#if i could find the quote origin i would link it but it just... pulls up dj khalid lyrics-

[deputy-buck]

                                                                                             "You know I can't."

"We don't have to do what we used to do."

[qsycomplainsalot]

So as a good NB bisexual trad wife married to a Jewish trans person I was in church this morning trying my hardest not to fall asleep on the good lord's shittiest seating arrangement, as is custom. Cutting right to it, the sermon was weird. What I listened to was a French translation of a text by one Gary Heinz, whom I've been told is a Canadian pastor but the only one I could find online is from the Carolinas, with a degree from Charleston, so for the purpose of this post I'll just say he's American in the same vague way as his tomato-based namesake.

The sermon was talking about the tale of the good Samaritan, which most people know about, and was composed thuszthly. First it goes over the tale again, then it helps define the elements of it and how they're relevant to the point made by our boy Jesus. The priest sees a naked beat-up man on the side of the rode, presumably from a mount, and decides not to get involved even though if he had any way to know the man had been Jewish he would have been bound to help him. The second man is a Levite, traditionally someone who helps priests and knows the law just as well, but decides not to get involved either. The third guy of course is a Samaritan. The Samaritans are a distinct but very closely related ethnoreligious group to the Hebrews/Jews, who we are often told hate them. The Samaritan helps the person, provides first aid, props him up on his horse and walks him to an inn where he houses him by giving the innkeeper two pieces of silver and promising to pay any extra cost on his next trip back. This according to the preacher is a symbol of limitless charity, we'll get back to that. The context of the tale was a smartass asking Jesus what to do to be saved and when being told to do unto thy neighbor as you would doeth unto thineselfe (in Middle English, which was very confusing at the time), follows up by asking who his neighbor was, aka who he should apply the law to. The point being made is that although the law could be read and almost bent into only applying to people you care about, only people you're explicitly meant to treat well and even then only once you're absolutely sure they're marked as such, it's more important to follow the spirit of the law which is to be kind to everyone. Which is a good message.

So why am I kvetching ? That was only the first part of the sermon, and if you thought the second part would be about linking that message to current event you'd unfortunately be wrong. It's instead focused on finding, or making up really, symbolism in the story that foretells the passion of Jesus. You see the Samaritan was really a stand-in for anyone you might hate, including, and I quote, "a Nazi or a member of ISIS", because even they can be saved and be your neighbor for the purpose of doing unto them like unto thyself. And the two silver coins well you see they would pay for two nights and on the third one Jesus comes back from the dead. Now I'm not an expert on the cost of living in Ancient Judea. But Gary Heinz isn't either so I'm gonna say it, he pulled that number out of his ass. Also a little confused about the same storytelling element being earlier compared to limitless charity, only now to be quantified as worth two nights at a B&B. But that's just nitpicking, what I'm really tired of is every reading of the holy texts [cut to meme] by Christian preachers devolving into improv rapping about Jesus and how he died for us. The lessons in the Bible stop being broadly applicable to daily life and are instead contrived into fifty different ways to say "he is risen" like it's isn't the sole fucking reason we're in church to begin with. That's usually bad enough, but when a pastor says that the Samaritan in the tale of the good Samaritan was here for shock value and could be "a Nazi or a member of ISIS", this changes the meaning of the tale to "be kind to everyone regardless of who they are, including Nazis apparently", from the original condemnation of prejudices. The Samaritan didn't chose to be a Samaritan, he's not doing any harm being a Samaritan, and the tale shows that his religion being slightly removed from orthodox Judaism isn't as important as his doing good and helping his fellow man. I don't think someone who joined a political party predicated on the extermination of minorities would fit that message, and I think changing said message to a more broad declaration of love from Jesus is ignoring what people need to hear these days where prejudice against minorities makes up 90% of the news.

And you might say it's not really a preacher's job to raise awareness for current events, but I'll ask you this: is hearing about how Jesus totally died for you every week supposed to make me a better Christian ? Or is learning that he told us pretty much in clear text not to hate minorities based on prejudice gonna do that. Cause I think most Christians need to hear the later more.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family Actors' Thoughts on Their Characters

Found some incredible tidbits.

All quotes taken from this October 1995 interview (which was written before Melissa Scully's death.)

THE CONCEPTION OF BEYOND THE SEA AND ONE BREATH

The conception for “Beyond the Sea” originated with a desire on the part of scripters Glen Morgan and James Wong to write a “Scully episode” with the goal that such a story would both highlight Gillian Anderson’s acting ability, and humanize the dour Scully. They believed the best way to achieve that was to tie the episode’s X-File case to her in a personal way: by introducing her parents and having her father die before the teaser ended, and then linking her need to speak once more with her father to a psychic prisoner on death row.

Morgan recalled that, “In the pilot, Scully mentioned that her parents didn’t want her to become an FBI agent. We found that interesting. So many people want their own lives, and yet need their parents to accept that life, and we thought it seemed to be a common phenomenon around us. So we put it into the story and hoped it would connect with people. And we thought maybe Scully’s parents lived in Washington. And if they live in Washington, what could her father do? It was kind of obvious to us he was in the government and we put him in the military. Then we thought, ‘OK, he has to be a higher rank, a Navy captain’s kind of neat. And we just worked backwards from that.”

“Melissa was someone who had to understand Scully and yet be different to challenge Mulder’s actions,” said Morgan. “Who better than a mother or a sister? Considering where Mulder was at that time, we thought it would be interesting to see Mulder’s reaction to a believer of ‘positive’ ideas. So, again, it was a character that was created from the needs of Mulder and Scully’s characters.

CAPTAIN SCULLY, DON DAVIS

“The character is very similar to Briggs on Twin Peaks,” Davis noted. “William is a military man who, although he loved his child deeply, was unable to verbalize that love until it was too late. ...this was a guy who was at the top of his field and the way he showed his love to his family was to give his children an example to follow and to provide them with great security. That’s kind of where I started off from with the character.”

Although William had died, on The X-Files anything can happen, and he reappeared in “One Breath” to deliver to the comatose Scully the paternal message she had longed for in “Beyond the Sea”. Davi[s] said that director Bob Goodwin’s concern was that his monologue would not “become maudlin. He wanted me to be on the verge of being overcome, but he didn’t want it to happen. He wanted the character to be strong, to be very much the man that had fathered Dana. So what I tried to do was to show a man holding himself in, a man who was filled with emotion but who, as a military man, controlled the emotion. We did a few takes and each time Bob was bringing me down.”

MAGGIE SCULLY, SHEILA LARKIN

Scully’s mother Margaret was portrayed by actress Sheila Larken, and in the X-Files world, where almost everyone has a hidden agenda, Larken’s maternal warmth and sincerity was a bright spot within all the bleakness.

Larken was reluctant to take on the role of Margaret Scully.... Her hesitation stemmed, she said, from her own father’s death the year before from a heart attack.

“It wasn’t really something I really wanted to do or pull up,” she said. “But I did it anyway. I never thought the part would repeat. My interpretation when I did that scene at the funeral was of a woman so involved with her own pain, she couldn’t even react to what her daughter was asking her. And they allowed that, even though the daughter was the lead in the show.”

Larken saw Margaret as “a military wife, married before I graduated college, someone who never gets to finish her college degree or find a career for herself, but mainly gets enmeshed in her family. You know, the Everymother. Part of her emergence in becoming self-sufficient was during the course of this show with Dana. I think Margaret is ever-evolving. ”

Larken’s favorite scene came in “Ascension, ” when Margaret and Mulder meet at a park and talk about the missing Scully. “You explore a scene and try to find what you’re thinking, and what you’re not thinking, and that one just jelled together. There were just so many little itsy-bitsy things that came together and they came together on camera.” She found working with Anderson and Duchovny to be a particular treat. “Their depth is multi-layered. A lot of times you work with actors, and when you look into their eyes, they’re a blank. You’re working alone. But when you get to work with Gillian and David, whatever you send is received and vice versa.”

Larken said that as Margaret she usually does not draw on her own experience as a mother, because “it’s almost too vulnerable to let in. ” She did admit to an exception: “There’s one scene where being a parent did work. In ‘One Breath’ where Margaret says to pull the plug on her daughter, Mulder doesn’t want her to do it. He moved away on me, and I called him his first name. I just went, ‘Fox!’ I could hear that ‘mother’ voice. And David stopped cold, he stopped in his tracks. It was like the voice of every mother; in that sense, the mother did come through.”

MELISSA SCULLY, MELINDA MCGRAW

Coincidentally, McGraw said, she brought up the idea of making Melissa a psychic, and found Morgan and Wong had already had the same thought.

McGraw felt that Melissa “was the black sheep in this family, probably a very difficult teenager, in trouble, very curious. She experimented, I’m sure, with drugs and boys, was very political and was always a bit left of center and always pretty conscious of developing her psychic ability.”

Morgan and Wong had also played around with making Melissa a girlfriend for Mulder, and although that idea was jettisoned, McGraw said she felt the element of attraction was still there, “Certainly from Melissa’s side. We had talked about that, and I think that for various reasons it wasn’t to be. Mulder had just had a romance the week before (in “3 “).

McGraw felt that in the end, it was a good idea that the relationship “didn’t go that far, because that left grounds for something later. I think they wrote Melissa in a neat way, because she wasn’t all pure and light. She had this dark side to her, and this slightly jealous side, of being jealous of Dana.” But, she concluded, there is also a “total love. The bond of sibling love is so intense. It’s an age-old dramatic theme, and it’s one of the greatest loves that human beings have. It’s undeniably bigger than any other connection, because you’ve shared not only the same parents, but the same actual physical experience of being born to that mother.”

CHARLIE SCULLY, a Note

Since McGraw's vision lined up neatly with Morgan and Wong's, I find it interesting that she (indirectly) groups Charlie Scully with the rest of the "normal" Scullys-- as if he, too, were a "God and country" man like Capt. Scully, Maggie, Bill, and Scully herself.

CASTING

Director David Nutter cast Don Davis, familiar to genre viewers as Major Briggs in Twin Peaks, as William Scully, and Sheila Larken as Margaret Scully. “Scully needed to have a father and mother both of real strong qualities and charisma and three dimensions,” he said. “I felt that Don David and Sheila Larken would bring the required weird to the parts.”

Nutter had worked with Davis previously on several shows, including Broken Badges, and called him personally to ask him if he would accept the role of William Scully, despite its brevity.

David Nutter had met Larken when he auditioned her for his 1985 film Cease FIRE, and although he didn’t cast her, she made an impression on the director.

Larken’s husband, X-Files’ co-executive producer Bob Goodwin, mentioned her at one point to Nutter, and Nutter immediately thought of her for Margaret. “She was perfect. She was the one, and I hired her.”

The arrival of Scully’s sister Melissa, in ‘One Breath’ was an unexpected one. Scully’s two brothers, of whom she spoke in ‘Roland,’ were glimpsed in “Beyond the Sea” and were seen as children in a flashback of ‘ One Breath.’ Yet the sibling who turned up in that latter episode was a previously unheard of sister, Melissa, played by Melinda McGraw. 

"Most importantly, we [Morgan and Wong] wanted to write a good part of Melinda McGraw, with whom we shared a frustrating time on The Commish.”

TRIVIA

In between “Beyond the Sea” and “One Breath” Davi[s] made an uncredited, off screen appearance as a dialogue coach for “Miracle Man.” As a native of the Ozark Mountains region, and a former theater professor, he lent his expertise to the guest cast to help them properly pronounce Southern accents.

The New York native [Sheila] had left acting several years ago and had obtained a master’s degree in clinical social work. But after moving to Washington state with her husband, X-Files’ co-executive producer Bob Goodwin, she found herself busy with acting offers.

McGraw enjoyed playing a softer role after several years as a police detective. “It was really great for me to play a different character,” she said.

LASTLY, AN ANECDOTE

From the compiler:

I once had the opportunity to ask what Glen Morgan thought about Chris Carter killing off Melissa Scully.... He told me that most networks have what’s called “character payments”. If a character that a writer created returns in another episode, they get a couple hundred bucks. This doesn’t happen on FOX, so there goes any cash for the Lone Gunmen, Skinner, Tooms, Scully’s Ma…etc. “If we did get character payments, I would have been more bummed that they killed Melissa...."

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[phoenixyfriend]

That one post about great domestic policy and HORRIFIC foreign policy just does not stop being true

Domestic Policy Win: The American Museum of Natural History in NYC is closing down two entire exhibits of Native American belongings in order to comply with a federal order that requires museums to obtain the consent of indigenous nations in order to display artifacts of native origin. The linked ProPublica article specifies that the exhibits in question are the Eastern Woodlands and Great Plains Halls. To quote:

The new federal regulations, which went into effect this month, prohibit the display of items subject to NAGPRA without tribal consent and ban all research done without tribal consent. In addition, the regulations closed a loophole that had allowed museums such as the American Museum of Natural History to keep ancestral remains and burial items by claiming that they are “culturally unidentifiable” — meaning in their view they could not be connected to present-day Indigenous communities based on available evidence — and therefore could not readily be returned to tribes.

