#this is the thirstiest I’ve ever been for a man

[percyjacksonspeen]

Maybe I’m just ovulating but… will turner

[not-a-unique-snowflake-blog]

2023 was fun! It’s my first year reading fan fiction so it’s been one of the horniest and the thirstiest years of my life!😁 I found a lot of amazing people here and this hellsite truly became my home in 2023!💖

I want to say ‘thank you’ to people who made this year very special for me and wish them all wonderful 2024!😘 I came up with some categories so here they are!💖

✨The “OMG” fic of the year

This one goes to Promise /a dragon!Ezra x f!reader/ by @criticallyacclaimedstranger I’m a proud monster fucker but holy hell I surprised myself when I loved this fic so much!🥵 it’s hot and also very sweet and beautifully written!😍❤️ After reading it I had long and thorough discussions about the logistics of dragon fucking with a few people and had the best time!😄

✨The series I love with all my heart

Stay In Bed /pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader/ by @psychedelic-ink is amazing, touching and beautiful! I felt a ton of emotions reading about Joel and reader’s journey to each other. Thank you for writing it, Sil!🫶

✨The “I’m too old for this, my heart nearly stopped” fic of 2023

Every Inch pt 3 /m!ghostface x f!reader/ by @toxicanonymity was so hot that it nearly killed me😅I had to open the window to get some fresh air cos reading it made me dizzy with hyperventilation. I survived thus I strongly recommend to TRY THIS AT HOME‼️

✨The loveliest co-writer of 2023

@milla-frenchy my friend, my twin, my co-writer💖 your support gave me confidence to come out with my own writing which wasn’t easy😅 thank you!🫂 It’s always a pleasure to write with you and I hope to continue our creative journey in 2024. I love you, baby! Check out her masterlist! It’s gold!🥵🥵🥵

✨The most unhinged reader

@gracieispunk created a reader so unhinged, badass and hot that she sometimes overshadows Maintenance Man!Joel himself!😍 Tenant Girl takes what she wants and I love her for it‼️💖

✨My man, my love, my everything

Do you have an emotional support character who can make you feel happier, safer, calmer when you simply think about them? I do thanks to @toxicanonymity ! Nightwalks Joel is my most favourite fictional man! The first, the best, the hottest! HELL YEAH!🍆🧎🏼‍♀️🐆

✨“If horrible, why so hot” character

Joel from the Wrong Way series by @romana-after-dark wins this one! This Joel is one of the darkest I’ve ever read and he makes me feral and I love him!😵‍💫🥵

✨The most read fic of 2023

Liquid Gold /Joel Miller x fem!pregnant!reader x Tommy Miller/ by @gasolinerainbowpuddles is my breastfeeding kink Bible and simply an extremely hot fic! no joke I thought of pinning it on my blog cos I searched for it that often. Just thinking about it now makes me feel like a reread is due!😵‍💫🫠

Also thank you, Puddles, for your hilarious memes!😆👏 you’re a treasure!💖

✨The most unique series

Muddy Waters /Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller/ by @bonezone44 blew me away this year! Its characters are complex, the plot is fascinating and unique, it’s like a diamond that shines differently when you look at it from a new angle❤️

✨DDDNE fic of the year

Whatever You Want /Comandante Veracruz x Reader/ by @iamasaddie is a non-con masterpiece! It’s not easy to keep the realism of the situation and still make it hot, but this story has a perfect balance of both!🥵🖤

Also Aly, thank for being such a great friend!💖 You’re hilarious, kind, gorgeous and a super talented writer and artist!😍👏 I love you!😘

✨My favourite writer of 2023

I dearly love many writers on this site. But this title goes to @toxicanonymity without a doubt❤️

You made this year for me, Toxy! I’ll never be normal about your writing, your talent, your characters, your kindness, your heart😍 Every series, every story of yours is perfect! Thank you for everything you gave me and all of us this year! I love you, friend!💖🫂😘

✨My favorite people in 2023

My moots, my lovelies, my friends! Y’all made me laugh, cry happy tears, thirst, FEEL things like I’ve never felt before! I LOVE YOU ALL💖 @missannwinchester @milla-frenchy @toxicanonymity @iamasaddie @neverwheremoonchild @lumoverheaven @multiversed-daydreamer @beefrobeefcal @lunitawrites @rubyfruitjungle @xdaddysprincessxx @ellasinnombre @princessanglophile @romanarose @gasolinerainbowpuddles @noxturnalpascal @gracieispunk @ghoulettesinspace @janaispunk @funnygirlthatgab @jupiter-soups @seratuyo

Special smooches to my wifey @missannwinchester who has to deal with my nonsense every single day😅😘😘😘 LOVE YOU, SWEETIE🫂❤️

If you feel you should be on the list and I missed you, you’re absolutely right and I deserve a good spanking for not including you!😏

HAVE AWESOME 2024 Y’ALL!!! WOOOOOO!🥳🎊✨💖💖💖

[365days365movies]

February 22, 2021: Pillow Talk (1959)(Part 1)

Y’know, I actually do like Doris Day.

She’s funny, she’s talented, and she’s a timeless beauty that I remember very well. TOO well. You guys ever have that one thing that your parents crammed down your throat SO MUCH that you got sick of it? Well, that’s what my Mom did with The Thrill of it All.

Which is, for the record, a cute movie, and one worth watching again at some point. But I’m gonna ease my way into that with Doris Day and Rock Hudson’s first movie, 1959′s Pillow Talk. 

