#so maybe that´s not even a problem actually

[sentientgolfball]

Same Old, Same Old

if you couldn't tell I've been possessed by these two recently

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 3730

Tags: pup as a nickname, Zeph is kinda(?) mean...a little?, so much nipple

Summary: Ifrit takes a trip down memory lane by playing dress up with his old uniform. Zephyr catches him and makes the most out of it.

A bored ghoul never meant anything good. Ifrit had been sitting in his room all day, bored out of his mind. No chores to help with, no Siblings looking for him, no call to action. He laid in bed for an unreasonable amount of time, alternating between texting Zephyr and scrolling on his phone. Another hour passed before he huffed and tossed it on the bed next to him. There were only so many cat videos he could take. 

He heaved a sigh before standing, stretching with a pop in his shoulders. He figured a walk will do him some good, anything to get his blood pumping. Fire was an element of energy and Ifrit could not stand the thought of staying still any longer. Maybe he would even find something to do while he was out and about. Even if he did not, at least he would not be laying around anymore. 

He thinks about where he will go as he changes out of his pajamas. His phone buzzes, another text from Zephyr. From what Ifrit could tell, they have been having a day. They have been helping a new Sibling tasked with sorting through the older books in the library which is not a problem on its own, it is a certain Sister. Sister Gracie. She has been the problem in all of Zephyr’s workday stories recently. She checks out hoards of books and keeps them well past their due date. On multiple occasions, Zephyr has had to go directly to her and ask for them back. They were at their wit's end for today though. Apparently, she actually returned the stack she checked out on time, but when Zephyr went to collect them from the bin they had been damaged. All of them were either soaked or had some mystery stain on the pages. So all day it has been running between helping the new Sibling, talking with Imperator and Sister Gracie, and trying to salvage the books. 

Another ping from Ifrit’s phone. 

If I see her in here ever again after this I will be more than tempted to break that stupid human rule they can send me back to Hell it’ll be worth it to claw her eyes out

He stares at the message and quickly decides he will make the library his destination for his walk. It was on the opposite end of the Ministry from the ghoul den, so surely it will be enough to get some energy out. Plus seeing Zeph right about now sounds nice, for both their sakes. He sends them a quick text telling them he is stopping by before lacing up his boots and leaving the den. 

The halls aren’t as filled as they usually are, he passes a few pockets of Siblings and ghouls filtering about but that’s it. He greets them all with enthusiasm, a bright fang filled smile. It seems to be a lazy day for the entire Ministry, though the heat from the late spring sun might have something to do with that. 

He decides to take the longest way possible to the library, taking every twist and turn he can. He can feel his fire crackling just under his skin. Now that he’s finally moving around he feels ready to burst. When he passes the doors to the practice room he pauses though. He stares at the metal doors, out of place against the stone architecture of the ancient building. It’s been a long time since he’s gone inside, since he’s been on this wing of the Ministry. He hasn’t needed to, when Dew changed guitars Ifrit took the fantomen to keep in his room. When he gets that itch to play all he has to do is take it off the wall. 

He opens the door just to peek inside. When he sees the room is empty he figures a quick trip down memory lane won’t take too much of his time. He steps in, lights and air conditioning coming to life when the sensors pick up movement. He takes a deep breath, it smells of artificial cold and polish. Underneath all that though, the dull scents of various ghouls filter through. Quintessence and fire smell the strongest. Ifrit briefly wonders which combination decided to lock themselves in here for a few hours. Omega and Alpha? Dew and Aether? Phantom and Dew? Or maybe it was Swiss? The multi ghoul’s scent was always hard to pinpoint unless it was fresh. 

Ifrit shrugs, not too concerned with the details. He bounces around the mini rehearsal stage; eyes closed to let muscle memory take over. He bends backwards, throwing a hand into the air to show off to a ghostly crowd. If he’s quiet he can almost hear the cheering. He misses the energy of performing, misses the pleasant ache in his body after a ritual. Even so, he would not go back. Nothing would stop him from being where Zephyr is. Nobody had asked him to leave, but when Zephyr said they couldn’t  handle it anymore it wasn’t even a question. Reliving the memories is enough as long as Zephyr is with him. 

Oh shit Zephyr!

He pulls himself back to the present with a shake of his head. He already took too much time by stopping, Zephyr is probably waiting for him outside the library doors. He jumps off the mini stage, bounding towards the exit when a light catches his eye. One of the soundproof practice rooms has a light on. He thought he was alone. He can’t help it when he turns, heading down the short hallway. He peers into the window when he’s close enough only to find it empty. Well not empty, all of the spare practice rooms were being used as storage while the band wasn’t actively preparing for a tour, but there was no one inside. 

He goes to open the door, but it hadn’t been closed all the way. He pushes it open and steps inside, surveying the space for any signs of who the mystery ghoul may have been. Whoever they are, they left in a hurry. Uniform bags are open, a mask box sitting on one of the few chairs in the room. Ifrit moves to clean up the small mess, but seeing the glint of the mask has him stopping. It’s not one of the helmets like he was expecting. Its silver, no opening for a mouth, curling horns, and sculpted hair. Empty eyes stare up at him. His eyes. His mask. 

