arms shifting to wrap around his middle as he slowly calms down. His eyes, which had been tightly closed, flutter open to show mirthful tears at the edges.

“F-Fuhucking hehehell,” he gasps, “I thohought I wahas gohohing to dihie.”

“Oh relax, we like you too much to kill you,” Vex snickers, offering her hand to Percy. She has to hold back a snort when he flinches mildly at her fingers, eyeing them distrustfully. “We’re done,” she promises.

After a suspicious look, Percy grasps her hand and allows her to tug him into a sitting position. One of his arms is still wrapped protectively around his stomach, his hand reaching far enough to rub that damn spot Vax had tickled for three seconds which caused him to fall apart. 

“Remind me to never piss you off,” Percy rasps, taking off his glasses to rub the tears in his eyes away.

Vax leans over to his supplies to snatch up his water skin, offering it to Percy who took it gratefully. “So,” Vax starts, watching Percy drink water like he hadn’t had it in years. “Soft touch and bad back, huh?”

Percy almost chokes. With a rough swallow, he recorks the water skin and clears his throat, stubbornly not looking at either of the twins. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. I didn’t think I still even was… well, you know.”

“What? Ticklish?’

Vex’s gentle tease makes Percy’s face burn for what felt like the millionth time that evening. He shoves his glasses back on his face despite the heat in his cheeks making them fog up mildly. The reaction makes the twins chuckle.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Percy dear,” Vex soothes, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and rubbing gently at the nape of his neck - tension knotting the area from hours of leaning over a workbench while inventing. Percy winced at the attention, both from the anticipation of another attack and the ache of his tense muscles. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Percy grumbles without much heat, sounding like a petulant kid. “My siblings always ganged up on me because of it.”

“You have a nice laugh, I can see why they would,” Vax hums, tucking his water skin back into his nearby cloak.

The surprised look on Percy’s face almost made Vex tackle him back to the floor and tickle him again just so he could hear how precious his laugh was. She held herself back though, he’d had enough for tonight anyway. He hadn’t been tickled in years, he’d need to be introduced back to the game slowly. Tonight was an excellent first lesson. 

“So, Percy’s ticklish then?”

The sudden voice made the trio jump and look up to the other side of the cave where the rest of Vox Machina were watching them with grins. Scanlan, who’d asked the question, chuckled at the human’s sudden flush. “Yeah no, we saw the whole thing, de Rolo. Don’t expect this to be the last time, that was cute as fuck.”

Grog chuckled deeply. “Very cute,” he agreed in that rumbling voice of his. Pike, who was sat atop his shoulder nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

“Had no idea you could laugh like that, Perce,” she chirped, glancing at Keyleth who giggled softly. 

“It was quite sweet,” the Air Ashari tacked on.

Percy stared at the group of people he called family, his eyelid twitching slightly and cheeks flushed a rosy pink. His gloved hands come up to press over his face, knocking his head into his bent knees, wishing the floor would just cave in and murder him quickly. 

“Aww, I think we’re embarrassing him,” Vax cooed, his hand resting atop Percy’s head and gently ruffling his hair in a brotherly fashion. “It’s alright, Giggles, you know we do it out of love.”

“F’ck off and die,” came the muffled grumble buried into Percy’s hands.

The twins cackled, pleased that they not only thoroughly shattered Percy’s indifferent demeanor, but got him flustered beyond repair from simple, playful affection and loving words. They were gonna have fun with this new information. It was their right as a family to carry on the de Rolo tradition of making Percival Fredrickson de Rolo the Third laugh, they wouldn’t let Percy’s late siblings down on that front.

[drconstellation]

Taking Things At Face Value

This post is dedicated to all those Ninas out there, who are "just enjoying the show."

I have been pondering an problem that had come up for a second time in another meta I'm writing (I left it out of an earlier one for clarity) regarding acknowledgement of identity and faces in S2, but when you keep running into the same road-block, you have to tackle it head on. Then I ran into the exact same problem a third time here, and the beginnings of this meta has sat in my drafts file staring at me for several weeks while I've been doing other things. But finally, finally, the answer has come to me, while being kept awake by a passing thunderstorm at 1.30am.