However, while I’m not stranger to Doris Day, I’m afraid that I don’t know too much about Rock Hudson from experience. Well, there is one interesting tidbit about him: Hudson was one of the biggest stars of the ‘50s and ‘60s, and his career continued up until his death in 1985...from AIDS-related complications.

Yeah, Rock Hudson was one of the biggest gay celebrities in Hollywood, although he never publicly came out. However, it was somewhat of an open secret in the community at large, and basically all of his female co-stars know about it. 

And said secret was revealed posthumously, after his tragic death during the height of the AIDS crisis. He was by far one of the most high-profile deaths during this time period, and you’d think that would’ve caused more waves about the AIDS-crisis, considering that he was good friends with...well...another actor.

Yeaaaaaaaaah, not gonna get into Reagan and ALL OF THAT SHIT here. This here is a movie blog, not a political blog! But, uh, yeah, a LOT of fucked-up shit about Reagan and the AIDS crisis, obviously, and part of it was Rock Hudson. So, yeah, it’s something that I wanted to address before we got into this whole shindig.

Because, again, I’ve never seen a Rock Hudson movie, but dude was a pretty huge deal, and this was a part of his life that I felt it unfair not to at least acknowledge. SO, with that out of the way, let’s have a little Pillow Talk. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

We start with that might be one of my favorite opening sequences so far this month, which you can see above. From there, Jan Morrow (Doris Day) wakes up, humming the theme song from the credits, which is clever, considering that she sang it! Talented lady, seriously.

Jan wakes up and goes to the phone, intending to make a call. However, this is where we get a pretty stark cultural difference, and a needed history lesson for some of us, me included. See, Jan’s phone line is actually a party line, seen through this neat little visual edit.

See, this is what’s called a “party line”. From the 1870s onwards, there was a shortage of available phone lines. By the time you get to the ‘60s, more and more people had personal phones in their households, but without enough lines to go around. And so, some people were forced to share their phone lines with others, hence the party line system!

Here’s the thing, though: if somebody was on the line already, anyone else on that line could hear the conversation of other people. Which is exactly what’s pissing of Jan right now, as she needs to make a call, but the line is being used by her party line partner, songwriter Brad Allen, who’s serenading his girlfriend (?) Eileen (Valerie Allen). Not sure that they’re actually dating, but Eileen definitely wants to.

After Jan’s insistence, they get off the phone, and Jan’s able to begin her busy morning at last. Well...almost. Brad’s now talking to Yvette (Jacqueline Beer), and she wants him to sing HER song to her, which is LITERALLY just the Eileen song with a different name and in French! Which is...hilarious. It’s very funny, not gonna lie.

Once again, Jan tells him to get off the party line, and hangs up angrily. She leaves just as her cleaner woman, Alma (Thelma Ritter) arrives, fresh off of a hangover. Jan goes to try and get a line of her own, and the manager, Mr. Conrad (Hayden Rorke) makes a WEIRDLY sexist comment about jumping to the top of the list if she were pregnant. Which, yeah...weird.

Anyway, Jan, in her frustration, tells Mr. Conrad that she’s hired of sharing the line by a “sex maniac.” Mr. Conrad asks for specifics, and is AGAIN WEIRDLY SEXIST ABOUT IT. He asks if his dalliances with other women disturb her in particular. But yeah, he also says that if he is indeed a “sex maniac,” they may need to disconnect him altogether. Which has...uncomfortable undertones all on its own, but whatever, moving on.

On her way to work, Jan’s friend Jonathan Forbes (Tony Randall) shows up to bring her a STRAIGHT-UP CAR, holy shit! He’s doing so to thank her for decorating his offices (she’s an interior decorator, he’s a car dealership owner, so...fair exchange?). She insists that it’s too personal, which confuses him, as it isn’t perfume or lingerie.

But, uh, dude? IT’S A WHOLE-ASS CAR!!! Look, I’m with her on this one, don’t just give me a fuckin’ car out of the blue! I don’t care what the reason is, tell me that shit first! And Jonathan is CLEARLY trying to make it just a little more personal, if you get my meaning.

Jan finally arrives at her office, owned by Mr. Pierot (Marcel Dalio), and she tells him that an inspector has been sent to look after Mr. Allen. This inspector is Miss Dickenson (Karen Norris), and being of the wimmins, is immediately entranced by the apparently irresistible Mr. Allen, sabotaging any attempt at inspection.

The next morning, the inspector’s report comes through, and Miss Dickinson has of course cleared him of all charges. He calls her, and the two clash in a way that definitely means they’ll never, ever, ever fall in love, no sir, not these two, not a CHANCE IN HELL

They agree to make a schedule for using the phone, and Brad accuses Jan of being jealous of his free-wheeling, bed-hopping lifestyle, which she takes great offese to. But after they hang up, she thinks on the idea of having bedroom problems. Looks like Jonathan wants to fix that, on account of being the THIRSTIEST MAN ALIVE.

Dude has three three ex-wives, all of which were revolts against his mother, for which he’s seeing a psychiatrist.

...CHRIST, the man’s a walking-talking red flag. Jan also says that she doesn’t love him, like...AT THE FUCK ALL, and the man just straight-up says, “How do you know, we’ve never even kissed.” Ai which point, any normal person would see the phantom neckbeard and whip out the fuckin’ bear mace, but Jan just lets him lean in for the goddamn kiss!!!