He doesn’t think as he takes it out of the box, bringing it up to his face to look into the eye holes. It’s surreal to hold it again. The only one who stills wears this version is Omega; feeling the cool metal feels wrong but almost right in a strange way. This was his face for his first few months Topside and now it just sits in a box. 

An idea crosses his mind. One that would surely get him in trouble if he was caught. Whoever was in here before him clearly thought the same thing, only Ifrit didn’t stop. He put the mask back into the box, closing the lid and picking it up before his conscious could catch up to him. His eyes quickly scan over the rack of costume bags until he finds the right size. If he was going to steal pieces of Ministry history he needed to do it quickly before someone else wandered in. 

He shuts off all the lights in the practice room before slinking out of the metal doors. He figures if he goes the short way back to the den he’ll make it to his room before running into trouble. The library is all but forgetting as he scurries back with his contraband. He won’t have it for long, just the evening. He’ll return it first thing in the morning before anyone notices it’s missing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this uniform, he just wants to taste it again. 

He makes it back to his room in the den with no trouble, suddenly very thankful for the slow, lazy day. He has the uniform out of the bag; still on the hanger but laid across his bed. He stares at it. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” He runs a hand through his hair. 

Despite his conscious finally catching up to him, he shrugs his leather jacket off before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He discards his pants next, adding to the pile of clothes next to the bed. He stares at this old uniform in nothing but his underwear for a moment long before grabbing it. He puts the pants on first. It’s a little tighter than he remembers, meeting a bit of resistance as he pulls them over his thighs. After a bit of tugging he gets them all the way up to sit around his hips. The waistband slightly digs into his skin. The top comes next. He unbuttons it with practiced ease before sliding it onto his shoulders. 

“Oh shit,” he says with a mix of surprise and panic. 

It’s already tight around his shoulders and he hasn’t even rebuttoned it yet. He turns to look at the floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room. The fabric is pulled taut and he briefly worries about the seams bursting if he moves too fast. He didn’t risk stealing this for nothing though. He begins to close the buttons one by one. It becomes a struggle once he’s halfway up his abdomen. He has to suck in deep breaths of air just to be able to pull the edges close enough to slip the button in. It’s a fight once he gets over his chest. No matter how he moves he can’t close it. He breathes, he relaxes his shoulders, he hunches forward, yet nothing gets him closer to his goal. Did he really get that much bigger since his summoning? 

He stares at his reflection, the uniform so close to being all the way on. If he could just get the buttons over his chest closed. He ponders any possible solution, so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the door open. 

“So, this is what you did instead of coming to see me?” Zephyr leans against the doorframe with their arms crossed. 

Ifrit whips around, a slight flush to his cheeks as he tries to stammer out an explanation, “Zeph! No you see I was coming to see you, swear on the Lords, but I…well you see it’s funny really—“ 

“Save it,” Zephyr holds up a hand “I can see you’re having lots of fun playing dress up. Please, don’t let me stop you.” 

They watch him, waiting for him to continue. Yellow eyes look him up and down expectantly. Ifrit almost flinches under the intensity. 

“I can’t.” He bows his head, looking at his feet. 

“What? Too shy now that you’ve got an audience? Come now Ifrit, I thought you loved the spotlight.” 

He shakes his head. “No that’s not…I can’t Zeph.” 

He tries to pull the buttons over his chest once more, showing Zephyr what he means. They watch him struggle for just a moment before it clicks. Their eyes scan over his figure again, only this time they notice how tight the uniform is on him. It's clinging to him, no wrinkles or extra space in sight. The way his chest bulges out of the unbuttoned front. They can see the outline of his nipple piercings. They can see everything. When the silence stretches on for too long, Ifrit lifts his head to look at them, guilt and shame written all over his face with how deep that blush has gotten. Suddenly Zephyr couldn’t care less about having to walk back to the den all by themselves. 

“Poor little pup can’t fit into his old uniform?” Zephyr pushes off the doorframe, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them. 

Ifrit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the tone of their voice. Zephyr stalks over to him, running their hand over his shoulder and down his arm. They can feel the muscle ripple under the featherlight touch. They can’t help but squeeze his bicep, feeling the solidness through the fabric. Ifrit shudders, watching a small grin appear on their face. They meet each other's eye for a moment before Zephyr slips one of their hands into the opening of the uniform to grab at one of his pecs. 

“Why bother trying to button this thing? Leave it open so everyone can see your perfect tits.” 

Ifrit chokes on air when Zephyr pinches one of his pierced nipples harder than what could be considered pleasurable. 

“This is certainly an improvement. Could never touch you like this backstage.” They fondle his chest, squeezing as much of him as they can with one hand. 

