#jfk was kind of funny

[gorillaxyz]

was nixon never in clone high.. thats funny

[poppyseed799]

tbh I’m this weird middle ground on tophabe where I feel like I GET the shippers but I just don’t think it works in canon like at all but I think it’s fun for people to explore how it MIGHT work in canon or fudge the situation a bit to make it work, but I really don’t want it to be canon. And sometimes the shippers seem a little annoying. But like. At the same time I respect it. But also what is going on.

[puzzledemigod]

Ok I did the whole Barbenheimer thing and let me tell you, Barbie wasn't revolutionary or anything, but it did come up ahead. It did what it was supposed to do and, since I managed my expectations before going in, did it in a fun silly way that still left a bunch of possible deeper readings, even if they were sadly left unexplored (and were maybe unintended). Oppenheimer on the other hand left me very angry and disappointed, even if I went there knowing it was an usamerican warfilm so I wasn't expecting much.

I think Barbie and Oppenheimer were equally superficial and obvious with their intended messages presentations, themes and characters, and equally inconsistent with their story threads. But Barbie was about Barbies, was intentionally silly, and had more going for it than the story itself... and Oppenheimer was about one of the real life creators of the atonic bomb, about the ones responsible for the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, and about the subsequent cold war and the mess it left us today in regards to the existence and threat of atomic and H bombs.

I think I can safely say one had the responsibility to be a bit more nuanced and careful than the other, and that just did not happen. And no, i do not think there was any actual anti USA sentiment in Oppenheimer, as someone who lives in a Developing Country (TM)and is used to seeing usamerican propaganda all the time there was barely even a scratch of criticism buried in there; our knowledge of history and our own modern sensibilities and morality did all the heavy lifting in that front without the movie having to risk saying anything. Oh did he feel bad while the bombs were being dropped? Did they villanize a guy who went after him for uhh being better than him at public speaking? Did they say he was against the H bomb and was a pacifist now, actually (without showing it much but who cares, tell not show right)? He was still the hero. Not one Japanese person was shown. Not one civilian protest, not one appearance of the communists they were talking so much about after the scenes in the past, doing anything but talking the whole time. He still ended up with a "I love my country" tirade, there was still a haha nod to fucking Kennedy being the one to be on our hero's side. They still showed more scenes of women naked, drunk, cheating on their husbands and being negligent towards their kids than of them doing literally anything else.

The "nuance" and "anti-usa messages" was just a bunch of misplaced and inconsequential internal conflict that did not feel earned in any way, misogyny and random, boring and inconsistent jury scenes (sorry, "hearing" scenes or whatever they called so there wouldn't have to be consistent rules to follow). And the main character was so damn boring. And they didn't even represent the actual science parts well. And the editing was so weird and the flashing scenes didn't fit and were repetitive. And there was a happy ending for some reason?? It was a whole bunch of nothing with music building momentum that never went anywhere in the background of every scene for 3 hours and I wanted to leave the room for how angry it made me that this subject was treated that way and would probably get praised for it.

[missilekids]

at the jfk museum. this place is kind of objectively funny as hell i think

[katiexpunk]

Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Part 2 | Part 3 Preview | Part 3

S P R I N G  Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them. 

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful. 

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life. 

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite.  After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it. 

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged. 

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK. 

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore. 

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story. 

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one. 

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below. 

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug. 

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it. 

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think. 

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up. 

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram. 

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it. 

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep. 

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await. 

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste. 

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try. 

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts. 

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.  

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone. 

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl. 

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door. 

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open. 

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast. 

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door.  “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone. 

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive. 

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door. 

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess. 

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more. 

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even. 

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman. 

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious. 

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk. 

Oh god. 

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is.  You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it. 

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot. 

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.” 

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it. 

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note. 

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did. 

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it. 

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.” 

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain. 

God, he wishes you would have kept it. 

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days. 

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden. 

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown. 

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway. 

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it. 

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place. 

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy. 

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself. 

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside. 

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter. 

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help. 

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one. 

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy. 

