#like there are so many things to criticize glee for

[sscrambledmeggss]

I can always tell who hates glee but has never seen it, because they don’t know it’s a comedy 🧌

[hannahhasafact]

Just took a gift to a friend and not only did he seem to really like it he ALSO followed the brand’s instagram I WIN

[justporo]

A Night of Staying In

After all the doom and gloom in other writing I really needed some cutesy fluff to feel myself again - and also to give Astarion and Tav a break.

Summary: So have Tav and Astarion just enjoying a cozy night in - also Astarion gets a carrot hurled at his face.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav Warnings: Mention of sex, a carrot gets thrown and then murdered Wordcount: 2,2k

Delicious smells of slowly cooking meats and vegetables, spices and a forgotten mint tea were wafting through the kitchen of your cozy little townhouse.

You were bustling around the well-equipped kitchen. The apron you were wearing was full of stains and its pockets full of cooking utensils – even a half-full spoon absent-mindedly tugged away in one of them. It was slowly leaking through the linen with something on it that looked like blood – but was simply a tomatoey sauce. Your hair was messily put up in a bun, but several strands of hair had fallen out of it and you looked only so far from a mental breakdown.

At the kitchen table Astarion was sitting with a lantern, bowing over an embroidery project. He had the very bright lantern you’d gifted him specifically for this purpose directly next to him, but he was still squinting at his work and holding it so close his nose was almost touching the fabric. He looked a lot less demented than you but still very absent-minded.

Fabrics and threads were strewn all about the wooden table. Different needles were glinting everywhere on it too. One could only hope that those would be remembered at some point – preferably before someone stuck them in their fingers.

Next to him were also laying some loose papers, a feather and an ink pot with lots of writing that was then crossed out again and also some small little doodles on the corners – one for whatever reason happened to be a goose with a knife in its beak.

You had several pots on the iron stove and something about to go in the oven as well. Critically you were moving around between all of these things, clattering with copper pot lids, jars of ingredients and spoons to try the food (always in the same pattern: grabbing a new spoon, trying something, putting the spoon in the dish bowl full of dirty water – then having to grab a new spoon). You had some potatoes boiling and in another pot you had been cooking a mixture of vegetables and beef for quite some time. You wanted to recreate a recipe of cottage pie that you had once tried many years ago in a tavern and had kept reappearing in your dreams. And now you finally had the kitchen and the tools to try and cook it yourself!

But it seemed impossible to get it right, this already being your fourth attempt this week. The vampire had already been moaning that you had basically force-fed him the meal because you had no way of eating that much pie on your own. It was not, that the finished pies hadn’t tasted well, but they just weren’t like you remembered. But you started to think that it might be your memory that was tricking you and not your cooking skills.

You went to try the pie filling again after adding some more spices and dash more red wine (directly from your goblet because you didn’t seem to remember where you put the bottle).

As soon as the spoonful hit your tongue you knew you had done it – finally.

You shrieked and immediately heard another shriek behind you in reply. You turned around to Astarion with glee and saw how the vampire was staring at you angrily and shaking his hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out your sudden excitement had caused him to stab himself with his needle.

“Darling, can you maybe not scream like a dying goblin, I was concentrating!”, he hissed at you. Your joy evaporated at his flare of anger – so you turned around again, grabbed a left over half of carrot and threw it at Astarion – and maybe a bit more forceful than would have been necessary.

But he was still a rogue and dodged the vegetable easily. It flew against one of the cabinets and then to the ground. There it stayed until Scratch came into the kitchen, drawn there by the sudden noises. The dog sniffed at the piece of vegetable, then grabbed it and went off again.

“Oh really, are we at the ‘I throw stuff at my lover’ point of our relationship now, love?”, Astarion replied to your responsive outburst of anger with a raised eyebrow. “Am I going to have to sleep on the sofa next?”, he continued sassily.

Your hand itched to grab more produce – there were some potatoes still laying around and they made for excellent improvised throwing weapons. But you saw the smirk that played around the vampire’s lips. So you settled for a verbal rebuttal.

“Don’t be such a prick and you can keep sleeping inside”, you said and flipped him off. Then you turned around again to your cooking and grabbed – yet another – spoon and scooped up some of the filling. The vampire mumbled something under his breath about he wouldn’t have to be a prick if you didn’t make him prick himself.

“Oh, that would be so gracious of you, my dear lady, if I was still allowed in your shining presence”, Astarion then said loudly as you were busy with the pots. The tone still very sassy but you heard the playfulness in it now and knew he was now only teasing.

You went over to him, with one hand under the spoon full of hot goodness that immediately started dripping and burning your hand. You winced but kept going.

“Here, try this – I think I got it now”, you said as you stood in front of Astarion who had put down his needlework for the time being. He threw you a pained look: “Love, if you keep feeding me this I think I might actually start to get a pot belly.”

You snorted at him and eyed what you could see of his upper body. “Pretty sure, you will never have to worry about this kind of thing. Now. Try. It”, you answered and insistingly came closer with the spoon.

Astarion sighed, gave you another suffering look and then let himself be fed. His doubtful expression quickly changed to what you interpreted as pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, I take everything back, that was well worth the scream of enlightenment, my sweet. That tastes wonderful”, the vampire said and grinned at you.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it”, you said and gave him a quick peck on the lips as you could see his face changing to annoyance once more at your petty remark.

You threw the spoon in the dish bowl and rubbed your hands on your apron and started to get everything ready for the final step of the recipe. Meanwhile you said to Astarion: “So, darling, could you write down the following: one and a half cups of red wine and three instead of two sprigs of thyme and just loads of black pepper.”

“Of course, my darling chef”, Astarion replied cheerfully and grabbed the feather and papers laying next to him to write it down. “Any other changes?”

“No, this will be it”, you responded and happily clapped your hands before you put your filling in a cast iron pan, mashed and seasoned the potatoes and then put them down as the topping of your pie. The final touch was some hearty cheese sprinkled on top. Then you put it all in the oven.

In the meantime, you heard the feather scratching over the paper.

“What are you doing, Astarion?”, you asked as you took off the oven mitts from pushing the pan in to cook.

“Just putting the recipe in clean writing for you, my heart”, the vampire replied as he kept looking through older versions and notes on the papers. Brows furrowed as he was concentrating on it.

“That’s sweet, love, thank you”, you said to him but he didn’t reply and probably hadn’t even noticed. Of course – if you said something actually nice you fell on deaf ears.

So you decided to thank him with another gesture. You grabbed another goblet to pour your vampire a cup of wine but as you looked around to find the opened bottle you saw that it had been next to Astarion with an already filled cup all along.

You gave up and sat down across the table with your own cup of wine as Astarion finished up writing. You put one leg up on the bench and hugged it to your chest, head on top of the knee and watched the pale elf.

“Here you go, my sweet”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully after a few more moments and handed you the finished recipe that was now written cleanly in his neat and beautiful handwriting. ‘Tav’s specialty cottage pie’ stood atop the page and next to it was a little doodle of some steaming hot pie.

You smiled broadly at Astarion: “Thank you, darling.” Then you shortly leaned on the table, almost climbing over it to give him a kiss while carefully trying to avoid the needles.

“Do you sometimes wonder how we ended up like this?”, you softly asked him after you had read through the finished recipe.

“Like what?”

“Well, like this – all domestic. I’m cooking, you’re embroidering, we’re bickering like an old married couple, drinking wine and just enjoying a cozy night in instead of wreaking havoc somewhere out there”, you said and waved vaguely in the direction of the city beyond the walls of your home. Then you took another sip of wine.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, we’ve been bickering like that from the moment we met”, Astarion answered and looked at you sternly. You shrugged in agreement.

“As for the rest – well, are you enjoying the way we spend our nights like this sometimes? Because if you’re bored-“

“No no, I’m enjoying this an awful lot. It’s just – this is somehow the most unlike turn of events don’t you think? Like, I sometimes can’t believe we actually ended up in the version where we’ll live happily ever after”, you said and cradled your face in your hand not currently holding a cup of wine.

At your words a warm and adoring smile crept onto Astarion’s face.

“Are you though?”, you asked then.

“Hm?”

“Are you enjoying these kinds of nights?”, you asked Astarion again and lifted your head up to look straight at him.

The vampire looked at you, smile still playing around his lips: “Well, my love, after two hundred years full of godsdamned shit I am enjoying this sort of mundanity quite a lot. And I enjoy it even more because I get to spend it with you. I might even enjoy doing the dishes with you later on – unless you don’t splash me like last time.”

You smiled at him too now, broadly – feeling incredibly lucky that you had indeed taken all the right turns that had led you here, to this: sitting at this kitchen table with the love of your life, talking about doing the dishes.

“But if we ever get bored, my sweet, I have quite a lot of ideas on how to spice things up”, Astarion continued afterwards. The smile morphed into a lewd smirk and his red eyes sparkled mischievously: “For example, I could dramatically throw everything on this table to the ground, rip all your clothes off and have my way with you on this table until you forget your own name.”

His voice had suddenly become deep and smooth like dark molten chocolate. You bit your bottom lip as the mental image of his words set in and you just stared into his eyes point blank. Astarion still looked at you, not breaking eye contact, and his teasing smirk only growing.

“Nah”, you made after some more moments, “not tonight. My cottage pie would burn.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and you drank some more of your wine while still looking into the vampire’s eyes.

Then you both broke down laughing. So much so that you had to wipe tears from your eyes by the end and Astarion had his face buried in one of his hands while silent fits of laughter still shook through him.

“Alright”, he said and bit his lip, one of his fangs showing adorably as if he was a cat, “I’ll write it down for another date night then.” You broke out laughing again.

