#the universe is just as real as i am... the universe is as solid as the keys underneath my fingers.... thats so crazy. i feel sick.

[non-un-topo]

Spending hours trying to figure out why I feel so irritable and sensitive today and I’m only realizing now it might have something to do w being invited to a birthday party full of an entire family I’ve never met and like seven very small children and the person inviting me assuming I would love that. I want to support her bc I like her and she’s family now, but I cannot---I will not---go to another family event and be pushed into the kitchen doing dishes with the women or cooing over someone’s baby who just stares at me and whines when I try to mask and say hello.

[transalfredpennyworth]

im ok it doesnt even matter we're on a rock hurtling through space at unimaginable speeds i dont think this is my biggest problem

[syoddeye]

reading recs

received an anon the other day that requested fic recs of all ratings, here's a big list of some of my favorites! definitely not exhaustive, definitely forgot people, and i am so sorry in advance for that. please mind the tags on these fics.

SNAFU by @adnauseum11

I've posted about SNAFU before. This is one of my comfort series. Excellent characterization of a retired John Price, navigating a relationship with one of his oldest friends.

Heavy Weighs the Crown by @sentientcave

Newer series, very yummy so far. I love Charlie's characterization of the 141 in this universe, and their writing is delectable.

Rugby AU by @sentientcave

Another banger from Charlie. Reader Ripper is also yummy. Something to snack on. To quote: "I don't know anything about Rugby tbh this is just vibes and thots. Something somethin elaborate rituals."

Nobody by @391780

My gateway fic into Nikto. Without giving anything away, every chapter sends me into a short spiral. The most recent chapters have done heinous (affectionate) things to my brain.

Ursa Major by @the-californicationist

Have you ever been to Alaska? Ever wanted to visit? Honestly, read this fic and let Cali transport you there. Her ability to set the scene and bring it to life is un-fucking-matched. Doc (Reader) is a smart, confident reader-insert that feels like a real person.

Binders and Boyfriends by @pfhwrittes

Trans 141 and Trans Reader supremacy. Another comfort series from the wonderful Parker. Everything listed here is wonderful, but I have a major soft spot for P's Gaz-centric works.

Housemate!Gaz by @pfhwrittes

First, in this house, we hate Reader's roommate. Second, we are Widget fans. Third, could you fucking imagine opening the door and your new roommate was Kyle motherfucking Garrick? I'd faint.

Call of The Jurassic by @stuffireadandenjoy

Another newer series that put me on the edge of my seat. When I first saw that Tats was giving us my favorite fellas and putting them in Jurassic Park, ooooooh, I knew we were going to be spoiled rotten.

Wrong Number Right Day by @stuffireadandenjoy

"Kyle gets a wrong number text but decides to be a little generous that day." Reader's living the dream. Text Kyle Garrick and get cash money for rent? Very excited for more of this.

Price of Pegging by @gemmahale

Pegging and John Price. I could stop there, but I won't. Gemma nails the depiction of a submissive Captain Price. She also captures the dynamic of a couple trying something new extremely well, that gave me some fluffy feelings.

All of Gemma’s WIPs by @gemmahale

I've had the absolute privilege to read some previews of Gemma's work and the WORK and the DETAIL and the CHARACTERS are chef's kiss. Delicious. It's so difficult to pick just one. I love the Feywilds. Useful Girl. Call of the Wild. Do yourself a favor and spend some time in the tags.

Offer Me His Hunger by @kaadaaan

Something about a 141-er and a single mom that's gonna do it for me every time. In Offer Me His Hunger, it's Johnny, and Reader has no idea what she's in for. Jesus Christ, Kadan writes one of my favorite Johnnys, and really nails that obsessive and calculating streak.

The Space in Between by @391780

You will laugh, you will cry, you will love and hate mafia boss!John Price. Reader crosses paths with John and the 141, and gets caught in their wake. Early writes some of the best Reader characters of all time, and this one's no different. This story will get under your skin so fast, in the best way.

The Arrangement by @391780

Speaking of Early, this is THE gateway drug to her work, in my humble opinion. One of the first COD fics I ever read and converted me into being a Price girlie. Sugar Daddy Price x a cute, smart, and fucking funny Reader. Also one of my favorite characterizations of Simon of all time.

Club 141 by @greatstormcat

BDSM and the 141 make a Sy very happy. Reader starts off with a fake ass dom and is quickly properly introduced to BDSM culture with the fellas. Really solid group dynamics. Make sure you read that Price x Ghost post for a good fucking time.

Lamb to the Slaughter by @ohbo-ohno

Probably one of my favorite Ghoap fics of all time. The way my jaw was on the floor for the majority of this should've sent me to the emergency room. It's brutal, it's horrifying, and fuck me running, I loved it, start to finish.

The Pit by @peachesofteal

First, the nightmare of getting into an accident in the winter. Second, having Ghost and Soap find you. Oh boy, The Pit is peak Ghoap manipulation. When I got to the end, I just sat in silence. Stunned. It was amazing.

Eyes Wide, Tongue Tied by tippytulip (if you're on here, pls lmk!)

Another early COD fic for me. A thrill ride with a whip-smart Reader AND it's set in the Midwest. Those are two ways into my heart. The relationship between Reader and Price isn't an easy one, and he gives her a dozen and a half reasons to dislike him. Another ride of a fic, with great action scenes and group dynamics.

Trapper, Keeper by @tinypandacakes

A König fic that makes me screech no less than ten times per chapter. Panda writes a fucking scary König and it blows my mind. So much of it is subtle and manipulative, with few outright (so far, it's ongoing!) examples. I get a knot in my stomach every time I read and I LOVE IT.

DOG by Danceofthesevenveils

Another König fic that features a pathetic loser König, who is also one of the scariest motherfuckers I've ever read. The use of text messages underscores the creepy vibes, and a great vehicle for the Reader x König dynamic early on.

Desire Paths by @ceilidho

Manipulative best friend Johnny, you are iconic to me. Ceilidh writes some of the best nasty Johnny fic out there, but Desire Paths has my heart. Another ending that had me gasping.

Take Me Home, Country Road by @ceilidho

Cowboy Price, take me awayyyyyy. A fantastic Western AU focused on a Reader with a secret and a Sheriff Price that'll make you sit up straighter. Ceilidh captures John's voice so clearly, I can hear it when I read. That porch scene is seared into my brain in the best way.

Tender is the Flesh by @crashtestbunny

Do you like scary Simon? Do you like feeling unsettling and turned on? *slams table* Do I have the fic for you! Connie's butcher!Simon makes my blood run both hot and cold. "Oh she’s a stunner." lives in my head rent free. Also the apron tie bit.

Pornstar!AU by @shotmrmiller

Warning, if you don't smoke, you might start after reading Toni's porn AU. I love this depiction of Ghost, his control and his care. AND there's a threesome bit with Ghost x Reader x Price. It's what dreams are made of.

[nexusnyx]

Hello🥰 It's not a request per say, but I'm really curious what's one of your favorite Joel headcanons if it's ok to share it now? Your writing is amazing, thank you for sharing it with us!

Jules, I am so glad you asked this question. I've been dying to just talk about the things Joel Miller enjoys.

(Also, thank you so much?! It means the world you enjoy my writing! <3)

Starting from the top, shall we? Pre-outbreak Joel Miller, well..

He's reserved only to people he doesn't trust. If you don't know a thing about Joel Miller, you better bet Joel doesn't like your ass.

Worry not about miscommunication—that's a word his vocabulary lacks. Whatever he feels or not for you, he'll make it known. Unless you're his old neighbors, Joel has no qualms about keeping shit to himself. He'll just say it.

His mouth got him into trouble when he was younger. Often.

It's why he learned to react in his mind first, speak later. Too bad his face gives away his feelings anyway.

Speaking of feelings... Joel Miller is a romantic. Big, big time. It's why he's single after all these years and Sarah's mom — "if it ain't the right thing, I don't want it."

Joel's not scared of being alone because he likes his own company. It's why he values so much when he finds another one he enjoys, too. He appreciates real connections. Good conversation.

Hates small talk. Will not do it. Will get away with doing it 9/10 times.

Blood is made of caffeine, sandwiches, and take-out food, which is why...

He's a whore for home-cooked meals. He gets by on his own, but he doesn't have the heart for cooking. Tommy got those genes. Joel would sell his soul for home-cooked meals everyday, and he'll say it to whoever hears it.

Workaholic only because he wants to put Sarah through a good university, but when she complains about the lack of time she has with her father, he compromises. Hires more people, tries to balance work and Sarah.

Balance is not really his expertise. But Joel's good at compromising. Rationalizing. He's a man of structure, of building things from scratch—he knows the value of firm, solid base.

Not really a sports kind of guy, actually. He'll watch it, but... Shrugging it off. "I don't see what the big deal is over a ball. I mean — it's fun, but damn. Breaking windows and busting fists on walls ain't my thing. Not over a damn football, at least."

On the other hand... history buff. Over the strangest, weirdest, most specific topics. Joel has trouble naming three countries in Asia, but he can tell you in details everything about Mayan construction and their society. Go figure.

He's a man of taste. Good food, strong alcohol, fruit picked from the tree, and woman who let him sink to his knees and taste them 'till he's drunk on it. He's starving, quite often.

Joel's a tease.

He can play a game of chicken all night long. No fucks given about how hard he's straining in his jeans or the beads of sweat trailing from his nape down his spine — if you touch him when you two are out, he will make you live to regret it. To whine and cry his name.

Joel loves a playful thing. Seriousness is imbedded in his bones, he loves a person that can make him laugh.

His sense of humor is... peculiar.

("It's shite. You're sense of humor's the same as a fifty-six year old man, Joel." "You say that and yet, you're laughin'... how does that work, beautiful?")

You know his taste? His sharp tongue, his clever brain and quick fingers? Yeah... it makes him a cocky bastard.

Everything Joel has of insecurity, he equals in cockiness once he knows his person's attracted to him.

Reciprocity's big on him.

Joel pays attention to details. He'll remember the outfit you were wearing the day you two met 'till the day he dies, which is why he knows when he's in deep from miles away.

Loves being surprised, exactly because of this ^.

Joel loves through gestures, through words, through action.

Love language is touch, touch, words of affirmation, touch.

Never gonna half-ass anything that matters to him. Never.

Will play to you when he decides to confess his feelings. Will sing his heart out, even if he’s not that good at it (his words), will make himself vulnerable and open like a wound if he thinks he’s in safe hands.

One in a million. Joel’s one in a million and when the right person comes along to appreciate it, Joel only glows. Only glows up, and gets finer with each passing day, like a great wine.

(If you’d like me to do post-outbreak Joel, I could..)

[laundrybiscuits]

“It’s happening,” crows Dustin. “Eddie, it’s happening, it’s happening, she said yes!”

Eddie blinks up at him from the blankets. “Is…this about your little girlfriend, Henderson?” Is there a school dance coming up or something? Wait, it’s the summer, school’s not happening.

In a just world, Eddie Munson would never have to think about high school again; in a just world, Dustin Henderson would not have woken him up by breaking into his trailer at ass o’clock in the morning.

“No, man, Erica! Erica Sinclair! She’s gonna run a My Little Pony game for us!”

“Okay.” Eddie turns over to bury his face in his pillow. “Lock up when you leave,” he says, muffled.

———

He honest-to-god thinks it’s just a weird dream for the next few days. He’s almost completely forgotten about it when Mike corners him at work.

“You have to make her stop,” Mike says.

“Okay, Wheeler, two things. First: who am I making stop what? Second: I’m not making anyone stop anything. Really not my style, and also, I don’t wanna get involved in whatever this is.”

“You’re already involved! We’re all involved! We’re all, like, liable.”

“Right.” Eddie wipes his hands on a rag and ambles over. “Kid, you have got to start giving me some context here. What are we talking about?”

Mike gives him just the absolute bitchiest eyeroll any human being has ever mustered in the history of the world, and sighs noisily. “Erica wants to run a stupid game, and Dustin keeps encouraging her. Tell Erica and Dustin that we play Dungeons and Dragons with like, cool monsters and shit. Not some stupid game about ponies. It’s not even D&D, it’s a whole new stupid system that she’s making us learn.”

“Oh, shit.” There’s—a few things to unpack in that little speech, but Eddie can’t help the delighted grin spreading over his face. “That’s for real? The pony game? Shit, this is going to be the best thing ever. What system is she planning to run the campaign in?”

“Oh my god,” says Mike, and storms out of the garage.

———

“GURPS: Generic Universal Role-Playing System,” announces Erica, slamming the books down on Steve’s kitchen table. “A flexible, multi-purpose, setting-agnostic system that can accommodate any conceivable type of story or play style. This is the future of role-playing games, not your broke-ass fantasy bullcrap.”

Eddie wonders how complicated it is to file paperwork for adoption.

“Some of us like D&D,” says Will.

“Yeah, we don’t want your stupid generic whatever. We’re not playing,” Mike snaps.

“That’s not what I said.” Will looks annoyed with Mike, which has been happening a lot lately. Eddie’s glad the kid seems to be growing more of a spine; you can’t just let your tragic heterosexual crushes walk all over you, but that’s the kind of lesson every young gay needs to learn the hard way. “I’m fine with trying something new. I’m just saying, the next campaign after this should be D&D.”

“Sure, what-ever, nerds,” drawls Erica. “We’ll see how you feel after you experience the magic of Ponyland.”

Lucas puts his face in his hands when she says the magic of Ponyland and lets out a pitiful groan.

“Whoo!” cheers Dustin. “Let’s get started!”

———

It takes them a solid two hours to make their characters. Even Eddie, who’s been vaguely aware of GURPS since it was released a couple years ago, is struggling a little to adapt. It’s just been a while since he played anything but D&D, but he’s enjoying the change of pace. He likes this kind of challenge; it’s like figuring out how to play a familiar song in an unfamiliar genre.

Erica is not especially patient with them, but she’s clearly done her prep work, so Eddie thinks they all manage to get through the character creation process more or less the way it’s supposed to be done.