Jan...standards, Jan. My God. Anyway, she still turns him down, he asks her to get married again, and she leaves. For God’s sakes, man. Anyway, she goes home, where Alma’s listening to Brad serenade a girl over the party line. Jan notes the time, and tells him to get off the line. He calls back, and tells her off.

Brad gets a visitor: his old college friend FUCKIN’ JONATHAN AGAIN. He bemoans being a millionaire (po’ babyyyyy), then reveals that he’s pining over Jan, whom he doesn’t know is the person on the party line with Brad. He hears a good amount of information about Jan from Jonathan.

After the conversation, Brad tries to somewhat reconcile with Jan, but she doesn’t have any interest in doing so. That night, the two have separate affairs. Brad meets up with a woman named Marie, and  serenades her with the same goddamn song from earlier, that suave motherfucker. Dude flips a switch, and the door fuckin’ LOCKS! Jesus, state-of-the-art hook-up tech of 1959.

Meanwhile Jan is attending a dinner held by an extremely client, Mrs. Walters (Lee Patrick). Needing to get home, she has her son Tony (Nick Adams) give her a ride. But on the way home, they stop and WHAT THE FUCK TONY??? I actually can’t find a clip or GIF of this, so I’ll tell you...he is ALL THE FUCK OVER HER, and it’s GROSS. CAN WE PLEASE STOP SEMI-RAPING DORIS DAY? WHAT THE FUCK, IN NO WAY IS WHAT I JUST WATCHED OK, HOLY SHIT!!!!!

Like...wow, that was the most uncomfortable I’ve felt watching a movie in a WHILE. And it’s not even because of the act itself, it’s because of how...OK it feels in the context of the film. Jan is BARELY upset by this slimy little weasely-faced rapey CREEP LITERALLY ASSAULTING HER IN THE FUCKING CAR. And in case you were wondering, yes! This film was written by FOUR MEN.

This is gross. Sorry, but this whole sequence is gross, and it gets even LONGER, because she AGREES TO GO GET A DRINK WITH HIM. WHY, JAN? STOP ENCOURAGING THIS BEHAVIOR. He tries to get her drunk (but ends up drunk himself), but she tries to leave. However, who should be sitting one table but Brad, who realizes who this is. Jan tries to leave, but Tony tries to get her to dance with him, AND SHE ONCE AGAIN AGREES, JAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!

And its during this time of distress for Brad that, OF COURSE, he finds himself extremely attracted to her. And since he knows who she is, but she doesn’t know him, he decides to fake his identity. And there we go, we’ve got a creepy-ass one-sided relationship set-up.

Meanwhile, lightweight Tony passes out on the floor, drunk as shit. Brad goes into help, putting on a take Texas accent and calling himself Rex Stetson. And OF FUCKING COURSE, she’s lost in his fuckin’ eyes. Damn those eyes, and his suave bullshit.

They shove Tony into a cab, then take his car, which appears to be too small for Brad, which makes sense, given the fact that Hudson was 6′4″, goddamn! The two take a cab, and the two reveal their mutual attraction to the audience, through their inner thoughts. Looks like all Jan needed for a relationship was handsome-ass Rock Hudson.

In her thoughts, she thinks on how honest and down-to-earth Rex Stetson seems, unlike “monsters” like Tony and Brad Allen. And OF COURSE this is how we get this started. OF GODDAMN COURSE this is how we start this relationship. Liar revealed, LIAR REVEALED, I FUCKIN’ HATE THAT GODDAMN TROPE SO MUCH

Soon after “Rex” takes her home, he goes home herself, and gives her a call, inviting her to dinner the following night. She accepts. Then, in the middle of the call, Brad pretends to pick up the line as himself, in order to set up the two identities as being separate...this is reverse You’ve Got Mail, isn’t it?

Think about it. Two people that hate each other, and they’ve never seen one another, but also love each other after meeting in person. IT’S THE OPPOSITE OF YOU’VE GOT MAIL. Ugh. Fine. Even down to the fact that he has a sizeable advantage over her, due to his full knowledge of the situation. He even tries to use his identity as Brad Allen to set-up their date the next night for success.

And it works, goddamn. A clever yet manipulative asshole, this dude is. They get on a horse and carriage, and we hear the inner thoughts of Jan, Brad, and the dude who owns the horse. And, yeah...it’s funny. The two go to dinner, where Jonathan shortly arrives. Brad gets him out of there with...mildly fatphobic means, but it is the 1950s, so things were just kinda...entirely that.

But in any case, Brad gets away with it, and he and Jan spend a hell of a lot of time together going all around the city. And the whole time, he’s playing the role of “Rex.” Ugh. This is a good halfway point, so let’s go to Part 2 here! See you there!

[yoificfinder]

Can you please rec some domestic established relationship fics?

Nonnie, I think more than half of YOI fics out there are domestic established relationship because that = post-series Victuuri, lbr. So boy do I have so many rec (put a limit of one fic per author tho. And also tried not to include fics I've already recced but you should check out the masterlist). I'm sure I still missed a lot of great fics so other recs are welcome!

And in my dreams, i'm Christmasing with you by SnarkyBreeze [T, 5K]

The presents appear to be arranged into four sections. Some of them are big, worryingly big, and Yuuri wonders if he’s going to have to mail them home instead of packing them away in his luggage. Each little section is labeled with a little card that hints at its contents.