Until you could actually smell your food burning. With an “oh shit” you jumped up and pulled the pan out of the oven – you had saved it just in time.

You got out some plates and forks, and put some generous servings onto them. As you turned around your gaze fell onto the table full of Astarion’s embroidery supplies. Astarion saw your look, then waved it off, dismissing it.

He grabbed one of the filled plates from you and grabbed your then free hand to lead you to the living room. Scratch was there laying on his designated blanket, chewing on his favourite ball. Some telltale orange spots telling the tale of the fallen carrot.

You settled down on your sofa with your food – you swinging your legs over Astarion’s and getting cozy.

And this is where you stayed: eating until you felt like your belly might burst, joking until you were crying again, talking until you got so tired you almost drifted off into dreaming right then and there. And when you had went to bed: holding each other until you woke up in the other’s arms again.

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

(📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤)

Mr. Puzzles has manufactured everything about himself, including his voice: (A long post!! 📺)

A thing I've noticed is just how often his voice changes, most notably when he's switching from his deeper narrator voice to his more energetic showman voice in the promo trailer. ^^^

Here's another example from the song. Both lines are said in two distinct voices, none of them being the usual one we hear from him. One has a more pronounced Transatlantic accent and the other has an American one. We can assume someone else is talking and he just overlays himself on top, but he is explicitly the one shown to speak in that moment. ^^^

This next one might be a stretch, but I think the supporting female vocals could be him as well. It is heavily implied he works alone and doesn't trust others with his vision so it kinda makes sense that he would also sing the song on his own. (If that's true damn does he have a good voice) ^^^

Even the critical podcast host could be him. The first voice is deeper and rougher while the second is more sly and has a distinct influxion that is unique to Puzzles, so they could be just his inner thoughts and insecurities audibly manifesting through some complicated technical means.

He is alone in his office, staring at all the monitors that display his hard work. And he is not satisfied. His mind begins to wander and his self doubt begins to manifest out loud in the form of others criticizing him, further fueling his crippling perfectionism. ^^^

Also here, when his lifelong dream is finally met he can't contain his (ever so slightly malicious) glee, and his voice deepens and begins to glitch out. ^^^

Also a bit unrelated but did y'all notice that when he says 'crying' he is shown with his crazy big smile? You know, his main expression on all the promotional material.

Conclusion?

I think his upbeat showman voice isn't how he usually sounds, but what he thinks others would like him to sound like. He has to keep up the energy that the audience has come to expect of him so he manufactured the perfect tv host voice to keep as many tuned in as possible.

I headcanon his real voice to be deeper, raspier and very monotone. I think that while he was smoking he had to turn off his voice synthesizer so the smoke won't damage it, which is why he doesn't talk in the scene. He has lost every bit of himself by molding into what he thinks people would like, and any reminder that he was once someone else makes him uncomfortable.

I'm going insane chat.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Four was honestly surprised how many people were here. It was his first big trip, and it was definitely overwhelming. He was usually a loner, but he had to admit… he was thankful he’d asked a friend to come along.

Legend laughed as he texted someone, face glowing with glee. He elbowed Four mischievously. “We should definitely send pictures to Wars.”

“Is that who you’re texting?” Four asked with a smile, enjoying the cheer from his usually grumpier friend. Legend adored education conferences - his friend was nothing if not a lover of learning and exploring new things.

“Oh absolutely,” Legend replied, showing his phone. “He’s upset because I went to the emergency medicine conference and then went to this one. Personally, I think he’s just jealous because I have a cert he doesn’t.”

“Wait, Wars doesn’t have his CCRN?” Four questioned, confused. He figured Warriors, who had everything in his life in order, would have his critical care nursing certification. It was fairly common for nurses in ICU and ED settings.

“Nope!” Legend quipped with delight, obviously ecstatic that he had something over the military nurse.

“Okay, but important question: where are we going to get dinner?”

“Somewhere it doesn’t cost half our paycheck.”

Four glanced around at the skyscrapers. “Uh… not sure we’re going to manage that. I didn’t think the Hebra Mountains had cities like this.”

“Well, then we can contemplate Brugada Syndrome and complicated EKG rhythms while we starve,” Legend supposed.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Four laughed. “This is a trip, we shouldn’t worry about the cost too much.”

”We don’t make Time’s salary.”

“But we make decent salary.”

Legend bit his lips, stubborn. Four narrowed his eyes analytically. “This isn’t about how much the food costs; it’s because you’ve blown your budget on coffee, isn’t it?”

His friend immediately flushed, guilty as charged. “They charge ten rupees for coffee! Ten!! This place is ridiculous!”

“I told you your caffeine addiction would come back to bite you someday,” Four smiled. “Or, well, more so than it already has.”

“I swear, if you bring up the SVT episode one more time—”

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Show Me How ❞

Deucalion x werewolf!male!reader | nsfw, smut, the beginnings are a bit more horror-themed (body horror for r! turning into a werewolf) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 6k | not proofread

warnings: r! gets a panic attack, short description of vomiting, piquerism, handjobs, impact play, s*xual rewards, s*xual punishments, degradation, overstimulation, edging

req: Just hear me out on Deucalion the man's a whole dilf like cmon okay okay like y/n (amab pls) is a new werewolf like he just recently got bitten, and he was a complete dumbass, like he was freaked out the whole time n Deucalion ended up finding him in some random cave covered in blood (not his own though) he decided to help him out with learning how to control things and stuff being all strict and stuff, Deucalion would give him like rewards when he does things right, like maybe a good hand job or something n when he would mess up he would like punish him like omg what if he hits him with his cane or sum or the little blade he has on the end of it oh and like a bit of degrading maybe or overstim or edging.

part 2

A freshly turned wolf was a beast not many could take down. Many hunters, from mighty families such as the Argents, had lost a barrage of their kin to these wild beasts.

Fuelled with the Moon’s anguish and shame; these ' puppies ' cut down any who dares assault their senses with their scent or heartbeat. That being said, Deucalion wasn't surprised when news of a group of hunters decimated by a newly turned wolf reached his ears. The hunters weren't even a worthy threat to him, he had half a mind to let Ennis deal with it with as much glee as he wished. He was, however, intrigued at the prowess and potential this rogue wolf showed. Kali's claws ticked against the cracked linoleum and dirt floor whilst Ennis' nose took a lungful of the scent of fear and desperation. "He was alone, completely alone," Ennis sounded impressed.

"These hunters were young, cocky," Kali retorts with no natural edge in her voice.

"It isn't much to marvel at". Deucalion huffs through his nose and taps his cane. He emerges from the shadows of the abandoned warehouse.

"Kali, don't be so critical, it's not every day you turn into a werewolf". He tilts his head as the metallic tang of blood further invades his nostrils.

Deucalion could taste the viscous liquid in his mouth.

"He took out 14 trained hunters. Young or not, it's not often a puppy so vicious is placed on our laps. There is potential," Deucalion's nose points to the still-hot-edged hole in the corrugated tin wall. Blood stained the razor edges with pieces of what used to be a sweater danced listlessly in the night breeze. "Let's give the poor boy our thanks," Deucalion says. Ennis grins with his bottom canine and pokes his upper lip. Kali makes her way out from the clawed-out hole-in-the-wall and towards the forest it frames. A growl rumbles in Ennis' throat but as quick as it came it was gone and he bounds towards the woods as well.

Deucalion wraps his hands around the top of his cane, shoulders adjusting themselves as he feels the bones in his face shift to make way for a more monstrous visage. That was of less importance, the way his neck thickens with muscles was what he had aimed for.

The beast of an alpha unhinges his jaw and throws his head back to release a bloodcurdling song and his generals turn it into a symphony of horror.

The wood creatures scurry. Those without wings find themselves burrowing into the ground or hiding in the hollows of trees. One, however, stayed frozen in his stone fortress.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your legs and your head between your knees, you stayed rigid despite the howling that reaches your pointed ears. Your mouth was agape and drool was dripping down but your fangs were uncomfortably piercing your upper lips every time you attempted to close them.

It was a pathetic sight but no one was here to see your shame except for that dead coyote that lay inches away from your feet and — Oh, god, you were going to throw up.

The sound continues to echo and you clasp your hands over your ears. Your claws dig into your scalp as you squeeze your eyes tightly. Somewhere inside of you, something thrashes violently at the rope you call self-restraint.

It’s compelled to follow the call. It knows there’s safety in numbers but it's so primal you feel as though it’s something akin to a caveman more than anything poetic.

A moronic impulse just to survive. To find more like you but that was just the blood lust talking to you, of that you were certain.

You were a danger to people. You could never rejoin society. You were a monster.

‘They deserved it,’ something growls into your ear. You swear you can feel its breath and the stench of gore and blood that burns your cheek. The claws dig deeper into your head as your heartbeat quickens.

‘They wanted to hurt us, kill us, we returned the favour’. You think you're ultimately losing it at this point. Perhaps in some feeble attempt to grasp this batshit insane scenario of you gaining some supernatural ability to kill 14 people — and a coyote — your brain has fragmented to cope.

Beads of red soak your hair and traverse the slopes and planes of your head to your neck. It further soaks your ripped sweater, and the weight of it makes your skin crawl. The tip of your curved claws floats just inches from your skull. Then, bile rises to your throat and your body swings forward in a tumultuous motion. Knees banging onto the floor and palms ripping open on the jagged earth; your mouth burns as lunch reintroduces itself.