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot. 

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh. 

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him. 

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease. 

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country… 

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile. 

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception. 

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box.  It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency. 

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.” 

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt. 

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him. 

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive. 

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink. 

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again. 

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls. 

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car. 

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom. 

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life. 

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one. 

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him. 

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected. 

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had. 

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen. 

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated. 

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment. 

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves. 

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips. 

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips. 

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken. 

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching. 

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him. 

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room. 

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice. 

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it. 

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight. 

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock. 

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him. 

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm. 

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

[joshuamartian]

I’ve posted before about most of the student body of Clone High outside of the main-cast hardly get a chance to speak in season 2.

Weird (see ‘bad’) choice for a show which is built around gags about historical figures.

But we missed out on the foster parents too!

Why did we get so few new foster parents for the new characters?

The big exception is Topher's mom. I love this blank-eyed 50s housewife who Topher communicates with solely by screaming and using her first name.

The s1 foster parents weren't deep characters but they added to the feeling of a lived in world populated by a whole community. The clones home-lives were another setting the show could use away from the school itself. Sure, some of the foster parents were stereotypes, no point denying that but at least they were lovable wacky stereotypes? You could feel the show was being slightly tongue-in-cheek by choosing as many diverse kinds of parents as possible but as broad as they played, I still thought it was cool that Ghandi's parents were Jewish and JFK had two Dad's.

I think they trusted the audience to know that irl alcholic parents are no laughing matter and that blind people aren't constantly walking into walls but in my mind, I can forgive that because it was funny! Toots is an mvp of season 1 and I miss him so much. Not just for the Mr Magoo shit but he also had a sweet relationship with Joan. Just one of many examples where S1 could have little moments of sincerity without it turning into feel-good treacle.

I think Lord, Miller's and co's hearts were in the right place and sincerely wanted to create a show that felt less edgelordy weith fewer problematic charcters but they nerfed half their cast and replaced them with nothing. The new clones were a great chance to introduce fun new foster parents and they just didn't! The lack of parents compounded the weird empty feeling of the new season, a show about six or seven main cast in a vacuum, surrounded by side-characters who won't be saying anything or doing anything.

[morganbritton132]

Hi :)) you have no idea how much I enjoy your EMTTS it's literally my only motivation to get anything done when I see an update haha and your writing is so good?! And it's so wholesome?! How dare you make me feel happy things :((

Anywhoo, I was wondering if there'd ever be a moment where Eddie does an interview about fan conspiracy theories or read thirst tweets and what that would look like (I'm kind of getting hard core dylan o'brien vibes here where he's like "these are tame") maybe he's filming a tiktok in a break and he slowly pans around to Steve where he just looks so uncomfortable because !?? That's his husband?! People want him to step on them!?

Concerned and unaware Steve is all I'm saying

But literally you are insane I love what you've created it's so adorable!!

WHY HAVE I NEVER CONSIDERED THIRST TWEETS???!

Thirst tweets are such an obvious next step for him. Of course, someone would ask him to do it and obviously, he’d agree. I do think that Steve would be less uncomfortable with the concept but maybe a little jealous, a little possessive of his husband. Maybe keep your thoughts and your tweets off his hot ass husband, okay?

Eddie is taken.

The video actually starts with a little behind the scenes when Eddie is being mic’ed up. He’s talking to someone off camera but you can only hear his side of the conversation. He asks who he’s talking to if they know what thirst tweets are and then after they respond says, “They’re tweets about how people are desperate for me. For a drink of me, if you know what I mean… Not piss! Actually. Maybe piss. I’ve got some kinky fans.”

There’s a transition with a clapperboard and then Eddie is starting the video proper like, “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. I play guitar in the heavy metal band, Corroded Coffin, and I’m on Tiktok. I’m gonna be reading some of your thirst tweets today.”

There are some tweets about wanting Eddie to step on them or blow their back out, or spit in their mouth. Someone tweets that they want Eddie to blow them like JFK’s head on a sunny afternoon drive which, “Admittedly, that one is really funny. These are a lot tamer than I was expecting.”