Something you want…

Something you need…

Something to wear…

Something to read…

It’s sickeningly cute, and exactly the kind of thing Viktor likes, and Yuuri feels guilty just looking at the pristine packaging.

blessed by fnix_archive / @forovnix [T, 1K]

Victor’s a cuddler, which is a surprise to absolutely no one. The man is huge, all broad shoulders and lean muscle and long limbs meant for being wrapped around someone else. Yuuri.

come get you some of that bounce baby by @crossroadswrite [T, 4K]

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asks, side-eyeing him as he bends his arms behind his back, legs stretched into a perfect split.

“Delivering justice onto this cruel and unusual world.”

“Whoever trashed me on social media is not worth it, Vitya.”

(Or: in which they're happily married, coaching Russia's and Japan's next great skaters, and Victor Nikiforov remains the clingiest, thirstiest man on the face of this planet.)

How to Surprise Your Fiancé With Pork: An Honest Walkthrough by Viktor Nikiforov by @orchids-and-fictional-cities [T, 5K]

The thing with Viktor is that once he’s set his mind on something, there is a very very minuscule chance of him not following through on said thing.

He wants to do something for Yuuri: partly as a Valentine’s Day gift, partly as a prelude to Worlds, and partly ‘just because’. It’s somewhere between dwelling on the abstract thought of Yuuri’s hunger as a competitor, and watching the younger skater on Facetime with his mother back home, that an idea starts to form.

--

This is how Katsuki Yuuri, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, the fire of his loins et cetera, ad infinitum, finds Viktor when he walks into the door: standing precariously with one foot on a barstool and the other on top of his counter, frantically fanning at his smoke detector with a magazine.

i've been up nights making you my god by @kevystel [G, 3K]

The flight is twelve hours and Yuuri sleeps the whole time, head on Viktor’s shoulder, hand curled in Viktor’s jacket pocket underneath their shared blanket, earbuds buzzing a quiet insect harmony in the space between their throats. Viktor snores. Yuuri drools.

(Or, Viktor Nikiforov is very much in love and doesn't know how to deal with it)

In Celebration of an Off-Season by ayn2390 / @rougeandtonic [T, 4K]

"Your coach thinks you've worked hard this year. He thinks you deserve to relax."

"And what does my fiance think?" Yuuri asks.

Victor smirks mischievously and says, "Well, your fiance is looking forward to seeing your belly again."

in the spaces between by sixpences / @thetwoguineabook

Yuuri's life in St Petersburg is spread between four languages.

Losing Never Felt So Good by Ashida / @captain-erwinmerica [M, 1K]

He’d never had to stay on his toes this much before, never had to watch himself and be aware of his surroundings, because their latest game had been going on for weeks now and it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He hoped it never did.

In which Victor and Yuuri compete against each other for the silliest things, and Victor couldn't be happier.

Naked Body, Naked Souls by @mypoorfaves [E, 3K]

“Have I ever told you,” comes Victor’s soft murmur, “that I’m not afraid to be naked in front of you?”

Yuuri hums a small laugh at the comment, memories of Victor standing proudly in his family’s hot springs, naked as the day he was born, flashing through his mind. “It seems you have no problem being naked in front of the entire world,” Yuuri replies, but Victor only shakes his head.

“There’s a difference between wearing no clothes and being naked,” he says. “I’m not afraid to be naked in front of you, Yuuri.”

Of Adoration and Heart Conditions by smudgesofink [T, 2K]

“Coffee?” Victor offers, for a lack of things to say, and raises his own cup.

“Coffee.” Yuuri parrots. He blinks, intrigued, and then shuffles nearer until he’s close enough to pull on Victor’s hands supporting the mug, his fingertips radiating warmth from where they brush against Victor’s skin. Yuuri takes a sip, closing his eyes, and makes the first happy noise at the back of his throat.

Victor almost swoons.

(Is swooning one of the symptoms of a heart condition? Is Victor dying?)

In which Yuuri is too beautiful in the mornings and Victor may or may not be having a heart attack because of it.

R/Ridiculous by phoenixwings [G, 2K]

I [32M] have to do laundry twice a week now because my husband [28M] keeps wearing my clothes, but I don’t want to ask him to stop because he looks so good in them. What should I do?

Yuuri glanced over the replies, most of which were some variation of “please stop posting these, you’re clogging up the feed”. Yuuri smirked as he wrote his own response.

Buy more clothes.

-quadflipkatsudon

In which Yuuri leaving his laptop open somehow leads to his husband being ridiculous on Reddit.

Safety Hazards in St. Petersburg by @lucycamui [E, 4K]

In which Yuuri moves in with Victor in St. Petersburg and Victor discovers just how distracting living with him can be.

Alternatively titled, How Many Ways Can Victor Hurt Himself? or Idiots in Love

snapshots from the edge of forever by @alykapediaaa [T, 2K]

video description: a three-minute compilation of Yuuri chasing after dogs and petting them.

12,421 likes

v-nikiforov My husband, the dog whisperer.

(Five snapshots from the Katsuki-Nikiforov Honeymoon.)

the soft animal of your body by @stammiviktor [E, 6K]

It happens like this every March, in the run-up to Worlds and the tail-end of winter. Somewhere during the ten-hour days of drills and run-throughs and conditioning, Viktor begins to go numb.