Your chin was already soaked from saliva and hastily wiped away gore so, at this point, the coyote was looking better than you and it was mauled to death. The howling reaches your ears again. Your head hangs, eyes burning viciously as the beast within you digs its teeth into your shoulder. Its mouth fills with blood as it laughs. It's a sickening sound that muffles your hearing. It was far too proud to admit it's drowning in your blood as it cackled. A reflection of you, yes? That's Kali's initial thoughts when she finds you. Too lost in your own world to even notice her shadow as it casts over you. This was the "beast" that ripped apart those hunters? On his hands and knees with his own vomit inches away. She wasn't convinced. Then, a shadow consumes hers. She turns her shoulders away and her ruby eyes veil themselves as Deucalion passes her. Ennis is further away from the mouth of the cave, senses sharpening to ensure that they are uninterrupted. Deucalion's shoes come into your peripheral. Your eyes zero in on the scratches on the leather, the creases where he'd bend them. They smell worn but not old enough to indicate he was someone who took care of his things so meticulously. He wasn't careless or crass though he was no gentleman either. The tip of his cane is capped with red. The plastic itches your skin as it trails up the bulging veins of your neck. The sting of metal causes your nose to twitch but the man before you, his presence is so heavy your thighs give out.

A sense of mirth fills him as you settle on your calves, head so obediently balancing on his cane as if entranced by the sight of him. The truth is, it's his scent that makes your heart calm. His and the other two Alphas but mostly his. That hindbrain personality of yours wants nothing more than to show off your stomach.

It knows the safety these alphas can provide and the dangers if they choose to reject you. "Rough night?" He jests with no expectations of laughter. Deucalion's cane meets the ground and your head lolls forward. "I must say, you don’t look like someone who's capable of such carnage. A lot to, stomach in?”

Your brows furrow and you lick your lips for a moment to open your mouth but freeze as you realise your teeth are no longer so sharp it cuts your tongue or gums. Running your tongue over your teeth, however, elicits a more visceral disgust as you find bits of fur and blood so no answer comes from you.

The Alpha — how you know his title is a mystery to yourself — tilts his head in the direction of the coyote.

“Such brutality. Surely, it didn’t mean to offend you,” Kali fails to suppress the tugs of a smile. She’s quite an intimidating figure as she stands at the mouth of the cave with her red eyes and dark hair.

“. . .It. . .” Deucalion faces you, silent.

A gulp, a breath, then an answer from your dyed lips: “It growled. . .at me”.

There’s a beat of silence, the forest does not extend its courtesy to fill it with ambience. Deucalion breathes sharply through his nose, a huff of laughter that makes Kali’s unimpressed gaze turn indignant.

“It challenged you and you rose to the occasion.”

You would argue it was just scared of a monster trying to crawl into its cave but this man flashes his teeth in a smile and the words die in your throat.

“Deucalion,” Kali whispers urgently.

“He’s an Omega. A Rouge — He didn’t raise to any occasion,” Deucalion squares his shoulders and the way the black shirt hugs him calls for your attention.

His shoulders are broad, chest firm and studiously presented with his perfect posture. Everything about his torso seemed unjustly perfect and your fingers twitch to feel every curve and bulge of muscles he is clearly packing.

“He has potential. Any newly turned wolf can maul a coyote, perhaps a camper or two, but to successfully decimate an entire group of hunters? That takes more than luck, dearest Kali, that? That takes talent”.

Your breath hitches as the shoes within your peripheral crease. Deucalion’s crouching, you wonder if he has a short Achilles tendon but all thoughts fly out of your brain as he grabs a fistful of your hair.

He pulls and pulls until your neck and shoulders are arched, teeth-gritting and eyes stinging at the strength he is casually displaying.

“Some new blood will do wonders for our pack. I have plans for this”

He leans in and you hold your breath as his breath spreads over your throat. Something in his chest rumbles, the display is forced but he knows you would have just as easily obeyed if asked. This was an excuse to show you his prowess — and to touch you.

“. . .precious puppy".

It seemed a mystery to you. One moment you were kneeling at his feet in a cave and now you were watching him folding his jacket over the chair. It had been exactly 3 months since they found you and took you in as the only Beta of the pack. Deucalion whispers that he has a plan for you but Kali seems unconvinced at the entire plot. Though, as unwilling as she was, Kali trained you with Ennis without fail. "Deucalion's orders", Ennis answered after you had completed a particularly gruelling endurance test. You force your arms to wipe the sweat off your brow, stretching out your legs in front of you as Ennis tosses a towel your way. "But. . .what am I training for?" Kali rolls her eyes, her pin-straight hair impeccably swaying with every shake of her head. Seriously, she looked like she belonged in a shampoo commercial.

"A test. Deucalion will test you, he says. Don't ask why", Kali wonders about it herself. What happened to the ' All Alpha ' pack that Deucalion boasted about? Weakening the link now seemed unreasonable. There was nothing special about you, Kali's eyes convey those very words despite her mouth not once parting. Judging by Ennis' shrug when you gave him a questioning look, it seemed as though this was something even his generals of pain had no inkling of. That conversation was 2-days ago. Today, a random breezy Wednesday of all days, he had called for you into his office. His room was dark. Ennis' lessons about using your newfound heightened senses came in handy. The icy blues of your eyes dart here and there in an attempt to spot Deucalion. How strange, where could he hide? There was a desk across the door and a few shelving cabinets behind that. A few rugs and some office chairs where office chairs are usually found.

Seriously, a man of his stature should not be able to hide so well. A whizzing sound reaches your ears too late and then a sharp sting is felt on your leg. Hissing, you turn frantically to find the source. Your cut was already healing but the surprise of it left you more startled than you'd like to be. "Even with eyes, people can still be so blind", Deucalion's voice calls from behind you. Spinning, you try to put him in your sights but he's already moving into the darker shadows. "(Y/N), I expected better from you." He's observing the edge of his blade. The scent of you fills invades his senses and Deucalion turns his back towards you to gently place his cane atop his desk. "I . . . I need to work on it, I know", your words lack conviction. Like you're unsure of what you're saying. You are. Did it have to be so obvious though? Deucalion motions you forward with a curl of his finger. The sound of your footsteps pauses a few paces from him. So he turns and he can see the rush of blood to your face, the way your heart picks up its pace just fuels his ego and fills his cock. Even with his eyes, the world had never bared more to him than before.

He could no longer gaze at the light dancing on water, watch the sunset paint the skies with its final bow to the world or even gaze at anything people could consider beautiful. But he was stronger for it. A demon wolf like himself; what right did he have gazing at anything remotely beautiful?

Meanwhile, in your corner of the world, the sight of the low v-line cut of his shirt has you gulping thickly. The venom enhanced your biology, that was a given. Ennis tells you about your heightened senses along with your endurance, durability and all that. He even tells you about a wolf's metabolism. How gaining muscles comes easy to werewolves but surely, even without being born as a wolf, Deucalion would still be a goddamn underwear model. His strong arms brace themselves on the edge of the desk and his hips lean backwards. His shoulders raising causes the flesh of his tits to squeeze together. 'Oh Christ', you thought as you avert your eyes. They were right there, practically looking at you first! The jump of your heartbeat prods him to ask; "Is this the reason you struggle to learn your lessons, (Y/N)?"

He can taste your arousal on his tongue. It burns as his lips part into a toothy smile. It's far too charming. Once again, he'd make such a good underwear model it's quite frankly ridiculous.

"Do you what would've happened if my blade was coated with wolfsbane?" Your mouth opens but all that comes out are pathetic ' uhms ' and ' uhs '. Deucalion's smile sours and he pushes himself from the table to instead circle you. Despite his presence being very tangible right now, your stomach twists every time he slinks out of view. He's a true wolf; a hunter in every sense of the word.

Realistically, every footfall should make a noise despite the rug muffling it. Your sensitive ears should hear the gentle crush of fibres below his soles. Nothing. His gait is so eerily ghostlike your ears try to pick up on anything else. A shadow slips on your right and your eyes chase him but that was reprimanded with another stinging. Your yelp makes him reply with a condescending tutting noise. So incredibly British it would be comical if it wasn't so degrading and hot.

The sleeve of your shirt soaks up the blood that manages to thread out from the now-healed cut. "That's twice now you've been cut with wolfsbane", his voice echoes from everywhere and each time you turn to chase another cut forms on your body. It's humiliating. Painful. Tear-inducing. You were being punished like a bad dog. Pain dished out in tiny but venomous lashes that couldn't really hurt you but the aftershocks make your breath turn ragged.

"You killed 14 trained killers that were blooded into their families by the time they were 15 years old. You were enrolled in university" You scoff, twisting your neck and hissing as you were swiped at. The back of your shirt is decorated by the slices just like the back of your jeans and thighs and sides and neck. . .

"I dropped out", you should bite your tongue. Deucalion's dark chuckle earns shivers up your spine but no lashing. "You've the energy to be quip but can't answer a simple question every werewolf knows", your jaw clenches, "I'm new to this!" His cane makes contact with your thighs, the flexible metal meeting flesh and your hand moves faster than your brain can respond. The cane strains between your hand and Deucalion's, a wrench from you and suddenly he steps closer. It seemed as though you were intent on suffocating him with you. The carpet is stained with splatters of your blood and now, your claws dig into your palm as it holds his cane. Defiantly, you meet his gaze. Those pretty lashes that frame your eyes are now buried by your furrowed brows. He can tell your eyes are glowing. The grinding of your fangs as they tear through your gums makes him flash his teeth in a warning.

Those pillowy lips shield that brash display but you still hold your gaze. So defiant, annoyed, humiliated? Deucalion has killed far more talented werewolves for less disrespect. None have ever faced him so crassly. "Is this what they were greeted with?" Your silence lights a fire within him. Pathetic enough you don't even know what wolfsbane does to your kind, but now you dare halt his lessons to stare him down? "A silent killer. A puppy who massacred trained killers by himself left nothing but torn limbs and innards. Is that who is in front of me now? A monster, who doesn't even know what can kill him and what can't. Do you know what people call that?"