It’s not actually Eddie that posts the Tiktok that reveals that Steve is there too. It’s someone who works on the set and they’re technically just posting a video about the problem with the camera that halted production and how to fix it.

Eddie and Steve are just on the monitor so you can see them and you can kinda hear them. Eddie is teasing Steve about being jealous over some tweets from people they’ll never meet and Steve is pointing out that Eddie could actually meet them at one of his concerts.

Eddie is sitting on top of the table and Steve had been a few steps away from him until Eddie reached out and yanked him over to him by the waistband of his jeans. He smiles up at Steve and says, “Babygirl, you know you’re the only one for me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Steve said weakly, “In public.”

“Tell me you don’t believe me.”

“…I believe you,” Steve tells him, tilting Eddie’s head back further and leaning down to kiss him. “I believe you always.”

Eddie kisses him back and then asks, “Wanna go find somewhere and make out like teenagers?”

When they get the camera operating again, the first tweet Eddie reads is about someone wanting to be the middle of a Steddie sandwich, “Hot damn.”

 

Side Note: Eddie also does the one interview where you show them what’s in your bag. He has notebooks, pens, dice, his ADHD medication, Steve’s medications since they’re traveling together, a comb, a book, a toothbrush, and a charger. What he doesn’t have is his inhaler which - “Nope, not in my pocket either. Steve?”

[pepperf]

Okay, I’m having thoughts about Diego, and JFK, and time travel...

So, I know it’s funny to think, haha, Diego is obsessed with JFK, he had a crush, etc, and that’s a fine explanation, but there’s always something about it that doesn’t quite fit right with me. He’s never struck me as someone who’s that interested in the past. Diego’s heroics are pretty reactive, and he tends to be a fairly in-the-moment kind of person—hotheaded, impulsive, not prone to coming up with long and complex plans, that kind of thing. He’s also quick to forgive and  move on. Clearly he knew about JFK and thought it was an injustice, but I think this moment...

...isn’t Diego realising he can save his idol so much as Diego realising three things in quick succession:

1) Time travel is real and has happened to him (I think he still suspected Five was talking crap, despite all the evidence);

2) He has the opportunity here for some epic heroing; and

3) Fuck, this opens up so many more possibilities.

In the asylum, he told Five he was going to save JFK, and then go back in time and kill Hitler. Diego has Big Plans, my dudes, he probably has a list, and god help anyone who stands in his way or tells him they need to preserve the timeline or some bullshit.

No, this is it, this is his big chance. And he doesn’t need everyone to know his name (although if they whisper it in awe and fear on dark nights, that wouldn’t hurt), but he wants to save the world, he thinks it’s his destiny (thanks Reggie), his obligation, his geas, and he’s just been given an all-access pass to the workings of history.

[kalisseo]

explaining the redesigns!! instead of sleeping

2nd gen clones

Harriet: she's the one that changed the most, I was inspired by some of her concept art for her outfit (also her hair!! her hairstyle it's from a concept art), i liked the mix of a character with dark colors and a bubbly personality!! for this au, her main thing is ~contrast~, she wears a lot of black but she's a very happy person, she wants to honor her clone mother but at the same time wants to be her own person, enjoys dark and deep media but also loves dumb shows, etc!! also I wanted to give her a theater kid vibe, or at least someone a little bit weird, I hope i achieved that

(leg warmers are just there because they're cute)

Confucius: honestly i really like his oh design!! I think it fits him, at first i was inspired by his concept art but as you can see i kept more of his final design, I gave him that hairstyle because I think it looks cool!! lol, also the big ass headphones, he NEEDED them!! BUT I'm not very happy with his colors, i think I'll completely change him soon 😭😭

Topher: I love his og design too, i only gave him that black, uh, sweater,coat....??? it's because I think it fits him mf thinks he's soooo mysterious, and so I can differentiate him between au topher and og topher!! i changed his pants to match a little bit more the lot of black

1st gen clones

abe: the one who changed the most/j, tbh same with topher, I like his og design I think it fits him very well!! but I need to differentiate between au abe and og abe :P

cleo: same with topher and abe...I LOVE HER LH DESIGN SHE'S SO PRETTY BUUUTTTT I need to differentiate between au Cleo and og cleo... ALSO that kind of shirts are trendy rn, and they're so pretty!! so Cleo would def wear them, also the arm things that se wears in s2, beautiful, so I kept them, also she has a necklace with her initial!! (later she wears a F too...)