Ifrit allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the dresser, hand shooting out behind him to keep his balance. Zephyr presses themselves tight against him, standing in between his legs to cage him in. He stares down at them as they start to mouth over his chest. The whiplash of Zephyr catching him to having that cool tongue gliding over heated skin makes his head spin. He isn’t sure if he should stop them, telling them to wait so he can take it off lest he rips it, or let them continue to grope his sensitive tits. 

When he feels them bite close to his nipple his brain shuts off, hand flying up to stop the whimper that catches in his throat. Zephyr does it again. And again, and again, and again until his chest is covered in purple. His hips grind forward against them when their other hand tweaks his nipple at the same time they suck the other into their mouth. They squeeze their tail around his waist to stop the movement of his hips. 

“Not yet pup, I want to take my time with you while you’re like this. Don’t want it to end too early.”  

“Zeph, Birdie. Come on, we…you’re going to rip it,” he struggles to form a coherent thought with the way they’re rolling that sensitive bud between their teeth. 

Zephyr pulls off of him slowly. They stand from their hunched position to stare at him, hands still roaming over his chest. “Are you telling me no?” 

“‘No!” He says in a hurry “, that’s not what—“ 

“Then shut your mouth. You’re the one who wanted to play dress up, so let’s play.” 

Zephyr steps away from him before reaching up to wrap their hand around one of his horns. They drag him to the bed, tugging and pulling at him to get him to lay flat on his back. Ifrit’s helpless to it, he allows them to move him however they want with nothing but the grip on his horn. When he’s down, Zephyr straddles his hips. Ifrit stares up at them with wide eyes, waiting for them to make a move so he can figure out how to not burst every seam on the uniform while they use him. 

They tilt their head smiling at him; something sweet and simple before spitting directly onto his tits. Everything moves quickly after that; they unzip their pants just enough to pull their cock out, jacking themselves a few times before sliding up farther on Ifrit’s abdomen. They reach into the uniform to squeeze his chest together, moving their hands in quick circles to smear the salvia around before letting up on the tension just enough to shove their cock between them. 

They squish his tits together until they’re hissing with satisfaction before slowly rocking their hips. He itches to replace their hands with his, do something other than stare slack jawed up at Zephyr, but every thought dies when he sees the tip of their dick peek out from his cleavage. His hips twitch up searching for friction when he watches a bead of pre drip so close to his chin he could lick it up if he craned his neck just a bit more. 

Zephyr laughs at the hazy look in his eyes, at the way he’s just staring at the way their tip glides closer and closer to his face with each roll of their hips. The laugh is cut off when his brain finally catches up and he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the slit, drinking down the pre pearling at the tip. Zephyr shudders with a groan, hips bucking forward to get closer to the heat of his mouth. 

“Not as dumb as I thought you were.” They huff, resuming a more rhythmic grind albeit it faster than before. 

Ifrit is craning his neck to keep his tongue out, licking over their cock as they fuck his tits. He can feel the drool running down the side of  his mouth, dripping onto his collarbones only to slide down and pool in his cleavage. 

“Making a mess of yourself pup,” Zephyr groans. 

Ifrit doesn’t respond, doesn’t have the brain power to. His senses are flooded with the taste of them, with the sight of their flushed cock, with the breathy little sighs that fall from their lips each time Ifrit flicks his tongue. He wants to get them in his mouth, properly suck them off until they cum down his throat. He moves without thinking, trying to grab their hands and surge forward to flip their positions. He doesn’t get that far. The moment he lifts his shoulders a deafening pop accompanies the sound of skin gliding on skin. Ifrit is slammed back into his body when the tension around his shoulders suddenly feels lighter, less constricted. 

“Birdie shit wait. Stop, I think it ripped.” He panics, squeezing Zephyr’s wrists. 

“How is that my problem? You stole it now you’ll live with the consequences.” They huff, doubling down. They squeeze his chest tighter, rocking their hips faster. 

Ifrit could easily throw them off, truly ask them to stop, but he can’t find it in himself to move. He’s paralyzed by the realization he damaged the uniform, but also by the ache between his legs and the weight of Zephyr on his chest. Caught between his want to stop and his need to continue. 

His mind is made up for him when a particularly hard thrust from Zephyr pushes the tip of their cock against his lips. His hands fly to their hips, urging them to do it again. They oblige, pressing closer to his face. Ifrit shifts just enough to be able to wrap his lips around the head, sucking and licking over it. Zephyr’s head falls forward, cursing under their breath. Their thrusts turn into quick little grinds, shoving more of their cock into that hot, wet mouth. 

Ifrit lets the weight of it rest on his tongue as drool runs down his chin. The awkward angle makes it difficult to take more than an inch of them, but he doesn’t care. He’s content to run his tongue over them, licking at their slit and the sensitive spot on the underside. Ifrit sucks, working his lips around them and Zephyr is unable to stop their talons from digging into the meat of his chest. Ifrit moans, eyes fluttering and hips bucking into the air from the prick of pain. 