Deucalion pulls his cane free from your grasp and in a swift motion points the blade under your jaw. Gasping, your feet pace backwards but Deucalion simply marches forward. Tiny as the blade is, with an arm rippling with supernatural strength even a sharpened stick can be deadly. Perhaps you'd really crossed a line. Ennis and Kali had been ' nice ' to you out of obligation. Deucalion, so far, had simply watched from afar as you trained. You were still so human despite the weeks that have passed. Perhaps the pack hadn't been clear enough with the pecking order. That had to be fixed. If Deucalion's plans were to work, he'd need you to fully understand the gravity of your change.

The edge of his desk digs into your ass and you've half a mind to turn and crawl over it to put more distance. Something tells you turning your back on Deucalion was a death sentence. So you don't. You freeze as the tip of his blade digs into the underside of your chin. "An idiot. A moron. A beast that only functions on impulse. The only thing that separates us from common wolves is the fact that we're smart, eliminating that element means you're nothing more than a common bitch on the side of the streets". His hand slams next to you. You're so close to him that you can see his red eyes through the dark lenses that balance so studiously on his nose bridge. "My pack has no room for mindless, moronic, mutts", Deucalion twists the cane and the grimace on your face does little to soften the snarl that threatens to contort his visage. He can feel the way your flesh desperately tries to heal the wound. Trying to close around his knife and stop the stuttering stream of red that wets his fingers. His nostrils flare. All he can smell is you. On the carpet, on the microscopic canyons of his skin that flood with your crimson. God, the sweat that teases him as it slips down your chest has him feeling as though he is basking under the summer sun. His insides were burning and he retaliated by hitching the blade deeper into you. " Ah! " His knee forces your legs apart and jerks upwards. The feeble attempts at pushing it away are cut short as he forces your neck to stretch further and further away, back bowing and arching into him as your hands scramble to balance yourself. "This gets you hard?"

There was no way to hide. His knee digs into your crotch and you've no way to even muffle the noise that slips out. It's high and whiny, and the stretching of your neck does little to help. Deucalion scoffs at the lack of denial. "Unbelievable", he pretends to sound mad but Deucalion can barely fight back a grin. "Don't tell me the reason you fail to even answer a simple question is because Ennis and Kali don't rub your slutty cock enough?" He doesn't wait to hear a response. Deucalion simply places a hand on your waist and begins moving your hips. It's a bumpy ride and your hips move so mechanically it reminds you of embarrassingly grinding on a pillow to "practice" riding.

It makes you less heated and more reclusive. Deucalion doesn't give in to the resistance you give him and simply applies more strength to move those impressive hips on his leg. "Fuck", you wish the ground would swallow you whole. This was anything but sexy, actually, everything so far has NOT been sexy but fuck why was your dick filling up? Your transformation must have heightened your penchant for pain too because this is ridiculous. Is it because your fear has lessened? Now, a cut won't get infected or need to be tended to thanks to your supernatural healing. Even so, fear was still very much in the equation. Deucalion was one intimidating man and a frightening werewolf. Gazing up at the ceiling you stiffen your hips but Deucalion digs his nails into your skin and you gasp. "Shit!" Deucalion relishes the way your entire body seemed to jerk and twitch. He's especially keen on the way the tent in your jeans strains further.

"Poor puppy, all trapped in those constricting jeans". The breath of relief comes after your head limply hangs as your chin is finally free. Deucalion makes a show of placing his cane right next to you, right within reach if you dared to disrespect him again.

You let your gaze linger on it though something else calls for your attention and somehow, it's not the raging hard-on you have being grinded on. Deucalion's lips crash into yours, and the prickling sensation of his beard has you whimpering. With both hands on you he all but manhandles you down until you're laid on the desk. He bites down on your lower lip meanly, making you gasp and moan as he palms your crotch. "Fuck, fuck", you're more than confused but a part of you is so pleased with this turn of events. Not just because your throat wasn't ripped apart by Deucalion or the fact that you're getting action from a man worthy of being plastered on a Calvin Klein billboard. It's the scent of satisfaction that's coming off of him in waves. The barely there rumbling in his chest sounds like a purr. The big hands that move and puppeteer you. The body that eclipses the ceiling from you. Deucalion is your alpha. The strongest. The deadliest. Fuck, even a devoted priest would drop to their knees in your position. "Wolfsbane is poison", Deucalion might as well give this a go. Even a slut deserves a fair chance at education. Your eyes are fuzzy, barely there, but they sharpen into focus as he undoes your pants. There's no grace in the way he pulls your cock into the open. He grasps your length firmly, bordering on pain judging from your hiss.

"You do know what poison does to someone, yes?" You nod frantically. Those rigid hips suddenly began canting upwards, thrusting up into his fists as Deucalion bared his teeth to your throat. Instinctually, you moan and turn your head to the side. Submitting to your alpha with no verbal command. Seems as though you knew hierarchy after all. "Good boy", his voice dropped octaves and you're desperate in your need for release. There's something heavy in the air, burning delicious of bergamot and pine. Curls of wood shavings appear as your claws dig into the desk. "Aconit Napel Bleu Nordique, it's a favourite of hunters", Deucalion's voice silences the noises around you. He's effectively made so you only see, hear, smell and feel him. His thumb presses on your wet slit and you curse, unable to move as he continues to mottle your neck with his fangs. "Focus, you're obviously in need of extra help in the learning department, don't make me go back to before", your eyes split open and the cane next to you seems to mock you as it shimmers wetly with your blood. "Puh - poison, bad, mfh! Wolfs, wolfsbane", Deucalion would coo but you haven't deserved that just yet. "Tell me the name of it", your confusion is palpable. "Wolfsbane", he pulls away from you. His hands leave your cock twitching on your stomach as he sighs. "The scientific name, puppy. I just said it", he takes his shades off and neatly places it next to his cane. Fuck. You get on your elbows, reeling from the too much pleasure transitioning to not enough pleasure. He's patient as he adjusts his sleeves and spreads your legs. You mistake it as him simply being kind. Big mistake.

A claw traces the underside of your cock. "Name?" "Wuh - Wait! I -", he frowns. The claw is now just under the mushroom head and your heart triples in speed. "(Y/N)". "A - Accut - No, uhm, Accunit Napal Blue Nordic?"

God, Deucalion thinks. He better be glad he's as endearing as he is stupid.

He wraps his fingers around your dick and pumps nice and slow. The sagging of your body on his desk almost makes him feel pity. "Now I know you know the answer to this next question", dread fills you once again but Deucalion rub his palm across your tip and your toes curl. "I heard Kali teach you a lesson on it. The types of wolfsbane. You did wonderfully then and you'll do the same now". That lesson had been damn near 3 weeks ago! It wasn't like they provided lecture slides for you in this pack. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, chest heaving as you try to push the pleasure away to think. Fuck, how could think right now!? How the hell does Deucalion know how to give hand jobs this good!? He squeezes and you squeak at his reminder. "Purple", that was easy and so Deucalion simply loosens his grip. "Blue?" He cocks a brow. "Are you asking me or telling me, puppy?" You take a breath, " M'tellin".

Deucalion begins stroking you at a steady pace. Your precum wets his palm enough but he spits on your dick (with insane accuracy) and the sloppy sensation makes you groan in ecstasy. "Fuck, another one - Nghah! Fuck! Yellow!" "Gooood boy". Deucalion rewards you. His hand must've been crafted by some sort of sex god because the way he has you writhing and moaning is not normal. Deucalion says nothing, simply looking down at you as you let out wanton moans. He's suddenly struck with the want to see you in every detail. His vision is warped and bloodied. More like a tactile vision, beauty is no longer at the forefront. He thought he had accepted it. But now he wants to see it all. The fading bruise on your hips that is shaped like his hands. The hickeys on your neck, the bitemarks, the scratches — even if the only thing left is the shredded threads. He wonders how handsome you look with your face all screwed up in pleasure. Deucalion decides to distract his thoughts with your taste instead. He leans over you, claiming your lips and swallowing the sinful noises. When you cum, it's no surprise that you cum hard. You swear you saw nothing but white and separate from the kiss to call out for him. Deucalion continues jerking you off despite you cringing and attempting to twist away from him. "Uh-ah, you were so good, puppy. You should be rewarded for every correct answer, don't you think so?" "I - I need a second to breathe — !" "Nonsense, I can't possibly be that cruel to you, puppy".

[sapphic-agent]

As a POC I could not handle any longer the way they excused Lea's actions on the Glee subreddit. I left permanently because of it. It angered me the day someone on the sub said that Lea apologised. Lea did not apologise. More than enough times, I've seen Lea be defended on that sub and people get upvoted for it and I couldn't stand it any longer.

The tipping point for me was that people started to say that Santana fans can't keep their feelings about Naya separate but at the same time they're known strong Rachel fans and Rachel defenders and have shown support to Lea multiples all the while being overly-critical about Santana. It was just brewing into hypocritical territory for me.

As a teen, Naya helped me in ways that's hard to explain. Her passing affected me deeply. To see that a few people, going off of the multiple upvotes, were agreeing with comments made accusing Santana fans of mixing their feelings about Naya with Santana in an unhealthy manner was hurtful. Lea fans also double down on putting Rachel on a pedstal to not talk about Lea's past actions on the glee sub but it's not spoken about.

So grateful that you spoke up about this major issue when it comes to Lea on the Glee sub. Your willingness to speak up about the issues on the Glee sub makes me feel less alone.

Omg thank you! That's so nice of you to say. I really do try to steer away from real people on this blog because I want to be primarily media-based. But the Glee sub makes me so fucking mad. They're the definition of performative activism and double standards. Supporting and/or forgiving Lea is just shitty, no matter how many times they try to justify it.