Joan: it annoys me a little that she doesn't look really goth she looks honestly idk what she looks like, but also i know dressing up as trade goth it's too complicated for a daily routine, so I gave her a more simple goth look! i didn't change much i think, the main thing it's her hair, it's inspired by her prom hairstyle because I think she looks very good in it!! I gave her long sleeves too, and a very dark green long skirt, she still has her boots but you can barely see them

where are frida and jfk??

good question!! they're dead/j

i think their designs are perfect the way they are, i think it fits them very well

i think it's funny that one of them is very simple and the other super complex

also i don't draw them enough to need to differentiate them, unlike cleo, abe and topher :P

and tbh, i don't know very well what to do with them in the au!! but I'll figure it out soon :)

anyways if u read all this I Love u and thank u for coming to my Ted talk

[triviallytrue]

Watched Oppenheimer. Some thoughts:

The film was pretty impressive. In particular I was surprised by how many characters it included and how many timelines it was spread across, and yet I never felt confused or lost. Very good storytelling.

It's very impressive to be a leading theoretical physicist and a project manager and also have hoes. Respect.

Anticommunism was so bad. McCarthyism was so so fucking bad.

I think the scene where Teller talks to Oppenheimer at the end was pretty close to the POV of the movie - no one knows what Oppenheimer believed. He was sympathetic to left wing causes, he was a patriot, he built the bomb, he felt bad about building the bomb, he tried to hew close enough to the establishment line to maintain influence but also exert that influence against the escalation of the cold war. It's unclear how much of what he did was real vs performance or what his real views were, if he even knew. Hard to evaluate, as historical figures go.

May Harry Truman continue to be remembered by history as a dunce. It's what he deserves.

JFK name-drop felt unearned, as did the Einstein scenes.

It's kind of funny that this almost-random guy got cast as the main bad guy of the movie. I mean as a historical figure he sucked but it's still funny to me.

[gorillaxyz]

i dont like rbing murdoc fan art here bc i dont want anyone else to see him... well not really but its sometjing like that

[transmutationisms]

could you talk more about catholicism vs protestantism in succession? I think roman accidentally buying the protestant football team instead of logan’s catholic team is super interesting

yeah the hearts/hibs mixup is a great detail. so in general i think this is a really funny level of the show. like, if you're making fun of american or british billionaires the obvious choice is to make them protestant. it's like, demographically likely, and in the american context in particular protestants have all these overt ways of reconciling their faith with capitalism and the desire to accumulate wealth. like, making money is configured as a signifier of bourgeois masculinity; it means you're productive (often implying and signified thru bodily fitness specifically, even though capitalists are ofc not the ones actually performing whatever labour is generating surplus value). catholicism is more uncomfortable generally with the open pursuit of worldly wealth, which is NOT to say catholics are never wealthy or that the church lacks wealth (it emphatically does not) but just to point out that this is a contradiction in ideals that catholics often just kind of uncomfortably ignore.

this is an undercurrent with the roys generally. they're ultrawealthy but rarely seem to enjoy their wealth all that much---like, they're comfortable and cosseted but they all have weird relationships with their bodies, food, sex, etc; also, their ways of signalling wealth are chronically uncool (their clothes) or else nouveau riche tacky (logan trying to host wine tastings or whatever that pierce make fun of him for). this also plays into how america has a relatively recent history of overt anti-catholic sentiment (like, see how people talked about jfk lmao) and combined with logan's canadian-scottish identity and lack of generational wealth, it gives him that persecution complex he retained even when he was literally one of the most powerful people in the world.