Foreign Policy Fail: The United States, the UK, and several other nations, in response to claims that several members of UNRWA were involved in the Oct. 7th attacks, have cut funding to the relief agency in question. The Al Jazeera article profiles the Palestinian response, and also specifies that this funding was pulled after the UNRWA launched an investigation in response to Israel's allegations that 12 members of the relief agency were involved.

Australia, Canada, Italy and the United States said they would halt funding to the agency, while European Union foreign policy chief Josep Borrell said the 27-member bloc would “assess further steps and draw lessons based on the result of the full and comprehensive investigation”. Germany, Finland, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom then also joined the list of countries pausing financial aid to the UN agency, whose facilities where displaced Palestinians sought shelter have been repeatedly attacked in Israeli air raids. Ireland and Norway, however, expressed continued support for UNRWA, saying the agency does crucial work to help Palestinians displaced and in desperate need of assistance in Gaza. - Al Jazeera

"One million displaced people are currently taking refuge in and around UNRWA buildings. They are the ones who will suffer as a result of this decision," said Mr Gunness, adding: "The curtailing of UNRWA services will also destabilise the region at a time when Western governments are trying to contain a regional conflagration." [...] The US, Germany and the EU are among some of UNRWA's biggest donors. - BBC

Unfortunately, the WSJ article is paywalled, so I can't access the full thing for a quote.

Anyway. Call your reps. I'm not even talking to just the Americans this time, call your fucking reps. If they aren't donating to UNRWA, then make them do something. Is the organization possibly a security risk, and the concerns legitimate? Maybe! But you cannot cut the funding that is keeping 2.3mill people alive on an already shoestring budget and not immediately put a backup security net in place.

Until then, pick a charity with a good rating, donate and signal boost it, and politely harass your politicians.

Politely as in "don't shout at or cuss out the staffers that man the phone lines," because they are not your reps, but also because your number is going to get blocked and then you won't be able to pressure them in the future. Do be firm, though.

I'm personally picking the PCRF this time, since one of the three remaining hospitals in south Gaza has been evacuated and shut down, and the evacuees reportedly include women who just got C-sections, which means the evacuees also include newborns, and medical care is in high demand. They're also currently focused on providing clean drinking water to the people of Palestine. That said, so is food, and shelter, and winter clothing. Pick a need, find a charity, and toss them some money.

[hellsite-detective]

The office was quiet that night. It was a rare moment of peace, the only sound being the thumps of rain against the window pane. It was so quiet, in fact, that the client in the doorway was almost unnoticeable. Her entrance was as silent as the night, and her hair just as dark.

She made herself known with the utterance of a single phrase. "Detective, I need your help."

Getting a good look at her, you could see she was a real Femme Fatale. All dolled up in a feather boa and pretty dress, yet she wasn't as elegant and put-together as the others....no, she looked rough. Soaked from the rain with a tattered outfit, she looked defeated, like this was her last resort.

"So sorry to be a bother, but I really have nowhere else to go....I tried lookin' for this post myself, I really did, but a delicate dame like me with low energy to boot was bound to burn out sooner or later. I can't reward you with anything but gratitude, but I'm hopin' you'll take my case anyway.

I'm lookin' for the classic 'kick his ass baby i got yo flower' post, but with a caveat- I want a version without the egregiously long chain of reblogs that follows. Just the original post and first reblog, the most classic version of the post with nothin' added on. I want to give those lovers some alone time."

Her brown eyes caught the dim light from the overhead lamp as she looked at you, pleading. She seemed sincere, but it was hard to tell with these types....

"I know I'm askin' for a miracle, but could you please help me out?"

it's alright, doll. i can help you. don't you worry anymore. your post is as good as found...

but, of course, that wasn't gonna come without great effort. see, i went on over to the Search Bar and asked Google for the exact quote that my client had got me. the Don pulled out a photograph from their briefcase and slid it across the table. clearly this was what i was lookin' for. except i needed only the first two posts in the chain. thinkin' this would be an easy case, i went on down to the second address in the chain only to find the apartment had been abandoned for years. whoever lived here before was gone now. meanin' i was back at square one. i asked the Don for the post again, hopin' they'd hand me a link, and they did. trouble was, every address in the chain had been deleted, not just the second one. meanin' it would be hard to get into the notes to even look for the original. but thankfully, i found out pretty quick where i could find this post...

see, i saw it mentioned in the notes i could see that none other than that mysterious museum barbie, Madame Curator herself, had placed this one in her @hellsite-hall-of-fame. this meant the post was as good as found! or so i thought. because i took a stroll down to the museum and found the post rather quickly. problem was, i was gonna have to scroll through 800k reblogs to even have a hope at findin' the original. and that was gonna take time. time that was precious to a private eye like myself. so, in a desperate final move, i went back to the Search Bar and demanded Google show me their full line-up of links on the subject. the obliged, and i checked through every one of them. until, by some miracle, i found it. a reblog that contained only the original two posts. i grabbed it and filed it away, relieved that this case wasn't gonna go cold...

here you are! after a long, hard fought case, i got your post! i hope you enjoy bein' reunited with this classic. have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #18: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our maps: The Isle, The Dungeon (so far)

[You can use the links above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle and the so far uncovered portions below the surface. On the Dungeon map, you are currently in Floor 2, in Room 12.]

Now, back to the adventure!

You pull your katana from your side and slash down at the eel closest to your feet. [Attack Roll (d20): 5 - Between your AV of 11 and the Eel's AC of 2 - Hit!, Damage Roll (d6): 1!] You connect, but only just slashing lightly across the side of its head as you quickly step back away from the water.

The eel attempts to wriggle forward and reach you with its teeth-filled jaws. [Due to the difficulty of the eel to attack and fight outside of water, you will get a +5 to AC. Attack Roll (d20): 10 - Between its AV of 11 and your AC of 5 - Hit!, Damage roll (d6): 2!] The creature wriggles forward, as if it has been a long, long time since it has had anything at all to each and will do anything to keep you from escaping, and bites into your calf. Blood trickles down over your boots and into the nearby water.

The two remaining eels, tasting blood, attempt to reach out and attack you in the same manner as the first. [Attack Rolls (d20 - both eels): 4 and 20 - the first is under your AC and the second is over the eel's AV - Miss!] They snap out at you but are unable to carry themselves far enough out of the water.

You bring the katana down once more on the first eel. [Attack Roll (d20): 6 - Between your AV of 11 and the Eel's AC of 2 - Hit!, Damage Roll (d6): 4!] In a single swift motion, you sever the eel's head entirely from its body. [50 XP gained!]

Despite the death of the eel, the others press on, driven solely by their hunger. [Morale Roll (brave): 9, 4 - Under their ST of 6 - They keep fighting!]

They ignore the body of the first eel, crawling over it, and lash out towards you. [Attack Rolls (d20 - both eels): 6 and 1 - the first is over your AC and below the eel's AV and the second is under your AC - Hit and Miss! Damage Roll (d6): 6!] The second eel digs its teeth deeply into your thigh and pulls down, slashing at your flesh as it goes. [You are now at 0 Grit (your first line of defense which can be quickly recovered during rest) and just 5 Flesh (your lasting hit points).]

You took the first eel out easily enough. You and your katana can certainly do the job, but as the pain shoots up your body from your leg, you can't help but feel like you are closer to death than you may think. They are close enough on you now that you know turning to run would ensure they would bite at you, at least one time each, but a single strong bite from them could bring you down... [Mechanically, each eel would get a Free Attack if you do anything but attack back during your round (this means casting a spell, running, etc.). Still, it may be worth the chance, but then again both eels are also bested by you with a single, strong attack each.]

[This is tough choice! Either way could go quite bad or quite good. I'll leave the decision in your hands! See you next week! - Christian]

PBB #19 is up now!

[elodieunderglass]

I really like the idea that one of the weird lurkers of your blog (like me) just hangs around looking for inspiration to write papers about. Like I realize that's not how it probably actually went down, but 2017 to 2022 seems like a pretty reasonable lead time from reading your post to conducting the research to writing and publishing the paper.

In reference to this:

It’s amusing that the original post only got 22 notes (likes), but when I looked at it again it had 19, which I’m choosing to interpret as the authors sheepishly withdrawing their likes in order to preserve their anonymity.

I think they probably just googled the phrase “friends to lovers pathway” before using it as the title of their paper and pulled up my post, or the other alternative being that the post popped onto their timeline when they were in the early stages of manuscript prep, and it was a moment of academic serendipity. I definitely don’t think I inspired the work in any way - just the quote and title. But it’s funny to imagine being studied.

I should say that I don’t necessarily expect permission to be asked if people intend to prosper or advance their careers from my words or art. However, I do appreciate the courtesy of being told that it’s happened. So far I’ve been quoted in a published book, quoted to name an academic paper, a person is actively selling plushies and other merchandise based on a post of mine while claiming that it’s their intellectual property actually, and screenshots of my work are regularly considered hilarious enough to steal but not pay me for. (the cricket post in particular was screencapped, went viral on Twitter some years ago without reference to me, was shared around BBC journalist twitter, and hundreds of people in the media industry said things like ‘lol we should pay this person to write’ …. in the apparent ignorance of the fact that if they had asked I would probably be open to…. Being paid to write……… and all the other times my posts have broken containment to go viral on other platforms for other people, with comments about how I should be commissioned to write a book; obviously that’s a normal part of online journalism and media, and I’m not naive about it, but it’s a bit much to for these people to be enriching their platforms with screencapped content, without the OP’s knowledge let alone consent, and joking about how they should pay for it or would read a whole book about it, when they’re the only people who could actually do something about it in the nightmare media landscape.) And nobody told me about any of these examples, I always find out by trying to retrieve links to my own stuff, or by friends telling me that someone else has gone so viral with my recognisable work that it got around to them.

Anyway if you do use my stuff in your own stuff, do let me know! I’m not here to prosper, but I am here to connect, and I’m quite willing to link your paper (and write a lay summary for free), buy your book or art, make your acquaintance, promote your work, or just add it to my portfolio - because if I ever DID want to prosper from my work here, which I wouldn’t usually consider except that it is evidently peer-reviewed good-enough-for-others-to-prosper-from, all of that would be valuable and helpful for me to know.

[bettsfic]

Betts,

Would you be comfortable in showing us what your messy first drafts look like? Not for a whole story but maybe an excerpt and noting how it changed in revisions. I’ve been looking for first drafts by writers and either found they look almost identical to finish printed version or I can’t find them at all.

i can show you what a messy first draft looks like but i don't think it'll be very illuminating. for me, the down draft is mostly about developmental work. i'll write ten scenes and the final draft will be chunks from six of them. so on a small scale it looks like i don't do much editing, but big picture i write over twice as much as i end up keeping, and what i keep has usually been completely rewritten. so if i do a side by side comparison of a scene, what you're not seeing is the stuff that didn't make the cut, or all the ways i wrote in the wrong direction for a long time, or the hours of research i had to do for a single detail (an example of which you'll see below).

i wrote an issue of my newsletter about my drafting process, so that might be more helpful. i also answered an ask recently about ways to develop a scene if you're stuck.

unfortunately i don't have the brainwidth to do all the research here, but the new yorker published an early draft of raymond carver's "what we talk about when we talk about love" which as originally called "beginners," and somewhere there's a detailed comparison of the two and the changes his editor, gordon lish, made.

but! you asked to see a draft comparison. so here's a draft comparison.

so this got a little crazy and i ended up making a gdoc for scene 2 so you could see them together. see link at the bottom. conclusion: comparing drafts is very hard and i don't think this probably helps at all but i tried.

"final" draft

these are the first two scenes of a short story i wrote called The Group W Bench. we begin in 1970 and then move into present day-ish. i've bolded the small things that were actually big things, and i'll explain why they were big things at the end.

"final" is in quotes because there is a different final draft of this story that goes in a completely different book.

scene 1: past

They didn’t hand out 4-Fs in St. Louis. Supposedly it was the worst draft office in the country. I didn’t know anyone who’d gotten out of it, but in my hometown they didn’t seem to want to. Most everyone was proud and eager to get shipped off.

My number was 66 and it’d been pulled just after I turned nineteen. On the bus to the induction center, I tried to come up with a plan. My only options seemed to be mutilating myself or flat-out running. I was too much of a coward for the former and I couldn’t wrap my head around the latter. There were only a dozen of us on the bus and I had my whole seat to myself. Out the window, cornfields blurred past; it was August and the stalks were head-high. I tried to imagine myself out in the jungle holding an M16, but I couldn’t. I’d graduated high school with a C-average, only kissed one girl one time, was raised by parents who’d had no parents of their own. My mother grew up in an orphanage. My father rode the rails. They fucked up my brother Tommy, did a little better with Wyatt, but by the time I came along, they’d given up. Sometimes I felt feral, raised by wolves.