MRS SANDWICH: You're a good lad. CROWLEY: I'm not actually, either. But thank you.

Let's start with this exchange between Crowley and Mrs Sandwich, after Crowley has led all the Whickber St shopkeepers out of the ball to apparent safety. She calls him a "good lad," and he denies it, but thanks her anyway, and gives her a charming smile. We all know Crowley hates being called 'nice' and the last time he did something 'good' he got dragged down to Hell for punishment, so it seems like an odd thing to happen.

But the thing is, while Mrs Sandwich is complimenting his actions, he is responding about his appearance - that is neither 'good' (i.e. he is a demon) or a male human (i.e. he is an supernatural non-gendered entity.)

At this point you might be going "yeah, yeah, we know, we get that! Move along op..." but this matters, as you soon will see. We should also note that neither Crowley or Aziraphale judge Mrs Sandwich for being a brothel madame (how Aziraphale does not know this when her shop is just over the road from his I will never fathom, but there you go) and Crowley is actually quite charming all-round to his parallel character (prostitution and demons going hand-in-hand - er, not literally. But they went out the door as the vanguard arm-in-arm, though.)

The Metatron turning up at the bookshop in person is the next scene on the cards. Firstly, archangel Michael doesn't recognize him, but Saraqael obviously does.

Now, I know I'm guilty of saying that Michael may have had their memory adjusted at some time, but I'm going to suggest something else at this point. Saraqael knows who this is, because they have just had a fresh reminder from watching the recordings of Gabriel with Crowley and Muriel. And Saraqael is a pretty smart angel, so lets give them some leeway on this one. But for Michael, well, they are in the same situation as Aziraphale. They have only seen the Metatron as giant floating head without a body, so don't associate him with this appearance before them, and also because he has a beard.

Just before you jump on me and say "But he had one in the recordings!" yes, yes, I know. Two things, though, I want to bring to your attention: angels are not supposed to have facial hair,* and he doesn't have any in S1 (I checked!) and he also makes the comment "This calls for much less attention, though." Yeah, well a giant head floating through the streets of Soho would be quite a sight, wouldn't it, even though they had already been treated to the view of Gabriel's royal rear-end. Aziraphale had only met him once before, as a giant floating head in S1E4 who had had to introduce himself, so we could surmise this is Michael's problem as well, even though they were at Gabriel's trial. This is backed up by a tumblr ask/answer from NG as well, where he said "I think because they normally see him as a giant floating head, and not as a little man in a raincoat."

MICHAEL: Um, and who are you? METATRON: For Heaven's sake. And I mean that most literally. You don't know me? Well, uh, what about you? Demon? Do you know me?

Demon. That is what the Metatron chooses to call Crowley in that company, and we know in hindsight that he knows Crowley's name - as does Uriel, and Gabriel. Even Muriel learns it. But they don't use it, at least not in S2.

Even more notable is that the archangels don't deign to him give the respect of using his chosen name at all. He's not not even their enemy at this point - he's beneath their notice altogether, even though they are in the same room. Only Aziraphale seems to acknowledge his existence, instinctively trying to reach out to him as he passes by.

To Nina, people are coffee preferences.

To Mrs Sandwich, they are desires that need servicing.

So then question I had, and that stopped me, was why did both Crowley and Gabriel question Beelzebub about their new face?

It stood out to me because you don't normally make an obvious comment about the change of actor for a character, and to do it twice - !! You can't ignore that. No meta writer should ignore that. There is a trope term for this, actually, called "lampshading," which means to intentionally call attention to an incongruent situation within a story before moving on, but in a show where nothing is an accident, this seems a bit trite to me. Eventually I realized that this was the whole crux of the problem to me - that while we all too readily take things at face value, its not the faces that really influence us, its our internal values.

In the case of Beelzebub, Crowley recognizes the demon, their power, and their identity via the flies without any doubt; he merely comments on the change of exterior appearance. In terms of value, he knows straight away he's dealing with someone dangerous, no matter what they look like. Gabriel, on the other hand, is judging the book by its cover, and because he doesn't recognize the new cover, he needs proof of which demon he's dealing with, or maybe if they are even a demon at all.