Steve gets back from work right when they’re putting the finishing touches on their characters. The way he blinks all sweetly confused makes Eddie think that Dustin was definitely lying about having permission to play here, and also that Dustin probably has a very troubling stash of keys to all their homes squirreled away somewhere.

“If I may, Lady Sinclair, I’d like to humbly suggest a ten-minute break?” Eddie says, before Steve can decide whether or not to be mad about this whole thing.

“Sure, go ahead and rest up while you still can,” says Erica. “Steve, I hope you got good snacks around here.” She makes a beeline for the kitchen, and the boys trip over themselves to follow her.

“I would die for that child,” says Eddie.

Steve laughs, low and a little tired. “Yeah. Um, me too.”

“So, I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Henderson didn’t actually clear this with you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “He might’ve said something last week? Sometimes when he’s on a tear, I just kinda let him talk.”

“Y’know, we’re at a pretty good stopping point for today, if you want us to clear out so you can get some rest.” Eddie can see the smudgy shadows under Steve’s eyes from halfway across the room.

“No, it’s fine.” Steve peels off his vest. He’s wearing an entire perfectly normal shirt underneath, so there’s no reason for Eddie to hastily avert his eyes like Steve’s doing a damn striptease. “I might go take a nap, though. Gonna trust you not to let them burn down the place, got it?”

Eddie does a silly little salute. “Aye aye, cap’n. No hint of flame shall breach these walls.”

Steve laughs again, a gravelly chuckle, and musses Eddie’s hair on his way to the stairs.

“Why do you have that dumb look on your face,” says Erica suspiciously, standing in the kitchen doorway and clutching the biggest bowl of ice cream Eddie’s seen in his life.

“What look, there’s no look,” says Eddie. “Let’s play some GURPS.”

Edit: now a complete fic on AO3!

[jtl-fics]

Math Nerd AU

I’ve got quite a few time travel AFTG fics banging around in my head but by far the funniest one is this:

Neil dies in 40s to a drunk driver after a respectable professional Exy career, two olympic golds, a very successful and healthy relationship, a steady post-injury career as Ichirou Moriyama’s preferred accountant (kept himself squeaky clean) and years to get his shit together. He wakes up back early on into his runaway life with his mom and is immediately like “oh no I’m NOT doing this shit again.”

He makes a lot of changes, mostly for Andrew’s benefit but also gets Mary to the Hatfords, and gets himself set up in Ichirou’s confidence again because man he’s gonna play Exy again but Ichirou was actually a very solid boss if you’re competent and Neil is very good at managing finances.

Ichirou had plans for Neil. He’s waiting for his father to pass before he brings Neil fully out in the open as one of his since his father is still demanding that the Wesninski heir be given over to his brother and Ichirou is not about to let the only accountant who has ever gotten him a completely legal tax refund go to the NEST. He’s also not about to let the Butcher near Neil so he puts Neil off in the middle of nowhere with a steady paycheck and orders to graduate highschool. Neil picks Millport.

Hernandez still notices that no one ever comes to Neil’s games and that the kid is driven but doesn’t make any real attachments with his teammates despite Millport becoming the Arizona State Champs the year Neil leads the team. So he sends tapes to Wymack and Kevin. Neil is surprised to see them since he’d planned on never getting anywhere near Andrew after he set things up for the blond. (Killed Drake, paid some people to legally adopt and look after Andrew, got CPS to investigate Tilda properly, paid off the right people so that the couple who took in Andrew took in Aaron too, and paid for them to move out to SC (it’s close to the twins remaining family) and then Tilda managed to die on her own from an OD and the twins got the money without Andrew needing to have any part in it.)

Neil ends up signing for the Foxes despite Ichirou having plans for Neil to start attending University of Texas (Great Accounting Program) in the fall. Neil of course completely fails to tell Ichirou this since Ichirou hadn’t said anything beyond finishing highschool and if he had plans for Neil then he should have told him.

Neil, the utterly self-sufficient adult that he is, proceeds to just be the most bizarre stabilizing force the foxes have ever encountered. He knows all about their shit, their issues, their triggers, and how to help them. The Foxes all kind of crave that stability and Neil can take whatever they say unflinchingly. He’ll give as good as he gets but he also makes team breakfast pretty much every morning after he finishes his absurdly early run. Kevin is in heaven with his Striker pick (Neil in this thing is so incredibly boring and well-adjusted that Andrew just cannot believe that he’s a spy so Kevin and Neil start night practices almost immediately & Neil shows Kevin drills that he and Future!Kevin had made and Kevin is just like “I am so good at picking talent. I am a god.”)

The 3 things that make this so funny (at least to me) is:

1. All the Foxes just like not understanding why the hell Neil is a Fox (They’re glad he’s there but it feels like a clerical error that such a nice well-adjusted guy is on the team) until they see him without a shirt and until immediately after the Kathy Ferdinand show where Ichirou shows up and is like “Palmetto doesn’t even have a nationally ranked accounting program!? Also what if this sport gives you a TBI and you can’t do my taxes anymore????”

2. Andrew is just inexplicably and infuriatingly smitten, enamored, crushing, heart-eyes for this BORING ASS MATH NERD. Neil’s sense of humor was honed against Andrew so he’s got like a direct line to Andrew’s funny bone. He never has never once for even a second confused Aaron and Andrew (and they’re a lot closer in this fic because there’s no Tilda angst and the ‘parents’ handled getting Aaron’s rehabilitation handled off the books so he could have a future in medicine.) Even after the whole mob accountant reveal Andrew is seething because even with that Neil is just incredibly well-adjusted and normal despite all the insane shit going on with him. He propositions Neil when Neil mentions having a past male significant other but Neil has the AUDACITY to get all sad-eyed and say that he can’t be with Andrew because his heart still belongs to some CHUMP in his past. (Cue Current!Andrew having an unknowing bitter hatred / rivalry of Future!Andrew and swearing that he’ll woo Neil away from a guy who’s probably in the mob or shitty because Andrew hasn’t seen any evidence of Neil’s SO reaching out to him but he knows Neil isn’t lying)

3. One of the reasons that Andrew is inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted / smitten to Neil is that Future!Andrew did not really spend a lot of time in the future after Neil died and he’s slowly seeping through until Neil’s confrontation with his dad and then Future!Andrew fully wakes up and he’s PISSED because at least in the original timeline Andrew was inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted to the mysterious freshmen who was hiding his appearance, looked like he was seconds away from running across the country at all times, and had a whole aura of danger around him. Now he’s revealed that he’d have fallen for Neil no matter what because he fell for Neil when he was just a BORING ASS MATH NERD and WORST OF ALL Neil went and made him jealous of HIMSELF because Neil didn’t want to cheat on Andrew with ANDREW. What an asshole. He’s gotta kiss his entire face off and tell him that he’s never allowed to cross a street without Andrew again because if a drunk driver is going to take one of them out then it’s going to take BOTH of them out.

[adora-but-ginger]

(Not So) Champagne Problems

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader

summary: he had infuriated you, and you deserved a drink.

word count: 3.2(ish)

warnings: drinking, reader being at a bar, intoxication, drunk!reader, swearing, a stabbing and an injury, angst but also fluff don't you worry, a little bit of klepto tendencies, no y/n used, mentions of death?, brief talk of a lack of self-care, miguel having feeeeelings

a/n: it's one am and i crunched this out in two days so no beta we die like men (gender neutral). also since i don't speak spanish i used spanishdict.com, but if i messed anything up please let me know and i will fix it!

masterlist

one more thing! don't repost my stories, otherwise i can sense a real nasty cold coming your way that will last just long enough that it becomes annoying, and when you think it's gone it will come back for another week. don't be like that, you don't want that, do you?

thank you for reading! -ella

credit to gif owner!

By now, the sun had long set, and your vision was a little blurry.

You had to have been on what, four? Five drinks? And were surely going to be cut off if you asked for another. But you fucking deserved these drinks, after what Miguel had put you through. He had the nerve to bench you after you saved his life.

The only other thing he had was the audacity.

As you placed the remnants of the fruity drink back down on the bar, your mind swirled with what had gone down earlier that day.

"Where's our anomaly at?" You heard Peter B shout from behind you, a giggling mayday in the baby carrier attached to his front.

"I'm rounding on them now, Miguel do you see them from up top?" How Jess could speak into her comms without the wind from her bike getting picked up was beyond you. You were swinging through a train tunnel of this particular universe, tasked with trying to catch the anomaly alongside Peter B from below. Jess took the road route, and Miguel took the birds eye--there was no way this villain of the week had a shot at escaping.

"Yeah Jess, eyes on them now. Heading down."

Woof. Miguel got on your nerves more than you'd like to admit, but man did his voice send a shiver down your spine.

"We're existing the tunnel now, eyes on them." You answered for Peter and you, checking back to make sure he was still good before the light of the day enveloped your vision.

One thing led to another, and soon enough you saw what was going to happen before you could warn him. There was the anomaly, fighting Miguel, who stood with his claws out and fangs bared. This anomaly could phase between states of solid and liquid, and just as Miguel was about to paralyze them, they switched states, forming back to solid right behind him.

And sure, maybe you had a certain lack of self-preservation that made the team a little concerned, but you had lost enough in your life to get to that point. So that's why when you moved to block the anomaly's strike from Miguel instead allowing the hit to come to you, you didn't think much of it. In fact, you'd gotten your hopes up thinking that he might even be grateful.

But no, he was most certainly not. The anomaly was quickly taken down afterwards, the familiar glow of Miguel's red eyes painting your vision every now and then as the job finished up. The anomaly had stabbed you, not in anywhere too concerning, but it still hurt.

From there it was a bit of a blur, with images of the portal and the team and Miguel running through your mind, until you were in the infirmary with stitches in your shoulder and the tall brooding man towering over you with his arms crossed.

"You were stupid." He had said in the infirmary.

"A thank you would have been nice. My shoulder is the same height as your heart, and the anomaly had a perfect shot." You had scoffed at him, and his face had flashed with a look mixed between anger and something you couldn't quite place.

"And what if they missed and had gotten your neck instead? In no universe do I want to deal with you dying, especially right in front of me, for me." His tone had developed a softer edge toward the tail end of the sentence, his jaw clenching. He hated the vulnerability, and you saw right through him.

You weren't too sure what you and him were, in terms of a label. Sure, you'd been one of the first spider-people to be recruited into his (not so) little boy band, and sure you had seen glimpses of him that no other spider-person had seen, but the latter had only been done late after hours between shared cups of tea or as he laid in bed falling asleep holding you. But then again, he always had that stoic look to him otherwise, with his mountain of an ego and his asshole-like behavior.

It was complicated with him.

"Plus, I would have to deal with mess of your death." There it was.

You rolled your eyes and stood to get up, him walking to your side to help you maintain balance from the pain of your cells rapidly healing.

"For the next few missions, I want you back with Lyla."

You turned to him then with anger washing over you. "You're benching me?"

"Yes, until you can prove you're not going to do something as reckless as that again."

And then the argument broke out, and he fought you on your recklessness and its consequences. Well, fuck him then.

He never took the time to think about what would happen if the anomaly did strike him, heightened healing abilities or not. It's hard to heal from an impaling of the heart. And he refused to listen to anything you said to justify your actions.

He was so bullheaded and strict, and you were tired of it, tired of him. If he wanted to bench you? Fine. But he could kiss those late nights goodbye, no matter how much you craved his sweatpants and t-shirt look, with his fluffy, soft hair, his so broad shoulders, the fangs, oh the fangs, and his a-- enough.

Snap yourself out of it. You cursed to yourself and flagged the bartender down, your intoxicated state making your hand sway a little as you did so. The bartender looked over at you and shook their head, making you loll your head back in irritation.

Big mistake.

Rapidly shutting your eyes, a groan accompanied you as you felt the effects of the alcohol sink in. You had taken off your watch too which you severely regretted now, because not only were you about to glitch any minute, you needed to talk to Peter. He would know what to do, and the watch was the quickest way to contact him. But it was in your bag somewhere, and you would rather suffer the consequences than even try to look in that thing right now.

His spider senses must have been pretty accurate because not even three minutes later your phone was ringing, his name appearing on the screen.

He spoke your name into the phone upon your answering, and you chuckled as you pictured him in that pink robe, probably pacing in some rabbit slippers too. Not that there was anything wrong with that of course.

"Hey Petey B, what's up?" You tried to muster all of the shards of your soberness to sound as articulate as possible, which was not much.

"Where are you? Hobie said he saw you walk out after getting in a fight with the big guy, and we've been trying to get ahold of you for hours now!"

You snorted. "I'm fine, Peter, just..." You trailed off, the sight of a rather interesting wine bottle catching your attention.

Your name was called again, his voice reverberating through the microphone. "Hm? Hey Peter, Can I tell you a secret?" You whispered back, a giggle following the beginning of your little confession.

"Are-are you drunk?"

You scoffed and continued on disregarding what he said. "Miguel definitely doesn't want me sharing this, but he's being a big ol' mean bundle of muscles so I'm going to anyway." You looked around to make sure no one else was listening to your drunken ramble and whispered into the phone. "He'll deny it until the day he dies, but he likes being the little spoon." Another giggle followed after that, thinking of what else to tell the brown-haired father about Miguel.

"Yep, oookay you are definitely drunk, and in no universe did I want to learn that information. Where are you? Lyla--" You tuned out after that, focusing again on that wine bottle you fancied. It would make for a perfect vase, and if you could just avoid bringing attention to yourself--

"Hey! Listen, I have to get back home with mayday, but Lyla found your location and is sending for someone to pick you up, okay?" His concerned voice made you worry a little. Maybe he needed a little pick me up.

"Peter you should know that you're such a good friend, you don't need to worry silly." A hiccup accompanied your words of attempted comfort. "You don't need to have anyone come get me, I'm fine--"

That's when the pain started--your heart feeling like it was being ripped from you. The feeling surged through your body at a wicked pace then, with your nerves burning as if they were on fire. You felt like you could feel your molecules splitting apart, the pain circling through you for what felt like an eternity, when in reality it couldn't have been more than a few moments.

You hadn't glitched in a while, and you forgot how much it hurt and threw you off-balance. Add on top that you were pretty intoxicated, and you felt like your world was upside down, literally, because your vision danced, and you couldn't locate any solid surface to grab onto.