Yuuri warms him against his skin, brings back feeling everywhere he touches, but the cold sinks deeper within Viktor than even his husband can go.

Viktor and Yuuri have been married a year, living together for three, but are still learning new ways to take care of one another.

the st. petersburg rules by @thehandsingsweapon [T, 4K]

two people who live together always make rules. these are some of viktor's and yuuri's.

(in which we consider: the dishes, the laundry, the terrible things the refrigerator has seen, and how viktor wins all the important fights without ever making yuuri lose them).

--

ETA - Other people's rec:

@sophialala1 recs her own fics Stranger Danger, The past is the past..., and You and me against the world

[queenjanai]

i hope you enjoy WtNV! i used to listen to it while i worked (stocking shelves overnight) so now i can't really enjoy it as much bc associations, but it was fun

enjoy?? ENJOY??? i binge listened to EIGHT episodes until 2am, i've been sucked into this vortex of a fandom. cecil is the thirstiest man i have ever seen, and i fell in love with him falling in love with carlos in a second. and if anything happens to carlos i would kill everyone in this room and then myself

thank you for your kind wishes! i will now continue to lose my mind 💕

[qlistening]

UNC: An Average Man’s Paradise

Idea creds: Frances and Kate

Title creds: Carson

Sobriety status: less high than intended, but can’t complain

Alright UNC ladies, I think this post right here very well could be considered my passion piece. Today I am going to break down for you the different categories of men that have graced us with their presence at this university, and how to spot them if you’re out and about.

I’m just going to rip the bandage off and start with all of our favorite: fraternity boys. 

Ah frat boys, God’s gift to the world and our gift to UNC. What would our college experience be like without them? It’s impossible to fathom. I refuse to even try. After all, they’ve given us so much, and asked for so little in return. Only, the humble bone sesh after a long night of diligently managing festivities in their lovely estates. True, they are occasionally known to break the condom or nut before even making it inside of you, but throwing it to them is really the least we can do with all that they’ve done for us. Plus, you’re sure to be in and out of there in under ten minutes, so what’s the harm? They come to use from Charlotte, Raleigh, Greensboro, Pinehurst, and other respectable southern cities, with the occasional northerner slipping through the cracks. No matter where they’re from, they have somehow adopted a common way of speech before arriving at UNC in which their mouths are left frozen in place at the end of each of their sentences. I am not sure how this group has achieved such an intense level of homogeneity over the years, but I can’t say I’m not impressed.

You can spot them in class sporting baseball caps (forwards or backwards depending on their respective frat’s gpa), neckbeards, sorority cocktail t-shirts (tiers zeta and above), and the ever popular flip flops. They tend to move in packs on campus and appear somewhat frightened when seen alone. Most likely, they will not make eye contact with you, especially if you have hooked up. As far as eateries go, expect to see them in lenoir for lunch and the agora for dinner (and again for late night), with respective meal plans at both. On Friday mornings, after dollar drink night at MAW, some stray from the pack and populate Wendys, Chickfila, and occasionally, Alpine. At nightfall, there will always be some guarding their basecamp, Bob’s, as well as some out on the prowl at La Res and MAW. Approach these men between the hours of 2 and 3 AM and you will get laid. Attempt any earlier, and the only thing that you’re getting is a spot at the back of the line in McDonalds. I personally don’t recommend approaching them at all, as you are sure to incur emotional damage, and awkward eye contact at the C-Square pool on a day you look kind of fat.

The next largest population on deck is the ever illusive: south campus boy.

Your only shot at seeing them is in class. Otherwise, they rotate exclusively between their beloved dining hall, dorm room, and Ms. Mongs. They don’t care that it’s stricter territory for drugs and alcohol down there. They weren’t looking to get messed up with that stuff anyways, except for the occasional nights they decide to drink an entire fifth of Svedka and throw up in the shower. Usually they’re much too busy actually doing their assignments or playing video games. If you see a cute one, don’t bother approaching him. The thirstiest ranks of the south campus girls have already sunk their teeth and adidas superstars into him. He is a lost cause. With limited access to parties and bars, getting to these men requires you to perform the dreaded classroom flirtation, followed by the dreaded orchestrating some organic situation where it makes sense to hook up. Fair warning: it is critical to screen these boys before putting yourself through either of those tasks, as many are weirder than you might think.

Third is a UNC crowd favorite. The student athletes.

Sitting in the back of the classroom every day in their giant parkas, members of this elite group certainly aren’t hard to spot. They’re best known for zipping around on mopeds and ignoring their role in group projects. They don’t tend to be extremely warm or receptive when approached on a night out, as their pursuit of women takes place primarily in the dms. I know I sound like a broken record here, but I wouldn’t recommend pursuing. Most of the time, they’ve really been around the block and aren’t making up for it in the skill department. If you do bag one, tell your story and most girls at this school will get jealous. Probably even the virgins. 

Last and maybe not least? Carrboro boys.

They’re the ones that are really tucked away. I didn’t even know they existed until like junior year. Oh, but they’re out there. They’re ordering coffee with alternative milks at the meantime cafe, reshelving records in the WXYC studio, smoking cigs by the flagpole, and reading on the steps of Wilson Library. Yes, reading. They are really still on that shit. They’re into music that my parents listen to and vintage clothing that can only be understood by fellow members of the Carrboro clan. These boys tend to be more sensitive than the rest I’ve mentioned and, in many cases, more sensitive than you. Oh, but don’t you go feeling bad for them. These sensitive boys are probably racking up bodies at the same rate as their emotionally deficient fraternity counterparts. Think about all of the bandana wearing biddies over in Carrboro looking for a man who finally gets them. There just simply aren’t enough alt guys to meet their demand. I’m guessing scarcity is working out just as well over there as it is around these parts. And with that, we’ve come full circle with the title of this post and the primary reason I tend to outsource my boys. Good luck to anyone still out there clawing it out with this selection. Good luck and Godspeed.