"Bravo," says Nina, "Just enjoying the show." She's already seen a few that week, not to mention just in the general flow of life as a shop owner involved with customer service. If you've had any sort of life in a customer service role I'm sure you've got a few stories you could tell of things you've seen or experienced as well! I know I can.

The conversation between Nina and Crowley after Aziraphale walks away is amusing for all the assumptions Nina makes about them based on what she's observed that week, but also because Crowley tells the truth every in every reply to Nina, and yet she still has no idea what he's really saying. But her judgements, based on her experience and values, still manage to drop the proverbial ton of bricks on his head so badly he slinks off to sooth himself with some alcohol while he thinks about it instead of catching up with Aziraphale to continue being the angel's nameless shadow.

This problem with judging people on previous experience and not on who they actually are is everywhere in S2.

It's Ennon treating Aziraphale, an angel he's never met before, as a slut.

It's Elspeth judging Aziraphale on his accent.

It's Mrs H. giving a powerful demon a blistering tongue-lashing because she thinks he's a just simple human black marketeer.

It's Crowley refusing to call Gabriel "Jim" because he believes Gabriel is faking it.

...and so on. These are just a few examples. I'm sure you can spot a few more.

Which brings us back around to the meeting of the supernatural Councils in the bookshop in S2E6 and Crowley's "invisibility" to the other angels and demons gathered there. A demon to the archangels, an arch-traitor to the demons, why would they want to acknowledge him? Once he restores Gabriel, he becomes rank-less and faceless to them because they don't need him any more - its basically an act of celestial racism.

Nina and Maggie don't really know any better, they still think Mr Crowley and Mr Fell are just, well, "partners." OK, so maybe they've been doing some weird shit the last few days manipulating things in the neighbourhood but they're still obviously a couple a group of the two of them in their human eyes - and neither do they seem to care that they seem to be mlm, either. No judgement there.

A number of times I've seen ops say they've been watching GO with family members who are seeing it for the first time, and the family member thinks they are just "close friends." Why? Because they haven't seen S2 and the kiss? Because they haven't verbally said "I love you" to each other? Do they really need to say that to prove their feelings for each other? Is that just your values creeping to the fore?

And where did you get your values from?

Sometimes you need to stop and question why you think what you think. I'm not just talking about religious indoctrination. Some expectations put on us by by society at large can be insidious. Expectations around how gender should act, the life purpose of a gender, your worth to society if you don't meet certain unspoken standards, age-related behaviour, social norms around alcohol consumption, the way they dress, what someone eats, the way they eat it, that you must be seen to be productive, or busy...take your pick for whatever is prevalent around you at the moment and for your culture. Just start by noticing, and being aware.

Yes, it is pointless, because demons and angels all come from the same angelic stock. There was a bit of a disagreement at one point and they split into two groups, and judgemental labels got applied to them. They are both still bureaucratic horrors. Which ever side wins the final battle, humans still lose.

Mortal humans all look the same inside, too, if you take their face and skin away and take the societal labels off them. We forget that about ourselves all the time.

There doesn't have to be any wibbly-wobbly timeline stuff going on to explain things. What ever happened to the concept of Occam's Razor? The simplest answer is usually the correct one. And that was what I realized in the middle of the night - the cliche I had used to title this was the answer. It's about being aware of those ingrained, instinctive, judgmental values that you don't realize you've learnt, and looking past the faces that you meet.

*oh lawdy, I'm giving strength to all of you who want to believe he is a demon then, aren't I? But do demons have facial hair either?

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 4 thoughts

here we are!!! i actually turned off auto caps on my phone for this; that’s how serious this blog is getting. don't worry, i'll probably remember to turn it back on before i send an important email.

i haven’t seen an ep in a few days and i feel like it has been 80 years. the last episode wasn’t the greatest, so our time apart feels even longer.

this episode is about a guy named clyde. clyde bruckman is a hell of a name. i’m expecting a real cowboy. a guy who knows his way around a horse. he probably spits chew in a certain fashion. we shall see if i’m correct.