Across the aisle, a guy was playing the harmonica. He had shaggy black hair and stubble around his jaw, big nose bent at the bridge. He caught me staring at him and I looked away quickly. He crossed the aisle and sat beside me. 

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” he said.

He didn’t sound like he was from Missouri. He sounded like an actor on TV, all hard Rs and round vowels. I didn’t respond to him. For all I knew he was a plant, some kind of spy trained to sniff out potential defectors.

He ran his thumb over the shiny surface of the harmonica. The movement reflected the sun into my eyes. “Buddy of mine got his arm blown off.”

“My brother died,” I told him. I’d been the one to answer the door that day. I was only sixteen and the boy who delivered the telegram couldn’t have been much older. He handed it over, touched the brim of his hat, and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

There were no remains. Nothing to bury. Just a bit of yellow cardstock telling me Tommy was dead.

“Sorry to hear that, man.” He held out his hand. “Jack Ward.”

I shook it. “Birdie Mills.”

Jack smiled, a deep dimple carved into each cheek. “Hell of a name, Birdie Mills. Where you from?”

“Here. Couple hours north.”

“California. Riverside.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just got out of film school. Can’t get student deferment anymore. So I started bouncing around, you know, changing my address. They finally pinned me down.”

I hadn’t thought of that, transferring draft centers, delaying as long as possible hoping the war would finally end. It was a relief to meet someone as reluctant to go as I was. I felt crazy sometimes, surrounded by men who wanted nothing more than to die for their country. I couldn’t imagine loving anything so much I’d be willing to give my life for it.

“You have a plan?” I asked.

“Nope.” We turned into the induction center lot. “I’m gonna wing it.”

early draft

according to my document, i wrote this on november 8, 2022, so almost exactly a year ago. at that time, this was one chapter of a novel that had alternating POVs in third person. i had about 90k of this novel written. which turned into a short story. which turned into a different novel.

scene 1

Birdie’s number was 257 and it was pulled shortly after he turned nineteen. His draft office was in St. Louis, notoriously one of the worst in the country. There were no 4-Fs in St. Louis. He didn’t know a single man who’d gotten out of it, but then again, they didn’t want to. Most everyone in his town was eager and proud to get shipped off. 

On the bus to the induction center, he tried to come up with a plan, but nothing came to him. Out the window, cornfields blurred past; it was August and the stalks were head-high. He tried to imagine himself out in the jungle holding an M16, but he was just a coward from Missouri who graduated high school with a C-average, who had only kissed one girl one time, who was raised by parents who’d had no parents of their own. His mother grew up in an orphanage. His father rode the rails. They fucked up Tommy, did a little better with Wyatt, but by the time Birdie came along, they’d given up. Sometimes he felt feral, raised by wolves.

Across the aisle, a guy was playing the harmonica. Birdie couldn’t pull his eyes away from him. He had shaggy black hair and stubble around his jaw, big nose bent at the bridge. He caught Birdie staring at him and kept his gaze, some recognition in his eyes, and a moment later he was slotting the harmonica into his jacket pocket and coming to sit next to Birdie.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” the guy said.

Birdie didn’t say anything. For all he knew, the man could be some kind of spy trying to sniff out defectors. 

“Buddy of mine got his arm shot off.”

“My brother died,” Birdie admitted.

“Sorry to hear that, man.” He held out his hand. “Jack Ward.”

Birdie shook it. “Birdie Mills.”

Jack smiled, a deep dimple carved into each cheek. “Quite a name, Birdie Mills. Where you from?”

“Here,” Birdie said. “Couple hours north.”

“California. Riverside,” Jack offered. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just got out of film school. Can’t get student deferment anymore. So I started bouncing around, you know, changing my address. They finally pinned me down.”

Birdie hadn’t thought of that, transferring draft centers, delaying as long as possible hoping the war would finally end. It was a relief to meet someone as reluctant to go as he was. He felt crazy sometimes, surrounded by men who wanted nothing more than to die for their country. 

“You have a plan?” Birdie asked.

“Nope,” Jack said, pulling his harmonica back out. They were turning into the induction center lot. “I’m gonna wing it.”

changes and why i made them

lotto number 257 was pulled in 1970 but only numbers under 125 were drafted. it took an entire afternoon to figure out how the selective service lotto even worked.

turning this into a short story, the sentence "They didn’t hand out 4-Fs in St. Louis" was a stronger opening.

as a chapter in a book, at this point the reader is familiar with birdie and knows him only as a scoundrel-type character seen from the perspective of his son who despises him, and his daughter who reveres him. so in the old version, it was satisfying (or intended to be) to get to his POV and see him from his own perspective. as a short story, i tried to organize the opening in such a way that you get grounded pretty quickly and see birdie as a scared kid before you get to the scoundrel days (see below).

the brief "my brother died" flashback was the first part i wrote in his POV, and that was back when the structure of the narrative was a series of short, titled vignettes. so on one hand i was glad i got to keep it but sad i had to shoehorn it into a different scene instead of allowing it to open the piece.

the novel was written in third person but when i tackled it as a short story i decided to change it to first person because i like first person better, and birdie is a very fun narrator.

the "I couldn't imagine..." sentence was added in the short story version because in the present timeline, birdie's about to get shot to save his daughter while they're robbing a bank together. so in one sentence, i managed to condense an arc that before took a VERY long time to establish.

this got kind of out of hand. i tried to do the same thing with scene 2 but it was hard in the text window so i did it side by side in a google document. if you want, you can add comments asking why i did certain things and i'll answer you there. i'm sure i missed stuff.

sorry if this isn't helpful!

[mika-meowz]

Hello Anime Campaign tag! Been a while since I was here I think

Anywho! Did you miss my very indulgent things with Cat Scratch and Slim?

I hope so! Because this time I have a very very long story about em’!

(And Alcatraz being protective because I think he deserves to go off every now and then)

This one does not have a link, it’s just goin here, so please be warned before you go under the cut!

Very big thank you to @distantspacedisaster who basically fleshed out the entire original concept and dialogue that this entire thing was based on and to @disaster-reasonable-48 for the quote that sprouted that concept

It was a fluke. A complete fluke that the duo had walked in on the scene. Slim and Alcatraz had been out of prison for just a short amount of time, which meant they definitely had to lay low if they wanted to stay outside of a cell. They lurked the streets at night to avoid getting caught.

They stumbled upon the occasional odd sight now and again. Teens pulling dumb stunts, drunk fights.. really not all that odd once you were used to living in the city. One night, Alcatraz’s attention was caught by some noise in an alley. It was just indistinct shouts as far as he could tell but something told him that he needed to see what the commotion was about.

As he approached the alley and peered inside, he stilled.

There were 3 people. Two Banzai members, somewhere in their 20s or 30s, and someone in a Sweet Jazz City Police uniform laying on the ground, slowly trying to get up while trying to gauge the other two’s responses. The cop eventually made it to their feet and Alcatraz could see that they weren’t tall at all.

“What’d you find, Al?” Slim called as he slowly caught up to Alcatraz. “Slim..” Alcatraz began, a coldness in his voice. It made Slim a bit nervous. “Ah.. yeah, Al?” He replied. “Look.” Was all Alcatraz said as he dragged Slim by the arm. Slim stumbled slightly, cursing at the surprising forcefulness of the action. He peered into the alley as well.

He was suddenly very aware of the bat resting in his hand.

Cat Scratch nervously hunched in on themself, shaking as they looked up at the two Banzai… generals? Vice-presidents? They weren’t sure.

“So uh.. we done here..?” Cat Scratch squeaked, preparing to take a step back. “That depends, you got money to pay your debts yet?” One of the Banzai members taunted. “Ah.. n-nope! Still as.. broke as I was.. t-ten minutes ago..” Cat Scratch laughed nervously. “Then we’re not done!” The other chirped.

Cat Scratch groaned in response. They were grabbed by the arm and dragged to what they could only assume was perfect pummelling-range. Again.

Alcatraz moved first, taking a few steps into the alleyway. “Ah- Hello! Can you let go of my friend please?” He chirped. A beat of silence passed. “This isn’t any of your business, get the hell out!” The Banzai member on the left shouted at him.

And just as quick as a bullet, Alcatraz’s patience was gone. “Oh- that’s not what I asked.” His posture straightened and he made a brisk walk towards the group of three. He gripped the wrist of the person holding Cat Scratch hard enough that their grip started to slip. “You’re going to let go.” Alcatraz ripped the person’s hand off of Cat Scratch. The Banzai member on the right took a swing, and Alcatraz blocked it, turning his attention towards them. It was hard to gauge the expression on a suit of armour,  but the cold chill in the air and Alcatraz’s body language was a good indicator that he’d just gone from a strained, sweet smile to a look cold enough to kill.

Of course, Cat Scratch was still breathing- much to his relief- so Alcatraz would have to refrain from actually killing these goons. He didn’t hesitate to take the next swing and the upper hand. While Alcatraz fought the idiots, Slim crept into the alley as well, gesturing for Cat Scratch to come to him. “What the hell were you doing?!” Slim said, trying to keep his voice quiet so Cat Scratch could slip away unnoticed.

“Oh! Banzai blasters!” Cat Scratch chirped, pointing over their shoulder.

Yeah, no shit, Slim could see that; Were they concussed? “Why the hell are you fightin’ em? Are you alright?” Slim asked, a bit of softness creeping into his tone. “Yeah, I’m fine!” They chirped. The bruises and bloody lip spoke otherwise. “And uh.. I wasn’t really fighting them.. I mean I did at first, but I’ve mostly just been.. letting ‘em wail on me.”

Slim didn’t like that answer. Didn’t he teach them better than that?

“Why would you let them-?!” He was bordering on shouting now. “Slim, look at my uniform!” Cat Scratch answered with a large gesture to themself. “I’m taking care of this.” He huffed, moving past Cat Scratch. A tug on his arm stopped him, though. “No, Slim, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine! Ya shouldn’t even be near here, you shoulda ran, you’re too important for them to-“

“No, I’m not! Slim, you don’t have to fight for me!”

Not important? Slim could feel himself getting more frustrated with every answer this kid gave him. Why was protecting someone so hard when they were still alive to tell you how they felt about it?

“YES YOU ARE!”

He was yelling now.

“SLIM FOR FUCK’S SAKE-“

They both were.

Slim wasn’t listening anymore.

“I CAN FIX THIS- WHY WON’T’CHA LET ME SAVE YA, BEV?!”

Everything was still a moment. Everything was silent. Even Alcatraz had tensed, and turned back to glance at Slim, who was catching his breath. The words had spilled out before he could think about it. “Stay behind me.” He breathed, turning away from Cat Scratch and readjusting his grip on Hollywood. “..Don’t kill them.” Cat Scratch softly requested. “They got epithets?” Slim asked. “You think I was paying attention?” They scoffed.

“Alright.. Alright, then, I won’t kill ‘em.” Slim promised.

Slim quickly moved into the fight, taking no hesitation in swinging his bat as hard as he could. Alcatraz had been more than able to handle the two on his own, but he was thankful that the numbers were a little more even now.

Slim got a few swings in, but he had to admit, these Banzai Blasters weren’t too bad at fighting, and they weren’t going down fast enough for his liking. Even Alcatraz was getting a bit sick of it. He didn’t want to go too far, but for every second the Banzai Blasters were still standing, Alcatraz wanted to throw his punches even harder.

One well-aimed hit to his wrist caused Slim to drop his bat and forced him to fight with fists. He was more than over this. “Hey, Al! Get over here and give me a hand, would ya?” He shouted. Alcatraz looked at Cat Scratch, who politely took a step back to give him and Slim space to carry on, and did a bit of mental math. He decided that Cat Scratch was probably far enough away that he would have the time to give Slim a hand without risking them getting in harm’s way again.

He stopped pushing against the Banzai Blaster he was fighting, letting them fall as he dodged out of the way, and rushed over to Slim. The two linked arms, and in a flash of yellow light, Slim was.. gone?

The light dimmed down, and what had happened was a little clearer to see.

The two had fused together.

“YOU GUYS DIDN’T TELL ME YOU COULD DO THAT! WHAT THE HELL?!” Cat Scratch beamed, staring at the two with stars in their eyes. “Pretty cool trick, huh?” Slimcatraz picked up his bat and glanced at Cat Scratch over his shoulder. “Now, let’s get this over with. I’m real sick of this.” He groaned.