You must have dropped your phone while you glitched because it was no longer in your hand, and as your senses started to half-hazardly return, you fought to keep everything in your system. Yeah, you seriously regretted not putting the watch back on. Of course, they could still track it if it wasn't on your wrist. You should have just left it at the Spider Society. Or better, you should've just returned home.

But you needed to escape, and you weren't thinking clearly after you fought with Miguel.

Miguel. Stupid, cold, stoic Miguel. Hot, soft, sexy Miguel. Couldn't hold in his anger for the life of him and doesn't know how to properly process emotions Miguel. Sweet, aggravatingly cute, loving Miguel.

"You think I'm cute?"

The low accented voice made you whip around, your head catching up a moment after your body, making you sway. You stuck your hands out to catch yourself from falling off the chair, your arm hitting a hard surface.

Ow. Did you just say that out loud?

"Yes, you did." The same voice, unimpressed, crossed his arms.

There Miguel stood, clad in everyday clothes, jaw clenched and shoulders taught as he looked at you in your drunken state. "Come on, we're going home." He grabbed your arm from where it laid against his chest, lowering it while using his other hand to support you while you stood up. You could hear him say a string of curses in Spanish before meeting your eyes, an annoyed look reflecting from them.

"You can't just walk out of there into the city this late at night without telling anyone that you're leaving. Something bad could've happened to you."

You rolled your eyes and pushed his arm away, reaching for your bag and missing a couple times before grabbing its handle. "Oh, stop pretending you care, Mr. 'you're off duty even though I'd be dead if you hadn't stepped in'." Almost stepping on your dropped phone, you bent over to try to pick it up, nearly falling over as you did so, the world spinning. A hand lightly grabbed your waist to steady you, and you cursed at his subtle show of affection.

"You dealt with that by getting drunk?" He said as he helped you back up, placing some money on the bar. "That's extremely irresponsible."

"Tough talk coming from someone who gets his anger out by throwing desks." Why did he have to be the one to pick you up? Why couldn't it have been literally anyone else?

An annoyed huff sounded from him then, and you turned to fully face the spider. Giving him a good once over, you couldn't help but become a little flustered at how he looked. Yes, you were extremely fed up with him right now, but jeans, on that ass? Accompanied with the compression shirt he donned, well, you took a good drink of him in. Enough of that, he benched you.

"We're going home, come on." He tried to coax you from your spot again, but to no avail. You may be drunk, but you still were stubborn.

You scrunched your eyebrows and crossed your arms. "No. Not until you un-bench me."

You heard him take another deep breath, you clearly getting on his nerves, but you couldn't care less. "I took you off duty because you don't care about yourself and your well-being, and until you can prove that you're going to be safe out there, we'll find something for you to do."

He really had the nerve, huh? "Oh come on, you would have done the same for me, and you know exactly why I did why I did. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't have taken my place if the roles were reversed.

He hesitated a moment, deciding whether or not to indulge your drunken challenge.

"I wouldn't have."

You snorted in response, pushing his hand away from you. "Liar." The floor was still spinning, but you weren't going to show any signs of that to him. You tried to turn around and wave for another drink to be brought your way, but the bartender paid you no mind. "If you think you can come in here and be mean to me, especially after earlier, think again Miguel."

He grabbed your shoulder then, turning you towards him a second? Third time? He was always more touchy when it was just the two of you, not that you were complaining. You heard him mumble under his breath, though he never talked that loud in public settings--you figured it had something to do with his fangs. Oh, those fangs, those--

Snap out of it.

"Dios mío, mi amor (Oh my god, my love). I didn't mean it like that. You know I would have done the same, it's just that..." He trailed off, and you in turn raised your eyebrow.

If he was going to admit anything right now, whether you were drunk or not, he was going to fully say it. "Hmm?"

He had let the last part of that slip out and was thankful that you hadn't said anything about it. Once he realized the situation he was in though, he begrudgingly continued. "I tend to not think as straight when I'm around you sometimes, and it leads me to make rash decisions. I know you did it out of care."

"And?"

His stone-like facial expression finally, finally dropped, and you could take that for a win in itself. "And I'm sorry for benching you, but you have to see where I'm coming from."

And maybe you should have dropped it there, for you were able to get an apology out of Miguel, which not many people could say the same for. But your liquid confidence pushed you forward, bringing a finger to his chest. He lit this fuse, and you weren't going to let the fire go out just yet.

"If you don't let me go, I'm just going to sneak out to join a mission anyway. Leader of the Spider Society or not, you're not withholding me from something I enjoy doing." You could see the conflict on his face, but you knew you had won; after all, you were telling the truth. Either he let you go on the missions, or you were going to find a way to get on one anyways.

But this isn't how arguments got resolved, and you weren't sure he was used to someone talking back to him. Arguments were solved with compromise, so that's what you decided to do. "Okay, how about this. I'm not used to looking out for myself, but I'll try to do it more, yeah?"

He visibly relaxed at that, and maybe that was what he needed to hear all along. He knew that he was in too deep with you, and after Peter had told him of your late-night outing, his senses got a little frenzied. He couldn't put a name to the feelings he felt for you just yet, or maybe he could but he was afraid, but all rational went out the window when he found out that you were out here, not sober, in a universe you did not live in, by yourself. It was a recipe for disaster, and almost gave him freaking heart palpitations.

He had rushed to your location, and whether he was still frustrated with you or not, he loved cared for you and wanted you safe.

You were going to be the death of him, and he would willingly follow the reaper if that meant he got to spend the rest of his time with you.

At your offer he relaxed a bit, maybe he was being a little harsh. "Fine, I'll agree to that." He saw your eyes light up and quickly continued. "But only if I join you the next few missions, okay? You really had me worried today." You nodded at that, and the ghost of a smile could be seen on his lips. This was a whole lot better than fighting. Giving you a once over, he could tell that exhaustion was hitting you. "How about we head back home, mi querido/a, y ve a dormir (my dear, and go to sleep) . You can stay at my place for the night, sleep this off. I'll get you some medicine to help with the headache tomorrow, okay?"

You stifled a yawn, and his heart melted at the sight of you. Yeah, he was in deep. "Yeah, sounds good." Just as he dropped the tension in his jaw and shoulders again though, your frame began to glitch. He reached both his hands now to your shoulders to ground you. Why hadn't you put your watch back on? Why had you taken it off in the first place? You were blinking furiously when you returned to normal, falling into his touch.

Without a second thought he took his own off and secured it on your wrist, after all he wouldn't need his until tomorrow, when he traveled again. "Where's your watch?" He raced out, holding gently onto you. Eyes wide and mind scrambled, the moment you motioned towards your bag he retrieved it, setting it on his own person before ushering you out of the bar. "Are you alright?" He hated that his voice held a tinge of panic, but his stomach dropped at seeing you glitch, knowing how the pain felt first hand. You mumbled a yeah, and he walked with you back to his place. Swinging would make you all the more queasy.

When you two got in the door, he gave you another once over. "Are you doing better, are you sure you're okay?" You nodded, and the next thing he knew you were against his chest, hugging him.

Maybe he was freaking out a little on the inside at this, but he couldn't remember the last time he had received a hug. Returning the embrace, he murmured to you. "I've got some clothes you can change into, let's get you in bed." He heard an 'okay' slip from you, and he led you to his room.

And as he tucked you into his bed before heading to go change himself, dare he say that his heart fluttered when he heard you speak.

"Thank you Miggy, I love you."

And as sleep lulled you into its song, he was left momentarily frozen, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome warmth filling his chest. Because drunk words are sober thoughts, aren't they?

[lovelyrotter]

okay but i actually kinda wanna know ur take on stridercest being canon compliant O_O <- autism stare

oh hey i am also hitting you with the autism stare. ill try to get my thoughts down in a way that makes sense to more than just me hahaha

bear in mind that im an epilogue lover and i think Meat/Candy are really valuable pieces that further all of the characters and are also hard canon in the sense that we're looking at just 2 post-game universe outcomes out of an uncountable number (the book in the picnic basket representing post-canon fanfic). i think the characters actions in the epilogues make sense and are satisfying to me. yes even jane (i love alpha jane and i will not do her the disservice of 'cleaning her up' w/o showing her work for it. thats not how you depict a character who grew up with fascist programming). i could totally go on a whole tangent about this specifically but thats another post lol we'd be here forever and its also not stridercest

but okay. canon stridercest. under the cut cause it got kinda long

basically it has to do with the cherubs and how their relationships and mating rituals are pretty obviously incestuous leaning even though cherubs dont have the human concept of Siblings or blood family. the cherub who predominates will search across paradox space to mate with another cherub who closely resembles the cherub they predominated which is like textbook Freudian sexuality. theres a lot of Freud and Jungian stuff in HS imo even if im kinda [wobbly hand gesture] at the validity of these theories applied to real life and real people. but theyre super fun tools and lenses to use in fiction and i mean. gestures at all of dave

so the incest aliens cherubs. the whole reason why im talkin about them is bc Caliborn is so incredibly interested and invested in the Striders in particular. caliborn as both Lord English and Lil Cal shapes earth NOT OVERTLY but more so embeds himself in earth society, but again, the Striders lives in particular. dave is full of incest jokes. hes even apparently got a list of his friends arranged in order of how likely theyd incest-elope with each other (thank you epilogues for this amazing factoid). he seems to think about it often enough to, yknow, Do That. have a good solid think about that and construct an organized list about it. bearing in mind dave makes jokes about stuff thats a) bothering him, or b) generally camping out in his brain. hes not even really aware of it most of the time (as we see in one of the openbounds where hes all 'why am i thinking about puppets???' after seeing dirk for the first time in that dream bubble. he is thinking nonstop about dirk at that point and going off his only frame of reference for ANY dirk, which is his bro. his bro who was most likely deeply warped by Lil Cal)

sorry for the long blocky paragraph lol. but now onto the next thing

Caliborn as Lil Cal is the centerpiece in the beta strider apartment. dave cant escape him and beta dirk grew up with him. what the fuck do you do when youre childhood comfort item is also the most evil creature across all of paradox space? if youre a dirk you try to fight it. but how long can you keep fighting something like that. its safe to say that bro was affected by Caliborns particular brand of perversion and sfw kink. i dont think i have to say how insidious abusive and toxic he is about those things. and looking at the truth of beta bro (16yo alpha dirk) you can start to see just how warped beta bro became. beta bro is a false dirk (still a very Real dirk but not the Truth of dirk. beta bro has been toxified and made infinitely worse by an absolute evil influence over decades of life. in 80s fuckin texas. presumably in the system. anyone would be fucked up after that)

so for this analysis/theory im stating beta bro as a false persona. using jungian terms he is apha dirk's shadow

both dave and dirk live with a fake, carefully manicured version of their bros. they live with personas (or shadows of their guardians on the walls. hello platos allegory of the cave). they dont actually know e/o and they dont until the striunion

alpha dirk especially grows up embedded in the Public Persona Of Dave Strider 400 years post mortem and completely alone with unlimited internet access. hes a self admitted expert on his bro and we dont get to see a lot if any of his early childhood but i can hazard a guess at how much he clung to that persona of his bro. he fuckin idolizes dave. he LOVES dave. right off the bat he is in some kind of love with dave and i think if you try to argue against that then thats you slippin. i think youre a fool and have to reread homestuck because i wholeheartedly believe the striders loving eachother is part of the win state

once again this is speculation cause we get barely anything about alpha dave, but from what we already know about him im guessing this bro-persona is

achingly effortlessly cool

oozing masculinity (toxic or not, not really interested in categorizing that although toxic coolboy masculinity IS something the striders contend with & is an important facet in their lives)

a skilled fighter

a dedicated moviegoer (hes a director need i say more. this one is probably the only genuine thing about his on-screen persona)

and now lets look at jake. someone whos grown up on pretty much nothing but movies, whos doubtlessly been influenced by hollywood and its idea of gritty 'main character' masculinity through that, and who also clings to more old-school ideas of manliness (think victorian/edwardian era gentlemanly-but-loves-a-good-scrum kinda manly. moustache twirly with a monocle kinda manly. basically everything that grandpa harley is)

but okay lets look at what jake wants to be. lets take a look at his teenager persona

achingly effortlessly cool (his own 'hollywood star' kind of cool also def influenced by his favourite characters like lara croft who is indeed achingly cool. you see him succeed in inhabiting this hollywood star persona on earth c)

oozing masculinity (the old school manly mans-man kind)

a skilled fighter (two pistoles always. harder to aim cause you cant use a free hand to make up for kickback. that takes skill)

a dedicated moviegoer (again one of the only genuine parts about his persona. his questionable-to-wretched tastes aside. but bearing in mind that the SBaHJ movies are intentionally bad which is what makes them loop around to good. such is the nature of intentionally 'bad' art. jake fuckin lives in this perpetual bad-good art loop. okay enough with the art tangent keep focused man cmon)

because dirk has obviously way more contact with jake i dont doubt he sees through jakes own (admittedly way more flimsy) coolboy persona but the point still stands i think. different flavours but the same kinda guy. dirk has a type and i dont think its a stretch to say that hes looking for aspects of the bro-persona he grew up looking at in other boys, much like the winning cherub looking for the one they lost in the cherub theyll mate with

also wtf is with dirks obvious boner for dave chasing him across paradox space to decapitate him huh?? the last few sentences in Meat are about that very thing. he wants to fuc fight dave sooo bad. haha remember how the cherubic mating ritual is one of the most violent and long running spectacles in paradox space? i sure do

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - The Drive Home

Masterlist So here’s the first piece of my now other new bbu story :3 this takes place at the safehous August used to live at! I am very excited about this <3

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees

——————

They were quiet. 

The car remained silent, save for the rumble of the engine and the grumble of asphalt running under the tires. Mouths were zipped to a tight close, excluding the ever so often bump in the road that called out the faintest of a whimper. But only from one of them, the one curled inside the other. 

So absolutely quiet. Weren’t they always? This was nothing new for Isaac. They were meticulously trained to be so, quiet unless needed, because what rich, scum of the Earth asshole wants an annoying pet?