more to the point, logan has, like, the absolute worst and funniest case ever of catholic man who is uncomfortable with bodies disorder. it's tolerable if you're using your body to assert dominance in some way (pissing on kendall's floor, how logan wanted roman to say he was harassing gerri with the dick pics) but yuckydisgusting if you just like, have a body that is vulnerable or god forbid perceived by others (logan's attitude toward his illness, his disgust when it becomes clear roman was actually engaged in some kind of sexual affair with gerri---who is old and a woman and therefore also has a body). this is why it breaks logan's brain to think about shiv having affairs, and why, even though he is a misogynist, including to her, he does NOT talk about her body. it's also why he's so invested in getting roman "straightened out" and why he uses accusations of homosexuality to convey how much of a flop loser he thinks kendall is. his whole deal with masculinity is that Men Do Not Have Bodies. bodies are gross and physical, what are you, some kind of sissy? like, entire essays you could write on how each of the kids fits into this schema.

anyway, the obvious points of comparison here are the pierces (east coast blue-blood protestants), tom (germanic midwestern social striver protestant), connor's mother (american, lowbrow, implied/assumed protestant), caroline (protestant english aristocrat), and mencken (implied catholic convert, which is a whole other level). again you could write essays about this on any one of these characters, but in general the protestantism on the show is funny bc it's contrasting with logan's disgust at his body yet simultaneous desire for it to be Strong And Masc (NOT GAY!). caroline and the pierces bring out his persecution complex and insecurity about being boorish; tom is able to be "striving and parochial" partly bc he doesn't have the baggage of the roys, who are like, tormented by being wealthy in a gauche way ("how to control us news media in a god honouring way").

this is all like, peripheral obviously, but it's deeply funny also. and i do genuinely think the roys make more psychological sense when you understand that they have chart-busting levels of catholic martyr syndrome (kendall), guilt (roman), and repression (logan, shiv). even connor's "i'm like if napoleon was a us president" type beat is funnier through this lens (remember that napoleon very famously restored state relations with the catholic church after the revolutionaries had severed them and tried to found a secular 'republican religion').

with the three younger sibs in particular, this is one of the ways in which they fail to understand logan; they're aware on some level that he's catholic and were probably raised with some degree of religious practice, but it's heavily implied caroline interfered with this and the kids grew up less catholic than logan wanted, which was kinda the tradeoff for him having basically sought out an aristocratic pedigree for them. so, a misunderstanding like hearts vs hibs is a throwaway joke, but also hints at this much deeper level on which logan's kids don't get him or his priorities, and are never going to be able to respond adequately to his internally contradictory, repressed and repressive catholic-military-bourgeois standards for how they should relate to their bodies and how that affects his political worldview.

[drovvninq]

clone high season 3 thoughts:

joan was handled a lot better but it sucks that her and jfk NEVER talked abt their relationship again. it's all about her and abe/confucious now and i hate it. i liked her going back to her indie girl roots but the og joan would NEVER accept that whole "i'll pretend to date you if you pay for my film festival" shit. she had more class than that. it feels like she's doing that thing they did in z-o-m-b-i-e-s where s2 she thinks she belongs with harriet and jfk but now she thinks she's a bleacher creature... idk it's weird.... bleacher creatures were kinda cool tho :) not topher.

i liked jfk being the mc actually, it was refreshing. i found the christian arc really fitting especially at the end where they tied it together as him being a kennedy. i didn't like him dating harriet again and i also didn't like the jfabe hints ???? that scares me... but the dick pic thing was funny,, also the fact that he's just like,, one of the guys now?? him and confucius and abe being buds. just dudes being dudes.

abe was SO much more in character this season. i didn't particularly like the bloody mary episode but the whole "i found a girl and she's nerdy like me and she's cute and funny but she wants to get rid of joan" thing is okay i guess. it really feeds back into s1 when he abandoned ghandi for cleo. overall he was good but he was VERY hypersexual this season and it was just awkward to watch.