He readied his bat, and he swung. Maybe a little harder than he meant to. The metal bat collided with the Banzai Blasters’ heads each with a good THWACK! And the punks dropped to the ground. Cat Scratch winced just watching the force of the hit. Slimcatraz paused for a moment, then kneeled down, checking for a pulse on each victim.

They both had a pulse, much to Slimcatraz’s relief and annoyance.

“Let’s get you home.” He said, making his way to Cat Scratch and picking them up. “Where we headed?” He asked. “I dunno.. I don’t.. know where we are.. I’ll try to get the map on my phone working. I hope my mom doesn’t get mad at me for using the data..” Cat Scratch mumbled, fishing their phone out of their pocket. They put in the coordinates as Slimcatraz carried them out of the alley. “Okay, you’re gonna go down the road… that way. And then take a left onto Forrest street.” They explained.

“That’s a couple blocks down..” Slimcatraz murmured. “..Alright, let’s get goin’ then.” He sighed. He readjusted his hold on Cat Scratch, and Hollywood to make sure both wouldn’t slip, then started walking. Cat Scratch put their phone away for the time being, and leaned against Slimcatraz’s shoulder. “…Thanks, Slim.. Alcatraz… whoever you are. You get it.” They mumbled after a few minutes.

It was late.

Getting beat up took a lot out of them.

Before Slimcatraz could reply, he felt Cat Scratch go slack against him. Anxiety raced through him. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” He murmured.

Those Banzai Blasters didn’t rough Cat Scratch up that badly, did they? This kid did not just die on him, this kid did not just die on him, this kid did not just die on him…

He carefully dropped Hollywood Boulevard and changed how he was holding Cat Scratch so he could cradle them instead. And sure enough, they were perfectly fine.

Slimcatraz, on the other hand, was not. There was a sense of dissonance between each half of him. A mix of feelings, drastically different yet uncannily similar at the same time. “Slim..?” Alcatraz spoke softly. “..Yeah, Al?” Slim replied after a second.

“They fell asleep…”

“I know, Al.”

“In.. our arms..”

…

Slim did not reply after that. He knew his voice might grow unsteady if he tried. Because he knew. He knew this kid just fell asleep in his arms. He knew that this kid felt calm enough to fall asleep in his arms. He knew that for some god-forsaken reason, this kid trusted him to protect them so badly, and felt so safe around a god-damn serial killer, that they fell asleep in his arms.

He wanted to be upset. He wanted to be so pissed at them for their lack of self preservation.

But he was not.

He realized he couldn’t take them home. He didn’t know the rest of the way to their house, and he didn’t want to wake them up after they’d just fallen asleep.

He had another idea. He hoped they wouldn’t mind.

After a moment or two of awkward crouching, he managed to pick Hollywood Boulevard back up while keeping his grip on Cat Scratch.

Then, he kept walking.

When they got home, Slim and Alcatraz separated. They decided Slim would carry Cat Scratch into the apartment, just to make sure Alcatraz wouldn’t phase through them. Slim carried Cat Scratch to the couch, gently setting them down. Then he took his hat off and gently tossed it on the coffee table.

He was exhausted.

He needed to go sleep.

He started to head to his room, but he paused. He couldn’t help but notice the ugly scrape on the back of Cat Scratch’s elbow. He stilled, thinking for a moment.

He turned on a dim lamp on a small table beside the couch. Cat Scratch stirred a little, but they didn’t wake up. All of the scrapes and dirt stains on their clothes from being tossed to the ground were much clearer now. As Slim kneeled down and checked them over a bit, he realized there wasn’t much he could do about the stains. The scrapes, however…

He got up, and Alcatraz watched him curiously as he headed over to a closet and looked through it for a moment before reaching up and taking out a cloth. Then he headed into the kitchen and went to the sink, holding the cloth under the running water for a couple seconds before shutting the water off and wringing the cloth out so it wouldn’t drip.

He went back and kneeled in front of the couch again, carefully taking hold of Cat Scratch’s arm. His hands shook just slightly. With one, he gently held Cat Scratch’s arm still and with the other he carefully pressed the cloth against the scrape and started cleaning it. Cat Scratch stirred again, Alcatraz worried they might’ve even woken up a bit judging by the way they winced, but they soon relaxed again, and Slim continued. He repeated the process, gently cleaning every scrape he could find, having to get up and rinse the cloth every now and then until he got to the last scrapes.

He briefly dabbed the cut on their mouth just to make sure it wouldn’t get infected, then gently wiped at a cut on their cheek, deciding to clean off some dirt that had stuck to their cheek while he was at it.

Then he got up and pitched the cloth into the sink to be cleaned at a later time. He headed to his room, Alcatraz trailing behind to go to his own. They each had their own bedrooms for the sake of Alcatraz’s independence as a person, and so Slim could be away from him at least a little.

As Slim was about to go in his room, he paused.

“Hey, Al?”

“Yes, Slim?”

“…Thanks.”

And with that, he went to bed.

(Do you recognize the exchange in here? It’s from this thing I did and a short follow-up to it that I never posted!)

[gracifleur]

taking a moment to isolate the paldea era verse summary & expand a bit on it. considering that its going to be the most relevant verse for the moment considering. i will go into a bit of vague spoilers below, but the summary in quote is spoiler free.

dialga finds itself irritable, upset, & even sick--- a sign of time distortion forced by human hand somewhere in the world. as shea cares for her sibling her worries for their health & well being grows as dialga shows signs of it’s primal rage returning in it’s mysterious illness. asking the trio of the lake to stand & care for the deity of time as shea travels outside of sinnoh toward the paldea region after consulting with giratina if there are any distortions in the world outside of their own. in paldea she learns of a giant crater in the region’s center known as area zero that is forbidden to enter under any circumstance. convinced what lies there holds the answer to dialga’s sickness she decides to do a bit of recon, pretending to be a student of the famous naranja/uva academy( the default will be uva bc i like the color purple however this will fluctuate depending on the writing partner’s chosen/preferred school ) she sets off during the treasure hunt to find clues as to what could have happened in area zero & a way inside to confront professors turo & sada, those very clearly linked to the time-sickness effecting dialga. **this verse contains an original story based on shea’s lore & the events of the game.

all in all shea’s mission is to investigate the strange temporal happenings in paldea as the time distortions are causing ruptures in spacetime. for the moment only dialga is being effected & it’s causing them to be seriously ill & act irrationally almost to the point of anger or as if they are in pain. because of the manipulation of time outside of dialga’s control it holds a negative effect on them, giving them this space-time illness. its as if every time the time machine is used; it pulls from dialga in a way. however at current in this verse palkia has yet to show signs of any irritation or sickness, but if nothing is done about the connection to the creation trio, palkia is sure to star suffering the effects & then soon giratina.

it’s not just the deities being ill that is the issue-- if dialga keeps growing ill & angry, it’s likely they will become agitated to the point where they may enter a primal state( seen in PMD ) which could cause them to lash out & in doing so time itself will warp & endanger humanity which would set in motion the chain of events similar to times before where the deities of space & time had to be restrained. palkia would no doubt attack dialga in a effort to calm dialga down, giratina stepping in to try & control the two & thus history repeats.

for the time being however, shea is masquerading as a student in the academy & investigating both the current events that span the games, but the past as well--- the former researchers that went down to the crater & their discoveries. how does the difference in the time distortions then vs the ones now effect not only dialga but paldea as a whole, what changed & who is responsible. because of this she’s trying to hunt down the professors but also anyone who’ve worked with them in the past or current day.

[gallifrey1sburning]

Hi, I've seen your reply to jalesidor's post on how fandom becomes ever more important the more one realises how disappointing jkr is. In it, you spoke about how both Harry and Draco are queer-coded in canon. Would you mind to expand on that? Or if you already have, would you mind linking that post or the tag under which I can find it? Absolutely no pressure to do so, just if you like! Thank you!

Hi anon! Sorry for the delay in answering; I wanted to do the question justice. I could have thrown some stuff at you off the top of my head, but that didn’t feel right—at my core, I am a Ravenclaw, and I could not bring myself to half-ass this. (For those who haven’t seen the referenced post, you can find it here)

Before I get into my personal analysis, I want to note that there has been a lot of discourse on this topic over the years, so many of my ideas didn’t actually originate with me, they just got incorporated into my mental cache of HP analysis. If you search the tags “canon drarry” or “drarry in canon” or any variation thereon, you’ll get a bunch of posts where people pull excerpts and explain how extremely not heterosexual the things happening in them are. @iamnmbr3 in particular has written a ton of these (which I didn’t realize were all by the same person until I started trying to track them down!), a few favorites being Arthur Weasley clearly thinking Harry’s got a crush, this hilarious list of canonical interactions, Narcissa’s very accurate understanding of how aware Harry and Draco are of each other, and that time Harry got beaned in the head by luggage because he was watching Draco change. Others classics include when @big-draco-energy got an ask about how Harry assumed that Draco must be a Death Eater if he was preoccupied enough to not care about their rivalry (and was right) and when @northward had a great observation about their obsessions with each other.

Seriously, this scene, y’all!

Possibly the most quoted line in Drarry fandom

And now, on to my own thoughts!

So first off, I want to say that some of the things that I’m going to flag as unintentional queer coding are rooted in stereotypes, and that that doesn’t mean that I believe in or condone said stereotypes. However, media often uses stereotyping as a lazy shorthand, and I think that that should be taken into account in this context, because it means there’s a reasonable assumption that people would interpret some character traits and scenes through that lens.

Secondly, so much credit to my amazing friend @mxmaneater, who actually HAS A FOLDER of photos of super gay moments from the books, which saved me a lot of time trying to dig up quotes that I knew existed but wouldn’t have been able to easily track down.

And finally, these are my personal interpretations. I’m not any sort of academic, and we’re all aware that JKR does not believe that she wrote Harry or Draco as queer. I’m hoping folks can be chill and take this in the spirit that it’s intended: as one possible reading. Your beliefs about the series and the characters are your own, and I’m not here to tell you you’re wrong just because they aren’t mine, so please extend me the same courtesy!

Now, without further ado, here we go:

Let’s start with Harry, because that’s the easier lift here. The Harry Potter books are written from a third person limited perspective, which means we only see things from Harry’s point of view and are privy to his thoughts. I can’t find a link, but I know that it’s widely quoted that JKR at some point used the fact that the books are from Harry’s perspective as justification for the ways in which some people or events were portrayed. The answers on this Quora post about pro-Gryffindor bias in the books do a good job of explaining the idea of Harry’s point of view skewing the point of view of the series.

So if we accept that the books reflect Harry’s thoughts and feelings about things, we’re left with the unmistakable fact that he frequently observes how handsome various boys and men are. We have physical descriptions of Cedric Diggory, Bill Weasley, Sirius Black, and even Tom Riddle that clearly illustrate admiration. Additionally, although it’s largely unflattering, it’s often noted amongst fans that we get full physical descriptions of Draco extremely regularly—we know his hair and eye color pretty much from the get go and hear about them often, as well as his outfits, his swagger, his smirking and ‘leering’ (yes, she really uses that word), etc.

Some very heterosexual observations on men from the perspective of one Harry James Potter

Sure, Harry never explicitly says he’s into men, but let’s keep in mind the time period the books were placed in and the type of family that Harry was raised by: there is a very real chance that Harry wouldn’t have been aware of the idea of bisexuality and therefore would never have questioned his own orientation. Because he knew he liked girls, so of course he wasn’t gay! To many folks who later realized they were some form of not-straight, particularly bisexual and/or pansexual folks, this is a pretty common experience: not really registering that checking out people of multiple genders is not actually something that everyone does. *Stares vaguely into the distance while pondering all of the girls I didn’t realize I was crushing on until many years later*

Plus, as I’ve mentioned before, there’s the symbolism of the whole ‘literally being raised in a closet, abused for being a ‘freak’, and forced to keep his truth a secret because the people he lived with were ashamed of him’ thing. To queer people raised by homophobes (or anyone who knew people in that situation), this isn’t even the slightest bit subtle, and the fact that JKR either didn’t notice or is in denial about it is truly bizarre to me.

Draco is a little harder to pin down without delving into stereotyping, so I’m just gonna go for it: Draco is a textbook Drama Gay™. He’s performative in his speech, using a lot of flamboyant gestures; he constantly performs over the top reenactments for his friends; he makes buttons and sews costumes and does drawings and generally just goes through a lot of effort to pick on his ‘rival’. The only scenes where we see him in something that could be read as a heterosexual romantic relationship are with Pansy Parkinson, whom he doesn’t seem remotely interested in; she reads more like a prop that he puts up with to project a particular image. Also, at one point we see him flopped across her lap to have his hair pet, which is definitely a thing that I remember happening during rehearsals back when I was involved in high school theater (and almost never by people with compatible orientations).