(editor's note: op found that clyde was not a cowboy, but something just as special... a friend <3)

we open with a man reading a magazine article on predictions, written by a celebrity psychic. we later learn that this fellow doing the reading is, in fact, clyde bruckman. and elvis being dead but buddy holly being alive has got to be one of the greatest theories i’ve ever heard. i WILL incorporate this into my belief system.

allegedly, buddy holly is going to open at a big music festival. and this is how i learn that lollapalooza was a thing even before chappell roan visited... but we all know that when she steps on that stage in a few short weeks it will blow anything secretly alive buddy holly could have cooked up in his wildest dreams. "the night the music died" <- crazy thing to say about a time before miss roan was even born. anyway...

bruckman ran into someone in the street. feels like a chekov’s gun moment but who knows.

hint: it was!

now the clumsy man is at the psychic. and he says he saw his own future and he seem himself doing things that are “out of character”. now that's suspicious~

OH??? clumsy man just killed the fortune teller and says she should have seen this coming. HUH???? clumsy murder man needs to be punished …our psychics deserve federal protection. 

we are at the scene of a murder. a different murder, because this one did NOT take place in the psychic's room. “they say the eyes capture the last thing a murder victim sees” “so what do they say about the entrails?” “yuck” LMAO i giggled a little….

they’re talking about some guy in vague terms, that he’s “unorthodox” and “a kook”, and then mulder walks in and it looks like they’re talking about him but the investigator says “who the hell are you” HAHAHA that got me as well

so the murderer left behind the eyeballs and scully says that they made a profile for the killer and i’m thinking yaaaaay they worked together <3 i love that spooky mulder, the well-established profiling expert, is willing to collaborate. but with her only.

and also the house is filled with porcelain dolls 

mulder knowing the professional name for the people who read tea leaves… unfortunately i love him so bad.

THEN the real star of the show rolls up. it’s the psychic from the cover of the magazine we saw clyde reading earlier. CROWDED w paparazzi. he's got a vague european accent going on here. hold up is that jon favreau in the background. i received no clarification on if that was him or not.

psychic is describing a guy who could be literally anyone “white man with facial hair… or not” “tattoo somewhere on his body” wow king of specifics. it's like he's in the room with us. /s

the agents are watching him do this and share a glance and i want it on a poster it’s sooo cute <3

celebrity psychic says he lost the vision from negative energy and then gets right up in the agent’s faces. they handle it pretty well, all things considered. because i would be telling him to back tf up. 

he asks mulder to LEAVE!!!! he has been diagnosed with negative energy. she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere” LMAOOOO so he stands outside and then the psychic says that skeptics like mulder make him sick. yeah i laughed!!! so what!

description of our guy: “white male, 17-34, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo, who is impotent” <- wow.

back to the clyde cam. he's selling insurance. telling some guy that he is going to die in a car crash. well this is an effective life insurance sales policy. or not, because he doesn’t close the deal!! sure would have worked on me.

back home, he takes out some moldy cabbage that looks like a guy’s head into the trash. takes out his neighbor’s trash as well, and sees a vision of the dog eating her remains. (sabrina brier voice) oh!!!

(wait i just realized i reference that video all the time and have never cited my sources. if you are unfamiliar with the legendary "oh!" moment please click here)

back to the plot at hand.

clyde asks if his neighbor has enough dog food. thoughtful man. BUT he sees a body in the trash!

this episode is making me giggle <- don't remember what prompted that note but it was true.

clyde, who reported the murder, says that he knew the eyes were cut out, but she was found face down... so. how do you know that. site your sources. “well it just figures”, he says, and it absolutely, and i cannot emphasize this enough, does not

they bring him to… a murder scene. dun dun dun!

he thinks they're pranking him and asks to see their identification again (sees mulder’s badge) “i’m supposed to believe that’s a real name?” yeah get him again for me.

he sees blood at the crime scene and throws up which... yeah. that’s pretty messed up. he emerges from throwing up and starts saying and doing the same things as the earlier psychic. but then he starts getting... a bit more specific. allegedly, the woman was having sex with the killer before she met her end.