Ifrit does it again. Instead of talons tearing tendering flesh he feels Zephyr go rigid. They cum without warning, coating the inside of his mouth. He instinctively swallows around them and they shudder as another glob squirts over his tongue. Ifrit suckles on his dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away from him in overstimulation. They’re both panting, staring at each other with flushed cheeks while they catch their breath. When Ifrit runs a hand through the mess on the chest Zephyr groans. 

“Get out of that thing before I ruin it.” Zephyr slides off of him, knees cracking when they stand. 

Ifrit sits up to sit on the edge of the bed, turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He runs his hands over the deep marks littering his chest. His brain supplies him with memories from backstage closets and hotel rooms as his eyes rake over the disheveled uniform. That is, before he remembers where he’s at. Why he has the costume to begin with. His head snaps to Zephyr who’s just smiling at him. 

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it before someone has your horns.” 

Ifrit sighs a breath of relief. “Thank you birdie.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time and I certainly hope it isn’t the last,” they press a kiss to his temple ,” now strip.” 

He stands, taking off the top as carefully as possible to not make the tear worse. The seam on his right shoulder is ripped down to the armpit. He cringes at the sight, handing it over to Zephyr before shucking the pants. Zephyr nearly doubles over at the sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers. The fabric clings to him, outline the shape of his now soft cock. They palm at him, squeezing him through his underwear and smearing the mess around. Ifrit shudders at the feeling. 

“Filthy,” Zephyr muses. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ifrit huffs a laugh. 

They shrug, gathering the discarded uniform and folding it neatly before putting it on the desk to work on later. 

“You’re the one who put it on. I’m not to blame for my actions.” 

“Hm,” he thinks for a moment, “maybe next time I’ll wear the mask.” 

“Oh so suddenly you have no reservations about stealing Ministry relics?” They eye him with a grin, something dangerous glinting in their eyes. 

He grins back, “Not when it makes you like this, birdie.” 

They hum, pressing kisses along his jawline “Good.” 

There’s a moment of silence before Ifrit feels their hand wrap around his throat, “But if you ever leave me waiting like that again I’ll make sure you suffocate, understood?” 

Ifrit swallows and nods. He shifts the weight on his feet, feeling his cock try to kick back to life. Zephyr grins at him. With the uniform gone he had no protection from their talons. He almost hopes they’re still upset with him. 

[crowwbones]

Burnt Leaves

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GNC Reader

SFW / Fluff & Comfort / No Dialogue / TW: Drug abuse mentions, mildly unhealthy coping with insomnia, one off-handed joke about dying

Summary: You deal with plenty of bullshit as is, and insomnia is just the straw threatening to break your back. You have your ways to deal with it, though. Seems like the skull masked lieutenant needs a new coping mechanism as well.

I may write more if people actually enjoy this, also i wrote this at like 3 am and i am dealing with insomnia myself, pls excuse if it sucks lmao

Being in the military was probably your best option. You weren't small or weak, you had quite a ways to go, sure, but you held your own. That's what initially impressed your training captain. You had a drive despite being depressed as shit. Which, maybe you lied to your recruiting officer. And the doctor. And your training sqaudron. But what's a little lie compared to staying in that drug den you reluctantly call home?

The harsh drills and tense, full body aching was nothing to you. Not compared to watching your mother be strung out on a stained, burned, broken couch while being left in the drug dealers care. Hell, or even when you had to help her find a dehydrated vein with a short and dull needle. Perhaps something that you considered a life saving skill, but it made you feel disgusting if you thought about it for too long.

You've been shifted around a few bases when you were needed, seeing as you were sort of an everyman. Excelled in the maintenance of weaponry, one hell of a mechanic, and maybe a few things you knew how to do that were definitely against the Geneva Convention. To be fair, though, if you had to decide between dying and using a makeshift gun that was severely out of regulation, you'd take your chances in court.

But all of this shifting around and half assed childhood you had lead to even more goddamn problems you didn't need. Often, maybe every few nights every single week, you dealt with insomnia. Bad weeks had you trying to fight the uncomfortable disorder every night, but you lucked out with having to deal with it half the time usually.

It was always so uncomfortable. The inside of your skin felt like it was covered in small pyramid-shaped cones that pressed into every nerve where there was pressure. Your eyes were heavy but never heavy enough to induce sleep. Your mind would never fog up the way it was supposed to. And it drove you absolutely crazy.

You had a few ways to deal with it, as most chronic sufferers do. Sometimes you accepted it and laid there until pure exhaustion won. Your worst option.

Most of the time, though, you'd already spent a few hours hoping, tossing and turning in restlessness before getting up. You'd lace your boots and try to walk it off. Speed up the exhaustion process manually. And it worked maybe 50 percent of the time. And you'd collapse back into your bunk, shoes still on and pillow over your head, and get just enough sleep that you wouldn't hate yourself in the morning.