[thebuckybrigade]

Healing Hands Part 1

Cable x reader fic here! Should be about three parts, one each #metalarmmonday lol

Enjoy! 

It had been a long shift...like 18 hours long. The kind of shift where someone had thrown up on you at least six hours ago, and the bus had smelled like urine, and you were pretty sure the rain had frizzed your hair into a wild mane, and all you really wanted was a hot shower and sleep.

Well...at least you got the first one.

Fresh out of the shower and half asleep as you stumbled towards your bed, the pounding on your front door made you stop and wonder if homicide by exhaustion was a legal defense.

Groaning softly, you secured the robe around you tighter and paused at the door to grab your baseball bat, tucking it behind one leg as you cracked open the door.

“Doc!” a cheery, red latex covered face greeted you.

Groaning louder you shook your head vehemently, “No Wade, I’m not stitching up whatever dumbass you’ve roped into helping you this time,” you refuted, trying to close the door against his foot.

“Haha, ouchies doc! You’re gonna break my foot!” Ward declared loudly—too fucking loudly for 3am in this neighborhood and in this building.

“Goddamnit, shut up and get in here,” you hissed, unlatching the door and throwing it open. Ward gave a quick salute and then grabbed the—metal arm?!—of someone and dragged him into your apartment.

The other person was an older man, maybe in his 50’s, with silvery black hair and a buzzed undercut, but the most interesting feature was surely the metal arm and bits of metal on his shoulder peeking out from his blood soaked grey t-shirt.

“What happened?” you demanded as Ward carried the unconscious man back to the small bathroom that was just off your bedroom.

“Bad guys with lots of guns. Alien tech apparently, and no one from SHIELD thought they should share the news with us that these fuckers are running around trying to kill mutant kids,” Wade told you, voice pleasant, minus the acerbic note that greatly sounded like he was looking to hunt someone down and turn them into sushi with his swords.

“Right, give me a second,” you muttered, hurrying to your closet to pull out a clean pair of scrubs and hastily pulled them on, ignoring the fact that Wade was cat calling you as you did.

The first few times this had happened with whoever Wade pulled into his bullshit you had been totally unprepared, and confused as to how he had found you.

Then he had lifted his mask and told you his real name and the realization came that he had been on your rounds in the oncology ward.

So here you were, a year later, stealing medical supplies to stitch up whomever Wade dragged into your life, praying that you’d never get caught. 

Falling to your knees beside the tub, you ignored the fact that Wade had taken a perch on your sink and was drawing on your mirror in lipstick.

A quick glance told you it was your least favorite color, so no loss there.

Turning your attention to the man in the tub, you quickly went to work, cutting off his shirt to assess the damage. “Hooooly fuck,” you whispered, wide eyed.

Half of the man’s body was metal from the waist up. But that...that wasn’t possible, was it?

The real issue here was the bullet hole in the man’s right shoulder and another along his abdomen. Both were bleeding profusely, steadily.

Looking up at Wade you smacked his leg, “Help me undress him, I don’t want to get more blood on his clothes than I have to,” you ordered.

“Oh goodie, can we see if his cock is metal? I bet it is,” Wade murmured eagerly and you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You are...” you huffed as you wrestled with the man’s torso, lifting him so you could get at the torn pieces of his shirt, “the thirstiest man I have ever met,” you gasped, settling the man’s shoulders back against the tub wall.

“Aww thank you,” Wade purred, taking the blood stained pants and boots along with him as he hopped onto your counter again.

Smirking, you quickly pulled out a clean wash cloth and turned on the hot water, soaking it before you wrung it out over the wounds.

Metal flashed and pinched—the man was awake and growling profanities at you, your wrist firmly in his grip.

“What the fuck?! Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Hey Cable, have a nice nap? This is the doc, she’s our friend so don’t break her, okay?” Ward called tossing a tampon at the man’s—Cable’s—head.

A long moment passed in which the only sound was Cable’s heavy breathing and then, he released you. His blazing—literally, that left eye was glowing—gaze turned to you and you could see the mistrust that still lingered there.

Giving him a faint smile, you leaned back a little, giving him space. “Hey, Mr-uh-Cable,” you murmured hesitantly and stalled out when his eyes narrowed in a glare.

“‘S just Cable,” he rasped, deep voice sounding loud in your small bathroom.

“Right, well you can call me Doc like Wade does, or Nurse Smith, whichever you prefer,” you told him, “but for now, I need you to hold still so I can get the bullets out of you and stop that bleeding.”

Cable studied you a moment and then nodded, begrudgingly. Your hands moved quickly after that, pulling your hair back into a bun, snapping on sterile gloves, and going to work.

To his credit, Cable did little more than grunt and wince when you pulled the bullet from his shoulder and hissed softly when you stitched both wounds up.

When you had finished, you guided him to sit on the toilet and applied fresh bandages to each wound, occasionally peering up at him from where you knelt between his legs.