Naya- and Heather- helped me a lot too. They brought to life one of the healthiest, most important sapphic couple of the 2010s (my username was inspired by them lol, that's why they were my old pfp). They made me feel okay to be myself and comfortable in my sexuality. Her passing affected me for a long time too, it was like I couldn't process it.

I know exactly what you're talking about, when people would accuse Santana fans of conflating Santana because of Naya's passing. Like, right after it happened. It was really an awful thing to say because a woman was dead. Her life and memory were more important than their favorite character getting shit. They're vile.

If anyone can't separate the actor from the character it's Finn fans. Cory was a great guy- people always said him and Dianna were the nicest of the cast- and he also passed while the show was still running. A lot of Finn's "likability" came from Cory's charisma and comedic timing. If Cory was still alive I really don't think as many people would defend Finn.

(Tbh, I think Cory himself would shit on Finn. His mom once said that Santana slapping Finn was his favorite scene)

I also feel like people (including other POCs) don't actually understand why Lea was (is?) racist. Racism isn't just "I hate minorities and don't think they deserve rights." It's way more complicated than that. Lea might not have been throwing the n-word around (though, she was derogatory at least towards Samantha with that "shit in her wig" comment), but she absolutely viewed her being white as being superior to her WOC coworkers.

It's a pretty common thing for Black girls. Hell, I even experienced it from girls I called my friends. They're so "down✊🏾" but will be quick to remind you how more cultured and better than you they are.

If you haven't been taught about or experienced these things, you won't know that. But attempting to shut down WOC who have experienced it is shitty. Lea fans trip over themselves to defend someone who went out of her way to bully a younger Black coworker just because she could.

(Also, she was outwardly transphobic. Not letting anyone forget that either. If she was so willing to be transphobic, what makes you think she wasn't racist?)

Lea fans have no excuse. I liked and looked up to JKR too, but the people she hurt (and continues to hurt) are more important than how much I admired her or how much I enjoyed Harry Potter. I was disgusted by her and had no issues condemning her. Lea fans are hypocritical, self-righteous performative activists

[sendmyresignation]

if you wanna indulge me, id love to hear your opinions on sing (all of mine are detractory which i know isnt the complete view of the song)

omg id love too!! sorry this took me a sec to formulate post-work haha. i know we don't agree about sing but honestly that's the beauty of music opinions- I feel like it becomes easier to define what I like about things when faced with legit measured criticism anyway

for me, i want to start with the structure and instrumental since it's usually not mentioned (most of the criticisms of sing are exclusively lyrical or intention-focused). it's so cool. and evocative. and full of tension!! my favorite use of synth on danger days, plus the keys and the drums (man i love the dd studio musician drums lmao), really emphasizes sing as a suspended moment both in the album (necessary bridge, tonally, between bulletproof and planetary imo) and in the track itself- its alllll building up to that bridge and final chorus. but there's all these little pieces- the backing vocals, there's so many hidden guitar parts that riff just under all the noise, that opening like, tambourine. sorry for not having a quote on hand but Ray's said he really loved writing sing and it's so totally obvious to me. especially live- part of the reason I was soooooo excited for sing swarm tour edition is that even during dd ray was like absolutely shredding for sing after the bridge. and everytime time it's so good. part of the reason the lyrics don't bother me is sing could stand alone instrumentally and I'd still want to listen to it. (sing also reminds me of Ray's solo music- the sentiment is more significant that the lyrics and the music is itself a vehicle for storytelling)

also though, i think there's a lot of intention with sing (it's up to the listener to determine if that paid off obv) but within the context of dd the record as a pirate radio station, sing has always read as a trojan horse song. making it a single too, like once a song takes on a life of its own outside the record there's new meaning and circumstance. so both within and outside the killjoy universe sing is a vehicle for not just the bridge but the overall sentiment of dd (how fucking excited was gerard when glenn beck took the glee bait) like, yes, i do agree they could've benefited from another pass over the lyrics (i will always defend keeping "sing it till your nuts" bc its sounds like sing it to your nuts though) but I don't personally get the criticism that sing isn't "specific enough" about what exactly it's against or is too optimistic about "sing it for the world"-- i think there are songs on the album (notably planetary right after it!) which do that job just fine. dd is gerard in arguably top lyrical form so theres a lot of meat in the rest of the record like. sing it for the world is a purposely simplistic art is the weapon. like those are the same sentiments rendered very differently!

also like. i do think there was a very directed target at the younger part of their fan base here (girl/boy) which is sweet. to me. like i did hear sing first when i was a young teen (one of the few dd songs i was familiar with) and it did feel huge and empowering at that moment. my chem are their best when they are navigating the dualities of their specific fame, which includes simultaneously making very serious, adult rock music which is concerned with violence death grief and sex, as well as being a role model for younger people and taking them seriously and neither of these are in rhetorical conflict with each other. so like whatever sing is a little juvenile. but it's still filled with passion! taken as a legitimate project with a creative instrumental and a narratively-driven music video. I like that aspect, it works for me. I'll never call it my favorite my chem song but its certainly not the worst when you add in the bridge (i wanted to prove my point without the bridge but like. damn!! it's a good bridge!!!). that's my spiel.

[raytorosaurus]

pls tell me you don't think disliking lynz is misogynistic lol i must've misinterpreted that

nope! it's totally fine to dislike lynz, i also don't like her myself. she's said some very questionable things and MSI grosses me out, as does her association with jimmy urine. i already know people will want to take this the wrong way so i want to make it clear that i'm not defending any of that. i'm pointing out an irritating mindless pattern of behaviour in this fandom that is immature and reductive at best and misogynistic at worst, which includes:

1. the intensity of the vitriol that is directed at her being disproportionate to most of the men ppl blog about who have done/said similar, if not much worse, things. and honestly in a lot of cases disproportionate to what she's actually done

2. the fact that i see so many people (especially on twitter) blindly jumping on the bandwagon of hating on her often without knowing what exactly it is they're hating her for - and even then, most of the reasons i see parrotted on twitter are either contextless and overexaggerated or not even one of the aforementioned valid reasons for disliking her. i don't know how to tell you this but if you believe everything on lynzuglyliar you need to reevaluate how you engage with information on the internet lol

3. the level of glee with which people hate on her, which truly smacks of old-school fandom misogyny reserved for women who marry your faves or get in the way of your favourite ship. on twitter especially it honestly truly feels like people are delighted to have a wife of the band they're "allowed" to hate on lol. i know a lot of that is coming from teenagers who will grow up and learn more self-awareness but that doesn't make it any less annoying or disappointing to see

4. the ridiculous mental gymnastics required to hate her so much while continuing to be a fan of the person who is married to her and in love with her lmao. sorry but if you truly think she's that irredeemable why are you still here

like. i hate msi and i go out of my way to avoid listening to them. but it's worth keeping in mind that the kind of shock-jock edgy gross music they wrote was not exclusive to msi in the 2000s. i hate it too and think it's stupid and counterproductive to whatever point it's supposedly trying to make but it was like. a thing for a while unfortunately. it was bad at the time and it aged even worse, but gerard and frank at the very least, and probably the others too, vocally enjoyed it. frank voluntarily chose to tour with msi and mcr performed with them multiple times and were always excited about it. if you truly think lynz's involvement with that band is indefensible, you should extend at least part of that criticism to mcr too. the amount of times i've seen people saying "omg frank hates lynz so much" is fucking ridiculous, and it's based entirely on the same kind of conjecture that led people to believe mcr didn't remain close friends after the breakup lol. if you have to make up things like that - or worse, make up and spread infidelity rumours or actual domestic abuse allegations (it's not even rare to see this on twitter) - to excuse their association with lynz/msi, you need to take a look at yourself tbh

this is partly a twitter-specific problem because that platform is literally set up to disallow meaningful or nuanced conversation but it's really exhausting to see hundreds of snippy "she's the devil" tweets and if you say anything vaguely critical of the the way fandom treats her you get immediately shot down with "why are you defending A Racist" with zero context or clarification. i hate to break it to you but if lynz is A Racist of an irredeemable level, so is gerard. hell, so is frank for blindly listening to and promoting black metal bands with nazi associations when he as a metal fan should know better and do his research. lynz's racism in question is the kind that's overwhelmingly common among liberal white women who are into witchcraft-type stuff. again, i am not condoning it, it's still wrong, but you cannot hold her to different standards than you do the guys in mcr. i'm just saying if you're able to acknowledge gerard's questionable statements and attitudes in the past, condemn them, acknowledge that he's changing and learning, but still go on liking him as a person and supporting his art...what is the reason you can't do the same for lynz.

i've seen people on twitter accuse lynz of plagiarism in an impressively tone-deaf misinterpretation of her art genre, sometimes the same people who would call gerard doing something similar a clever reference. i have literally seen people quote male members of MSI making sexually objectifying and openly misogynistic comments about lynz as some kind of gotcha saying "look, even her bandmates don't respect her" and like...if you can't see something deeply wrong with that i don't know what to tell you. i've seen COUNTLESS people bring up vague information "revealed" by her actual estranged family members on twitter after people stalked them to try to get dirt on lynz and if you think parroting back contextless one-sided information from other people's private family drama isn't a) about the least reliable source of information ever and b) deeply disgusting and inappropriate, i really don't know what to tell you

if you despise lynz to the point where you're in mcr's comments telling gerard to divorce her (again. i shouldn't have to say that this is disgusting behaviour) or booing when they perform summertime or accusing her of infidelity or abuse (which i cannot stress enough are rumours originally made up by frerard tinhatters) or anything like that, why are you even here. like what mental gymnastics are you doing to be able to remain a fan of gerard at this point. none of this is activism, if anything it's counterproductive to your point because it's indicative of the lack of critical thinking or maturity that's necessary when you're engaging with topics like casual/unconscious racism and normalised sexual abuse in the music industry

i'm probably not going to say more about this because this isn't really the hill i want to die on considering i don't even particularly like her myself but please i am begging you approach your dislike of lynz with just a little bit of critical thought and self-awareness instead of just blindly despising her for things that most of the men we blog about are also guilty of.