And the nights that even that didn't work, you'd find yourself in the kitchenette of the rec area. You'd stare desperately at the coffee pot you were using to heat up water while you waited to choke down a bland, bitter chamomile tea. You couldn't stand tea on its own. You didn't have a sweet tooth, but you could accept when something needed a little bit of sweetness.

This often settled you down enough. The overwhelming tired made you cry in the barely lit room while your tea steeped, palms pressed into your burning eyes as you wished you'd just fucking sleep. And you'd stop. You'd drink your tea. And get enough sleep to function.

And you fell into this pattern and habit.

Until this one mother fucker.

See, you ended up being called in to aid in the upkeep up vehicles and guns at a fairly large base that served as home grounds to plenty of "real soliders". You didn't pay mind to many of them, but Captain Price's team at least treated you decently since you were the one making sure their guns jammed significantly less. However, Ghost creeped you the fuck out.

That teams lieutenant was horrifying to you. He stood way too tall, was way too broad to move that fucking quietly. He held this awful aura to him that was completely unreadable. And he barely ever spoke to you in a way that didn't feel like a back handed... well, you wouldn't even call them compliments. The man would stare more often than breathe, just watch you move about your job from the doorways and wait for you to notice he was there before declaring that he would have been able to kill you six different ways by that point. You've been able to get that number down to four, at least.

And for some reason. This also included your overstimulated and tired crying time at the coffee pot at 2 a.m. as well. It seemed like it was his third time just watching you when he spoke up for the first time, mostly just asking what the hell you were doing. You'd jump out of your skin, a blessing of a feeling if it didn't shoot unnerving shivers down your spine, and stammer out a half coherent response about tea leaves. And then he just... stood there. Watching you drink your tea and then leave after you were done.

At some point during this routine, he'd started to invite himself to sit across from you at the small table. He never really struck up conversations, though you swore you could see amusement in his eye as you made faces at the bitter tea. He knew you were burning the leaves, but he couldn't tell you that. Listening to another person rip into him about being British was very low on his to-do list.

This became comfortable. You began to tolerate his shadow-like presence. Maybe even enjoyed the silent company. You could guess that he was suffering the same just from how tired his eyes looked past the mask. Maybe he too found solace in a shared solidarity that you two really haven't expressed. It was bittersweet. Two barely functioning and sleep deprived people finding a space to relax, lit only by a half burnt out overhead lamp. Maybe, even if a bit selfishly, you had begun to go a little morr often judt for the company of a man you didn't know the actual name of.

Ghost never left before you, but only arrived after you began heating some water. He never had a cup himself, sat himself in the same chair, and limited himself to a handful of yrs or no questions a night. You didn't mind.

But he once again found a way to disrupt this routine.

You were reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet above you, your other hand grabbing the coffee pot of hot water. You heard him move, which honestly should have been your que to turn around, and you felt him standing directly behind you. He covered your hand on the handle with his much larger one and practically forced you to let him grab the pot. He grabbed two mugs and moved off to the side, only meeting your eyes when you didn't move.

What ever fucking compelled him to do that, you had no idea. You were staring with bloodshot eyes and still even had your hand vaguely where the pot was. He simply nodded his head to the table and turned back to the mugs.

Guess you weren't making your tea? Deep down, thr angsty teen part of you hoped it was the forever sleep kind of deal. But that was dumb, so you shook your head a little to ignore that.

Ghost set your mug down on the table before sitting himself across from you, lifting his mask up enough to take a drink.

You've yet to see him do that, so your brain was just kind of off at this point. You stared, not that you meant to, as the man replaced his mask and set his mug down, staring back at you with a quirked brow. You looked down in a daz3 before grabbing your own mug, taking a long sip. Did he make a different kind of tea? Why the hell did it taste so... so much better? Your confusion actually earned you a small laugh from the other, a quiet, muffled chuckle from under his mask. That shouldn't have given you butterflies. He still scared you, after all.

He never explained himself, but from then on, you left the tea making duties to him and he didn't seem to mind. You fell into the pattern of getting there before your insomnia got into full swing every night, starting the water and getting the mugs. Then your midnight partner would show up and handle the rest.

As much as the mask gave you the creeps, it was growing on you. Like the previously bitter tea. 

[matan4il]

911 ep 710 first watch reactions

Ha, so Chris is upset, Eddie is distraught and his go to person is Buck, who drops everything else and comes over right away. And not for the first, or second, or third time. Yes, this is exactly how every platonic friendship I've ever had has played out.

The way Buck reads Eddie, knows him so well, that Buck can vocalize the part that Eddie can't say out loud right away... Soul mates.

"What you always do." Married soul mates.

LOL The way Hen and Chim don't even blink when Buck and Eddie show up at the hospital together, like the married couple they are. XD

This group of fire fighters being the best amateur detectives on TV since the Scooby Doo gang will never not be funny. Also, highly implausible, but that just makes it funnier.

"You go to hell!" "You first!" So 911 was having a western kink kinda month, and decided to set up this very likely storyline, just to be able to quote Tombstone? Hmmm.