Ward chattered on in the background, for which you were grateful because by this point, you weren’t sure if Cable hated you in particular or just had a shitty attitude about free medical aid.

Either way, when you were done, you rose unsteadily to your feet, head swimming with exhaustion and adrenaline. When you swayed, black spots dancing in your vision, you felt something warm and metal close around your elbow and hold you steady.

“Easy there doc.”

When the spots had cleared from your vision you looked around the bathroom in confusion, “Where’s Wade?” you asked, feeling groggy.

Cable rose to his feet, a little more steadily than you had, and reached for his pants and boots, still sitting on your counter where Wade had left them.

“Raiding your fridge I think,” was the gruff reply you got as he struggled to pull on his pants without bending over.

Quickly, you knelt and helped to guide the fabric over his muscular thighs—holy mother of god, how is a man his age this hot?! you wondered desperately.

“I-I got it,” he growled, trying to brush your hands away.

Frowning up at him you scoffed and rocked back, waving to his boots, “By all means, rip your stitches open and have me do them all over again,” you snapped sarcastically.

He glared down at you, eye glowing, and then sighed in frustration, looking away.

Taking that as your cue to help him, you quickly guided his feet into the boots and laced them up before standing once more, your head pounding ferociously.

“I think I’ve got a shirt that’ll fit you,” you murmured, swaying a little as you went to your closet and pulled out an oversized T-shirt you had won at some raffle.

Tossing it to him you grinned when he unfurled it and read the front, his scarred, displeased visage deepening.

“Don’t get caught with your pants down, get tested...and clap back at the Clap,” he read out loud, disbelievingly.

Nodding, you grinned when he scowled at you, “It was a public health initiative to try and get people to get tested.”

When he only scowled deeper, you shrugged, “Whatever man, wear it or don’t, but you’ll attract more attention without it, especially with all that metal,” you muttered, waving a hand toward his chest before striding away and leaving him to his decision.

As you entered your kitchen you sighed heavily, because true to what Cable had said, Wade was rummaging through your fridge, even as he ate from a box of cookies.

Scowling, you stormed over and snatched them out of his hands and nudged the fridge door shut with your hip.

“Stop eating my food Wade. I’m the one who worked an 18 hour shift and then had a stranger shoved into my tub for stitches. I get the cookies,” you told him tiredly.

“You know doc, that’s why I come to you,” Wade told you, leaning against the counter to peer at you through his mask as you ate a cookie.

“Mmph curkies?” you asked through a mouthful of Oreo.

“No silly! Because you’re the best at making people feel better even when it’s a really shitty day,” he told you and something in his voice made you pause.

“You have a shitty day?” you asked hesitantly; trying to gauge his emotions through the mask was hard.

He shrugged and stared down at the countertop. “Vanessa was killed a year ago. So, lots of shitty days,” he replied quietly.

Something in the middle of your chest ached and you slid the package is Oreos across be counter towards him.

Lifting his mask back up to rest on his forehead, he gave you a small, grateful smile before shoving two in his mouth. Smirking, you laughed softly and leaned on the counter across from him, sharing the cookies and silence.

Heavy bootsteps caught your attention and you looked up to find Cable walking slowly over, face lined with pain.

When he leaned against the counter you slid the Oreos toward him and shrugged when he shook his head no. Turning away, you dug through your work bag until you found your prescription pad and waved it to Cable.

“I can write you something for the pain,” you offered, huffing in annoyance when he immediately shook his head in denial. “C’mon, recovery from two bullet wounds isn’t going to be easy or quick, you don’t have to suffer and be fucking macho,” you snapped.

Cable’s eye blazed at you as he met your gaze angrily, “I said no. I don’t need to dull the pain,” he growled.

Scoffing angrily, you threw the pad back into your bag and turned to Wade, “As always, it’s great to see you, but I’ve got to sleep. Don’t get shot on the way home,” you ordered, heading to the door to hold it open for them.

Wade snatched four more cookies(in each hand) and tugged his mask down before sauntering over and leaning down to press a weirdly adorable kiss to your cheek.

“Thanks for the fix and the cookies doc,” he replied warmly.

Rolling your eyes you hid a smile and leaned up to hug him, “I’m sorry about Vanessa,” you whispered, giving him an extra squeeze before releasing him.

He nodded and then looked over to where Cable was making his way slowly across the room, sighing exaggeratedly. “Ughh come on old man, time to let the nice lady sleep!” he declared before striding across the room and physically helping Cable.

To your surprise the older man didn’t object, and, not to your surprise, only gave you a nod of thanks before the door closed between you.

Hastily you locked it and then stripped off your dirty scrubs before collapsing in bed.

The mess in the bathroom would just have to wait. 

Hey guyyys...so I had this little plot bunny hoping around and thought I’d share! How’s everyone doing this Monday? Is this a good update for a #metalarmmonday / #mancrushmonday ?! More parts to follow!! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Xoxo 💋

[imsurvivingeveryday]

Ramblings galore

Not gonna lie, been struggling mentally this last week. After two weeks of really bad insomnia, I finally gave in, had the doctor prescribe me sleeping pills. And now that I have managed to catch up on that sleep thing, I figured I should attempt to tidy the flat. I’m now in agony, and have had to stop, but at least there is two bin bags of crap out the door. The hoovering is going to be the biggest challenge, and putting the clothes away. The craft room is waiting for last to be fair, with all the clothes in it. Nothing else today though, and in about an hour I should have stopped hurting enough to have a bath and get my hair washed.