[seiya-starsniper]

🫵 I'm giving you the same ask I gave softest-punk

Desire-Hob-Cori

How would you right this chaos fueled crackship?

Anon I have legit thought of nothing but this ask all day. I was actually counting down the minutes until I could leave the office so I could write this for you. What an honor to receive on the first day of Pride. 💖

For those unfamiliar, here's the original ask and fill from @softest-punk [Click Here].

Dedicating this prompt to @aquilathefighter @the-cloudy-dreamer and @honeyteacakes for helping me with this brainworm. And to @gil212 and @lyriclorelei for the puns.

I present to you, Desire x Hob x Corinthian at Drag Brunch~

-----------

“I thought,” Desire quips over a bright pink drink, “you said there would be entertainment.”

“The show hasn’t started yet,” Hob replies. “We’re eating first. And drinking,” he adds, holding up his own yellow slushy concoction. 

“Speak for yourself,” the Corinthian interjects from across the table. “I’ve got a great view in front of me.”

“Flatterer,” Desire rolls their eyes but Hob can feel them preening from beside him. 

“View’s not bad from here either,” Hob says, wrapping an arm around Desire’s waist and planting a kiss on a well sculpted cheek. He shoots the Corinthian a wink too, just for good measure.

“Disgusting,” Desire sighs, even as they lean into Hob’s shoulder.

It’s another 15 minutes before the pub dims their lights, and the host who’d seated them announces that the show is starting soon. Desire still seems skeptical of the whole thing, but they hum and settle against Hob, resting one immaculately manicured hand against the table, an open invitation that the Corinthian takes.

“And now!” the host yells into the microphone. “Please welcome our first queen, Amanda Fallfor!”

A familiar violin trill makes its way across the room, soft at first, and as the vocals begin, Amanda strides into the room, dressed in a hot pink evening gown and matching feather boa wrapped around her shoulders. She glides effortlessly around the room, wrapping the boa around some necks, and batting her large eyelashes dramatically. Many of the patrons swoon after her, miming a phone call with their hands. 

“Her eyebrows aren’t blocked properly,” Desire tuts under their breath so only Hob (and the Corinthian probably, he’s got very good ears) can hear. “You can see her natural eyebrows from outside the pub. One of them is bigger than the other.”

“Be nice,” Hob mutters, trying not to look disapproving while Amanda is wrapping up her performance of Call Me Maybe. 

“That was not part of our deal,” Desire replies. “But fine. The pink suits her. Happy?”

“Everyone’s a critic,” the Corinthian chuckles. “She’s got nice eyes.”

Hob snorts. “You would notice that,” he says.

As Amanda makes her exit, the waitstaff come around to collect their food, and take new drink orders. Desire and Cori order more slushies, but Hob’s the one who drove today, so he settles on water instead. 

“Next, please welcome Vulva Cano!” the pub host announces.  

“How crass,” Desire tuts. 

“I like it,” the Corinthian grins. 

“You better not, or you’re sleeping on the couch,” Desire says testily. 

“Are you jealous, Desire?” Hob asks, not bothering to hide the glee in his voice. 

“Of that awful outfit?” Desire says as Vulva appears in a bright orange and yellow bodysuit. “Never.”

The rest of the show passes in a similar fashion, with Desire nitpicking everything on the performers from their makeup to how they walk in their absurdly high heels. Hob thinks Desire would be an absolutely ruthless judge on RuPaul and decides to add it to his ever growing list of human experiences to introduce his otherworldly lovers to.

“Ugh, why perform Margaritaville if your name is Mimosa Thyme?” Desire complains of the last performer.

“Pretty sure it’s for the bit, love,” Hob chuckles. “Admit it, you had fun.”

“I would’ve had more fun in our bed,” Desire purrs, nuzzling into Hob’s neck.  

“I bet you’d absolutely smoke the rest of them if you were up there, baby,” the Corinthian says, grinning predatorily. Hob shoots him a withering look. They both know Desire can’t resist a chance to show off.

Predictably, Desire perks up. “You’re absolutely right darling. Be right back.”

“You,” Hob sighs fondly at the blonde, “are a menace. Both of you.”

“Aww Hobsie, you know you wanna see it too,” the Corinthian replies. “You know the sex is better when they’re riled up first.”

Hob has no rebuttal so he stays quiet. The Corinthian stands up and takes Desire’s vacated seat, wrapping his arms around Hob’s waist possessively. 

Before long, they hear the echo of the host once more.

“We have a surprise performer on the docket today! Everyone give it up for Endless Desire!”

Well, Hob thinks as the lights dim once more. At least they have the best seats in the house.

[sasster]

There's Always a Beginning

We love trips to the past here.

--

“He is a peculiar thing.”

For the last handful of hours, and who really knew how much time could have passed when the pair of moirails got together, Harlan’d been talking, while taking up entirely too much space on the couch beside him, about this or that as it related his church’s sect. Of course, Orfuse always does his best to listen, but sometimes the rambling will fly right over his head. Church stuff isn’t exactly built with the lowblood in mind, he tried not to think about what happens in them.

It is usually politics or murder, often both, and how annoying he found the other followers. Sometimes their leaders. How frustrating they could all be. Never before did he describe a fellow clown as something so kind as peculiar.

When the curious statement comes out of his moirails mouth, his eyes spring up from the historical text he’d been rewriting, having seen the events himself and finding key information missing from what was documented, and a playful smile quickly overtakes his features. A constellation of freckles shifting to broadcast his delight.

Harlan's brows furrow for a moment, then he raises one.

“Harly, have you,” he pauses for emphasis, “Made a friend?” His genuine stab of excitement at the idea of his beloved moirail going out and making friends only sort of masked by the teasingness of his tones. Orfuse was well aware of the difficulties his beloved partner had with making friends, after all.

Well, difficulty is the wrong word. Charisma oozes out of the man in waves that could snuff out even the harshest of critics, after all. Even the Empress herself would be taken with you, Orfuse once told him with glee, a statement that was only met with a satisfied hum at the time.

Resistant is a better word. Friends are not his top priority.

“Friend is a strong word.” Harlan objects, case in pointing the argument he didn’t know was being had, as he takes the opportunity of the oracle's temporary distraction to rest his head in the smaller man’s lap and allow himself to stretch out fully across the couch. Even now his legs frustratingly hang a bit over the edge. Immediately Orfuse’s hands are in his hair, nails worked into his scalp in the form of a rhythmic massage. “He is just interesting, this Thanat Lycaon.”

Orfuse pauses and Harlan turns his head slightly to get a look at the strange expression that takes up residence and contorts that freckled face. “Love, are you alright?”

He just shakes his head and laughs the strange reaction off.

”Peculiar and interesting, is he?”

”Yes, we’ve had a few conversations.”

”Conversations plural?” His mock surprise makes Harlan roll his eyes.

”I am capable of many conversations plural.”

”I know!” He chimes back, following another delighted laugh. “I think I’d like to see this man that has captured your attention for plural conversations with my own eyes, is all. I’d like to meet this Thanat Lycaon.”

[ngardgni]

...So, we've been reading a few posts about how "Warrior Nun" is the best because it isn't like all the other queer shows, where apparently the queer couples have sex right away or non-queer shows that queer bait viewers, etc.

Let's just get something straight:

The original L-Word came out in 2004. That show was criticized for being too white, too narrow, too limiting in its depiction of gay women. In fact, it was mostly lesbians, and one bi woman (Tina) and most were femmes. Over the years, the show tried to course correct with the addition of other characters, most notably Max (Daniela Sea) and even that was fraught with controversy. At the time, Daniela Sea was interviewed about this and she had said (and we're paraphrasing here, that was a long time ago), that L-Word doesn't claim to represent all gay women, and she had hoped that there would be more representation of gay women, more movies, more tv shows to show the diversity, the variety, the spectrum of the gay experience.

At the time, pre-L-Word, there were only a handful of les/bi movies, mostly indie, some of questionable quality (there were a lot, we're not going to name names), some good (our favorite being "When Night is Falling" and "Incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls in Love"). On TV, we had "Ellen" which was groundbreaking and promptly cancelled, and there was "Carol the Lesbian" on "Friends", who was treated more as a joke, along with Chandler's trans-mom.

Cut to now - where we have so much more to choose from: we have period dramas with A-List directors and actors ("Carol", "Tell it to the Bees", "Portrait of a Lady on Fire"), we have shows on TV networks and online streaming platforms (tho the line between those are blurring). So we can watch Cyrano de Bergerac style movies ("The Half of It") or Asian American ones ("Saving Face") or pretty straightforward ones, really ("Imagine Me and You"), and though some, if not half or most series/shows have been cancelled ("Teenage Bounty Hunters", "I Am Not Okay with This", etc.), we still have more shows/series now that tell our queer stories than ever before ("Buffy the Vampire Slayer", "The 100", "Glee", etc.) and we still think that's better than the time the only thing we had was stories with only subtext to keep us company ("Fried Green Tomatoes", "Thelma and Louise", "A League of their Own").