“well then, what’s wrong?” “sometimes, it just seems that everyone’s having sex except for me” LMAOOOOOOOOO clyde you are too real

scully looks soooo confused and i love it

all of a sudden, he sees one of the many dolls as a bloated corpse head, and announces where they’ll find the body then… hands the doll to mulder. which is not the first time we have seen him holding a doll. it is an interesting visual. what are they trying to tell us??

scully isn’t buying it. why does clyde know all this stuff? “i don’t believe he’s the killer”, says mulder, and she responds with, “i don’t believe he’s psychic” yeah that’s the dynamic i love. and she is sooooo pretty. 

mulder goes to the dude’s house and he knows exactly what is going on. but then clyde seems shocked it's him so we are getting mixed messages here.

he asks mulder if he wants to know how he’s going to die, and mulder says yes after stuttering a little and i’m like WOAH where is this going… but clyde responds with “no you don’t”, which, okay yeah, i don’t think i could handle that either

(he goes on to try and sell mulder insurance)

clyde says the future is inevitable. or if he does get involved… what if there is the whole butterfly effect thing? and then he immediately agrees to going along with the investigation. king of not having an answer. the indecisive representation we deserve.

mulder you’re so pretttttyy... look at him watching clyde touch some brass frogs and base conclusions off of them.

scully arrived at the door as mulder has his head FLAT ON THE TABLE lmaoooo 

so, it appears that clyde can ONLY tell how people are going to die. nothing else. now is that useful to this investigation? it's arguable. maybe they can find an angle.

clyde says that the scrap of fabric he’s holding comes from mulder’s new york knick’s t shirt (which was a thing that happened in 1x13 when he was testing that other psychic!!!! ohhhh i remember! do not think i forgot!! and i was confused as to why he would have a knick’s shirt if he was from new england... perhaps he knows no loyalty to geography when it comes to sport)

but mulder denies that it is his shirt anyway, so.

they found keychains on the bodies, and clyde is going on about all the personal information of whoever owned said keychains. it turns out he just sold the guy an insurance policy a few months ago lmaooo... but he knows he was murdered! the death power strikes again.

scully is driving. clyde is in the passenger seat. mulder is sticking his head in between them, asking how he receives his psychic transmissions. it's funny. he wants to know how being a psychic works! so is it like, visions, or dreams or something?

he then implies that mulder will die by autoerotic asphyxiation <- HELLO????? he looks at scully after receiving this news. as if she can possibly defend him against such an accusation.

they’re in the forest looking for a body and clyde explains he knew “the big bopper” was going to die.

scully says she doesn’t believe in that stuff, and even if she did, she wouldn’t believe that story. damn, just really going for his throat, huh. he seems to believe her indignation is over the fact that he liked the big bopper better than buddy holly and he defends himself.

they try to get the car out and mulder’s suit gets all dirty (this is sad to me, a mulder suit enjoyer) but gasp!!! the car is RIGHT OVER THE BODY. that has to be bad for finding evidence. so he did know exactly where it was!!!!

they have a thread from the scene, and have presented it to clyde. “but don’t you have crime labs that analyze these things for you?” he asks scully “yes. yes we do” (pointed glare at mulder) LMAOOOO but he says it takes time!!! and they still haven't analyzed the other thread. so please please please just give your powers a go.

he doesn’t want to help out, but mulder says he wants some insurance. on the fiber, not actual life insurance :( clyde was so excited to tell him the benefits of general mutual!!!

clyde is describing mulder being stalked by the killer sometime in the future, and all of a sudden scully’s up and asking him for more details like she believes it. awww. it’s sweet in a way. does she believe in psychics? no. is she still gonna take detailed notes when one says mulder is in any slight danger? yeah. and don't worry about that seeming to contradict her belief system. she is complicated beyond simple characterizations of skeptic or believer.

he seems to think that the killer will slit mulder’s throat at the investigation, but he doesn’t want to tell him. he DOES tell him that he will step on a pie before whatever happens to him, happens to him.