Calvin furiously typed away to Edith and Oscar in the passenger's seat, fingers flying over letters too fast to read the messages back to her. He gnawed at his chapped, fraying lips with ever so slightly crooked teeth, and a gentle overbite. Every time he typed he unconsciously held his breath, each few seconds passing by and sucking in a light gasp like a ringing to her ears.

She studied his face with little glances, inspecting his soft features. He looked almost like he could have been about the same age as the two boxies behind them, and for all Isaac knew they could have been college friends in another life.

But Isaac did her best to keep her eyes locked on the road, still wet and drying from the constant thunderstorms that they were lucky to have avoided, even if the clouds were still lingering and threatening to spill. Thunder faintly crashed from miles away, and she knew it would eventually draw near.

Whenever she felt fit, she’d steal a glance to the two boxies through the rearview mirror. There wasn’t much to see beside a twist and turn of intertwined bodies, faces concealed by grease coated mops of overgrown hair and exposed, scarred limbs.

The GPS beeped directions to her in its robotic, mechanical voice, now, take a right turn, it would instruct, and dutifully she would follow.

She was nervous. 

Her heart raced on it’s own accord, pounding increasing to a persistent throb in her head. Fingers gripping solid to the wheel, creating their own divots and knuckles turning white, Isaac swallowed, her throat bobbing along with the motion of saliva. Her belly was tied in knots, clawing it’s way to grip at her tensing insides.

Everyone was nervous. They always were with new rescues. How could they not be?

Isaac sipped in a shaky breath, lips parting in anticipation. “You guys okay back there?” Her words were tinted with a smile, although fake and forced, but she knew well how to create the appearance of realness.

“Yes, sir.” The larger of the two replied on instant, the one holding the other between his hulking arms, and only him. He spoke firm and concise, quick to supply her with the same answer he was trained to give. 

Though, his speech was inflicted with the hint of an accent, and not a Boston one. Something European, she guessed, something from nowhere near close. Already she wished she could zip open and dip a hand into his past, free his mind to everything he’s ever known, but she was plenty aware even he couldn’t do that himself. Not yet.

Unusually wary to speak, she cleared her throat with a heavy cough. “Is your friend doing okay?” She proceeded, taking a glance to them once again through the mirror. 

“Yes, sir.” He repeated, the exact same as the first time he said it. Rolling off the tongue with ease, showing her just how often he was forced to say it, over and over again. She swallowed, hard, as his embrace around the other secured.

A guard dog and a romantic. A pair, obviously locked at the hip and mind. 

The information was easily taken from them at the previous safehouse they had picked them up from, much too full to take in two more rescues. 

They hadn’t had a guard dog in a good while, the last one probably being August, and he was well living on his own in a whole other state. Isaac could only hope they could do for the new rescue what they had done for him. She knew they could.

One last heave of a turn, and the neighborhood blossomed into view. 2 minutes until home at last.

“We’re almost home,” she started, spinning the wheel with gentle ease, “You two can just go straight to bed. I bet you’re plenty tired.”

Yet again was another of the same response as he digested her every word like an order. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good idea.” Calvin muttered, almost a whisper, sending her the ghost of a grin. Her face softened back, as a thank you without words.

They soon pulled up the driveway, minivan stumbling over uneven cracks of pavement. She sighed in relief as they finally parked inside the garage, as if she’d been holding in her breath the whole ride. Calvin did the same, following her lead like always.

“You can head on home, I’ve got them from here.” She told him, “And, thanks for coming along. You were a huge help.”

His expression brightened, that twinkle in his eye returning whenever he was to receive praise. Sort of like the rescues, she thought. “You’re welcome.” He slid right out from his seat, jumping and readying to sprint off to his own home, his apartment only a block away. Before he could, he shouted back and brought a smile to her face, this time genuine. “I wish you luck!”

After a moment of settling breathing, Isaac stepped out from the car herself, stepping around and opening her new guests’ door. “Alright, you two. Ready to come on out?” 

This time, the guard turned to the man in his lap, tenderly swiping a lock of slick hair back into place. The romantic atop of him trembled, face moist with what she could only guess were terrified tears. 

He ever so carefully wrapped his arms under the other man’s knees and back, stepping out of the car with the other in a bridal carry.

Now, she could see them, just a bit clearer. The one that held the other is tall, way tall, with a hefty build. He was pudgy, skin pooling out of and folding over his boxers, but underneath she knew existed tough muscle. His face held soft features, thin lips and a round nose, flushed red from the cold. He looked to her with glittering hazel eyes, awaiting his next order.

The other’s face was still concealed by shaggy, black waves, but she could see his angular, hooked nose as it peeked out, and the shine of dark, deep eyes peeking from his shield of hair.

“Good, good.” She mumbled as she studied, taking it all in, “That’s so good. Let’s move on inside, alright?”

Isaac locked the car as they trailed behind her through the door, she always did, even when it was safely tucked inside the garage. Better to be extra safe than sorry.

Something tapped at her wrist as she did so, bringing her attention to the decoration connected to the end of her keys that twirled around with the movement of her hand. A bracelet of sorts, made up of little crosses and twists of vibrantly colorful rubber bands. She remembered well when Agnes gifted it to her, the first bracelet she’d ever made with the set Edith had given her. 

Isaac hoped that one day, no matter how far in the distance of the future because she would stick with them no matter how long, the new rescues would find themselves like August did, like how Agnes was on her journey to, and all of the other rescues who still visit from time to time. That they wouldn’t run back to whatever sick place they came from, even if they’re tempted.

Isaac held a spark of hope for these two, a fiery burning in her gut like she had for all the others, and she was not going to let go of it.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[rottingfern]

sweetened breath, tongue so mean || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: Noah x nonbinary OC

Summary: They're screaming at each other. They're throwing hands. They're half a second away from a violent hatefuck. And at the end of the day, they'll still call each other friends.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: ANGST, toxic relationship, language, heavy consumption of alcohol, degradation kink if you squint, brief discussion of body image, OC gets deadnamed, depiction of a panic attack, choking, cunnilingus, penetration, hair pulling, slightly dubious consent, spitting.

A/N: Wow do I love angst. But be warned going into this: THESE BITCHES IS TOXIC. Noah is not a very nice person in this, and neither is OC. This fic does not depict a healthy relationship. This is a work of fiction depicting a fictionalized version of Noah and does not represent him in real life.

A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @signs-of-ill-portent AND @the-way-of-words FOR BETA-ING THIS FIC AND SCREAMING ABOUT IT WITH ME, for getting on my characters' levels with me and for egging me on to delve as deep and dark as I needed for this fic, for not allowing me to mince words and for listening to me catastrophize about the story beats as I figured out how to convey all the nuance this fic needed. Y'all really did the most when you didn't have to, and I AM EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO YOU FOR THAT! My heart eyes are laser focused on you.

Brainrot Club: @meekahy @foliosriot @badhedonist Theme song is Hatef--k by The Bravery. I actually made a whole playlist! Click here to listen. Masterlist here.

Title taken from Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier; banner made by me; dividers by @saradika

Lee’s just about done with this show (though it hasn’t even begun) when their shoulders hit the poorly finished wall of the back hallway of the venue. 

His lips are searing, supple and wet and clingy as they suck to their own. They clench their teeth shut at the insistent push of his tongue past their lips, demanding entry into their mouth. Maybe this whole moment - the hands on their shoulders, the thigh between their knees, pinned between drywall and a solid mass of body heat and want - would be hot, desirable even, had it all not belonged to the one shithead they’d been hoping to avoid tonight. 

Of course, Lee would have more luck surviving a plane crash into the ocean than avoiding a shithead when said shithead is Noah Sebastian Davis. This whole situation is vomit-inducing. Embarrassing, honestly. They push on his chest, hard, like their life depends on it. 

“God, knew you’d want it,” Noah pants when Lee finally manages to separate his suction cup of a mouth from theirs, his shit-eating grin planted firmly like he’d done something - whether he meant to be sexy or purposely disgusting, they’re not sure - and it doesn’t help he hasn’t learned to be less cryptic since they’d seen him last. “What, no ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’?” Lee shoots back. They’d backpedaled out that green room as soon as the members of their entourage were occupied by conversation, though they really should’ve expected this. Noah following them down dimly lit hallways with dishonorable purpose is par for the course. “Didn’t think I’d need one. Once a slut, always a slut.” His chuckle is like shattering ice, each shard aimed at Lee. “Isn’t that right, Leanne?” 

Noah hasn’t changed in the ten years since they’d met, and Lee isn’t about to let the persistent press of his thick, hard cock against their stomach through layers of denim and terry cloth (or the way an engine downstairs springs to life when they feel it) change their opinion of him: that he’s a shithead through and through, cocky in the worst kind of way, hell-sent the day he was born when the universe decided not only to make him a bigheaded fool but also to let him win the genetic lottery in one fell swoop. 

Doesn’t stop the clench of their cunt that they struggle to suppress. Doesn’t prevent the mental scolding they’re forced to give themself: the chaos monster that is Noah Davis’s entire being isn’t worth dealing with for even a hookup. It’s pathetic, tacky even. 

Something primal, old and hungry flashes in the glassy gel of Noah’s eyes when he forces Lee’s gaze to his, fingers hooked firmly round their jaw; something uncontrollably soft in the way his jaw trembles to mirror Lee’s own when he grazes their hip with his free hand, when he presses his thumb firmly to their clit through the denim of their shorts. 

There are a million things Lee could’ve picked from the Rolodex of elaborate insults soaked in a decade of contentious acquaintanceship they’ve stored specifically to knock Noah off his self-appointed pedestal, if only the butterflies insistently bubbling below their gut would just shut the fuck up for a single second. Could’ve, had Noah’s propensity to always control every situation so it goes his way not also applied to their own bodily function, apparently. Instead, they lower their chin, defiantly forcing his grip on their throat to tighten. 

Dangerous mistake. Stupid fucking mistake, because their hips buck forward along his thigh at the pressure, just an inch, and Noah’s smile widens dangerously, and oh. Oh no. They know this look, and the words that are bound to slip from his mouth in three, two -

Like a miracle from God or whatever the fuck other omnipotent being lives in the sky, a shout of their name echoes through the corridors. Noah’s hands find Lee’s shoulders again, head dipping once more as their own hands push desperately against his chest in a mad scramble for dominance and escape. They will not be caught - will not be seen - kissing Noah fucking Davis in front of their coworkers. No fucking way. Gag. Although… 

It does feel nice to be wanted, and it’s been so, so long since they’ve allowed themself this - no strings, mindless, just a quick way to get theirs. How long has it been? Since before they got sick, since before they put on the weight, surely. And Noah throws them around so effortlessly, they didn’t even feel that hot sting of insecurity as his hands ran down their body just minutes ago. And it’s not like they aren’t attracted to him, as long as he doesn’t speak. He’s always been hot - even Lee’s freshly-eighteen mind had been excited by the idea of snapping his scrawny little bones with their bare hands back then. And he’s only gotten hotter, with that fucking haircut and the way his once-concave pecs now ripple with muscle under their palms. 

So, what’s the holdup? It’s not like the two of them haven’t done this before. It would be so easy: they give Noah what he wants, they get theirs, then they never have to see each other again (at least not for another three years or four years, likely). Why shouldn’t they just let him kiss them again?

“Lee!” comes another shout, snapping Lee from their reverie. It’s closer, the sound of footsteps to match echoing just around the corner now. 

Their wandering mind had loosened their push on Noah’s chest to a caress, but now they use his momentary distraction to force him from them with all their might once again, schooling their stance into a casual side-lean against the wall just seconds before their friends round the corner. 

“There you are,” Mike sighs. “C’mon, bitch, we don’t wanna miss the openers!” As Lee follows Mike and Noor out to the floor, they toss a playful smirk over their shoulder, but Noah’s already replaced his mask of impassiveness, arms crossed sternly with clenched fists. His loss.

Noor’s laserlike gaze scans Lee as they collect their drinks from the bar. “Have a sweet reunion?” she asks.  

Lee huffs. They get enough of this shit from her at home, at work, basically everywhere. They love Noor, truly, but she’s impossible to fool and Lee really doesn’t need her picking around their brain when they themself don’t have a full understanding of what’s brewing in there.

“Sweet as fucking vinegar,” they instead reply, eyes rolling demonstratively. Noor’s lips purse in suspicion, so they turn away before she can do that fucking clairvoyant inspection of details thing she does, leading them back through the crowd to their coworkers. 

It’s not that Lee is stupid enough to truly believe they’d manage to avoid Noah at a Bad Omens show - rather that they’d have elected to straight up Not Attend were the outing not made mandatory by their boss. 

Mercury Hall is the largest venue in Burlington - a mid-size club with two balconies, standing thirty years with a stellar reputation to boot - but behind the scenes, despite a revolving door of staff, Mercury regularly employs a group of college kids who collectively have the common sense of a single person. Not that it’s surprising, really, considering Burlington houses two universities and both offer a “music business” major. Lee thinks Mercury should be hiring communications majors instead - maybe that’d fix their massive communication problem. 

Ouroboros - Lee’s place of gainful employment - is a smaller club on the other side of Downtown, and has absolutely no affiliation with Mercury… except that the owners of the two clubs go way back, oldheads who’ve been buddies since school and all that, and Lee’s boss regularly makes any problems down at Mercury his problem. 

Or, the problem of his long-suffering staff, to be precise. 

Just like last week, for example, when Lee was just trying to sort out next month’s scheduling while jamming to some ABBA, and was interrupted by their boss Roy roping them into solving the issue with Mercury’s scheduling instead, on only a week’s notice.

Really, the solution was a no brainer. One band was not local and on a tightly-scheduled tour; the other - from just three hours south in Boston, were playing just a one-off gig. Ask the Boston guys to move to the following night - they’d get a Friday spot anyway, way better deal. Enlist Mike and Noor to assist with rescheduling the hired crew to Friday. It helped immensely that the Boston guys only recently graduated to playing Mercury, that Lee knew them from their years of traveling up to play Ouroboros. The other band was Bad Omens. So, really, Noah should be thanking Lee.