And then there’s this scene:

Someone once made a post about just how gay this whole thing is: pointedly grabbing the biggest bowtruckle, whispering in Harry’s ear, smirking over his shoulder while walking away, etc. (If anyone can find it, please send me the link and I’ll add it to the list of other people’s thoughts that contributed to all of this.)

So, that’s what I’ve got for you! Someone could probably write a whole research paper on this (and hell, maybe they have), but hopefully this at least somewhat explains my assertions of queer coding. As a reward for reading all of this, please enjoy a bonus scene of Harry NOT being attracted to a man:

Poor Ron. Maybe next time, buddy.

[stormblessed95]

How did I just found out that jimin is afraid of butterflies because someone put a butterfly in his underwear when he was young lol 😂

Okay.... so I spent the morning looking into this and I'm starting to think it isn't true...

I had also never heard of this before, which definitely doesn't mean it doesn't exist, but I of course then had to go looking for an original source of WHERE Jimin said this. And if someone can provide that and prove me wrong, PLEASE DO. But as of now, I don't think there is one. I can't find a single instance of Jimin saying he is scared of butterflies, much less because someone put one in his pants when he was little while in an arboretum like I keep seeing people state as "random jimin facts" on Twitter or online articles. Which is ALL I CAN FIND. lmao no actual quotes or links to where Jimin himself has said this. I even asked @wingzie for help, she couldn't find it either.. The earliest instance we can find of people talking about it is from Dec 2016:

But again.... no source....

Lots of people again started talking about this supposed fact on 170321 on twitter.... but again, no sources. And the only thing BTS did that day was their show in Brazil, and subsequent tweets after their show thanking B-armys for coming. And Teen Vogue dropped an interview that day as well. But not a single mention of butterflies in that interview either

The other times I'm seeing people talk about it is in reference to Jimins storyline in the BU. Spectaculting that his fictional flower arboretum trauma in the BU was perhaps drawn from inspiration from real life fears of his.

Wouldn't be the first time people took fictional BU storylines and got them confused with real life facts for the Tannies unfortunately... lol

The last thing people reference in regards to this butterfly fear is from Rookie King in 2013. When Jimin got the end plate punishment and the members then got to hit him with a fly swatter where they placed fake little butterfly/bugs. Which they teasingly flew around him as he squirmed before picking their spots. But if we are honest, the squirming or "fear" could easily have been from the members pinning him to a table and trying to pull his shirt up to smack him wherever they wanted. I too, would be trying to run away from people hitting me on the stomach and face. Lmfao which would have had nothing to do with the butterflies

Seriously that was a lot of wandering hands and threatening fly swatters flying. Lmao I think the members glee over the punishments were more "frightening" then the fake butterflies or whatever they were 🤣

Plus Jimin picked cute little fake butterfly tattoos for his 2018 summer package shoot that he did. Which is odd for someone who had a fear of them. Maybe?

SO AGAIN, I just don't think this is true. 🤷🏻‍♀️ lol just one of those rumors that no one checked and ended up becoming "fact." Since it can't be found as an original quote and it can't even be backtracked by a date... it's likely not actually true. But if someone does have a source for this, please share and I'll correct myself!

[applcrumbl]

MotorMouth

Chapter One:Dealing out D20s

Pairings:  Eddie Munson X OC (Valerie Lipton) Warnings: Canon Divergence, Drug Dealing, Adult Language, Marijuana, Ketamine, Character Death, Depictions of Death Author's Note:  Hi! here's the first chapter of my newest fic; Motor Mouth! It is also uploaded on my AO3 and my Wattpad if you'd prefer to read it there. Both can be found under the user @applcrumbl. I hope you enjoy it, any feedback, comments, reblogs etc. are greatly appreciated. Happy Reading!

Summary: Valerie and Eddie are like two peas in a pod. If one pea always had to be right, and the other just witnessed a murder.

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The racket of bickering and general chatter interrupted Valerie’s walkman.

‘Great King Rat’ by Queen drained from her ears as she ate her lunch at the cafeteria table. Her friends; a group of boys ranging from age 15 to 20; listen in practical disgust as the eldest of the bunch, and therefore dubbed ‘the leader’ reads aloud from a copy of Newsweek Showdown.

Eddie Munson rants poetically, in a deep voice;

“Dungeons and Dragons; at first regarded as a harmless game of make-believe, now has both parents and psychologists concerned.” He quotes, "Studies have linked violent behaviour to the game, saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even… Murder."

A loud, almost demonic, cackle from the boys beside her as Eddie leans back in his chair, bumping into someone as they walk behind him. “Watch it, Freak” the boy states, continuing his journey down the cafeteria. Eddie goes to retaliate, but a sharp look from Valerie keeps him in his chair.

Eddie Munson may be the leader of ‘The Hellfire Club’. He may be the most influential in his small group of friends. but at the end of the day, whether he could admit it or not, Valerie Lipton was the one in charge.

“Society has to blame something.” Says Ricky, a large boy who sits at the table's edge “We're an easy target.”

“Exactly.” Eddie agrees, arms folded and with a pissed-off stare. Valerie can almost sense what's to come next. “We're the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game.”

In one fell swoop, Eddie is on the table, storming it down like he owned the place. Valerie moves her tray away from the landing of Eddie’s feet. It happened often enough that she grew used to it. The typical ‘fuck the patriarchy’ speech of her best friend rang through the large hall.

“But as long as you're into band or science,” Eddie sneers, “or parties, or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!”

His calls are interrupted as Valerie pulls on Eddie’s jean leg. A silent plea for him to sit back down as a reply is yelled. Jason Carver, the renowned golden boy of Hawkins High calls over, “ You want something, freak?” And naturally, Eddie replies; tongue far out past his teeth, and hands up the side of his head like horns. Very classy, Valerie thought, returning to her cold potatoes.

Eddie struts his way back up the table and to his original seat, ”It's forced conforming. That's what's killing the kids!” He shouts, leaning into the face of a random bystander. Valerie finds herself almost apologising for his behaviour. “That's the real monster.”

She never particularly felt bothered by Eddie’s flamboyant personality before, In fact, she wasn't even really bothered by it now. But, just sometimes, she wished for a nice quiet lunch with her friends. One where she didn’t feel like an outcast from the outcast group because she didn't sport one of their matching club shirts.

Valerie was not a DnD player, and she never would be. She was simply a colleague of Eddie’s. A friend of Eddie’s, who just wanted to sell her drugs and eat her lunch in peace. A snowball’s chance in hell of that happening, however, as one half of The Hellfire Club's newest duo speaks.

“So, uh, speaking of monsters, uh, Lucas has to do his, uh, balls-in-laundry-baskets game. So,” Dustin chuckles, a scared tone to his words, “He's not gonna be able to make it to Hellfire tonight. And I know there's no way we can beat your sadistic campaign without him.”

Valerie’s ears perk up, this won’t be good, she thinks.

“So, me and Mike, we were talking, shooting the shit, and we were thinking that maybe we might…” He trails,

“Postpone.” Mike finishes.

She was right.

“Postpone?” The group yells, a chorus of “You can't just drop this on us!” and “Over my dead body.” as they spoke over each other in protest.

“Shut up!” Eddie yells, thinking.

The boys fall silent, Gareth scrunching his face up in anger. Valerie talks before anyone else has the chance.

“Can't you just find a sub?”

The heads of the table snap to her, each displaying different emotions. Eddie’s brown eyes bore deepest of all. “I don’t see what the problem is?” She shrugs.

“The problem?” Eddie says, calmly, “You-you're joking right?”

“Are you?”

Her question is left unanswered as Eddie continues, addressing the two youngest boys “Can I level with you? Jeff graduates this year. Gareth's got, what? A year and a half?” He starts, “Me, I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms. O'Donnell's. If I don't blow her final, I'm gonna walk that stage next month, I'm gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I'm gonna flip him the bird, I'm gonna snatch that diploma. I'm gonna run like hell outta here.”

"Didn't you say that last year?” Gareth asks,

“And the year before?” Jeff replies,

“Yeah, he did, and he was full of shit” Valerie finishes, “My bet is that next year, they might consider just letting him go.”

The boys laugh, as Eddie stands behind Valerie. His hands were heavy on her shoulders, “This year's different.”

Valerie rolls her eyes, She’d heard it all of her life. How that year was going to be Eddie’s year until he failed 3 semesters in a row and remained a Senior at Hawkins High for the third year. “This year is my year. I can feel it. '86, baby.”

“Can you get to your point, Eddie? Or are you gonna answer my question?” Valerie interjects.

“I don't even care to remember what your question was”

“Why can’t they just find someone to sub for Sinclair?”

“This is the cult of Vecna, Val.” He deadpans, acting as if that meant something to her.

“Yeah, Okay?” She questions, “you need 6 players to defeat this Vecnan guy, so just find a 6th player?”

The boy scoffs, the rest of the group growing silent. “It’s Vecna” Eddie states, sliding into the empty seat next to her. Full body faced into hers, he splays the fingers of his right hand onto the table. “We can't just find another player.” He stresses.

“Why not Ed? Seems to me like your options are to postpone, or to find a sub?”

It's a completely valid point, the rest of the boys all know that. And Dustin and Mike are already considering asking Valerie to be their 6th member. At this point, she may even have said yes. Gave it a go, and learnt on the job. But Eddie is an extremely hotheaded guy, and Valerie, as stubborn as a mule.

“Do you know nothing?” Eddie spits, hands flying in the air, “Just fucking stay out of this, you don't even play DnD”

It's condescending. It hurts her feelings. It’s almost designed to.

She stands quickly, despite the protests of Jeff next to her. “Look he didn’t mean it”

“No, Jeff, I think he did. So I will,” Valerie spits back, “Enjoy your game.”

Leaning to the floor she grabs her bookbag, swinging it around her back as she resumes the song on her walkman. She gives Eddie no time to say a word before she’s out of the cafeteria.

“Dude,” Gareth scolds, as Eddie sits back down. “It’s actually a pretty good idea,”

“Yeah I know,” Eddie admits, Picking at the cuffs of his leather jacket. “What do you guys think?”

The boys nod in agreement with Gareth, and Eddie kisses his own teeth. “And this is why you guys are the future of Hellfire.” He huffs, “Henderson, Wheeler, go and hunt down some wandering souls”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Eddie wanders from the cafeteria and to his locker. The same locker that he’d had since 1980. It was amongst a bunch of sophomores, His original graduating class had come and gone a long time ago. Eddie didn’t mind however, It was more time able to be spent with Valerie. Even if he wasn’t the type to admit it.

Inputting the combination a note falls to his feet. He recognises the loopy handwriting almost immediately.

He stuffs the note into his pocket, not careful to hide the annoyance he felt. They were supposed to be a team, why was she pinning all of the work on him? And over a stupid argument, Eddie slams his locker door shut, picking up his metal lunchbox from its place beside his feet. He kicks open the fire exit door and makes his way across the field to the woods.

Valerie and Eddie made drug deals wherever, It was no secret that they did so. Baggies of white substances slipped into palms, but never before the cash was counted. Hallways, locker rooms, even once in the queue for confession. The usual spot was a rotted picnic bench on the outskirts of the forest beside Hawkins High. It was secluded enough that nobody would bother you but easy enough to find when stoned out your mind.

Chrissy Cunningham, Reigning Queen of Hawkins High and girlfriend to the aforementioned Jason Carver, was the last person you’d expect to be at that spot. Her hands bunched into her sleeves. She was short anyhow, but her current unsettled stature made her look smaller than usual. She practically jumped out of her skin when Eddie arrived.

“Whoa, hey, hey, hey. Sorry,” He chuckles, holding his hands up in defence “Didn't mean to scare you. You okay?”

Chrissy catches her breath as Eddie places his box on the table, it clatters loudly and she flinches. “Where’s Val?” She asks, “I was supposed to meet her?”

“Uh yeah, she couldn’t make it” Eddie raises his eyebrows, taking in Chrissy’s demeanour, “There's nothing to worry about. Okay? Val and I are partners, she left a note”

Eddie fishes the loose leaf of paper from his pocket, It is significantly more crumpled than it began, he slides it over to Chrissy as he sits across from her. “No one ever comes out here. We're safe. I promise.”

“So, how does this work exactly?” The blonde cheerleader asks, reading the note in Valerie’s handwriting.

“Oh, just like any other old sale, except, uh, cash only, and, uh, for obvious reasons, no receipts.” He smiles, “I'll do you a half ounce for, uh... 20. What do you say? Plenty of bang for your buck. Should last a while.”

Chrissy gasps, head snapping to the sound of scurrying. A squirrel runs of a nearby tree. Eddie has seen paranoia in all forms, He’s probably felt it too, but he’s never seen an edge like Chrissy teetered on right now. “Hey, we don’t need to do this. You can make another deal with Val later, or Just give me the word and I’ll walk.” He offers, removing the lunchbox from the table. He places it beside him, the large gap between his hips and the edge of the bench. Valerie’s usual spot.