cleo acted... KIND of like herself?? i liked the slim snowsuit thing and the supporting frida because she got free stuff but that's like it. i still wish her and frida had more setup in s2 but they handled it well this season at least. them being the christian icons was funny i guess but i seriously want cleo to accidentally use frida and manipulate her power at some point and then feel guilt. that's the ONLY reason cleo should ever feel guilty for anything in this show.

frida was chill tbh, not much to say abt her. the whole fish pointing, painting stuff for cleo, only snorkeling to make her happy was sososososo cute </33 i want more stuff like that :")

harriet is terrible character writing. her only trait is that she's smart and loyal, but she cheats on confucius. with eye sex. I HATE THE EYE SEX THING. WHY WAS IT NECESSARY. and then she goes back to confucius as soon as she thinks he's available just because she thinks he likes her. WHAT. AND THEN SHE'S MAD ??? i feel like she's only there to be joan's friend and to be with frida at the beginning of s1... WHY!!!!! IS JFK!!!!! DATING HER !!!!! STILL !!!! NOT ONLY IS SHE A BAD FRIEND, SHE'S JUST A BAD PARTNER IN GENERAL!!

confucius is a good character though imho. he was a good person this season and his actions actually made sense with his motivations. he's a huge people pleaser and because of that he wants validation in points (ep1) and doesn't wanna tell harriet he's dating joan. he wants to keep everyone happy and he's so sweet tbh he's growing on me.

SCUDWORTH. AND. BUTLERTRON. FART JOKES. SEX JOKES. GAY LOVE JOKES. GANDHI JOKES. WESLEY JOKES. I LOVE THEM!!!

[carsontumbleweed]

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Spoilers yeah duh

I liked alot more than just the bleacher creatures I honestly loved the first episodes it was bliss. I don't view s1 characters as the same anymore so its kinda an au in a way to me??

But man I loved the bleacher creatures they were fun and terrible and I loved them. God I wish they had shown how they got together cause oh my gosh??? THE ROLL CALL THING WAS SPECIFICALLY FOR ME OH MY GOD OH MY GODDDD. Topher looks alot happier this season I don't know before I saw him as a loser who brought people down with him. Who didn't have friends. But I don't know? They're actually really cute(and terrible mwahaha I'd hate them irl) and I wasn't expecting topher to get along with them. Just the way he looks at them and they love schemeing just as much as he does. Im just so used to topher frowning and stuff but his eyes were dilated alot this season not just for being bitten by snakes. I don't know I'm just surprised he has friends.(he obviously didn't have them before he mentions he only had limited social interactions I think they all got together during that summer or whatever?? Maybe over text??)

Theyre all terrible and I love that love the weird evil friend group. perfect parody thing of those kinds of friend groups. Snorkeling episode was my favorite I just love how they made fridas art more obscure!!!! I love that! Was worried with this episode

I love jackée holy shit more of her!! And lizzie!!and ivan! That one scene where they're so stupid is fun to me silly. And later topher wasn't even worried he was going to die he just looked happy looking at his friends after they wrre waiting to get on the submarine what the fuckkkk.

I think he likes being the leader the voting thing was probably fun for him. He's into that sort of stuff I suppose.

Okay enough about them I really enjoyed that this season was more fun than the last. At least for the most part? I enjoyed it when it let itself be wacky and I found it enjoyable. Still not the original but it's not going to be clone high reboot is its own show with lets face it completely different characters.

The only ones I didn't enjoy was 8-10 I guess didn't have too much time to watch it ill habe to rewatch again they weren't bad though.

Joan confucius Harriet should polycule sick of this shit. Its funny in a parody aspect their drama and Harriet sent her hearts! Hearts!

Joan and Confucius are cute. I hate to say I hate joanabe this season its fine if you like them I suppose I've never really liked them that much cause its a parody and abe literally thought of her like a sister before? Its a parody so I don't really care what anyone ships (edit: I realize I gotta clarify for this, not proshipping obviously I hate that shit)

Speaking of which jfk and abe qpr literally canon

[dewying-my-best]

—This post will contain spoilers for episode 10 of Clone High season 2—

Okay, so.