Thanks only came in the form of Hank, Mercury’s owner, interrupting their pre-show planning meeting two days ago to inform Ouroboros staff they’d been guest-listed for the Bad Omens gig. Lee thought better thanks would’ve come in the form of Hank hiring staff capable of doing their jobs, and stands by that opinion. 

Excited chatter had erupted the minute Hank shut the door behind him - it’s a rare occasion that a decent metalcore act rolls through Burlington - but Lee could only focus on the cold pit that opened in their stomach at the thought of seeing Noah again. Later that night, they’d get disastrously wine-drunk with Noor on their ratty porch couch and lament on the absolute asshole that was Noah Sebastian Davis, but in that moment they only sat blank, nodding along obediently, as Roy instructed them to attend Hank’s “extremely generous offering”.

The issue isn’t going to the Bad Omens gig, because if there’s one positive thing they can say about Noah it’s that he really hit his stride with this project and Lee respects the grind. Nor is it the idea of being in the same room as him; it’s not like they haven’t been around him plenty and willingly over the past decade between touring through RVA with their college band, and in the multiple shared friend groups they’d amassed over the years. 

Noah’s annoying as all hell: the kind of person who says and does whatever, whenever the hell he wants, who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, who will unapologetically push forward if it pleases him. And, apparently and unfortunately for Lee, his biggest pleasure is making them absolutely fucking miserable whenever they’re in proximity of one another. And especially unfortunately, he knows exactly how to push Lee’s buttons, which ones to push, and how to drive them to absolute breaking point. 

And, his greatest pleasure is knowing Lee will just hatefuck him when they get too fed up. Lee would bet their life savings (spoiler: not much) that he was one of those kids who pulled all the girls’ pigtails on the playground. 

Going into the evening, Lee’s biggest issue was just that: that they’d snap at him in front of their coworkers, that Roy or Hank would clock the familiarity and fire them or something, that they’d get overwhelmed and just fucking cry. Dealing with Noah’s antics was even a knife’s edge in the past, in casual environments where their friends would laugh it off as “Noah and Leanne bullshit”, when they’d had security in their identity and image. 

In the now times however, with their confidence dropped to near-zero, with meds that make them burst to tears at any strong enough emotion, with a fragile half-decades acceptance of their queer identity (and Noah’s inability to fucking catch on and stop misgendering them), Lee wasn’t certain they’d be able to handle the pressure of the battle of wills Noah insisted on having each time they met. 

Now, as the giant party of the Ouroboros staff, the touring party, and those of the Mercury staff who are legal to drink head to the Archives for after-hours drinks, Lee’s issue is that they’re actually enjoying themself because Resident Shithead Noah Sebastian Davis is being actually fucking pleasant. And they’re really not sure how to deal with that. It’s new territory. A no-person’s land, if you will. 

He’d slowed down to where Lee trailed behind the rest of the group, likely sick of tripping over Church Street’s uneven cobblestones trying to keep up with Joakim’s (they refuse to call him Jolly. What the fuck kind of grown man calls himself Jolly?) speed racer pace. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

Lee releases a long-suffering sigh. “Hi, Noah.”

They walk silently beside each other for a few minutes. From the corner of their eye as they tilt their head back to admire this year’s lighted arches, Lee sees Noah fidget uncomfortably. They’re seconds from spitting out an out with it, already when he finally asks, “So, archaeology was a bust, huh?”

Here we fucking go. They’ve decided their Rolodex of insults is useless and resort to just tossing him a nasty look, a roll of the eyes, and to speed up to walk with Mike, Noor and Folio when he hurriedly follows up with, “Only you seemed so excited about your degree.” He sports an unfamiliar expression Lee has never seen him wear (is it sheepishness? abashedness?), head dipped low. “Y’know. Back then.”

Lee’s brain is short circuiting. That’s the only explanation for the wall of static and dial-up tones smashcut with thirty different trains of thought that occupies it and allows them to respond only with a blank look and a dumb-sounding “oh” because, did Noah actually just ask them about their life????? 

Since when did he give a flying fuck about anything but making their night hell? All Noah Sebastian Davis cares about is his boys, his music, and getting his. But, it makes sense, right, since the last time they saw each other was at a holiday party and barely spoke at all - maybe he is just curious. He’s being pleasant, but to what end? When does the other shoe drop?

Or, a small part of their brain whispers, maybe he’s finally grown up. He does look awfully sincere, chocolate eyes wide with concern. “Just didn’t work out,” Lee shrugs, electing to open up. “For a lot of reasons. Mostly because, I guess I didn’t love it enough to work up to the fun stuff once I started getting hired.” A bitter, self-deprecating chuckle escapes their throat way too loudly for comfort. 

The group has reached the Archives now, and Lee sends a short nod in response to Noor’s concerned glance as she hesitates behind Mike at the bar door. They light a cigarette and lean against the wall, shuffling their foot along the pavement awkwardly. Lee tosses their gaze back up when Noah’s shoes stop before them. He’s open, inquisitive, and they can’t help but relax into it, dumping the rest out: “It’s a lot of travel. And my aunt was sick…”

They choke on the rest, and are suddenly enveloped in possibly the most comforting, needed hug they’ve received since she died. 

“My mom, too, recently,” Noah eventually lets out, voice matching Lee’s choke. He presses them harder to his chest, holding them, clinging, letting Lee soak his shirt as they rock back and forth. 

They break away from each other after a few minutes, Noah turning to let Lee try to wipe their tears without ruining their eyeliner as he swipes his own away with the heels of his palms. They turn back to each other with tight, abashed closed-mouth half-smiles, letting out matching embarrassed chuckles. 

He slumps against the wall and they stand, shoulders grazing, gazing at the night sky. “Y’know, it’s strange to see you here, because I associate Philly with you first, Leanne,” Noah ponders lazily, “But Vermont strangely suits you.”

There’s that bitter feeling again. Lee lights another smoke (having lost their previous to the hug) and follows the smoke trail as it draws circles around the distant stars above, shining bright as though they’re watching from somewhere far, far from civilization. 

There’s something you don’t get in Philly - that feeling of awe, of being just a molecule amidst the inconceivable mass of this universe, of every worry and problem being an ant to a continent, and you’re just trying to live your life to survive to the next and the most you can do is just live and love it. There’s something they’d missed for years being away from the far Northeast, something they take for granted until quiet, gentle moments like this. They don’t share any of that with Noah. Instead, they reply: “Noor’s rich parents bought her a house here, and she took me with her.”

“How long?” Noah sighs. He sounds dreamy, on the verge of sleep, eyes closed, body leaning firmly against theirs. 

“Nearly five years, now.”

Noah’s eyes snap open, a smirk spreading his face like wildfire, words flowing faster than Lee can even brace for the hit. “Five years of Vermont Cheddar’s done wonders for that ass,” he snarks. 

There it fucking is, the other fucking shoe. Leave it to him to open his stupid fucking mouth at a moment like this. Here they are, opening up about shit they’d barely even told their best friend, crying about their dead family together, and he’s making caveman-brain comments about their body. 

Lee kicks off the wall, dislodging Noah’s resting body, flicking their unfinished cigarette at the ground. If there’s a God, he’ll make the ash ruin Noah’s squeaky-clean white Vans. 

They feel an absolute idiot for trusting this idiot, for choosing these feelings to entrust to him. Should’ve known better. “With as much disrespect as possible: fuck you, Noah,” Lee spits at Noah’s stumbling form before jerking open the bar door, slamming it shut behind them. 

Note to future self (which will inevitably be forgotten and ignored): beware the Archives after hours - it’s completely shot and always devolves to the same bullshit. Yes, every time. Do not be fooled by the arcade machines - they are half broken and will not save you.

Hank and Roy left after chugging their first and only beers in under a minute the way Frank and Charlie shovel down cat food before bed on Always Sunny. Mike’s sniffed out that one gruff DL crew guy that’s seemingly copy-pasted onto each tour that comes through town and is working on enticing him to go back to his place above Ouroboros with that fucking slick grin of his (“It’s only around the corner, they’ll be none the wiser”). Nobody’s behind the bar, because it’s easier for Donny to just let people serve themselves - not like afterhours is official or legal here, anyway - so why would he bother serving? 

Everyone’s broken off into small groups or pairs, and Lee? Lee’s nursing their fourth whiskey, stuck finishing the shitty fries Noor always orders after she’s had her first drink, the same shitty ones she eats like, five of before pushing them away in disgust. 

The floor is sticky, left to be cleaned by the opening staff, and more than half the bar’s got their wax pens out, making the whole place smell like wet dog. Like the top note of a sick perfume resting above the heart note of the sweat of thirty slightly-too-warm people. Eau de metalhead. They really oughta turn off the heat in this place already - it’s fucking June.

It’s not the heat that’s got Lee absolutely boiling, though, no, that would be too simple. It’s that among this absolute hellscape, Noah is ten feet away, laughing like all that shit outside just didn’t happen. He’s fucking with the glitchy Ms. Pac-Man machine with Nicholas. He’s shotgunning beers with Mike and Mike’s newest conquest. He’s not looking at Lee. 

“- and after all that, like we had a moment, and after all that -” Lee laments to Noor, “For fuck’s sake, bitch, will you quit making eyes at Folio for one second?” 

Greta Van Fleet’s “Heat Above” is playing over the tinny speaker, and Noor’s distracted “uh huh” as she bops along is tell enough for Lee. The bitch is gone. 

“Fuck’s sake, Noor, you really gotta fuck the drummer every time?” Lee hisses, reaching blindly behind the bar for the whiskey they’d set in arm’s reach. Noor doesn’t hear them. Noor is too busy being her beautiful self, flicking a chunk of perfect raven curls behind her shoulder. Lee watches in horror as Folio presents the other tell that Noor’s one-hundred-percent gone for the night, something Lee has only seen happen genuinely, unironically in two situations - one in movies, and the other when Noor flirts with men: Folio fucking wiggles his eyebrows at her. 

There’s the whiskey. Goddamn, do they need another drink. Somewhere behind them, Noah cackles. Nails on a fucking chalkboard. 

Can you hear that dreadful sound? Fire still burning on the ground, Josh Kiszka screeches. You, or the other one, Josh? thinks Lee as they pour themselves another drink.

They turn, ready to shoot Noah a dirty look, and the fucker winks at them. They down their three fingers in one go and push off their stool towards the toilets. 

Their vision swims, not from the five whiskeys, not from getting up too quickly, but from the pins and needles of bitter fury tearing at their chest. 

It’s not that Noah’s enjoying himself. Good for him. It’s not that he’d been a vulgar dick, either, because they’re pretty sure that wasn’t the first time they’d gotten the “wonders for your ass” dig from him before. 

It’s that they’d allowed him a single moment of benignant sincerity for probably the first time ever, let him in, showed their tender belly, and then he’d gone and stabbed them where they’re most vulnerable. That he’d pissed on any genuine connection they’d been building up to then. 

It’s not that Noah was an asshole tonight, that will never change. That’s the sky blue. It’s that this time, Noah actually hurt their feelings. 

Lee shuts the bathroom door with their back, melds themself against the metal, digging the heels of their palms into their eyes as they let out a dry, heavy, tear-less sob. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale -

The second sob drags up with it hot spittle, sending them coughing and gagging into the sink. It’s that it’s all their own fault for letting him in, for getting comfortable in the first place. That’s what you get when you let Noah in. 

How fucking shot in the head do they have to be to expect anything less than this bullshit? Because this isn’t how someone with an ounce of sensibility would handle this, right? RIGHT?! Hey, let’s go trauma dump on this dude who’s never had a kind thing to say to you. Let’s go talk about our feeeeeeelings with the guy who still deadnames you FOUR years after you changed it everywhere. Oh, he gave you a hug? Oh, he shared his little emo feels with you too? Awwww. Ohhhh. Cute. Fucking. Idiot. 

Their eyeliner is smeared, their skin blotchy and red, and their hair absolutely refuses to lay well despite all their efforts to make it behave. Under the overly-bright fluorescent lighting, they can see the blue of the vein bulging in their forehead. They look like they’ve been beaten, or fucked, or both at once. Lee swears their reflection grins at them then.

They need to clean themself up and get another drink, and then they need to punch Noah in his stupid, smug, sexy face. Another dry heave works up their throat. No, no, this isn’t right. This is neither healthy nor productive. They can’t keep going on like this, can’t keep allowing themself in situations where the rage literally makes them sick.

Lee sighs, rubbing a hand over their tired face, presentability be damned. They need to go home; just crawl into bed and sleep it off and avoid any gatherings Noah might be at forever. They should probably cut off their mutual friends, too and never step foot in Richmond again, or L.A. for that matter, though they’d never willingly end up in that helltown, anyway. 

Home. Bed. Sleep. Never see Noah again. 

But when they swing open the bathroom door, he’s on the other side.

There’s a beat as he takes them in, and a small part of Lee thinks, hopes, prays he’ll grant mercy this time. Just this once. Look at me. Please. Mercy.

But prayer’s so unreliable, and Noah is so, so consistent. “Lookin’ good, doll,” mocks the physical manifestation of No Sense Of Time And Place. “Whoa -”

This is it. Their chest is exploding, they can’t breathe, they’ve lost their eyesight. This is how they die. 

Noah catches their wrist inches from his face before Lee even realizes they’ve swung.

They let out a hysterical laugh, ripping their arm from his like it’s a third-degree burn, backpedaling so fast from his advance they nearly trip over their own legs. 

He’s all, “hey, whoa,” he’s all, “hey, Leanne,” but they’re too busy contending with the fact that each breath feels like a leaf blower full of nails tearing their windpipe. “Leanne, what -” he says, but they knew this wasn’t normal the moment Noah started grabbing at their shoulders, at their face, the moment they couldn’t hear him pleading for them to get themself together. “Leanne, c’mon, Leanne, please,” he’s begging somewhere, but they can’t stop fucking laughing.

God, but doesn’t he sound so tender, so pretty when he pleads?