So, whenever we feel like it's getting bad, let's also remember the time when queer stories weren't even mainstream, when directors and actors wouldn't even touch or go near our stories, when we didn't have as many allies in the industry willing to put our stories out there. A lot of our queer stories from before, though far from perfect, paved the way for stories like "Warrior Nun"to see the light of day. And we love that yeah, "Warrior Nun" is about a friends-to-lovers queer story, but that isn't just the one queer story that can be told. The diversity and complexity of the queer experience can hardly be encompassed by just one series and it's not fair to ignore or put the others down just because they don't fit what you like. We like that we have the more adult, they-had-a-one-night-stand-right-away-and-fell-in-love story of Kacy on NCIS Hawai'i, the sex-positive one of Leighton on "The Sex Lives of College Girls", the stranded-on-an-island one of "The Wilds", the vampire-and-vampire-slayer-falling-in-love narrative of "First Kill", etc.

So, let's keep celebrating the diversity and complexity of the queer female experience onscreen but still honor the stories that came before them. They may not have been perfect, hell, they were even problematic, but, again, at least we got these stories and our lives are better for it.

And let's keep pushing for "Warrior Nun"and other stories to keep getting made and renewed.

Like and reblog if you agree.

Drop your favorite queer women story (movie, series, show) below.

[aronarchy]

https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/william-gillis-one-giant-red-flag-folded-into-a-book

So much abuse is about trapping and monopolizing the target’s attention, feeling entitled to claim a chunk of their brain. The experience of being abused is often one of being forced into thinking about the abuser constantly, from trying to predict their acts to trying to follow the latest tangle in their proclamations. Abuse strips away agency by stripping away the capacity for the abused to think for yourself, to think about anything else or think at all. If the abuser controls critical needs then everything is devoted to trying to turn yourself into a complex key that can unlock those needs. If the abuser besieges and terrorizes you randomly, you form your brain into a vast prediction net, trying to preempt as best you can every single avenue by which they might strike. Or you huddle up and turn yourself off, turn your brain off, to try and weather through things like an inert object. All of these are about losing your capacity for agency in a way that extends beyond any physical constraints directly imposed upon you. Abuse takes over your brain.

Sometimes the abuser acts so as to not have to think about you, to terrorize you into smallness and confined predictability, but sometimes the abuser is themselves driven by their own ravenous attention on you and the need to make you dedicate that same level of attention to them. This sort of abuser is never more happy than when their provocations force you into direct immediate raw unthought emotional tangles with them. They yell and yell until you finally yell back, and then they grin in glee because they have you. Neither abuser can stand your escape to any degree, which they read as a direct assault on them.

There are many aspects of abuse, but abusers feel entitled to your attention.

I can’t emphasize this enough. Demanding that an ex listen to you, mobilizing The Community to force that ex to give you a monopoly over their brain is an abuser’s wet dream. It’s how thousands of accountability processes have derailed into an abuser continuously retraumatizing their survivor.

Schulman, it must be emphasized, has no argument for why we should be obligated to give away our attention to anyone who wants it. What she has instead is 1) a fixation on pain and suffering of those denied control over the attention of their targets, and 2) the repeated assertion that having no boundaries is “adult” whereas saying no is “childish.” Mature adults talk things out in person, only immature children—or those so traumatized and broken as to be infantile children—would draw a line around their attention and enforce it.

“In another example from other people’s lives, sometimes angry, supremacist, or traumatized people send emails commanding, ‘Do not contact me.’ I want to state here, for the record, that no one is obligated to obey a unidirectional order that has not been discussed. Negotiation is a human responsibility. Little children order their parents around: ‘Mommy, sit there!’ When adults give orders while hiding behind technology, they are behaving illegitimately. These unilateral orders do not have to be obeyed. They need to be discussed.”

It would be trivial to compose a little passage reversing the associations, casting knowing how to draw boundaries and assert one’s independence and agency as the “mature adult” position whereas being caught under the boot of others’ demands to the point where you can’t own your own associations or attention as the “child” experience. But I want to reject the entire adult supremacist frame she’s appealing to.

If the child often stomps their feet and declares “no”—no, I refuse to give uncle a kiss, no, I refuse to get dressed to be your marionette at an event, no, I refuse to listen to your lecturing—perhaps we should see that as an inspiring site of resistance by those most oppressed before they are ground down. Perhaps we should endeavor to be more like children desperately trying to assert their autonomy and consent as agents who get to choose. Certainly the world “adults” have built and perpetuated by beating each new generation into surrender is a clearly sickening and grotesque one.

Even though I personally have made choices to maintain some level of contact, I vehemently support every abused child who walked away from their parents and never answered their calls ever again. Hell, I support children who killed their abusers. You do not owe everyone a path for reconciliation and negotiation. From abusers to even just wingnuts and inane time burglars, the best option is sometimes to just walk away forever. We have limited time on this planet, why spend it trying to repair every single relationship you have so far happened into?

Schulman somehow cannot even fathom goals other than the maintenance of existing relationships.

“Refusing to speak to someone without terms for repair is a strange, childish act of destruction in which nothing can be won.”

Liberation can be won. There’s a world of possibility beyond the confines of one given relationship. Opportunity cost is a real thing that is worth considering. That nothing is gained in one specific relationship by walking away doesn’t mean that a world of possibilities can’t be gained through the absence and negation of that relationship.

[askmadcomcrew]

HELLO!! Doc and Christoff, what do y'all think of each other? How do y'all feel about one another? Friends, enemies or simply just acquaintances? Why do you want to recruit Christoff into the SQ anyway doc?

Doc: I believe I have answered a similar question before, but I don't mind reiterating for the uninitiated. To summarize, I harbor no ill will towards Dr. Christoff, even if he did cause a cataclysmic event that destroyed Nexus City and cost the lives of hundreds of innocents. I understand that, somewhere deep inside, he truly believed he was doing the right thing. I will also never disparage him for his slaying of Phobos, as we are all better off without that madman at the helm.

Rather, I am disappointed in Dr. Christoff. He is intelligent enough to see that our goals more often than not align, and he could be an extremely powerful asset to the S.Q. With his technical knowledge and fighting prowess, I detestably wouldn't even need Hank anymore.

However, he is blinded by his ego. He often criticizes me, and many others, as being victims of our own hubris, but it is him with the biggest ego of them all. "The size of Jupiter", as your people would describe it. He claims he finds my methods barbaric and unnatural and questionable, and in some facets he may be correct, but truly I just believe he is jealous of my ability to revive people from the dead better than he can.

Ultimately, with Christoff out of the picture, I don't find myself thinking of him much anymore. I do however catch myself sometimes thinking about what could of been, had I reached him and he agreed to work with me. I truly believe we could have accomplished great things together.

Dr. Christoff: Friends is hardly an apt descriptor, but I suppose "enemy" is no more apt. Me and...Doc, if he even is one, have certainly had our differences. His vision for Nevada seems noble on the surface, but I assure you he is a liar, manipulator, and extremely dangerous. Not to mention a complete and utter fool.

This "Doc" believes he can keep Nevada's most dangerous, most wanted mass murderer on a short leash and expect him to listen to his orders. If you ask me, he's insane. Hank is a ticking time bomb, and the only reason Doc isn't another on the very long list of his victims is because he manages to stay useful. The moment that stops, Hank would slaughter him with glee like has done so many others.

Not to mention his tampering with the balance between life and death. Hank should have died long ago, and stayed that way. Instead, Doc focuses his intellectual mind in keeping Nevada's biggest threat alive, instead of putting it towards something truly good. I believe that Doc thinks what he is doing is noble and good, but I believe he is on the wrong path. His hubris in thinking he can control Hank will backfire on him. Should I meet him here in The Other Place, I'll be sure to tell him all about it.

[gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat]

Group G, Round 1, Poll 6:

Propaganda under the cut

Kreia/Darth Traya

Kreia throughout the entire game manipulates you and the entire cast into serving her goals, doing things like lying about her identity, turning the party against each other, killing her allies to further her goals, and slowly but surely gaining a position of trust just to make her betrayal hurt all the more.

1) Kreia was Revan's first and last teacher of Revan (who had many other teachers inbetween that) which certainly helped them to develop critical thinking and see jedi order as too conservativee and inflexible, setting their fate as the Revanchist and later a Sith lord in motion. 2) She were mindfucking Darth Sion with verbal abuse for who knows how long, making him believe that he is a failure. Sion even later falls for fem!PC because while she could penetrate his soul and mind just like Kreia, "You and her are alike, yet different in all the ways that matter, and I hate you as I hate her. I hate you because you crawl within my head as she does. But your presence holds no thoughts, no teachings. You are just… there, unspoken. I hate you because you are beautiful to me, and in that weakness lies death." 3) She also can and would read minds of your companions while you are not around, find their weaknesses and use it agains them to ensure they will stay and help in your adventure or just plainly to make them feel miserable. She will also judge your actions almost everytime you make a decision. Leaving her on a ship out of your party WON"T HELP as she will use your Force bond as phone and keep disapproving of you. 4) You want to give a beggar some money? "Why would you do such a thing? Now he won't laern his lesson and keep count on others, you rob him of a opportunity to grow. Also we are in a space ghetto, he'll be killed for that money faster than he can cross the road". You refused to give the poor man some money? "Why did you do such a thing? Cruelty leads to suffering, and when one suffers, it's the way of life to spread suffering. Look, he just killed and robbed a man who offered him help and kindness". 5) While she don't like force-sensitives, she dislikes droids and aliens too, because she can't properly get into their heads and manipulate them as easily. She also is much frendlier (by her standards) to your companions until they became your apprentices. And hypocritically, while she hates Force, she uses it to see. She could've heal her eyes with it and use them, but she doesn't want to. 6) Kreia is one of the main sources of exposition, so she gaslights not only a pc, but YOU! Is she actually Arren Kae, who is Revan's master and Handmaiden's mom? What actually happened with Revan so they decided to attack Republic? Is she actually want to rid Galaxy of Force's will or just seeks revenge for a numerous betrayals? She stealthily fill you with many controversal thoughts during the course of the game and you really need to stop and rethink everything through a prism "Is there enough evidences of this point or sis I learn it from Kreia?" 7) If she is actually Arren Kae then she girlbossed hard by going into the Mandalorian Wars after Revan and fought together with her lover Yusanis, with whom she will have Handmaiden. But even as her Kreia persona she could defeat Darth Sion even after he cut her hand off, and reclaimed her mantle as Lord of Betrayal and head of Trayus Academy. Also she threatens to kill herself if you won't come to her, which kills your PC too due the strong Force bond between you. Despite dying at the end she feels she didn't lose anything: should she won, she would destroy the Force itself (which kills almost all life in a galaxy as collateral damage, but ultimately freeds it from being Force's puppets), but if she loses than she grew a fine replacement for herself, you, who will carry her lessons within yourself.