thank you to the subtitles for clarifying that clyde was imitating johnny carson because they reference would have been lost on me. i know, i’m uncultured, i’m sorry. i’ll google it though. okay, as i thought, he was a late night host. see? we get an exchange of knowledge on this blog, i learn about johnny carson's way of pronouncing the word "killer" and you can use sabrina brier's "oh" in conversation now.

it seems the killer sent clyde a letter saying he’ll kill him. and he’ll be dead before they can get him help :( noooo i like mr bruckman!!! :(

back to the killer. he’s getting a tarot reading and says he’s looking for a guy he’s gonna kill. the man doing the tarot reading smiles nervously, because what do you say in such a situation.

they seem to have bought clyde a pie after his earlier ramblings on the subject, and he kindly asks scully if she wants some, but she denies because she must study background checks instead of relying upon visions. he asks if she is jealous. a good banter between them.

back at the tarot place, the reader mentions a woman. MAYBE A REDHEAD...? stay away from her…

clyde is going on about seeing himself in bed with scully. HELLO??? “it’s just a very special moment neither of us will ever forget” huh. laughs nervously. what the fuck. is she gonna find him dead or do we need to call HR.

(cries editing this, now that i know how the episode ends)

it seems the tarot card guy is about to get murdered. but back at the hotel room with clyde and scully, they’re playing cards and she’s talking about moby dick and macbeth misinterpreting prophecies...

but despite the denial, SHE ASKS HIM HOW SHE DIES??? he says “you don’t” and that is exactly what i like to hear <3

she seemed really serious about it too, like she didn’t want to admit that she was curious, initially deflecting. oh best believe i WILL psychoanalyze that.

LMAOOO okay so this is the episode where mulder says the “chantilly lace” line and she makes that face. he's referring to another thread found at a murder scene, but i saw it in a gif and i have been thinking about it since then.

she slaps his chest with the file and says good luck as he goes to babysit the old man psychic. it was very affectionate. do it again.

mulder is in bed. it’s sleepover time with the old man. “you’re not one of those people that turns everything into a sexual symbol, are you?”, clyde asks, seemingly self-conscious about revealing his recurring dream. mulder says no, but i’m unconvinced.

anyway, he talks about seeing himself dead, and how his body fades away. we see a cgi decomposing body and it’s quite gnarly. maybe it's clay? and all his skin faded away and he becomes bones. kinda gross tbh. but he says he feels at peace.

there’s been another murder, so another guy is gonna babysit our clyde, and i’m thinking noooo don’t trust this other guy!!

scully says she feels bad, that clyde has convinced himself he is a psychic and it’s taken all the joy out of his life :(

okay, the guy babysitting him seems to be telling him jokes. clyde says he won’t die of lung cancer so he lights up. and i'm thinking, buddy, he did not rule out emphysema.

hang on. that is a lighter we have seen before. in the hands of old lady who shall be eaten by dogs. now is this a mass produced object or are we about to witness the end of clyde!!!!

“don’t open that door for anybody”, says the babysitter, and clyde then immediately proceeds to do so. and who is it knocking but the psychic killer delivering their room service!!!

killer is asking clyde why he does these things and it’s “because you’re a homicidal maniac” well that would explain it! and then he stabs the babysitter. but clyde has delayed his fate by telling the murder he doesn’t kill him now. seems he believes him. clever thinking.

scully realizes that the killer is the bellhop at the hotel after seeing some more lace. which mulder describes as “woman’s intuition” yea <3

back at the hotel. mulder is in the kitchen. he sees the killer with the knife. it is all going down as clyde described it. now if there really is a pie do NOT BE DISTRACTED. OH there is a pie. and he knows he has to turn around, so he turns THE OTHER WAY. noooo!!!!!

they get in a struggle!!! mulder’s bleeding, and scully gets off the elevator just in time. she shoots the murderer. no hesitation on taking a life, she will kill a motherfucker for mulder. i love that about her. 

and scully only got there because she took the wrong elevator!!! more pondering on the meaning of fate!!!!!

i love when one of these bitches is on the floor in pain and the other comes over and comforts them. i think i need that in my life just once. it would heal me.

but the question is: where is bruckman?

they go to find him and they only find a dog tied to the door?? and a letter to scully. it’s the dog from before, the neighbor's pet. the letter from clyde says to take care of his neighbor's remains. and he asks if she wants a dog, and that you can’t blame him for the dog’s actions. so they go into the room.