This isn’t normal, right? Like, what’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over? Right?????? And now there’s godforsaken tears pricking at their eyes and they can’t stop and - 

They need him to stop. They need him to shut up, and they need him out of their field of vision. But he keeps getting in front of them, putting his hands on them and Lee wants them off but they can’t feel their hands - 

Someone’s released an anguished, animalistic scream somewhere. Everything’s too tight. There’s arms caging them in, they need out, they need escape why are there arms fucking everywhere - 

“Fucking, ow!” Noah’s left hand flies up to nurse his jaw where they’d managed to catch him, but the right finds purchase in their hair immediately, like it’s an instinct, like it belongs there. He yanks, hard, forcing their face to his as he crowds them against the sink. 

There’s something grounding, calming in the pain at the back of their head, something reassuring in the way he’d tear their hair out at a moment’s notice. He’s so close they can smell the spearmint of the gum he’d been chewing under the liquor and smoke, nose nearly pressed to theirs. His hair tickles their cheekbones like a balm, like a promise.

He’s a vision of fury, all tightly clenched jaw and steely eyes, scrunched nose and furrowed brows. “What the fuck is your problem?” he sternly asks, voice quiet, chillingly flat.

An involuntary, scornful bark of a laugh escapes Lee’s throat. “You wanna know my problem? YOU’RE my fucking problem! I haven’t known a moment of peace since I met you!” they shout through their sob-torn throat. The dam bursts, there’s no stopping this train now, whichever metaphor you prefer. “You’re absolutely insufferable! No regard for anyone but yourself! You wanna know why people leave you in the dust and never look back? Because you’re the fucking worst! You’re a fucking mistake!”

Noah’s mouth twists that smirk again, the one Lee has been on the receiving end of too many times tonight, but there’s no joy behind it; his eyes are empty and cold and tinged red, omnipotent in the weight of his gaze. He doesn’t even need to say it. That cruel twist of his mouth is enough. Takes one to know one.

His lips are on Lee’s in an instant, barely connected for a second before he forces his tongue past their teeth, his free hand wandering anywhere he can reach. His hips push them into the porcelain, fingers brushing up the exposed skin of their belly, hand sliding overtop their binder. A harsh breath huffs out his nose as he passes a thumb over their hard nipple through the thick fabric, pulling a tiny, pathetic whine from Lee’s throat. 

There’s a beat when he pulls their head an inch back, hovering by their ear once more, hips giving a miniscule, barely there roll. Then, in a movement so quick Lee can barely acknowledge it happened, he rips their arm round their back, flipping them so fast they’d faceplant into the mirror were it not for the grip he keeps steady on their head, fingers tangled in their hair, nails digging at their scalp. Hips press them into the edge of the sink, fingers pull their head to his shoulder, the arch lighting a tight burn in their spine. 

Mirror Lee looks like roadkill, and Mirror Noah looks like the vulture circling round their corpse, towering over them voraciously.

He rolls his hard, clothed cock into the small of their back. “Look at what you do to me,” he croons. A hand trailing fingers dangerously slow up their bare leg. “Look at what a mess you are.” His hand trails lazily from their hair to their throat, nestling there like a puzzle piece fit into place, forcing their gaze on the mirror. “Look at you.” He trails kisses behind Lee’s ear, down their neck, the trail of saliva he leaves behind chilling in the stale air. “Look at you.” His fingers brush their belly. “Look at you.” A kiss on their pulse point. Lee lets out an anxious shudder at the fingers dipping below the waistband of their shorts.

His eyes snap to meet theirs in the mirror, and Lee’s screwed because Noah’s just caught them soaking wet. They can’t force themself to blink, to look away from Noah’s piercing gaze as he slowly, predatorily brings his mouth to their ear. Punctuated by a single flick of their clit, through barely-parted kiss-bruised lips, he whispers: “Slut.”

It’s then their mind catches up to their body, and as their face hits the cold, wet porcelain of the sink bowl, they realize they hadn’t fully caught their breath. They heave as the stoneware digs into the bottom of their ribs, muscles spasming over their whole body as they consciously force them to relax. 

The heel of his palm pushes at the base of their skull, his fingers tangling tight in their hair once more, and a single, foreboding finger whispers assurance as it runs down their spine. Cold air on their bare ass as he unceremoniously tears down their shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. His cock prods at their hole and they, body before mind, back against him. 

For the warmth, of course.

Nothing more. 

That’s definitely not their whine when he slides home with a single snap of his hips, when he pulls out nearly completely, when he snaps back home again with twice the force. 

Mercy. What a silly thought to entertain, what a silly plea to beg when you’re begging Noah. Noah doesn’t do mercy. That’s not his modus operandi. Noah winds you up, then puts you down. Like Lee is now. Down. Face down in the sink bowl. Like the stupid, stupid slut they are, in Noah’s own words. 

They’ll never get used to the stretch, they think, no matter how many times they fuck Noah. It might be the size of him (though they’ll never admit it to his face, lest it make him grow a second head for sheer lack of space from his already overly-inflated ego), or maybe it’s that he’s just there to get his, and no matter how he fucks - slow, fast, hard, gentle - he’s never thinking about them. And despite that, despite that he’s just jackhammering, shoving their face into the porcelain with force which will surely leave a bruise, the roll of his hips tells them someone cooked here.

There’s no tenderness in the dig of his short, blunt nails into the flesh of their inner thigh, woefully close to where they need him, nor in sticky snap of his hips against their ass, and certainly not in the merciless drag of his heavy cock against that rough patch in them which serves to topple them like a Jenga tower, slowly, shakily, then all at once. They’re so full. So empty. They’re a coin-operated doll, helpless to be broken down and sold for parts on the whim of a single man. 

They’re a wet mess, clit so swollen they think it might burst, hands a mess of numb pins and needles. They’re gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow, they’re gonna be so fucking sore when they pee, and for what it’s worth, this shouldn’t feel good at all, but Lee is so fucking close.

Embarrassing. 

When Noah’s hips stutter, when his grip releases their head just enough for them to turn their head, he’s got his bottom lip in his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut and he looks so, so gone (or maybe it’s Lee who’s gone) in the flush of pink running from his cheeks down into his shirt. 

That’s not Lee moaning. They’re just trying to catch a breath. But, god, they’re right there, they just need something, they just need more - 

Noah freezes, collapsing on them with a short, quiet groan, burying his face in their neck. 

His breath is hot, wet, the weight of his heaving chest pressing their ribcage into the porcelain. There's barely a moment of peace before the fingers in their hair tighten once more, pulling their face up to meet his eyes in the mirror. 

All it takes is a miniscule shake of Lee’s head for his blissed out gaze to turn stormy once more, for him to drop to his knees.

It’s a race to the finish line the second Noah’s tongue touches Lee’s neglected clit. Quite possibly all their synapses fire at once, all their focus single-mindedly on the way he sucks them, on the calluses on his fingertips as he pads at their hole, on the vibration of a moan they can’t hear. 

Lee is jelly. They don’t need to be held down any longer, compliantly staying slumped in the sink, but the soothing scrape of Noah’s nails on their scalp as he presses two fingers in grounds them, turning any distracting thoughts to a static hum tuned to the note of fuck, Noah. 

All it takes is a single curl of his fingers, like the press of a button before they’re falling, trembling on an overdose of oxytocin into oblivion. 

With a final suck, Noah rises to his feet, bringing a deer-legged Lee with him. They’re dizzy, vision blurred as he turns them gently in his arms. Arousal-coated fingers pry their jaw open, and Noah comes into focus when his hand settles at their throat in an inky-fingered necklace. He forces Lee’s jaw open wider and spits, using the same hand to then cover their mouth. His eyes are wide and wild, rapt as he soothes the saltybitter spend down Lee’s throat. “Look at you, look at that dirty mouth,” he’s mumbling feverishly, voice still deep with arousal. “Look at you swallow that cum. Who else does it for you like this, hm? That’s right. Nobody. Only me.”

Lee chokes out a heaving breath, willing the tears that prick their eyes to not fucking fall, and he deflates, collapsing into their shoulder, arms dropping to circle their waist. “God damn, Leanne,” he sighs after a beat, dulcet and spent.

They glance down uncomfortably. His face is calm, unmarred by the everpresent lines and tension it usually carries, nose buried in their neck. “It’s Lee,” they say. 

At least he has the sense to look embarrassed. “Right. Lee.”  

They don’t clean themself up, they haven’t the energy. They let Noah pull up their shorts, shuffle them out the bathroom and out the back door, and walk them home. 

The streets are quiet, streetlights haloing the street corners in gold, everyone with any sense of decency long-retired to their homes. Lee wonders what they look like from a bird’s eye view, or from outer space, alone together in a grid of light. What do the stars think - would they shame Lee? Would they judge them? 

They stroll lazily, Noah’s arm draped round Lee’s shoulder. He looks so at peace, between the half-smile playing at his lips and the way the streetlights illuminate the lashes of his half-closed eyes. Something acrid bubbles in Lee’s chest. At least they get him like this, blissed out and pleasant before they never speak to him again. Before they never - 

No. They won’t think about that. Just remember this. 

Lee is halfway up the porch stairs before Noah yanks them back by the wrist, catching them from their awkward tumble into his chest. “Give me a call sometime, alright?” he mumbles, grazing the exposed skin between their shorts and shirt. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

Their heart stutters. It’s too sweet. It’s too nice. This isn’t right. “Whatever, asshole,” they say. Weakly. Unconvincingly. With the weakest push they’ve got, with no resistance from Noah, they start again on the stairs. 

He doesn’t pursue. 

“Call me whatever you like,” he laughs. “‘Long as you call me.” 

In the morning, through a blinding headache and a metric fuckton of hangxiety, Lee rushes to check their phone the second they pull their face from the pillow. 

Among the sea of texts from Noor and Mike, work emails, and bullshit app notifications, there it is: Stupid Silly Man: hey, asshole. My number is still the same, btw.

[sneezypeasy]

Original Script Analysis, Part 2: The Southern Raiders, The Finale, and What I Think About it All

Link to Part 1

So folks, when it comes to literary analysis, there are two categories that textual interpretations typically fall under: the Doylist explanation, and the Watsonian explanation. 

Watsonian explanations will contextualise an issue solely within the bounds of the story it is told in, so the answer to any question will be, essentially, “in-universe”. Imagine interviewing a character in the story, and asking them, “why did x happen” or, “why did y character decide to do z”. The answer you get will be a Watsonian answer.

Doylist explanations, on the other hand, are explanations that take into account things the characters themselves wouldn’t “have access to”, so to speak. These explanations often touch on writing concepts like theme, character arcs, tropes, setup and payoff etc, sometimes even referring to “real-world” motivations, intentions, or constraints that the creators were working with (or against). If an explanation or an answer to a question doesn’t sound like anything the characters themselves could have come up with, it’s probably a Doylist explanation.

I’m going to give an example from Titanic that I hope isn’t a spoiler to anybody at this point given how much this film has been memed to shit:

Jack dies at the end of Titanic. Now, why did he die?

The Watsonian says: He died because there was no room on the door.

The more intelligent Watsonian says: No there WAS room on the bloody door you smooth-brained koala did you even watch the fucking movie? They tried to get them both on there, the door just couldn’t hold the two of them because of something called BUOYANCY you fucking idiot-

The Doylist says: Jack died because it was the culmination of his character arc, and because he and Rose symbolise the class disparity of the victims of that tragedy; Jack is the poorer third class, and Rose is the rich upper class. Upper class women were the likeliest demographic to survive the sinking of the Titanic, and lower class men were the likeliest demographic to die. Jack had to die and Rose had to live; it’s symbolic. 

Here’s another example: on the r/DeathNote subreddit, someone asked why L fell off his chair in such an exaggerated and dramatic fashion upon hearing that shinigami could be real. The top comment provides a detailed Watsonian answer, followed by a Doylist one:

Basically, Watsonian commentary is consistent with how the characters, in-universe, might explain/contextualise something. Doylism explains how a plot point or character decision serves a purpose beyond what the characters themselves would be able to conceptualise, whether that’s narrative payoff, authorial intent, or even marketing/executive decisions/budget constraints.

Why am I explaining all of this? Because I want to play a game with you guys.

You ready?

The name of this game is: Why, in the original script of The Southern Raiders, is Katara somehow asleep while LITERAL BOMBS ARE GOING OFF AROUND HER(!!!)

Is it:

A) Katara trained herself to sleep through Fire Nation raids and bombs from a young age

B) Katara is just generally that deep of a sleeper 

C) Elizabeth Ehasz wanted an excuse (any excuse, really) to force Zuko and Katara to interact (because this is their episode, after all-)

Yeah, maybe I’m just unimaginative but I’m pretty sure it’s C. I’d love to hear your best Watsonian take for this one though (please, go nuts, lmao)

Like all the other changes we’ve seen, nothing has been done to the dialogue, which plays out how it does in the show:

I’m sorry I just can’t get over this 🤣🤣 “Character A and Character B hate each other/are not talking to each other/are currently in the process of biting each other’s heads off, now let’s come up with some ridiculous excuse to make Character A and Character B play nice and help and warm up to each other” is a pretty solid fanfic trope but I think this is the first time I’ve seen “MAKE CHARACTER A SLEEP THROUGH A FUCKING MISSILE ATTACK” utilised for this specific purpose.

Logically I understand why this was changed for the show, but I’m ngl, I’m slightly sad we didn’t get to see this version. 🤣🤣🤣

Interestingly, Katara doesn’t catch Zuko after he gets blasted off the war blimp - the script doesn’t specify anyone catching Zuko, it just says that he “lands safely on the bison” (sorry, I thought I wrote this one down in full but I only wrote down that quote, my bad 💀).

(It does make me wonder though, whether the storyboarders/animators looked at the “Katara sleeps through bombs” bit and were like.... “ok how about no, but we’ll give you ‘Katara catches a skydiving Zuko’ instead, fair trade?” 😂😂)

Continuing on from that, I have to say that even with the voice lines unchanged, Elizabeth Ehasz’s vision for Zuko and Katara’s deepening connection and understanding continues to trickle through this episode at various moments:

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Katara sobbing as she recounts her trauma? Zuko getting teary himself hearing about Katara’s grief and love for her mother? Katara visibly relaxing as a result of unburdening some of her feelings onto him? Zuko pulling Katara back and making sure she’s okay before she ploughs on ahead?