“No, it’s fine.” Chrissy interjects, “I just thought I could talk to Val about something. People say she’s understanding of stuff”

“You can talk to me? I mean only if you want to?” Eddie offers, “Val talks to me about her problems all the time, I think I'm actually quite helpful-”

“It's just” She begins, Big blue-lidded eyes trained on the wood of the table, “Do you ever feel like you're losing your mind?”

He takes a second to understand her hushed words, before breathing out an answer.

“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” Eddie chuckles, “I feel like I'm losing my mind right now doing a drսg deal with Chrissy Cunningham, the queen of Hawkins High.”

He was also losing his mind over the fact that for the first time, Valerie wasn’t right beside him as he did so.

“Really?” she asks, Valerie’s note in hand as she fiddled with the edges of the paper. A nervous habit, “Honestly I never thought I’d be at a drug deal with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson”

It stung a little, but Eddie knew she didn’t mean it in that way. She didn’t seem the type. “Sorry, I don’t mean it like I think you're a freak” She clarifies, “You’re just not what I thought you’d be”

“Mean and Scary?” Eddie guesses, “Yeah, well, I actually kinda thought you'd be kinda mean and scary too.”

“I get that a lot actually,” Chrissy giggles, “but there are a lot of things that people don’t know about me,”

“Yeah? Like what?”

The paper in Chrissy’s hand rips before she can answer. She apologises profusely, to which Eddie only shrugs, “It’s a piece of paper, you’re fine.”

She unfurls the curled edge, reading its words again. “What’s your campaign?” She asks

“Oh, just something that Hellfire Club are doing tonight. I’d invite you, but it's during the big game.”

“Is it shitty?” Chrissy questions, referring to the words on Valerie’s note, Eddie shakes his head no.

“She’s just mad at me right now,” He smirks, “Really likes to rub it in when she is”

Chrissy nods, a knowing expression on her face. She looks up at Eddie with her eyes, “I’m sure it’s great. She’ll be missing out”

Eddie smiles at her, taking his lunchbox from the seat and opening it back up on the table. “Uh, so, in good news for you, flattery works with me,” He begins, “Twenty-five percent discount for the half. Fifteen bucks”

The girl looks from the bag of green buds to the tin box, and then finally up to Eddie. She contemplates silently

“You're robbing me blind here,” He adds, shaking the bag in her face slightly

“Do you have anything maybe stronger?” Chrissy asks, eyes pleading, and filled with an emotion that Eddie recognised all too well. Fear.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Valerie had skipped her last 2 classes of the day, electing to go home immediately after lunch instead of attending Art and History. Arguably her two favourite subjects. She was pissed and wanted to let Eddie know it.

Arguments and bickering were not unheard of between them, they happened on the regular. Eddie would say something dumb, Valerie would react - usually accordingly - and they would have forgotten the matter by the next day. A movie and a Pizza at Eddie’s trailer act as a catalyst to the rekindling of their friendship each time. But, this time was different, Eddie had actually hurt Val’s feelings.

A strong believer in an 'it's not what you say, it's how you say it’ attitude, Valerie could forget what Eddie said, but she could not forgive the way it was meant. Mean to hurt her. She sat alone at home, watching reruns of ‘I Love Lucy’ on her dad’s beat-up old VCR. A ceramic bowl of popcorn lay on the sofa next to her, and hoards of unpopped kernels litter the cushioned suite. Valerie’s head rests on her clenched fist as she impassively eyeballs the television.

The phone on the side table rings loudly, rattling in its plastic brown hold. Valerie didn’t even attempt to answer it, she knew exactly who was calling.

Eddie stood at the school’s public phone box. Ringing the same number down to the last quarter in his pocket. Valerie refusing to answer. He left a voice message instead.

“Hey Val, It’s Eddie. I know you’re home”

Valerie rolled her eyes, shovelling more popcorn into her mouth.

“Has Rick got any K around? Not for me, I’ve got a deal after the game. Are you still coming to that? I hope you still come to that. Uh- Anyways, you can just bring it over to mine whenever. 2 Grams should do it, she never actually said how much she wanted-”

Eddie’s voice is interrupted by the beeping of the payphone, a shrill voice asking him to insert more money into the slot.

“Shit, I got no more money V, but I’ll see you tonight. At Hellfire? And please remember the Special K-”

The dial tone beeps as the phone hangs up. Valerie still remains in her position. Hitting play on the DVR once again.

Eddie throws the receiver against the plastic wall of the phonebooth. The girl in the booth next to him flinches, and Eddie mumbles an unenthusiastic ‘sorry’ before entering the school again. He makes his way to the drama classroom, preparing the table for the finale of his campaign. “The Cult of Vecna awaits” he muses as Gareth, Ricky and Jeff enter.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Absolutely not.” Eddie protests, staring down at Dustin and Mike. He shakes his head in disagreement.

"You asked for a sub. We delivered.” Dustin claims, “We would’ve asked Valerie but someone pissed her off”

Eddie ignores Dustin’s remark, “This is Hellfire Club. Not Babysitting Club.”

The sub in question? 11-year-old, Erica Sinclair. Tiny in stature but absolutely not in might.

"So this is Sinclair's infamous sister.” Eddie chuckles to himself.

“He's sharp.” Erica bites back, she reminds him of Valerie as Gareth and Jeff laugh beside him. The chucking ceases with a sharp look from Eddie. “Must get all the ladies”

Eddie licks his teeth, holding back defensive words about how Hellfire Club gets ‘plenty of girls’. It isn’t exactly true in the first place but the lack of Valerie’s appearance that night fueled his steadfast refusal to even try not to argue.

“What's your class and level?” He demands, “Level one dwarf?”

It’s a sight that Valerie would have loved witnessing, her big-headed best friend having his ass handed to him by a sassy pre-teen. “My name is Lady Applejack. And I'm a chaotic good half-elf rogue, level 14.” Erica explains, “I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonizing death.”

She pauses a moment, almost granting them the space to try and talk back. Nobody takes it, and so she continues; “So, we gonna do this, or we gonna keep chitchatting like this is your mommy's book club?”

The boys look at their dungeon master expectantly, and Eddie smiles at the young girl.

“Welcome to Hellfire.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The newest member and now asset to their small DnD team rolls her final dice. It tumbles down the board and stops near Eddie. It’s all very cinematic to the boys and Erica, though if Valerie were there she wouldn’t be the least bit impressed. The twenty-sided dice lands with its largest number facing up. ​

”Crit Hit!” Erica shouts as the group celebrates around her. Eddie jumps from his seat in shock and admiration. The sheer odds of the group coming close to winning were low, let alone destroying Vecna in his midst with one roll. The boys jump excitedly, cheering and screaming with one another.

Eddie turns to his left, prepared to celebrate with his best friend but is interrupted by the gruelling fact that she didn’t show up. He swallows the bad taste in his throat and turns his attention to the group. Eddie bows, arms sweeping across the board as he submits his loss to the players. Quickly gathering his things and exiting through the back door of the drama studio.

Chrissy meets him at his van 10 minutes later, cheer uniform and high pony still intact. She asks again where Valerie is, and Eddie does not answer.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

When he arrives at his trailer, the front porch is empty and the interior lights are off. Valerie isn’t there. He laughs to himself in almost disbelief, before leading Chrissy inside his small home.

“This is my castle,” Eddie introduces, jokingly “Sorry for the mess. Uh, the maid took the week off.”

Chrissy just smiles in response, clearly still on edge about something.. “I uh, I asked Val to be here but obviously she hasn’t shown.” He coughs, scratching an itch on his temples “which is weird, But I’m sure she’ll have left some Vitamin K somewhere”

Eddie drops to his knees, rifling through a cabinet. He pulls out a tin of Altoids. Empty. “Shit” he whispers.

“You’re sure you have it?” Chrissy says, unconvinced.

“Yeah, Val is always leaving shit here.” He promises, “it’s quite annoying actually. Uh- take a seat, I’ll check in the back”

Eddie continues his search through his trailer. Wandering up to his bedroom, he swings through the doorframe.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart” he jokes to his guitar, caressing its strings softly as it hangs, pride of place, in the centre of his mirror.

He crosses to the dresser beside his bed, digging through the top left drawer. Valerie’s drawer. Full of miscellaneous rolling papers, a lighter, and spare underwear, Eddie wondered when the fuck she moved in. Not that he minded in the slightest. Digging through the items of lace and cotton, he tried his hardest not to pay any mind. Instead focusing his attention on retrieving the small, teal, plastic box at the back of the drawer.

It was very obviously not his, contrasting the dark and grungy interior of Eddie’s room. He opened the sparkly receptacle and retrieved the small powdered baggie from inside. Eddie kissed it enthusiastically, “Thank you Valerie, and your drug supplier dad.” he whispers to himself, before tucking everything back into the drawer.

“Found it,” Eddie calls through to Chrissy, “peaceful bliss, just moments away”

Ironic, however, as when he reentered the main living space, he found Chrissy. As still as a rock, eyes blinking rapidly and unresponsive. He called her name, waving his hands in front of her face. What the fuck? He thought.

“Hey, Chrissy, wake up.” He quivered, “Hey. Hello? Chrissy. Hello?”

When he received no answer, he began shaking her, desperately. Barely even noticed the surging pulse of every light in his trailer going haywire.

He had his hands on her shoulder when she began to rise. Higher and higher until she hovered in the middle of the air. A foot and a half off of the ground. Suddenly, she was shot into the roof of the trailer, arms and legs spread wide against the ceiling.

Eddie fell back in shock and fear. Wide eyes unbelieving of what was happening in front of him. Eyes unwanting to believe what was happening in front of him. Chrissy’s body tensed, as she vibrated in the air. Energy pulsing through the living room.

Her arms snap, and her legs. Breaking in places Eddie didn’t even realise could break. Her jaw clicked violently to the side, mouth wide open as it broke. Blood seeps from her eyes and ears. Eddie screamed as Chrissy’s milky white eyes burst.

In a panic Eddie pushes himself from the floor, grabbing the keys to his van he scampers to it quickly. Unable to catch his breath as he sped from the scene. He had no clue what was going on, not even a general grasp of the situation. Any inkling of an understanding was out of the picture as he barrelled down the road like a hot rod, ignoring every red light and stop sign. Eddie didn’t know much about his current indictment, but he did know that he needed to get to Valerie’s House, and fast.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

[korasonata]

So, the original plan was to do these quotes until Joe and Cleo finished their models, which was half accomplished during this stream (yay Cleo!). Question is should I still continue these after Joe has finished his model, or have we had enough now? Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model stream part 7! Link to the video is below and time stamps are above each set of quotes!

Link: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1155955572

—

00:32:05

Joe: This is our weekly paper craft stream. I’m joined today by ZombieCleo, who you can find at—

Cleo: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!

Joe: — twitch.tv/zombiecleo. You don’t need to type the “hi” in the middle. Although it is adorable, and so I wouldn’t blame you.

—

00:56:25

Cleo (in response to someone saying they like Hershey’s chocolate): I mean you can like the chocolate. It’s ok to be wrong. It’s fine. You know, you can—

Joe: A certain amount of the other person being wrong is to be expected in any relationship.

Cleo: Yeah! Look at my relationship with you, Joe.

Joe: Yeah, I mean we’re— we’re off the charts for that.

—

01:01:15

Joe (changing into his chroma green tank top): We can’t have people seeing my torso.

Cleo: Oh you know, yeah you— you are a cryptid.

—

01:02:04

Joe (doing a face camera expansion): these chains I’ve forged in life are about to begin pulling me down to the deep below! Enter the Jhoooooooost!

Cleo: Can I just point out that “life” was very southern. At that point. (Heavy southern accent) Life.

Joe (heavy southern accent): Life.

Cleo: Laaaaaffe

Joe: Liiiiife *both laughing* These chains I’ve forged in—

Both: laaaaffe!!

Joe (heavy twang): Pullin’ me daaan to the deep behlooow!

—

01:07:16

Cleo (in response to Joe having a laughing fit): And that is one of the rare times where Joe has a complete, absolute giggle fit on stream

Joe (still laughing): Ok I’m sorry, but “puritans go home” is the best thing to put on anything worth— ok im gonna start making a— ok. (Serious) Im gonna start making an actual checklist cause, um, (actually writing down a checklist of things he’s taking to his parents for thanksgiving) ok thanks—giving twenty twenty—one. Ok so, salad cream.

Cleo: *wheezing*

Joe (reading list): “Puritans go Home” icing on pie…Um, you know let’s just throw iron brew in there. Why not! Irn-Bru and vodka!

Cleo (laughing): Sure! Why not!

Joe: Yeah. Well, so, my maternal grandmother was Scottish and—

Cleo: oh I’m sorry.