BUT IT IS BRUCKMAN THAT IS DEAD IN THERE. it looks he took pills and suffocated himself. scully looks so so so so so sad.

AND OMG!!! SHE IS HOLDING HIS HAND WHILE HE IS IN BED AND CRYING. JUST LIKE HE SAID WOULD HAPPEN. WAIT THIS IS SO SAD. 

so that must be why he say a head in a bag at the start of the episode, it was his own death... and the killer was right, he did get to clyde before he was caught, he just didn't attack him. huh. funny how prophecies play out.

cutscene to her on the couch WITH THE DOG IN HER LAP. and an ad from the earlier eastern european psychic is on the tv. she throws the phone at him.

A DOG!!! a dog. okay, a lot to think about, but first and foremost we have scully with a dog <3 and it sits in her lap while she watches TV. and it MAY have tasted human flesh, which i feel is a hard thing to get past, but clearly she has done it. she has done the emotional labor of knowing that fuzzball knows what human meat feels like. and she has faith that this dog will not do the same to her. that is an awful lot of trust for a new dog. but we do know she loves animals. so perhaps she trusts the puppy.

i always pictured her with a big ol mutt from the pound. but a little dog can be just as good of a friend. and it WAS a rescue. that is important!

okay. back to the episode at hand, dog aside. even though it is a BIG deal to me and i'm honestly being so brave by not going on a monologue about what scully having a dog means to me. this episode was definitely comedic, and like the earlier comedic episode, i liked it a lot! but the ending made me so sad :( it was a pretty abrupt tone shift. 

still. the episode was SO good. i kept pausing every few seconds to write things down because they made me laugh or otherwise intrigued me (thinking of scully playing cards and explaining macbeth. or chantilly lace line. or "i can't take you anywhere". i will try not to think of mulder's potential death by choking himself for my own sanity)

and i liked clyde a lot. we get a lot of one time characters who we will never see again and so it’s good when those characters make an impact in the short amount of time we share with them. 

and i’m always gonna take a light-hearted episode, as light-hearted as a show where serial killing is a daily occurrence can be. it does go to show though that there wasn’t always a consistent tone throughout the story. and i do find that interesting. i am part of a generation where we typically get 6 hour long episodes of a tv show per season, and they’re so condensed there is very little time for exploration with genre or tone. in general, i have loathed this about modern television; the death of the filler episode has been lamented by people far more eloquent than myself.

the only thing i dislike about this format- doing a silly episode- is that if the next episode ends up being really dark it’s like, woah man, the whimsy, where did it go? last season we got humbug, which was SO fresh and funny, and then within the first 3 minutes of the next episode, a baby was killed by a train. so i lowkey got whiplash. but then again, i watched those episodes back to back, so maybe having a week between them seeing them air as they hit TV would have softened the blow. feel free to chime in with your theories on the nature of genre and how pacing of episode viewing effects that experience.

overall, a very good episode. i rank it up with humbug as one of my favorites, which is again funny, because i love the extreme angst and the silly. i paused to take so many notes because i liked so many things that i think i should someday rewatch it again and get a smoother experience haha

[tragedycoded]

character profile tag!

@the-golden-comet how did you know I needed to repopulate my characters tags <3 Thank you for the tag!

I know everyone here knows him, but let's do this for the protagonist of Doom Metal Love Story anyway.