😭😭🥰🥰

And then of course, there are times when Elizabeth’s subtlety is not so subtle at all (here you go, you guys have well and truly earned this one):

Welp. I can tell you I wasn’t expecting to see that - at all. I came to the WGF hoping, maybe, to find some small crumbs - tiny clues that might give a slight nudge to the rumours that Elizabeth Ehasz was a ZK shipper, and that shippy subtext viewers may have picked up in TSR maybe wasn’t entirely lacking in substance.

I wasn’t expecting to find a page where good ol’ Elizabeth had a zutara fangasm all over her own writing 🤣🤣🤣

On the hug itself, Elizabeth’s notes were very brief:

I was a touch disappointed not to see any more fangirling, though after that serotonin boost up above I really couldn’t be too greedy. 🤣

Zuko and Katara’s scenes together in Sozin’s Comet and the Agni Kai are generally the same as what we see in the show, though I thought you guys might like to read the lightning scene anyway:

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This might be a good time to mention that I had the pleasure of working alongside @korranguyen on one of the two days that I visited the WGF. If you found the descriptions of Azula’s downward spiral in the Agni Kai uncomfortable to read, you might appreciate her essays here and here.

Unfortunately folks, we are indeed near the end now. And we know how the story ends:

Wins, eh? Interesting choice of words there. Almost makes it seem like there was a competition? Like there were, oh I don’t know, other contenders?

Now there’s something else which I think some of you may find very interesting about the script of Sozin’s Comet Part 4, and I will get to that in due course, but for now I want to discuss the way the ships were treated by the show writers and creators. As I summarised earlier and as you probably noticed yourself from reading these scripts:

From season 1 up until Day of Black Sun, the writing was heading towards a Kataang conclusion. And development-wise, it wasn’t too shabby! There was a clear and steady progression. Maybe a little subtle, from Katara’s side, but nowhere near as ambiguous as in the show. And again maybe this is just me, but I wouldn’t have been frustrated with it either, if it was shown like that.

After Day of Black Sun, the writing takes a weird turn. Kataang takes a nosedive while Zutara gets a ton of positive development (reconciliation, forgiveness, synchronicity and cooperation* anyone? lmao), which is canon in the show too but it’s… even more pronounced in the script? Aang is more aggro, Zuko and Katara are more tender/vulnerable with one another, they don’t scoot away at the suggestion that they like, like each other – and these are the final drafts? What the heck were y’all writing in the first drafts?? (No that’s not a joke actually, I wanna know 😭)

Kataang “wins”. Wins?!? I thought y’all said there was never even a contest!!**

Okay, time for some speculation/theorising on my part. To me, it seems like, at some point after writing the “Kataang” episodes but before actually animating and producing them, and before writing the later episodes in season 3, and perhaps even right up until the writing of Sozin’s Comet Part 4, there was a collective (if not unanimous) decision to “keep things open”. The question is: why?

Did the writers disagree, or was it just shipbaiting? Or was it some combination of both?

If no-one else, Elizabeth Ehasz is quite clearly a Zutara fangirl; I don’t think anyone can deny that after reading the way she writes these kids 🤣 That paragraph does not read to me like a writer casually (or grudgingly) obeying directions to shiptease because it’s what the producers wanted, it reads like a writer unable to stay professional about how much she loves this one fucking ship. (We feel you Lizzie. We feel you.)

So was there actually some discord in the writer’s room about which direction to take the romance arcs? @zutarawasrobbed​​ pointed out that given the narrative decision to hinge Aang’s internal struggle and character arc around the need to “let go” of an “attachment” to Katara, (some?) writers may have seen a potential in deconstructing Kataang to fulfil this arc. This is especially possible if, after writing Crossroads of Destiny and/or seeing audience feedback to that episode, Zutara was increasingly beginning to appear as a viable alternative.

I mean, even by Sozin’s Comet, it doesn’t seem like they’d figured out how to resolve Aang’s whole “blocked chakra” situation –

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Aang “somehow” just happens to untangle what had previously been set up as an internal struggle, with the conveniently timed activation of some “chi bending nonsense” (and reverse-glowing arrows and “such things”).

Uh huh.

(To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Rick and Morty -)

Of course, the other possibility is that most of the way through writing the script, and maybe about halfway through animating it, the creators simply recognized a clear potential for shipbaiting, and this is at least somewhat to blame for the hot mess that is the romance arcs of ATLA.

My personal theory is that writer disagreement did happen, and is at least partially why we ended up getting what we got. The fact that both ships are specifically referenced and granted “approval” so to speak, by different writers, and one of them ends up explicitly “winning”, sort of cinches it for me. Either way, the show was clearly pulling in different directions at different parts and under different creators, and in my opinion the scripts support these rumours.

One thing is for certain: whether this was just shipteasing, or actual production hell in the writer’s room, it is my opinion that Zutara AND Kataang were both robbed.

Kataang had a decent romance arc written out for it, and even if there may have been issues reconciling it with Aang’s internal conflict set up in the Guru and/or with the over-arching themes of the show, it would have been all right in the end if they had just kept it the way they originally wrote it. I can’t really see any but the most die-hard anti-Kataangers being mad about it, and Kataangers themselves would have loved it. They had a fine romance written out and they ruined it. If they did so because Zutara was being seriously considered as a possible outcome, then it’s just all the more frustrating that Zutara never ended up happening in the end. They put a lot of effort into sinking a perfectly serviceable ship and ultimately it was all for nothing. (Or worse, purely for shipbaiting). Just sad.  

So, that’s my thoughts on that. And that concludes this essay- oh wait.

Right... there was that thing I kept mentioning about Sozin’s Comet Part 4. 😈

*Ahem.*

So you know how I said all these scripts were final drafts?

That’s because they are - except for two episodes: Sozin’s Comet Part 4, and Jet.

Unlike the other scripts, which have all been labelled “As Broadcast Drafts”, these two scripts are ADR drafts.

What is ADR, you ask?

According to @lady-of-bath​, who works in the screenwriting industry, ADR stands for “Automated Dialogue Replacement” and is used when a script has gone through a process of re-recording or re-dubbing, because for whatever reason, the originally scripted and recorded lines are/were unsatisfactory.

(This is also something you can verify yourself actually, even if you don’t live in the LA area: when you search up ATLA in the WGF database***, even though you can’t access the scripts you can access basic details such as, the date the draft was finalised, the name of the writer, and - whether it was submitted as an “ADR” draft or an “As Broadcast Draft”.)

I even emailed the library to ask about this distinction as well:

So if I understand this correctly, all the ATLA scripts you can find in the guild were first submitted, and then lines were recorded, and then changes were made to the script that didn’t involve dialogue replacement, and then it went through animation and post-production and ended up being what you now see on screen. This is supported by the fact that A) I definitely found some changes, but B) the changes I did find were all in the action lines/shot descriptions etc.

All the scripts submitted to the guild went through this process - all of them, except these two scripts.

These two scripts were not final drafts; I guess they might be more accurately termed “final final drafts™”, because they were submitted after some(!) lines were re-recorded, (changed? added onto? cut?!?) and the script was then updated to reflect these changes that had been made in post-production.

Which just begs the question: what lines had to be re-recorded??

What did the final draft look like before this???

(Might it possibly contextualise why Dante Basco and Mae Whitman apparently both thought Zutara was going to be canon?)

This is conspiracy fodder galore, lmfao. Pardon the dramatics here for a moment, but with enough tinfoil-hatting this could easily turn into the Zutara fandom equivalent of 18½ missing minutes of Nixon tapes. 🤣

Anyway, that about sums up my detective effort on this whole thing. I did find some more tidbits which I’ll likely post in a Part 3/Epilogue type thing - mostly small changes (most of them not really zutara-related) that I found interesting or funny enough to jot down; I’ll be making a compilation of these for your reading pleasure as soon as I can. ^^

One last bonus for you guys: the “I’ll save you from the Pirates” scene:

I must confess, I never really read this scene as romantically framed or “shippy” when I first watched it. But the way it’s written here looks like it’s taken straight out of a fanfic. “Right into the arms of Zuko”? Oh no. (Oh yes.) Oh me oh my. 🤣

*Also, someone needs to write a Mr and Mrs Smith Zutara AU titled “Synchronicity and Cooperation”, I’m saying it now, this is my official decree. Write it, folks. We need it.

**Screenshot taken from: https://avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Avatar_Extras_(Book_One:_Water) (Under “Goofs”)

***I hope that link works, if it doesn’t, just navigate to their Library Catalogue and search up ATLA yourself. 

Edit: There was a minor typo in one of the passages - it originally read “Katara has a lot of energy and momentum, and Zuko pulls her back and STOPS her before they read the door” instead of what it was supposed to say (“before they reach the door”, lol). The typo should be fixed now 😊

[sunflowergirl522]

Great Friends

Pairing: Hobie Brown x spiderperson!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie meet

Word Count: 1415

One use of Y/N I barely write in his accent again. Let me know if you want more Hobie and Honeybee

Hobie Masterlist

“The portal should drop you off in the sewer systems. Your teammate for this one will meet you there.” Jess explains through Hobie’s watch as she sends the coordinates through.

“Why am I goin’ in the damn sewers?” 

“Because that’s where the anomaly is. Miguel and I would take care of it if it weren’t for one of the Kravens somehow getting out here. Just go and take care of it, Hobie.” She hangs up then leaving his watch to blink with the awaiting coordinates.

“Why did I agree to this stupid club?” Hobie mutters to himself before opening up the portal and stepping through it. He immediately plugs his nose at the strong smell of his new surroundings not even wanting to think of the residue from the walls he’ll have to clean off his boots. “Bloody hell, what kind of villain wants to have his lair ‘ere?” He’s heard stories of course from other spider people of chasing a Lizard variant into a sewer but never thought he’d be getting thrown straight into one.

He follows the animal-like noises and rats through the tunnels to find an open area with a giant rat man monster in the middle of it. The rats surround him and follow his movements like a commune.

“The hell am I looking at mate?” Hobie’s question gets the creature's attention and it turns its whole body to look at him.

“Who…are you?” It grumbles out. “Where am…I?” He glitches after speaking.

“Not your universe, you make this easy and we’ll both be back home ‘fore you know it.” He takes a step toward the creature who lets out a growl feeling threatened and before Hobie knows it rats are swarming him. He cusses under his breath as he jumps to stand on the ceiling and shoot a web at the monster wondering where the hell his partner is.

“Sorry I’m late to the party!” Your voice rings out and echoes off the walls a bit as you make your appearance. “Hey there Vermin, you’re a long way from home aren’t you?”

“Honeybee.” Vermin growls before lunging for you.

“Ah ah, that’s no way to treat the person trying to get you home is it?” You playfully scold him as you dodge, your wings fluttering behind you keeping you in the air. Hobie chuckles at your words while staying crouched there watching you fly about dodging Vermin's attacks. Hobie’s eyes are transfixed on the wings jutting out from your back wondering if they’re real or part of your suit. He hasn’t seen a Spiderperson with wings before.

Your costume fits the name Vermin had called you, the body of your suit is black with your sleeves being yellow with the exception of the palms of your hands and your legs are adorned with black and yellow stripes until the solid black from your knee down as if you had boots on. Your black mask doesn’t cover your whole face, leaving your mouth to show.

“C’mon Verm, don’t make this hard. I was in the middle of baking when I got the call to come get you.” You land on solid ground and when he goes to throw a punch you let the stinger in your right arm free, slicing through his arm as you dodge. “You gonna help at all Spider, or are you gonna make me do all the work?” 

“On it.” Hobie swings over, landing a blow to Vermin's head with his guitar. “You supposed to be some sort of pixie or somethin?” He asks as he lands next to you and takes in the very real wings sticking out of your back.

“Cute, but no.” The two of you dodge another blow leaving Vermin’s fist to go straight into the wall. “Excuse me Verm, we’re trying to have a conversation.” You shoot what looks like honey onto his face causing him to stumble back trying to get it off. You’re back in the air behind him in no time. “You like my new trick, Vermin? Got the idea from my fellow spiders. Now let’s get you home yeah?” You toss the electric cage device underneath him as he starts to glitch again. “You’ll be back in your own sewer soon enough.” Hobie opens a portal back to headquarters while you flit around Vermin in his part time prison making sure he’s secure.

“Hobie Brown, Earth-138.” He holds his hand out as you land next to him again.

“Y/n Y/l/n, Earth-1203.” You shake his hand and smile, keeping your voice low enough that Vermin can’t hear. And Hobie notices the small fangs between your teeth. “You wanna swing him through with your webs or should we push?”

“So, you a spider person? Because you don’t look like one.” Hobie asks after the two of you follow the anomaly through the portal.

“Yes and no.” You wait for Margo to give you a thumbs up that Vermin is all situated before turning and start to leave the ‘cargo area’ as you liked to call it and motion with your head for Hobie to follow. “I’m the spider person of my universe but I’m not a Spider Woman variant or anything, I’m just me.”

“What’s your story?”

“It’s similar to almost everyone else's here. I was interning at Alchemax helping bioengineer plants that grew at an extremely rapid rate when I was stung by one of the bees they were trying to modify to help with the pollination. Next thing I know I’m waking up in the morning with wings, fangs and these cool ass retractable stingers.” As you mention them you let them out of your forearms to show them off. “They’re super similar to Kaine’s, if you know him. Anyway, I’ve been the one and only Honeybee in my universe for the last almost three years. What’s yours?”

“Homeless teen turned Spiderman from a spider bite.” Hobie shoves his hands into his vest pockets and sniffs. “Not much else to it.”

“Well I like your costume, it’s pretty cool.”

“Are the two of you done chatting?” Miguel asks as the two of you approach him. “You have a mission to debrief.”

“What’s there to debrief? We got him and I brought him here instead of home like I could’ve.” You cross your arms across your chest in an annoyed stance as you speak. When you found out you were going after your Vermin you had argued with Miguel over even bringing him back to headquarters when you could easily shove him in a portal back to your own universe. It’s why you were late.

“Fine, just get out of here. I don’t want to deal with either of you.”