I think Joan just needs to be single for a while. Like, I kinda think it's a little shitty of Abe to go after her like... seemingly not even a week after JoanFK broke up. I'm glad he has JFK's blessing now, but I still think maybe he should give it time or wait until she asks him out.

Side note, who wants to bet that the Joan thing is either going to be wrapped up in the pilot of season 3, or stretched out through the whole thing.

Next, I honestly... I was really hoping that right before Abe was able to confess to Joan, Topher was going to speak up. Like, he'd just blurt out that he liked Abe right before Abe said he liked Joan and it would throw Abe off and not tell Joan. One last ditch effort from Topher to keep Abe and Joan apart.

BUT WE'LL NEVER FUCKING KNOW IF HE WAS BECAUSE GODDAMN CANDIDE COMES IN WITH SHIT THEY WOULDNT HAVE EVEN REMEMBERED IN THE FIRST PLACE BECAUSE THEY WERENT THERE, WHICH WAS KIND OF THE WHOLE POINT OF HER DOING THAT STUFF TO BEGIN WITH!

Anyway, I kinda want a Joan-Topher friendship thing. Like, I kinda hope that that's where they're taking this 'outcast joan' thing.

Like, imagine them becoming friends; Joan's been abandoned by her friends, Abe probably won't want to be around Topher, especially now that he's got JFK.

Especially if Abe and/or JFK do still have feelings for Joan, but simply aren't acting on it bc of what she did. Because imagine if Abe thought they were dating. That would be so fucking funny.

Like everyone would be like 'why would you even think that lol' and he was like 'Topher told me he liked her and now they're hanging out all the time! And guys and girls can't be just friends,' and he'd be called out for being unwoke again, but people would like... secretly think maybe he was right?

Also, I obviously want Topher to just come out to at least himself, and maybe Joan if they actually end up being friends. Like, dude needs to let himself be free, he is so pent up.

[bromcommie]

Hello & Happy Monday!

So...for the WIP tag game...I know I'm supposed to pick the one (1! ONE!) that I find most intriguing, but this is like a whole buffet of intrigue, so maybe I can have two? 👀 1) НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT) <- ngl, the 'figure out' cracked me up. Also, late night conversations? Yes, please!

2) what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 <- this just sounds fun...and possibly like the title could be deliberately misleading

Thank you! <3

Hello helloo, happy Monday to you too! (but also Tuesday now I guess. It's a 2-for-1!)

Thank you for the ask, and thank you for indulging me with two (2! it's gonna be so long!) <3

НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT!!!) - Ooof, this fucking guy. I'm glad my stern instructions to myself in the title there were funny, because I do indeed need to FIGURE this one OUT and it's bugging me. It's essentially another chapter that's a part of a larger work (not naming names not pointing fingers but it's. The Work I'm Having Trouble Updating) and it was written a looong while back, which is why it's now a standalone file. I love the premise but I kinda want to tear it down and rebuild it entirely, mostly because I'm still deciding on whether I like the way I wrote the backstory for it. So. It's fun! It's challenging! It's giving me a migraine! The title's from this song about a tired traveler trying to find his way in the night. It's three conversations (Steve+Nat, Nat+Bucky and Bucky+Steve - although they barely talk at all) that happen in the night after a very not lucid, injured Don't-Call-Me-Bucky who's recently remembered the Red Room and also had a pretty rattling encounter with the code words seeks Natasha out in Europe for [redacted] something as a last resort, but instead accidentally walks straight into Steve who he's been staying away from like the Devil Himself since CATWS. And then basically bleeds all over him. (I am not immune to the wound care trope! However, this is unfortunately not that.) A lot of ugly feelings and defense mechanisms are brought up, some painful memories re: the war and the Red Room are brought up, and nobody's having a good time or really knows how to process jack shit. They all communicate/perceive love&protection in wildly different ways, and while all three dynamics end on some kind of natural conclusion it's still a lot of unfinished, unspoken business and just kind of sad. Hurt no comfort that's necessary for there to be the promise of comfort in the future, if you will. Tbh, I really want to finish/reincorporate this one. But it's just so *screams into paper bag*. Anyway. Snippet:

When Steve wakes up the next morning Bucky’s gone, like he knew he would be. Like a hurricane passing through, the foreknowledge doesn’t make the aftermath any easier. And then what? his own voice from so long ago echoes in his head as he waits for the water for Natasha’s tea to boil in the sunny little kitchenette of the motel’s lobby. 16 hours later, he’s watching the blinding stripe of the sun setting over the East River before the plane maneuvers onto the landing strip at JFK. The hell else? Then we march on, ace. We go home.