Joe: —so I think my mom would get a kick out of Irn-Bru. As like “oh! Here’s something from the old country!”

Cleo: *physically wheezing* from the old country!

—

01:29:43

Joe: Oh, it’s really fun. Did you know that a bunch of people on Tumblr care a lot about how tall each of us are?

Cleo: Yeah. Yeah.

Joe: Yeah, oh man I’ve been spreading information and taking weird height pictures with people at conventions for years. It’s like— *Cleo laughing* I’ll intentionally like stand on things or like, uh, or like stand in such a way that you can’t tell I’m crouching, so people are like “Ok, so Joe’s like taller than Bdubs but shorter than, uh, like— Stress or something. It’s like how does that happen?!” *trying not to laugh* Because I’m screwing with you.

—

01:31:11

Joe: See that’s the thing is— is sometimes people think things are about power. I think they’re just about being obnoxious.

Cleo: I mean, you think most things are about being obnoxious which is why it’s a power move for you. Cause being obnoxious is your power move. It’s where you’ve got the most power, Joe.

Joe: Hm, that makes sense.

Cleo: Sometimes I do. I try not to when I’m with you, because— it’s easier.

Joe: Yeah. You don’t wanna give me any actual like workab— or usable intelligence.

—

01:42:47

Joe (reading chat): I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season one— yeah. That was only like 10 years ago though.

Cleo: I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season 2.

Joe: Yay Cleo!

Cleo: Which was only because Joe asked me to come on, or pu— vouched for me.

Joe (genuine): Well I am glad you joined.

Cleo: I mean I was— I was at the point where I was just like “is this what I wanna do for the rest of my life? Should I just go full ham into teaching?” And, uh, then you made that offer and I thought “well, I’ll see how it goes”. And it did quite well for me. So…you know.

Joe (quietly): I am so glad

Cleo: You are the reason why I’m still doing Minecraft content.

—

01:44:19

Joe (reading chat): Attasked says “Only you can judge whether you’re hot” no plenty of people can tell I’m hot, Graved. It’s— pretty blatantly obvious. You don’t— you don’t have to be good at judging to be able to tell. Like, that’s not an only me thing.

—

02:00:54

Cleo: You ever have those moments where you’re just questioning your choices in life?

Joe: *having a breakdown* Moments!

Cleo: *cackling*

Joe (through tears): I’m sorry, you’re just the best Cleo.

Cleo: *laughing, but genuine* Awe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to depress you today!

Joe: No it’s— *inaudible sobbing* Today—

Cleo: *dying*

Joe (quietly to himself): Is this is frame? Sorry, I was cutting this out of frame. My bad.

Cleo (still laughing): I like how everyone’s just sort of gone quiet and gone “…is Joe ok?”

Joe: nOO!!!

Cleo: We’ve established that Joe is not ok.

Joe: But I’m really good at it!

Cleo: *spitting out her drink*

—

01:49:52

Joe: Let’s go down the Mississippi, Cleo.

Cleo: I mean, that I think we could probably do. Let’s go down the Mississippi, Joe.

Joe: yay!

Cleo: On a flimsy raft.

Joe: Yeah, we can actually— there’s a lot nicer boats now though. Like—

Cleo: I mean— yeah, but do we— do— you know…it’s the Huckleberry Finn experience.

Joe: I mean, here’s the thing, is if you actually came here and I was like “Cleo, let’s go to the Mississippi River and go down the river a few miles”. I think you’d be more likely to actually say yes if I had an actual boat lined up than if I had a flimsy raft.

Cleo (excited): If it— if it— if it makes you feel better, I— I would do the flimsy raft. Like, hands down. It seems more fun.

Joe (realizing that she’s serious): I— you say that, but I don’t think you’ve seen the Mississippi River. Like, the problem is it’s full of these giant barges these days, the wakes of which would just throw your raft over.

Cleo (dead serious): I can swim.

Joe (attempting to compromise, completely lost as to how he has somehow managed to be the voice of reason): Ok…Alternatively we can go down a smaller river…In a raft…

—

02:04:43

Joe: Sorry, I’ll stop monologuing. Uh, but yeah sorry I was in the process of—

Cleo: I’LL STOP MONOLOGUING! Yeah, yeah that’s gonna happen.

Joe: yeah, I’ll- I’ll say I’m gonna stop monologuing and I’ll warn you that-

Cleo: And then he just continues

Joe: -that Cleo you should probably be ready to start talking sometime in the next 8-12 minutes.

—

02:15:26

Joe: Oh, I need to get a green screen suit jacket. Um, I realized. Cause I got the green screen, um, uh dress shirt. That I wear under existing suits, but I don’t have an actual like green screen suit.

Cleo: I— I am always amused by your definition of “need”

Joe: My definition of what?

Cleo: Need.

Joe: Need.

Cleo: I need a green suit.

Joe: Ok, I’m sorry Cleo, the people need me to get a green suit.

—

02:30:23

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe-Getters and Go-Getters” yeah, Joe’s not a Go-Getter, he’s a Joe-Getter. Which is infinitely worse.

Joe: You say being a Joe-Getter is infinitely worse, but you also frequently lament that you get me. So, maybe you’re a Joe-Getter. Have you considered that?

Cleo: I am a Joe-Getter. I do get you, Joe. Which is terrible. It’s— It’s a trauma, actually Joe, I’ll have you know.

Joe: Yeah, comprehend me and despair, Cleo.

Cleo: I looked too deep into the abyss. The Joe-byss, sorry.

Joe: Thank you, yeah we’ve got a brand. Always be branding.

Cleo: *giggling* A.B.B. - Always Be Branding.

Joe: That’s not an infinite void of despair. That’s an infinite void of—

Both: Joe’s despair.

—

02:34:31

Joe: Let’s just leave it at don’t push me off a roof. Like *laughing* I feel like anything I could add to that would undermine the overall theme of just encouraging people to not do that.

Cleo: Um, let me put it like this. I always had the capacity. Always. But! I never acted on it, Joe.

Joe: Mhm, yeah thank you.

Cleo: …yet…I’ll try not to.

Joe: Yeah. And— and also keep in mind Cleo, I mean, given, you know, how well we’ve managed to work together over the last decade. Even if you did push me or throw me off a roof. *grinning* What makes you think that you’re not coming with me?

Cleo (slightly proud): That felt like a threat. It felt like a threat. I’m not gonna lie.

Joe (through giggles): Yeah, that was the, like— I spent 90 seconds figuring out how to revise that so is it was not blatantly like a violent threat.

Cleo: I mean…yeah, I think— I think— I think between the tw— it— it’s a mutual aggression pact at this point.

—

02:51:53

Cleo (holding up seemingly two identical pictures of turret towers): Am I— am I going actually insane? Are they not…the same turret?

Joe (examining pages on screen): …y—you know there might be…subtle differences that, uh, a— you know, skilled crafts person would find unavoidably blatant. Um…I make no such claim Cleo.

Cleo: Good, because, you know…trauma…Yours, not mine.

Joe: *laughing* yeah I was gonna say. Trauma as a verb. I’m just gonna trauma you.

Cleo: *laughing* I’m gonna trauma you so hard right now.

Joe: Yeah, if you don’t calm down and agree with me.

Cleo: If you don’t agree with me, that’s— that’s your mistake.

—

03:38:48

Cleo (about authors): just be careful who you like and just recognize the faults in any media that you do like. Just don’t imagine that everything’s perfect, because it’s not. Just be open to the fact it’s not perfect.

Joe: The only perfect media is YouTube videos produced by ZombieCleo.

Cleo: Fact.

—

04:00:34

(Having finished her model)

Cleo (tiredly): No booshes. No booshes. I know it’s got places for booshes, but I don’t want to do booshes because…there’s a limit.

Joe (currently in the United States): Yeah. Well, now you can come over here and help me Cleo, is what chat’s saying.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: Go help Joe hold this stuff he can’t glue.

Cleo (Currently in England): Hang on, hang on. *rummaging on desk* What do you need? I’ve got lots of things, what do you need?

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter two rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Moving and finding an apartment can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re you, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it.

Your dad dropped dead three weeks after you told Andy you were moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of you trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. You doubted you’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for you. As his only child, you got his apartment in Queens and all his smelly hoodies.

You said your goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. You had originally moved there after high school to start your show, The L/n Report. San Francisco was known for its crimes against the homeless population and you wanted to start with a story on that. You ended up interviewing Andy at the police station while investigating a missing person, and dated him for two years. Now, you were spending your last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy you once loved and the very girl he now did.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” You answered her. She smiled fondly at you as she linked her arm through yours.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” You whispered, nodding towards Andy, who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and nodded in agreement as you continued to walk.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re my best friend here.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” You thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2021, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. You laughed at the domestic moment but couldn’t help feeling a pain in your heart knowing he used to be that way with you.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. You and Dani looked at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, growing annoyed.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded playfully. Andy sighed and reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked you. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back.” You shrugged. “I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.”

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased you.

“That is verbatim what they said to me.” You admitted with a laugh. “But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest investigative reporter.”

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy showed a rare interest in your work.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady.” You answered. “He’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens. No one knows how he’s hiding his victims bodies. Apparently none have ever been close to being found.”

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Andy raised an eyebrow, always with the condescending tone.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” You replied, earning a laugh from Dani but not Andy. You and Andy had already broken up by the time Carlton Drake contracted a symbiote and tried to kill you and Venom. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone and wrote a career defining article on his lethal human experiments. You managed to leave out all information regarding symbiotes from the article, so your secret was still safe. You were a fairly well known reporter since the incident and your next job was waiting for you in New York.

In the morning, You and Venom got on a plane and made your way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom turned out to be the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. You tried to sleep, but every two seconds you had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window, even after you explained to her that everyone on the plane would die horrible death if the window were to open.

“Stop that.” You whispered when you noticed a black tendril creeping towards the window. The lady in the seat next to you shot me a look of confusion. You gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window, doing your best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of your body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“We want it open.” Venom replied telepathically.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” You said through my teeth.

“We didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered, making you groan. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, you arrived at the apartment building. You had never been to your dads apartment, you didn’t even know he had one. You wondered what happened to your childhood home as you looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was, and The Daily Bugle offered to cover your expenses until the story was done. You figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

The first seven days in the apartment went by smoothly. You unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up the furniture. On the eight day, you sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when you had a thought.

“Oh shit.” You said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around your neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists.” You frowned. “We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.”

You and Venom grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on your shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Oops. I grabbed someone else’s mail too.” You clicked your tongue when you read a strangers name off the envelope. “I gotta find them.”

“Let’s go.” Venom said and pulled you towards the front door.

“Sorry, babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” You reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside your body.

You checked the address of the envelope and discovered that it belonged to the apartment directly across from you.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it as you mindlessly cracked your knuckles. Just as you were about to walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” You asked right away. You looked up from the envelope and your face instantly flushed. The person staring back at you definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around your age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was gelled back loosely and you could see the outline of soft curls. To your surprise, he was just as flushed as you were. You stared at each other for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to blink.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. You recognized the name of one of the most prestigious high schools in New York, already impressed with your new neighbor.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly as you handed his mail to him. The boy rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at it and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He smiled weakly. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons.

“Oh, right.” You laughed in embarrassment. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.”

You pointed to the door behind you as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit once you told him where you lived.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said and you stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” You told him, malign the boys eyes widen. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. You had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you’re right, that man stank.” You chuckled. It was the first thing you said that felt like your old self. You hadn’t really talked to anyone since moving to New York, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. You liked talking to this boy, though you still had no idea who he was.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He immediately turned red when he heard his own words. You saw the regret in his eyes and decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” You flirted. Again, he relaxed. You felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean, Peter Parker.” He fumbled over his words again, making you smile fondly.

“We like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. You looked down at my shoes and blushed, knowing you liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added, ruining the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker.” You gave him your best smile. “I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type.” You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth. You didn’t know what his sense of humor was like and he might not find you the slightest but funny. Andy always told you you were bad at telling jokes, and you feared he might be right.

Lucky for you, Peter burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry.” Peter pointed a finger down the hall. “Yeah, I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.”

“Damn. So he beat me to asking you.” You pretended to be upset, which made Peter laugh again. The sound of his laugh made your heart pick up speed. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed you, Andy was just lucky you liked a man in uniform.

“Yeah. You better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard.” You clicked your tongue. “Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops, though.”

Peter smiled at your joke. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh just to see it again. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned, and you grinned back.

“My hero.” You gushed as you put your hands over your heart. The tips of his ears went pink, like he was shocked that you said that.

“I’m no hero.” He sounded almost panicked, like you touched a nerve or something.

“We’re hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing you to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at you strangely, not knowing the cause of your sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” You lied.