“Wanna get food at the cafeteria?” You ask Hobie as you turn to leave.

“What’s the deal with the tension between you and boss man?” Hobie asks as he spreads out in the plastic cafeteria chair across from where you set your side of fries down.

“Well for one I refuse to just take his shit like everyone else seems to. And for two,” you hold up two fingers with one hand while the other peels off your mask revealing two big space buns along with the rest of your face, “he doesn’t believe me to be a ‘spiderman variant’ even though I have similar canon events and there’s no such thing as spiderman in my universe. Jess was the one who recruited me and all Miguel wanted to do when he first met me was send me home. Which as you can see didn’t work out.” Hobie follows your lead and takes his own mask off before leaning forward and stealing a fry. “What about you?”

“I don’t care what he thinks and he hates it.” 

“It’s so nice to meet someone around here who also won’t let Miguel walk all over them. I like all your piercings by the way. I always wanted to get my septum pierced but, well, I’m not sure why I never did.”

“You like to talk, don’t ya?” You shrug.

“I don’t get out a lot back at home so when I find someone here who’s willing to let me I talk their ear off. You don’t seem to talk much.”

“I do ‘ere and there. I like listening when the person's worth listening to.” 

“Am I?” He nods, you definitely are, he finds your voice very soothing to listen to. “Then I think we’ll be great friends, Hobie.”

Hobie Taglist: @notbeforelong

Marvel Taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @bigpoppajes @alienoutlet @mazerunnerrose @20fandomfangirl @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts

Join a Taglist

[la-pheacienne]

Oh so D x D were right in depicting Jaime x Cersei sex scene in the book as a clear cut rape scene. No, you say? What I remember of that scene in the book is that it was dub-con AT BEST, and this AFTER taking into account the author's own very obvious misogynistic bias (Watsonian vs Doylist perspective) and JC's specific dynamic of being the same person in two bodies and their lack of autonomy in the face of one another and their fucked up sick relationship in general. After taking into account all of these quite important factors, this book scene is still technically a dub-con sex scene, under a lenient reading which I'm willing to give to Jaime because again, I'm taking into account all these factors. If someone chooses to see this scene in the book as a clear cut rape scene, it is understandable to me.

D x D took a dub-con sex scene with a shit ton of underlying complexities underneath and turned it to a clear cut rape scene. Okay! Not The Best in my personal opinion! But still, Not So Atrocious! After all, how are you gonna depict on TV with absolute accuracy with the limited time you have something that is pretty complicated in the book and already kind of still comes across as dub-con or at even dangerously close to rape? Oh but I vaguely remember seeing posts in the lannister crowd about the show!scene being a depiction of "gratuitous violence" and "oversimplifying the dynamic". Am I wrong? I also agreed with the lannister crowd on this. I don't think GRRM intended to write Jaime as a rapist and Jaime comes across as a rapist in the GoT scene. I consider this to be a distortion of canon, despite the fact that in the book we had a real dub-con scene.

But suddently introducing out of the blue actual, very real physical domestic violence in a relationship that had NONE in the book is canonically plausible or even an improvement of canon, for the same crowd? And why is that? Because the couple has a huge age difference whereas JC were twins? So an abusive relationship or even rape is less plausible if the perpetrator is the same age as the victim? Who told you this? Daemyra is abusive because the uncle gave gifts to his underage niece? Because the couple is incestuous? In GRRM's work? You are seriously, unironically arguing that the above factors (age difference + incest) are meant to hint at a non consensual, abusive relationship in GRRM's universe? Are you for real?

Where is the acknowledgement of the author's problematic standards and worldview here? Where is the distinction between the Watsonian and the Doylist perspective here? Where is your indignation at the show runners turning up the gendered violence in ways that are not book canon? At least the JC scene was based on a real, already highly problematic sex scene. Now that the show runners came up with a brand new form of violence that did not exist in the book, what do you say? That it's fine because it's not as gratuitous as Sansa's rape arc? What about Alicent's rape arc? That's not gratuitous? Do you seriously believe that a rape arc is a necessary tool for adding complexity to a female antagonist? Really? What about Laena being burned alive? What about Aemma? I haven't seen a lot of talk about those. Are these not "gratuitous violence" in your book? Or you just don't really care right?

To sum it up. It is Problematic™ gratuitous violence hashtag male gaze only when 1) my perfect angelic fave (Sansa) is the victim or 2) when my fave is the perpetrator.

It is not gratuitous violence when 1) the narrative turns my fave from an antagonist to an underdog via rape or 2) when it makes characters I hate look worse than their book counterpart.

Hate to break this to you, this is not exactly a solid construction. The general criteria you use to identify gratuitous, non canonical violence need to be applied to all cases alike, not according to your own bias. The bias in this fandom is so shocking that it borders on gaslighting and I am looking specifically at book fans who have dragged GoT to hell and back for years and are now applauding this shitfest that is House of the Dragon for the same reasons they used to trash GoT.

I genuinely want nothing to do with that show anymore.

[doumadono]

My dearest friend. Now, it's my turn to place an emergency request. I'm in an emotionally abusive relationship and have no way out at present. I'm stuck away from home with nowhere to go and not even a career to fall back onto.

When I go out for my evening walks, I always stare at the moon, imagining that my beloved Kokushibo rescues me from it all. And....that's my request: being rescued by Upper Moon One.

Please take your time as this is simply an aggrevation of years and years of a chronic condition. And feel free to change the reason for me being rescued if the real-life reason is too confronting. Lysm 💞💞💞

A/N: My dear friend, I'm truly sorry to hear about the difficult situation you find yourself in. Yet, you have the strength to overcome this, and brighter days are ahead. Don't lose hope, and keep moving forward ♥

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

In the eerie stillness of the night, as you gazed at the moon's pale glow during your evening walks, you held onto a secret wish. A yearning that transcended reality, a longing for escape from the torment of your emotionally abusive relationship. Little did you know, the universe had other plans.

One fateful evening, as you wandered along your familiar path, your eyes fixated on the moon's silvery visage. The world around you seemed to fade away, and you whispered a silent plea to the heavens.

As your heart poured its anguish into the night, the moonlight shimmered and swirled, forming an ethereal gateway. The air around you grew heavy, laden with an eerie presence. You stumbled back in awe and trepidation as a figure emerged from this otherworldly portal.

It was Kokushibo. His cold, yellowish irises bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Dressed in his distinctive kimono, he radiated power and a kind of dark beauty that was both captivating and terrifying.

Without a word, Kokushibo extended a pale hand, beckoning you to him. His voice, like a haunting melody, echoed in your ears. "Come with me, and leave your suffering behind. I've been keeping an eye on you for quite a while."

As you took his hand, you felt a surge of otherworldly energy coursing through your veins. The two of you ascended into the night sky, leaving your earthly troubles behind.

The journey with Kokushibo through time and space was an astonishing blur of wondrous sights and sensations. It happened so swiftly that it was difficult to process every detail, but what remained etched in your memory was its breathtaking beauty.

As the journey with Kokushibo came to a sudden halt, you opened your eyes, having squeezed them shut to shield yourself from the overwhelming beauty of your cosmic voyage. When your vision cleared, you found yourself in a room that contrasted starkly with the celestial expanse you had just traversed.

This new space was intimate and warm, with wooden walls that exuded a comforting, earthy scent. The wooden floors felt solid and familiar beneath your feet. A single futon was laid out, inviting and cozy, offering respite after your ethereal adventure. The room held a few decorative items, their presence adding a personal touch to the space. On the wooden walls, you noticed intricate designs and patterns that seemed to tell a story of their own.

You gazed up at the tall, enigmatic demon, shivers running down your spine as you stood in that wooden room. You couldn't help but ask the question that had been burning in your mind since your arrival, "Where am I?"

Kokushibo, Upper Moon One, regarded you with those penetrating thee pairs of yellowish eyes. His voice was both commanding and reassuring as he spoke, "You are in your new home, a sanctuary where you can feel safe. You don't have to worry here. I'm not here to hurt you. I've heard your pleas for many nights," he confessed, his words carrying the weight of the countless moments you had looked up to the moon, seeking solace. "I listened as you prayed to the heavens and even the depths of hell for help. And it seems," he continued, "the second one, the one from the depths of darkness, was the one to respond. You see, little human, sometimes the answers to our deepest desires come from unexpected places, in forms we could never have imagined." His words hung in the air, carrying a profound truth about the mysterious and often unpredictable nature of life's responses to our fervent calls for help.

Curiosity burning within you, you couldn't help but ask the question that weighed on your mind. "What am I going to be doing here?" you inquired, your voice quivering with anticipation.

Kokushibo met your gaze with a knowing smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "You," he began, "will become my apprentice. Here, I will teach you everything there is to know about vengeance."

A small, determined smile crept onto your lips as you nodded in response. This was the very opportunity you had dreamt of, the chance to learn the means of retribution and take vengeance on the person who had inflicted so much pain upon you. The thought of turning the tables and finding a way to reclaim your power filled you with a renewed sense of purpose. With Kokushibo's guidance, you would embark on a path to reshape your own fate and confront the source of your deepest wounds.

[respectthepetty]

Wait wait wait…… Pit Babe is… Omegaverse…what…. Did ……. Did I miss this? Is it obvious from the trailers …….did…….. what?!????

Anon, I didn't get to watch the first episode of Pit Babe, but . . .

I don't know what The Omegaverse is.

Like, I know what it is, but I don't know what it is, ya know?

And it's because I don't want to.

I'm actually really good at that. I went to see Rogue One in theaters even though I haven't seen any other Star Wars film because of Diego Luna. Period. I had absolutely no idea what the movie would be about beside it would have Diego Luna in it, so I was the only person at that midnight showing VERY upset that the Death Star KILLED EVERYONE! My color-coded ass thought the black and white solider people were good versus bad. All of them are bad apparently. It was not a good night for me in that Cineplex.

This is also why I have no real idea what any Mame series is about including TharnType or any Chinese bromance like The Untamed or Word of Honor. Just like that tiger tattoo in Unforgotten Night, which I also did not watch, I know of them, but I don't know them. That's for the best. I can't be a dick about things if I don't really know anything about them.

I know there is a Slut for Christ in the show because @sparklyeyedhimbo and @kayatoasted told me, but I will not be Diego Luna-ed into watching Pit Babe for one slut when that slut comes with a universe of knowledge I am unwilling to learn.

Note: This is not a request for information. I don't wanna know.

I watched Teen Wolf and that horrible Teen Wolf movie, so I'm sure the Alpha/Beta/Omega + smell kink is transferable to The Omegaverse, and that's all I need to know to know I don't want to know more.

Because based on what I do know, it's a "no" for me.

Can't wait to watch Pit Babe from my dash!

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

How do time lord names work, an essay (sort of)

(also if anyone reading this has more info or corrections to things i say, please put it in the notes)

As with most things relating to Gallifrey and Time Lords, how their naming conventions work are not very clear. This rant/essay thing is basically just me trying to figure out a system that works based on the information that is given to us in the show (and some of the extended universe media)

So, first things first, Time Lord names are not consistent. Throughout the show we see two main styles of Time Lord names, the regular (enough) names and the titles. Some examples of this are Romana, Andred, and Rassilon vs the Doctor, the Master, and the Rani. (there are a few outliers, but I'll get to that later)

With these two types of names a relatively consistent pattern emerges. The ones with title names are mostly renegades while the ones with normal names are not. I don't really have a solid theory on why this is, something about rejecting the name given to you by the society that you are leaving. It also is said that these names are chosen, so that would fit with this theory.

We also see that most of the 'normal' names are just the beginning part of a much longer name, such as Romana being short for Romanadvoratrelundar. This is shown to be true for multiple other Time Lords, so I am assuming that to be the case for those who have no canon extended version of their name.

Now we get to the exceptions to these two naming styles that make things more confusing (ranked from least to most confusing) (in my opinion)

Susan Foreman - The name Susan was chosen to fit in with humans while she was on earth, doesn't actually contradict anything said above (not sure if she was ever given an actual time lord name though)

Drax and Morbius - Both renegade Time Lords who do not follow the pattern of having title names, doesn't really complicate things that much since they could have just chosen not to give themselves title names

The Other - One of the three founding members of Time Lord society? does he count in this if he was one of the first, also has a weird connection to the Doctor? (going to be honest I know very little about this guy)

Irving Braxiatel - His name would be fine without the first part, I just choose not to think about it, which means it can't be a problem

The Doctor - aka the worst one of them all when it comes to complicated things with names. To start off, they do follow the renegade having a title for a name pattern (though in Divided Loyalties we see that he chose to go by that name while still at the academy, because as with everything else with the doctor's name it is confusing), but after that they just complicate things more. Then we get to the problem of Theta Sigma, which on the surface has the same problems as Irving Braxiatel, but then you have the problem that that isn't actually the Doctor's name, but a nickname given to him at the academy. So then what is the Doctor's real name? Well, according to The Making Of Doctor Who his name is δ³Σx². In human language, this basically means nothing, but in The Five Doctors this equation appears on a piece of stone with other writing that is identified as Old High Gallifreyan (the ancient and no longer used language of the Time Lords). This leads me to my third point about how Time Lord names work,

Along with the two kinds of names I previously mentioned, I also believe that Time Lords have another 'true' name in Old High Gallifreyan that is rarely, if ever, used. This comes from the fact that the Doctor has repeatedly said that they can not (except in special circumstances) tell people their real name, and that even if they did people would not understand it. The not understanding it part is obvious since a) all the Time Lords are dead and b) even before then it was an unused language. It is also stated in the show that Old High Gallifreyan words held power, giving a pretty reasonable explanation for why the Doctor would only tell someone his name in special circumstances. I think there could also be a factor of a Time Lord's name being something very personal to them and there is no reason to share it with most other people.

Anyway tl;dr Time Lords have a 'true name' in Old High Gallifreyan that is only used in special circumstances. The rest of the time they usually use one of two naming systems, a 'normal' Time Lord name, which is often long but shortened (Romanadvoratrelundar to Romana for example) or a title name, which is often chosen by renegade Time Lords as part of their rejection of Time Lord society.