Sue Sylvester

an ICON! She is a successful cheer coach, local media star, a Madonna stan (girlboss), she is trying to get the glee club shut down because she hates schuester (based) and to secure funding for the Cheerios(gatekeep), and the "I am going to make an environment that is so toxic" quote on its own deserves to win. In short, she is the shadiest, funniest, most mean spirited character while also being one of the most well written and I think that she deserves a win.

[sopheadraws]

When it comes to Brittany S. Pierce, people’s interpretations are all over the place. It ranges anywhere from <3 innocent babie <3, to severely cognitively impaired, to manipulative liar who pretends to be stupid so others obey their will (which I’ll later accuse her mother of, but that’s neither here nor there). Anyways, I’m adding my opinion into the cacophony because, despite the indecisive fanbase, thorough Brittany meta is lacking in quantity. Also, I tend to think my opinion is best, as is human nature.

This analysis is rooted in autistic!Brittany, and while its unnecessary since I’ll go through many of her autistic characteristics, here’s a post detailing the headcanon and a medical article describing the diagnostic criteria in simple terms if you’re unfamiliar with the disorder. I understand that not everybody considers Britt neurodivergent, and that’s totally fine - I’m always up for a healthy conversation/debate! - but please give me a heads up if you plan to respond critically because a lot of this is based on my own experiences as an autistic teenage girl, so unmentioned critiques can feel personal fast. Now without further ado:

A Deep Dive Into Brittany S. Pierce <3

Auditory Processing Disorder “APD” is a subdivision of Sensory Processing Disorder “SPD” which is a quintessential element of an autism diagnosis. APD is pretty much exactly what it sounds (haha pun) like: despite somebody’s hearing abilities, the brain fails to process auditory input properly. The APD trait I hear discussed most in autism spaces is the inability to filter out background noises, but Britt seems to struggle most with interpreting meaning from words. Sometimes when people talk to me (“dolphins are just gay sharks”), even though they’re speaking clearly and I’m very literate in English, it sounds like jumbled nonsense (“dulfanz-our-goost-gae-shorcks”). This accounts for what I’m calling Brittany’s “so close you can taste it” lines. Think of her claim that Christopher Cross discovered America or that O is the capital of Ohio; a man named Christopher C. is indeed credited with discovering America and O is the only capital letter in Ohio. As a whole, they often misunderstand things told to them directly, and it seems a lot less foolish if she only understood half of what was being said via APD.

I’m calling the category of Brittany lines that can’t usually be rationalized as possible by anybody over seven (e.g. Rory the leprechaun, storks delivering babies, and anything with Lord Tubbington) the “stranger than fanfiction lines.” Now, I could take these at face value and say she’s tapping into a magical dimension, but I have my own set of autism driven realism issues, so, without a pre-existing fantasy world, I’m using my significant brainpower to twist Brittany into plausibility =D I ultimately think the best explanation for the stranger than fanfiction lines is echolalia. Echolalia is the repetition of words or phrases, and it’s usually associated with autism. Autistic people often reuse other people’s words, and since we usually think in pictures and have various social communication problems, it’s easier than formulating new sentences. Or we just like the tongue movements/sound a word makes. Personally, I quote songs a lot - if you say something loosely related to a Taylor Swift, musical, or Glee lyric, chances are I’ll sing it - and dipsomaniacal is a new fave to say randomly. There’s some evidence for Britt doing this in canon, unrelated to the stranger than fanfiction lines. While Brittany is known for calling him Blaine Warbler, it actually originated from Rachel and the infamous spin the bottle kiss. They also repeat ‘uber weird after Blaine in the That’s So Rachel reading, and the last line of that scene is them talking in time with Blaine, a behavior seen in S1 with Santana. However, it interests me most that she calls Artie a robot, as we see her dad call Stephen Hawkin, another wheelchair user, a robot in S6.

Basically, I blame the Pierces for how terribly adjusted their child is <3 (Mostly Whitney. Assuming Pierce actually has an IQ of 40, he’s disabled too and deserves some slack in terms of spreading misinformation.) In her admittedly limited screen time, Whitney manages to do two positive things: be an LGBTQ+ ally and let her younger daughter do soccer, I guess. Otherwise, she kept the truth about Stephen Hawking from Brittany for 20 years, cheated on her husband on their honeymoon for claiming infertility, crapped in random barns, insulted her husband’s intelligence, publicly insulted her husband’s appearance, and arguably restricted her daughter’s intellectual growth. To be honest, I realize Whitney isn’t that deep and I don’t actually hate her, but if people can hate Brittany for being a comedic character from the 2010s, I’ll do the same thing to their mother in defense of Brittany. Fight stop the violence with violence, baby! Anyways, I don’t think echolalia alone can explain the stranger than fanfiction lines. At least, not without a source. And that’s usually where upbringing comes in.

I’m ruling out nature automatically because there aren’t chromosomes telling people to believe in unicorns. Well, some people - including autistic people (hehe see what I’m doing here?) - are more inclined to believe falsehoods, but falsehoods have to be fed by someone else. With autism, the reckless believing tendencies come from literal thinking in part. Also, since SPD makes processing the outside world difficult, we often can’t recognize “obvious” truths in the first place. My extended family hated watching movies with me because I used to ask questions every five seconds lol. Setting Pierce aside because he seems to follow Whitney blindly; Brittany’s unnamed sister, Sue, and Whitney are the remaining suspects.

I assume Brittany’s sister is significantly younger than Britt because she played soccer with a seven-year-old in S1 (technically she could’ve been the coach, but that throws off my theory that the Klaine/Brittana wedding was child free), and children aren’t clever or mean enough to throw off anybody’s world view so badly :) Sue does seem the obvious answer, but she didn’t meet Brittany until they started high school, and she’s consistently baffled by Britt’s behavior despite encouraging her own eccentricities in the other Cheerios. And that leaves Whitney as the perpetrator, blaming her Scientology and gambling addiction on a cat.

Finally, I do think there’s a few times when Brittany intended for her jokes to be jokes. I don’t think it happens as much as you might expect, but there’s a scene in S3 when JBI is interviewing Brittany about her class president candidacy, and she tells him she’s voting for Rick “The Stick” Nelson before turning to Santana and laughing that clued me in. I think the mentality behind these lines (the “pun intended” category) is best explained with an anecdote from my own childhood.

When I was little - maybe six or seven - I really wanted to be funny. Well, I wanted to be liked, and since I didn’t understand social cues, my solution was humor because I knew my dad told jokes which made me laugh, which made him likable! Unfortunately, as a literal thinking child, I had no idea how to do this, which meant I parroted the only joke I knew (“What time is it when an elephant sits on the table?” “Time to get a new table!”) in hopes of chuckles. This went about as badly as you would expect. After a while, my parents got rightfully fed up with this joke and got me a joke book. I had no sense which of these jokes were funny, which wasn’t helped by most of the book being about taxes, bad marriages, and other stuff aimed at adults.

It wasn’t until a routine walk to the convenient store that my comedy dreams were fulfilled. My dad, little sister, and I used to walk to the “snack store” to buy a drink each and share a candy bar. While we had some routine favorites, we also tried out new candies together. However, there were a few bars my dad refused to buy because he’d disliked them prior to our snack store outings. Most infamous of these forbidden fruits was the Zero Bar. We tended to reference the Zero Bar when picking our next treat, and on this fateful day I said, “It’s called the Zero Bar because zero people like it.”

And my dad laughed. He laughed because of something I’d said. I was elated!

The only catch up was I hadn’t actually intended it as a joke. After all my attempts to be funny, the only thing that apparently worked was speaking my mind. This singular incident didn’t rewire my understanding of humor - I attempted the parroting tactic with the Zero Bar joke after all - but it’s the most pivotal moment in my mind. To this day, I play up my neurodivergent thought process to make others laugh. I reference Glee at seemly unrelated times with mock enthusiasm to callback times I’ve mentioned Glee with real enthusiasm or talk about my other interests in forced monotones.

There isn’t any actual evidence that Brittany has the same weird complex about humor, but some of their interactions regarding stupidity parallel it. In general, when they’re away from Santana, Brittany appears fairly insecure about her neurodivergence. I might even go as far as to say that she doesn’t joke without Santana around. Now, I don’t think Britt knows what her atypicalities are until they’re presumably diagnosed at M.I.T., but every neurodivergent person I know knew something was wrong before being diagnosed. (I want to talk about how Blaine’s diagnosed autism is a foil for Brittany’s undiagnosed autism at some point, but you didn’t sign up for autistic!Blaine, so now isn’t the time.)

Anddd, that’d pretty much it for now :) I intend to write more in depth Brittany meta in the future, but this is a decent overview for the time being. I hope this made you think, and I’d love to hear your thoughts if it did!