"This one, we both walk out of." See, 911 is the show where I can roll my eyes 30 times during a storyline, but the climax moment still gets to me with its humaneness. That's the show's power. And the follow up reunion with Bobby! I had no doubt he'd live, but it was still very emotional to walk with Athena down the hospital hallway into his room and get to not only see, but also feel it.

"Bobby is the father I've never had." We know, but it was still nice to hear. "Your father's alive." Oh, Tommy. How little you understand Buck. "So maybe we both have daddy issues." "I don't." "But you think I do." "God, I hope so." lol Is this supposed to be flirting? If so, it's so off the mark for me, the dart ended up in outer space. I mean, Buck obviously has daddy issues, and I guess whoever needed that confirmed can celebrate (I'm sure there will be even more fics digging into this now), but pointing that out in the middle of a date is hardly the sexy move this ep's writer seems to think it is? IDK, I'm obviously a Buddie shipper, I like BuckTommy better than any other r/s Buck's had with a non-Eddie person, I do enjoy it as a part of Buck's journey (and I also generally believe in ship and let ship, even when something isn't my endgame), but even if I was a BuckTommy shipper, IDK that I would have liked that line. Especially when it treads a bit close to the issues I had with the BuckAbby r/s, which the show has never properly addressed. Oh, well. I'm still mostly amused that someone thought this was a great flirty line.

"He's 13, he should have a say!" To be heard? Yes. To have the final say? No. He's 13, not 18. There's a reason why at that age, we don't let kids make decisions for themselves yet. Also, the Diaz parents trying to pretend like the fact that Chris suggested him living with them for a while isn't their secret fantasy come true (or that they have no past where they hurt their son with this idea) is just crude. Also, hinting to Eddie that if he doesn't let Chris run away from his problems, then he'll be just like Ramon, is fucked up.

Also, kinda hilarious that Buck and Eddie's daddy issues are both brought up in the same ep. Sometimes being soul mates means exactly that, getting your partner perfectly because you have the same emotional baggage.

So, Chris is leaving, and the first one to talk to him on screen since the Kim debacle, and since he got the green light to go, is Buck? And Buck's also still there for the actual parting moment? Speaking of actual dads rather than bio ones...

I really liked Eddie just hugging Chris, using no words. There might not be anything he can say to fix this right now, but he still loves his son more than anything, and he can still let Christopher know that. And then when the message didn't get through, even though he's not a words person, Eddie managed to verbalize it. Don't mind me, I'll just be bawling quietly in the corner.

Buck's comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder is the real MVP. <3

I'm glad Mara's back in touch with Hen, Karen and Denny, but this feels a bit like a "deus ex machina" moment, even if it's just to wrap up the season finale, and not the final resolution of this storyline.

Bobby and Amir are actually so similar. They both lost everything, they both were at their lowest, they both chose to help others when they had nothing else left to live for. That handshake was a nice ending to their story, and it did feel more "earned" for not coming quickly or easily.

Ha, that ending. It's a good twist of events as a build up for season 8, it's just interesting because 911 doesn't usually do end of season cliff hangers. I also feel like, knowing the show, I can already predict more or less how it will turn out, so I'm not even feeling that much suspense. But it's not a bad turn of events, so long as it works for most viewers, I suppose. Overall, I enjoyed most of season 7, it feels revitalized, better paced and structured (despite being shorter) than seasons 5 and 6, and I have no doubt everyone will flock back to see how things unfold in season 8. Especially when this season was a nice reminder of everything this show can do right, and why we love these characters and fire family so much.

Thank you for reading! If you’re looking for more, you can find my s7 reactions tag here, and more of my Buddie meta and content in my pinned post. xoxox

[blossomthepinkbunny]

Heaven is "corrupt"

I really don't like that the angels don't know any qualifications for what gets a person into heaven, because to me atleast it doesn't make a whole lot of sense when thinking about one of the biggest plots in Hazbin Hotel. Heaven being corrupt is an interesting premise the show never really uses and the qualifications for getting into heaven being unknown is just another example for that.

How are the Angels supposed to be corrupt/judgemental/discriminative if they don't even have influence over who gets into heaven? That just brings up the question of how people go to either heaven/hell in general. I always assumed there would be something similar to a court room, where peoples behaviour on earth is judged and where it's then decided, where they deserve to go. This would support the idea of heaven being corrupt if the angels (and only the angels) have super high, potentially homophobic, racist, ableist or sexist standarts and basically have full control over where someone ends up. But the fact that no one knows real criteria for getting there sort of debunks that idea, because if there was a court (or something) they'd know the rules they decide by.

If no angel knows about any criteria, then how are they corrupt opressors, if they aren't even the ones deciding over who gets remorse and who doesn't. At this point, the only bad or corrupt angel there is is Adam (I guess Sera could also count because she is aware of what Adam does) because no regular angel knows the exterminations are even happening. But didn't the show pride itself on being a critique of christianity? Like the whole of christianity? The concept of christianity and problems it leads to in the real world?