2. what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 - oh good, thank god! So this one is a bit more fun, but it's only got a few disjointed half-scenes so far. The title is actually one of the most literal ones on the list - the fic does take place in Astoria, Queens, and it does involves a certain "nutcase". Several, even. They really don't get along, and then they almost do.

(Blame my recent rewatch of the Netflix shows for this one. Man. What a golden age that was.)

Excerpt under the cut:

It was easy to clock the combat training before, sure, but up close this guy’s… Keyed up. Wild-eyed, a little, and not in the twitchy way of the three idiots piled up outside by the ruined water hydrant, not just sheer adrenaline stoked by fear and booze and coke. More dialed-in, purposefully ruthless. Hungry. Getting up with an expression like an enraged bull in spite of the beating he just took. Nutcase, Barnes thinks bleakly. Not that he’s in any position to judge — glass houses, all that, but — “What’re you,” he croaks, “some kind of psycho?” “Says the guy who just mowed down six guys without blinking." The man spits, grimacing at the blood that lands on the stark white of the rooftop like it personally offends him. If he notices the similar spray across his busted face, his clothes, his military-short hair, he doesn't seem to give a damn. "Nice going, by the way— my man got away." "And my man's bleeding out on a fucking pool table downstairs," he grits out. He doesn't have time for this. This whole night has been one giant exercise in unpredictability, and the police sirens echoing off in the distance are problem enough without him having to duke it out over and over with some local homicidal moron who might or might not be HYDRA. "You wanna tell me what that's about?" The man levels an irritated look back at him and then shrugs, dismissive. "I don't play with my food." "Your food had intel I've been hunting for two weeks." "Tough shit. Maybe if you hadn't screwed up your goddamn trig—" His lip curls of its own volition, affronted despite himself. What an appropriate time for his ego to announce it's back from the dead and in the mix. How fun. “The hell I did. I don’t miss.” "Is that right? There's some real screwed up drywall down there that says otherwise." His voice picks up an edge of something dangerous, aiming for threatening and landing on feral as he takes a step closer, and Jesus, can he stay down already? "Unless you did it on purpose to let him know I'm coming because you work for the bastard, in which case lemme tell you, you and me have a whole different problem." "I don't work for anybody," he says, probably with more intensity than strictly necessary. "He was a civillian. I don't kill civillians." The words curl acerbic on his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't. That, of all things, makes the man laugh, a bitter little thing that sounds like it clawed its way out of his throat, and only barely. Who the fuck is this guy. "Oh Jesus Christ, not this bullshit again— how many of you assholes are running around this place, huh?" he says, gesturing a little wildly at him. "You got a fancy catsuit under that hobo getup, too?" It's Barnes' turn to look at him like he's a few marbles short, which judging by all evidence he very well might be. The guy snorts at his confusion, shaking his head. "If you consider that criminal piece of dog shit a civilian, you’re way more out of your depth than I thought, kid.”

but also:

“Self-righteous, God's sacrificial lamb type-of-shit," he mumbles around the mouthful with distaste, staring off across the bridge. "Got himself a stupid fucking title and everything, if you can believe that. Major pain in my ass.” Barnes hums, considering, before taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The thick pile of fatty meat and melted cheese breaks apart in his mouth easy with a sudden, almost overwhelming explosion of flavours, his empty stomach singing praises despite the ache in his bruised jaw as he chews. He never thought he’d say this, but god bless Queens. “Catholic?” Castle grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, I have some experience with that.”