“If there was a spider, we’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yeah, New York is full of them.” Peter said skeptically. “Not that full, though. And some spiders are nice. One might even call them friendly.”

“Right.” You laughed at his strange wording, unaware that you were both keeping a secret.

“Would…” Peter began but trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He offered. It all came out in one breath. You could tell he was nervous and that only drew you in more.

“I’d love to Peter.” You said, and he smiled in relief.

“Great.” He gave an awkward thumbs up. “We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Then, you did something stupid. You put your hand on his arm like the dumb bitch you were. You barely knew this guy. Who the hell were you to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing, since he instantly froze under your touch and stared at your hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” You assured him, feeling him relax under your touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning us first? Our mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked, making your eyes widen.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, you would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER” from the top of your lungs. But since you didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of the neighbors away, you merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no.” You shook your head. “His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one makes me cry.”

Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down your body, but not in a crude way. You berated yourself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors, clad in nothing but a grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute, but you had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and you could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He was dressed almost professionally and you found it incredibly endearing.

You wanted to know more about him. You wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. You wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Your gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi, Mr. S. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter hung up and looked at you apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” You called back.

You went back to your apartment and like a kid, broke out into a happy dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was?” You gushed. “And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.”

Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” You replied coyly. “Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.”

“We can feel your heart beat.” Venom reminded you. “It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?”

You had been rummaging through your closet and stopped in your tracks. With Peters new inhabitance in your mind, you had forgotten all about Andy. You moved to New York to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and you might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say.” You decided. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But we want him to be.” Venom insisted. “We want him back, remember?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You answered honestly. “I just want to get ready for tonight.”

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall.” Venom teased.

“Only 5 hours?” You sighed. “We better get moving.”

[sagittariuswritings]

Your Touch

TFATWS EPISODE 4 SPOILERS Pairing: Helmut Zemo x f!reader Summary: Y/n was dragged along Sam and Bucky’s “Zemo mission” by Bucky. She’s a mutant herself, an empath to be exact. After the blip, Bucky became her new neighbor. They became good friends, and got to know each other, and he offered to teach her self defense. When he asked for her help, she never knew she’d catch feelings for a criminal. Warnings: Language, angst, soft!zemo, fluff, and h*nd h*lding Word count: 2.3k+ A/N: I know I know I posted a screenshot of this days ago but I’ve been really busy at the barn lately and I always have to go to bed before midnight and I’m typically busy until 8pm so I’ve been really meaning to finish this!! AO3 link (not my gif)

The new plan was for Sam to try and talk to Karli. Of course, Y/n didn’t expect Zemo to actually go through with that. Zemo called Karli a supremacist, which just about earned him a punch across the nose from her, but she held herself back - more like Bucky caught what she was about to do and he grabbed her by the elbow to drag her away like a child.

Y/n wore gloves nearly all the time, in all weather. With her empathic powers, and no one to guide her with them, she didn’t know how to control them or contain them, so she resulted in wearing gloves instead. Sure, it sucked when summer came, but in her mind it was worth it in the end.

Of course, John Walker himself had to butt in. The four of them (Sam, Bucky, Zemo, and Y/n) were on their way to Donya’s funeral, and low and behold John Walker’s been tracking them down. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

“Ah great - How’d you find us now?” Bucky immediately spoke up when they rounded the corner to fully see John and Lemar.

“Come on, man, you really think two avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Started Lemar, but then John butted in. “No more keeping us in the dark. You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.”

“Technically speaking, he did that himself-” Y/n started, but John cut her off.

“And who the hell is she?” He turned, looking at Sam and Bucky while jabbing a thumb in her direction.

“She can very well speak for herself, off-brand Captain America.” She said with her arms going over her chest. She couldn’t stand the guy already. Her and Bucky were together to watch his little football game thing, and she could practically see the steam coming out of Bucky’s ears. She could feel the anger, too. “I’m simply an acquaintance helping my friends, none of your concern.”

“None of my-” “Yes, none of your business. I know where Karli is.” Zemo interrupted him, starting to push past John, but he stopped him. “Well where?” Sam spoke up for Zemo, “All we know is, it’s a memorial, so we’re gonna intercept her there.” Lemar said something about being careful due to civilians, but Zemo, Y/n, and Bucky were already starting to walk off.

John tried explaining his quote on quote plan and that of course led to bickering between him, Sam, and Lemar. All Y/n could do was roll her eyes and earned a small chuckle from Zemo beside her. “What?” “Oh, nothing, it is just entertaining is all.” “What? Me getting frustrated or them bickering like children?” Zemo paused. “Both.”

John, yet again, tried stopping them, and having already been around their bickering, Y/n was getting fed up. This time, it was Zemo who held her back. He gently wrapped his hand around her elbow before she could speak up, and she reluctantly listened to him, letting the rest of them deal with his bullshit.

“I’ll deal with you later.” John pointed at Zemo. “Yeah, sure you will.” She mumbled, and before John could snap back, Zemo spoke up. “My associate is just up ahead.” And with that, they were finally moving again. Y/n figured there would be a trick or two up Zemo’s sleeve, but using a child to show him to the funeral was the last thing she expected him to do. As he gave her the money, she couldn’t help but smile a little. It was nice to see a man that looked extremely closed-off do something good. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

Before Zemo could even speak, John cuffed him to a piece of machinery. “You’ve got ten minutes, then we’re doing things my way.” He told Sam over his shoulder after cuffing Zemo.

“Aggressive. But I get it.” In all honesty, Y/n wasn’t against this. More often than not her gut feelings were correct, and she certainly had a gut feeling that Zemo was going to do something either stupid or bad within the next hour or so.

Y/n sat down beside Lemar, bringing one knee up to her chest and letting her other leg hang off the edge of this machinery. She didn’t hate Lemar the way she hated John. Lemar seemed to have a good heart, one that was set in the right way and that wouldn’t change no matter what. He wasn’t like his associate, and Y/n could feel it. John had an aggressive and arrogant type of energy, meanwhile Lemar had a passionate and determined energy. There wasn’t a dangerous edge to the man.

The entire ten minutes - well, at this point it hadn’t even been eight let alone ten -, John paced nonstop and was driving her and Bucky insane. Her and Bucky seemed to make eye contact out of frustration nearly every time John would pace. And Zemo just stood with a grimace on his face the entire time. “Do you ever stop?” She finally said. “Stop what?” “Trying so fucking hard to be the hero of every situation.” “Excuse me?” That seemed to irritate him because he stopped pacing and came up to her, barely leaving much space between them.

“Y/n.” Bucky spoke, his tone a warning. “Leave it be.”

“No, I’m not going to leave it be. Not when I can’t hear my own thoughts over this guy making a trench in the concrete.” She sat up as she defended herself, not even bothering to look up at John when she talked to Bucky. “You try so hard to be the good guy. You have this mindset that you’re in control of everything just because you gave yourself the label Captain America. You think just because you’ve been labeled as Captain America, you can just go about bossing everyone around. You’re a spitting image of your average American, however.” With that, she got to her feet. She was smaller than him, but that didn’t stop her from continuing. “You’re a rich white man with beautiful blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, but you think because you’re a rich white man that you can control everything. You’re one spitting image of the American Government: Fucked up and corrupt.”

You could hear a pin drop. It was so silent. Y/n could feel the pure anger in John begin to bubble up, and right when she thought he was going to hit her, all he said was “I’m going in.” She was left standing there as Lemar jogged after John, just her and Zemo being the only ones left in the room.

“That was… Impressive.” Zemo ended up speaking first. Y/n snapped her head over at him, and there were tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t normally get like this. The energy in the room was tense and her emotions got caught in the tension. “It wasn’t.” She mumbled, a sniffle following her words as she made her way over to Zemo. “I don’t exactly trust you but,” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair. “This is a bit much.” It took her a second, but she was able to unlock the handcuffs.

Zemo seemed to stare at the cuffs for a moment while he rubbed his wrist, his eyes meeting her own. “Thank you.” “It’s nothing. Just go do your thing and I’ll be your babysitter.”

-

The large metal door slammed before Y/n could follow Zemo into the boiling room, and she heard him shove things in front of the door. “Zemo?” Silence. “Zemo what the fuck, let me in!” She shoved her shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. “It’s for your own safety.” She scoffed. “My safety? You better be worried about your own safety if I get my fucking hands on you after this, open the door.” She heard his footsteps retreating and she slammed her fist against the door out of anger, probably bruising her hand in the process because god that hurt.

Gunshots went off. She didn’t want to leave the spot in fear of getting lost, and within minutes Bucky was jogging down the hallway. “Zemo locked me out and I just heard gunshots-” Before she could continue, bucky managed to get the door open by kicking it, then he just had to push it open. By the time they got in the room, Lemar entered from across the room and upon looking down, Zemo’s unconscious body was in the center of the room while John stood some feet away from him. “What the hell happened-?” Y/n breathed out, running down the stairs and dropping to her knees by Zemo’s body, her fingers instantly going to his pulse beneath his jaw. There was a very obvious pulse, but she was still shaken up.

Why was she shaken up? He was a bad man. He was a criminal. He used Bucky to destroy people’s lives. He was supposed to be her enemy, so why was she worried about whether or not he had a pulse?

“Karli got him.” John came up behind her, but she stood up immediately. “Would you just back the fuck off? You don’t need to butt in on everything or be involved in everything. Get it through your stupid fucking helmet to your brain.” He started talking but she turned around and got back to Zemo’s side. She lightly hit his cheek with her gloved hand, and when he didn’t budge for a moment, she muttered a sorry before slapping him. That seemed to wake him up. His head lifted off the concrete, and his eyes fluttered open to meet her own.

“Oh, good, you’re alive. Let’s go back to your home now. Bucky?” She looked up at him, a soft pleading look in her eyes that said help. Reluctantly, he wandered over and helped her get Zemo to his feet.

-

Bucky and Sam had left to find somewhere for food, and left Y/n alone with Zemo in his home. She didn’t mind, if anything it was her suggestion. While the pair left the building, she guided him to his couch. He originally sat up but she put a hand on his chest and gently put pressure on his chest to ease him into a lying position. “I’ll get you some ice.” She quietly said, making her way to the kitchen.

“A cold cloth, please. Not a fan of ice over my eyes.” Zemo managed to speak up, his voice drifting to the kitchen. “As long as you’re sure.” She answered, grabbing a washcloth from one of the many drawers of his kitchen.

Quietly, Y/n stepped into the living room. “Lift your head.” She ordered. “Feisty.” Was his response. She rolled her eyes and sat where he had lifted his head. “Lay back.” She ordered again. Reluctantly, he lowered the back of his head onto her lap. “Close your eyes.” “I like the sound of that.” He muttered, his lips forming into a smirk. “Keep it up and I’ll make your headache ten times worse.” She quipped, gently laying the cloth over his closed eyes. “Now open your hand for a glass.” And she gently placed a shot glass of one of his strongest alcohols in his hand. “Do you want any pain meds or anything?” She asked, looking down at him. “Your touch would be enough, mein liebling.” His voice was quiet.

Of course, Y/n wore gloves solely to not have any physical contact with anyone. She feared feeling others’ emotions, seeing as she didn’t have a clue of how to control them. She’d told Zemo that she just had sensitive skin to certain material, which she figured he didn’t buy it, but he never said anything else.

With hesitation, she removed her gloves and placed them on the coffee table to her left. “Alright.” She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached for his right hand with her own. When she placed her hand in his, she felt him flinch. “You didn’t have to take your gloves off if you didn’t want to-” She cut him off. “It’s okay, Zemo.” “Helmut.” “Pardon?” “Call me Helmut. It’s my first name. Zemo isn’t my first.” Her brows raised in surprise, but she nodded.

Within moments of her slipping her hand in his, he intertwined his fingers with her own. A soft shade of pink settled onto her cheeks, and she was thankful that he couldn’t see her.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel anything she’d feared when she touched his skin. She could feel faint pain and sadness from the past, but she also felt kindness. “You have a kind heart, you know. You put on a stone cold expression, but you’re kind.. I can feel it.”

With that, he placed his glass on the table and very quickly removed the cloth from his eyes, even though it hurt him to move his head too much. “I knew it.” She looked at him, a brow raised to toy with him. “Knew what?” “You’re an empath.” There it was. She knew he knew. “I am.”

“Am I… Hurting you?” Her heart nearly exploded at how soft his voice was. Very quickly, she shook her head. “No, no you’re not. I promise.” She smiled down at him and her eyes softened when she saw that look on his face. He was like a completely different person. He was touch starved. It was clearer than a crystal.

“Rest, Helmut… You need it.” She whispered, leaning over to gently press a kiss to his now cold forehead.

“You don’t need to tell me twice when you’re lulling me to sleep.” He snuck a smirk in before she laughed softly and covered his eyes with the cloth once more.