It seems very lazy to basically introduce us to the one (two if you include Sera) actually possibly corrupt character(s) and then introduce a concept that makes every other angel somewhat innocent/reasonable.

They didn't know how they ended up there, all they know is that they were a good person and the show never gives us reason to assume that the angels were in general bad humans, because guess where all the characters end up who are actually corrupt/terrible/evil even. In hell.

Hazbin Hotel wants Adam to be bad by assuming that the people in hell are terrible, which I guess they want to make seem even more unreasonable by making him not know how people end up in hell/heaven. But to be honest, when looking at how hell is introduced by Charlie in the opening song or how the people down there generally seem to act, I would assume hell to be filled with awful people who maybe just deserve death as well. I know it's probably not everybody and just going down there and killing random demons isn't good ofc but the show does such a bad job of supporting the whole "heaven is corrupt" idea.

There isn't one demon we've been introduced to that doesn't deserve being down there or that would've gone to heaven would it not be "corrupt".

This might be a little side rant, but the idea of redeeming a sinner is also so underdeveloped. The show never acknowledges what the characters did in the real world even though you'd assume that that plays the biggest role in how they can be redeemed. But just in general, does Charlie even have an idea how to redeem someone? All the "work" she does in HH is just more general trust exercises and very basic ideas of sharing and being kind ig, but what does that even have to do with bettering these people?

For actual, personal betterment she'd need to understand what makes them flawed or bad people and what got them into hell in the first place. A greedy sinner or someone who lied a lot in their real life would probably need to realize why lying is bad and people need to share and then they'd use that new understanding to actually change, which would then lead to them having genuine character development. But how to you redeem someone who did one bad action? Someone who maybe cheated while they were on earth, didn't regret it and now wants to change in hell. You could assume that anyone who was in a relationship before would understand why someone would be mad about cheating but then how do you change them from there to be able to go to heaven? Or, since heaven is pretty "corrupt" it would make sense if they were homophobic. Like, you can assume that anyone who is queer ends up in hell (if the show wants to stick with it's heaven is bad idea at that moment), but how do you redeem someone like that? Make them become heterosexual/cisgender? That obviously wouldn't work.

At this point there is not a single idea on how redemption actually functions and none of the characters help us explore that. Sir Pentious' redemption is really rushed and we don't even know what he did to go to hell, so his character arc feels very ingenuine. Angels character development is also hinted at, but is used as an example to show how no sinner just gets into heaven easily (which sorta contradicts Sir Pentious' very rushed and flat/simple redemption). And also, no sinner has ever redeemed themselves ever from what we can assume, before Sir Pentious. Charlie seems like a coward for basing everything she cares for (the survival of "her people") on the concept of something she so obviously doesn't understand/have actually any proof of working out for. And the sinners in hell just really being bad people does not help to make heaven seem unlikable.

What if Angel Dust wasn't in the mafia or a drug addict and was instead just a regular person who happened to be a sex worker and drag queen. They could've used that to show how discriminative and judgemental heaven is by not allowing him in even though he was a good person.

What if Husk was a regular bartender who just did his job and tried not to cause trouble. But one time, a drunk person tried to abuse someone and Husk hurt him in return. That could show how just one tiny slip up leads to being cast away, even if you were good your entire life (I guess working with alcohol wouldn't work then, but he could also be a cashier or something) or also how it's maybe unfair to judge something done for the protection of others/yourself.

Or Nifty could be a victim of abuse in the real world who was surrounded by people wanting nothing good for her her whole life and this abuse is the reason for her "crazy" attitude in the show. This could support the idea of people being "bad" because of their surroundings, but being judged/mistreated instead of getting support, even when they seek out that support.

None of this happens tho. All of the sinners we encounter deserve to be in hell and they don't generally care to be better. In the pilot (however canon that might still be since Viv can't make up her mind apparently) we see that criminals from our world are in hell as well. Like Jeffrey Dahmer and from that, we can assume just what kind of people go down there (like pretty much every war criminal, dictator, opresser you can think of is probably in hell there, if we are to assume that the earth in HH/HB is supposed to be our earth mostly).

The only demon that doesn't apply to, the only one you could argue is in hell undeservedly is Valeria (and even that is debatable). And Valeria isn't even a demon. She was born in heaven, raised to believe that the sinners are the people she has to kill, without anyone ever giving her a different perspective. She was simply raised to be a killer first and foremost and in the one moment she showed care for a sinner, she was cast out and seemingly left to die.

The only "demon" who was actually affected by heaven being "corrupt" (in terms of getting into hell) isn't even a demon, but a heaven born. An ex-exterminator who also killed people. And you know who that also applies to? All of the other exterminators. All of them who are just raised to kill and don't get to ever be anything else mostly, until our "heros" (who are all for supporting moral greyness in another scenario) get to kill them in the finale. Because they are evil and bad and don't have potential to be better which is why Charlie will just let them be killed, even though she is the one who knows best that exterminators can change, because she is literally in a relationship with one.