Name: Cole Francis Sullivan

Nickname: First Sergeant (his rank), variations on his rank ("Top" is pretty funny); Kentucky (Hofer); angel/dear-heart/whatever the current hyperfixation is (Royston)

Kind of Being: Human

Age: variable (born 1835; story takes place 1872-74)

Sex: Male

Appearance: Average height and sturdily built, wearing the field uniform and calf-length boots he only took off to change into his parade dress every evening, Hofer knew who he was looking at before he saw the man's face. (Prologue, Hofer POV)

Until Sullivan sat up, unfurling as he prepared to ride into battle again. Glowing with life, invigorated, half-mad with knowing what he wanted, finally. Ambitious in the way of warrior-kings of old, invulnerable and ageless, lamplight catching the gold and the silver in his brown hair, his red beard aflame. That bayonet scar on his shoulder marking him as human. That bullet scar on the back of his calf. Royston could adore the man and not put him up among idols. Why make him an angel, or a god, or a star. There were so many already, hundreds and thousands and countless of all. There was only one him. (February 1873, Royston POV)

Occupation: First Sergeant in the United States Army Cavalry Division; fort sheriff of Fort Sarras, Kansas

Family members: William (father, deceased); Aileen O'Hare (mother.) Only child.

Pets: Molly, a 12-year-old Morgan horse

Best friend: Major Erik Hofer, Surgeon of Fort Sarras, Kansas; Royston will annoy the shit out of me if I don't acknowledge that he is Sullivan's lover.

Describe his/her room: In the Golden Ending, he sleeps in a barrack with the rest of the NCOs. Based on photographs I've found, it would appear he does not have a roommate. He has a bed, a bureau, a nightstand to put a lamp on, and a peg over his bed for his weapons (rifle, revolver, saber.) This is a fucking hotel compared to the Bad Ending, where he's in a barrack with three other people (Quartermaster Sergeant Harrelson, Hofer, and possibly Sergeant Miller? or else it was the sergeant who dies in the bombardment the weekend before Royston Kool-Aid Mans into Fort Cano.)

Way of speaking: No indoor voice. Direct -> firm -> blunt if you're really not listening to him. Polite, until you give him a reason not to be. Hiding an accent.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): Always at attention. Observant. Ready to react. Always carrying at least two weapons; is a weapon.

Royston wants everyone to know he "fills out that damned uniform."

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse:

HERE I'LL SHOW YOU

(This guy's a private, don't even worry about it. He'd be carrying the same equipment and hey he has the same facial hair right on.)

Hobbies: Reading, playing chess, throwing darts.

Favorite sports: Bat-and-ball.

Abilities/Talents/Powers: Marksmanship mastery, horseback riding expertise, melee combat (saber specialization), leadership. Is the 10th Cavalry Regiment's filthy joke repository (he has a strong memory when it comes to dick jokes.)

He acquires additional, uh, "abilities" in Book 2 but that's a massive spoiler.

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): Preoccupied. Easy to lose touch with. Will go HAM on anything/anyone threatening someone he loves.

Fears: He just told me he doesn't much care for broccoli. When I asked him why he said the fact that it's shaped like a tree is disconcerting.

I understand.

Faults: He's stubborn. His refusal to follow orders that are counter to his own code of honor has cost him promotions. "HE ONLY EATS LIKE FIVE FOODS," Royston says.

Good points:

He may flinch, but he is brave.

He's a leader.

He's loyal (possibly to fault.)

He's physically and mentally strong.

"HIS ASS," Royston says. (Translation: He has a healthy sense of humor.)

What he/she wants more than anything else: To go to sleep at night knowing he did the best he could to protect his country and the people he loves; and, if is his time to die, for his death to not be in furtherance of an unjust cause.

Wait--

"Since he's wandered off and appears to no longer be listening... I want Arthur safe, and alive, and with me. Which I recognize is both a far more difficult condition to satisfy and antithetical to the previous answer."

HAPPY FRIDAY TAG LIST LET'S GO BAP BAP BAP

@lychhiker-writes @cowboybrunch @saturnine-saturneight @ashfordlabs @autism-purgatory

@noblebs @aintgonnatakethis @the-golden-comet @asablehart @mauvecatfic

@leahnardo-da-veggie @sableglass @gioiaalbanoart @words-after-midnight

@lavender-bloom @jev-urisk @wyked-ao3