In that sense Adam really comes across as the only corrupt angel (potentially Sera as well), so it's obviously great that he dies at the end so that now all of the problems with the exterminations are solved. Because it was just this one bad apple (pun intended) there and now that he's gone, all can be well in a world where the angels truly dont seem to be bad in any other way. And doesn't that just sound like a great, interesting, nuanced take on corruption and oppression? I could say some more stuff, but I mostly mentioned everything I could add in other posts already, so I'll just end it here.

[berryblu-soda]

so funny thing, trying to doodle roy and sara looks vaguely like if i was trying to draw show percabeth without a refference lmaoo (before coloring)

[hiis-theme]

somewhere out there is an alternate timeline where toby was correct and people actually did hate spamton. could you imagine that. i have to imagine we wouldn't have gotten the spamton sweepstakes in that case which is crazy to think about given how much lore that gave us-

[starbuck]

PRAY with me that my biology professor entered the wrong grade by accident

[jackinalex]

Have you ever noticed how some people go to therapy for years and years and never seem to make any progress?

I think everyone’s journey is very very VERY different and it’s not our place to judge anyone.

[wherela]

one of those crying in the shower kind of days

[gibbearish]

> be me

> never send asks bc im scared ill mess something up

> type up lots of asks but never end up sending them

> finally type up an ask i feel like i can send

> check over it a dozen times to make sure im not missing anything

> send

> didn't actually read urls right

> sent ask to wrong person entirely

> mfw

[unproduciblesmackdown]

in the power of Noticing Things The Xth Time Around the instrumentals-imitative "doot. doot. doot. dooWAH" vocals that kick in during the second verse of centerfold? superlative

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

I hope your week gets better 🫂

thank TwT

[icewindandboringhorror]

still have my 8 month long lingering chest injury that just came out of nowhere with no cause where it just flares up and I have a lot of pain near my collar bones and chest and shoulders for a few days, HOWEVER I have recently discovered that sometimes I can get temporary relief by sticking a wet q-tip up my nose to make myself sneeze, which on like the 3rd or 4th sneeze will occasionally audibly pop a little bone in the center of my ribs or something and then it doesn’t feel as bad. Hopefully there will be a better more comprehensive solution someday but also there would be a humor to that just being part of my regular routine forever now... like, oh hold on I have to go do my daily self induced sneeze sessions for my mysterious bone pain

[caroloftheshells]

long post re theory pedagogy again

the other thing about that vid (and another thing! lol) being that hierarchically a lot of the people doing the more interesting or out-there research and diversifying the field from a content perspective (and, tbh, demographically) are like grad students or early-career people who don’t even necessarily have any pedagogical flexibility & tend to be slotted in to teach lower-level theory courses-- whose outcomes are predetermined not only by general screwy nasm strictures but by whatever the professor down the line in the curriculum is teaching / expects people to know when they get there. and we get paid (much) less also than tenured professors. which is really a generic “thing about all academia” that doesn’t necessarily become a nefarious personal flaw on the part of said scholars and instead ought to be addressed at a structural level bc the scale of the issue exceeds individual instructors’ spheres of influence.

BUT music occupies such a fucked “totally separate from society” space in many ppl’s imaginations that it’s like oh man how dare it have the same issues as every other field of scholarship bc it shouldn’t “really” be a matter of scholarship in the first place. ie music is culturally rendered a “nothing matters just feel it” / “everything is ephemeral and there is only Innate Talent and nothing can be taught” sort of field such that any intellectualizing thereof &/or suggestion of learnabilty / non-innateness is deemed, like, boring & regressive by some people & i’d say especially people raised with a certain awareness of the “composer-genius” culture of wam education. like i’m completely on the “fuck partwriting parallel fifths are awesome” train as a matter of taste (for example) but that does not mean that learning what parallel fifths are-- and why some old european guys didn’t like them *bc they preferred it to sound like there was more than one voice and it’s easier to create that perceptually w/o an overtone effect* (eg)-- is going to like destroy your artistic Essence and make you a worse musician bc now you’re no longer an empty vessel put on this earth to channel brahms or whoever. & plus i think perpetuating the synonymizing of theory-as-field with wam harmonic rules not only is like factually misrepresentative of current research but also is sort of a self fulfilling prophesy such that ppl who would otherwise have completely fascinating things to say & questions to ask are discouraged from non-platitudinous & open-ended (theoretical) inquiry re the content and aims of their own rep & listening, and tacitly learn that composers’ ~~genius~~ descended from the heavens & you either get it or you don’t, you either “have talent” as a composer or you don’t, et cetera

[grimvisionary]

no i do not hoard decorative boxes <3 *slides my 21 toku merch item boxes behind me* i dunno what you're talking about <3

[somefisher]

Im gonna throw up im sick of feeling awful all the time