I’ve got Christmas day all sorted, I’m going to visit a friend. Though as ever I do have to wonder if anybody will have managed to get me Tom Hiddleston for Christmas, and how you’d wrap him. Maybe just a strategically placed bow?

According to the girl I’m staying with for Christmas I’m the thirstiest abstinent person she knows. ;) With that man existing though, can you blame me? I’m well aware that he’d never be interested in me, but a girl can dream. ;)

In the meantime, I’m attempting to get my Skyrim game sorted after the Anniversary Edition broke mods, I’m hoping that a good gaming session will help my mood, as it’s dipped horribly low again. SADS and depression and PTSD combined is not a pretty sight.

Highly unrelated, if you listen to the song 12 days of Christmas, and count up everything, this true love of theirs is a right jackass, that’s just TOO MANY BIRDS! STOP IT NOW! Hope they have a nice aviary to go with the bloody things! And the pipers can pipe the eff down, thank you!

On that note I’m going to give my brain a rest as it’s more squirrel-like than normal, and attempt a snooze. However somebody is drilling up the road, and for some reason it sounds a bit like a goat at times. Yeah, think it’s safe to say I need to sleep for an hour or something. ;) Might help the headache too. I hope. Unlike the pipers piping and the drummers drumming.

[vintagegeekculture]

Dead Fandoms, Part 3

Read Part One of Dead Fandoms here. 

Read Part Two of Dead Fandoms here. 

Before we continue, I want to add the usual caveat that I actually don’t want to be right about these fandoms being dead. I like enthusiasm and energy and it’s a shame to see it vanish.

Mists of Avalon

Remember that period of time of about 15 years, where absolutely everybody read this book and was obsessed with it? It could not have been bigger, and the fandom was Anne Rice huge, overlapping for several years with USENET and the early World Wide Web…but it’s since petered out. 

Mists of Avalon’s popularity may be due to the most excellent case of hitting a demographic sweet spot ever. The book was a feminist retelling of the Arthurian Mythos where Morgan Le Fay is the main character, a pagan from matriarchal goddess religions who is fighting against encroaching Christianity and patriarchal forms of society coming in with it. Also, it made Lancelot bisexual and his conflict is how torn he is about his attraction to both Arthur and Guinevere.

Remember, this novel came out in 1983 – talk about being ahead of your time! If it came out today, the reaction from a certain corner would be something like “it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that tumblr is at it again.”

Man, demographically speaking, that’s called “nailing it.” It used to be one of the favorite books of the kind of person who’s bookshelf is dominated by fantasy novels about outspoken, fiery-tongued redheaded women, who dream of someday moving to Scotland, who love Enya music and Kate Bush, who sell homemade needlepoint stuff on etsy, who consider their religious beliefs neo-pagan or wicca, and who have like 15 cats, three of which are named Isis, Hypatia, and Morrigan.

This type of person is still with us, so why did this novel fade in popularity? There’s actually a single hideous reason: after her death around 2001, facts came out that Marion Zimmer Bradley abused her daughters sexually. Even when she was alive, she was known for defending and enabling a known child abuser, her husband, Walter Breen. To say people see your work differently after something like this is an understatement – especially if your identity is built around being a progressive and feminist author.

Robotech

I try to break up my sections on dead fandoms into three parts: first, I explain the property, then explain why it found a devoted audience, and finally, I explain why that fan devotion and community went away. Well, in the case of Robotech, I can do all three with a single sentence: it was the first boy pilot/giant robot Japanimation series that shot for an older, teenage audience to be widely released in the West. Robotech found an audience when it was the only true anime to be widely available, and lost it when became just another import anime show. In the days of Crunchyroll, it’s really hard to explain what made Robotech so special, because it means describing a different world.

Try to imagine what it was like in 1986 for Japanime fans: there were barely any video imports, and if you wanted a series, you usually had to trade tapes at your local basement club (they were so precious they couldn’t even be sold, only traded). If you were lucky, you were given a script to translate what you were watching. Robotech though, was on every day, usually after school. You want an action figure? Well, you could buy a Robotech Valkyrie or a Minmei figure at your local corner FAO Schwartz. 

However, the very strategy that led to it getting syndicated is the very reason it was later vilified by the purists who emerged when anime became a widespread cultural force: strictly speaking, there actually is no show called “Robotech.” Since Japanese shows tend to be short run, say, 50-60 episodes, it fell well under the 80-100 episode mark needed for syndication in the US. The producer of Harmony Gold, Carl Macek, had a solution: he’d cut three unrelated but similar looking series together into one, called “Robotech.” The shows looked very similar, had similar love triangles, used similar tropes, and even had little references to each other, so the fit was natural. It led to Robotech becoming a weekday afternoon staple with a strong fandom who called themselves “Protoculture Addicts.” There were conventions entirely devoted to Robotech. The supposed shower scene where Minmei was bare-breasted was the barely whispered stuff of pervert legend in pre-internet days. And the tie in novels, written with the entirely western/Harmony Gold conception of the series and which continued the story, were actually surprisingly readable.

The final nail in the coffin of Robotech fandom was the rise of Sailor Moon, Toonami, Dragonball, and yes, Pokemon (like MC Hammer’s role in popularizing hip hop, Pokemon is often written out of its role in creating an audience for the next wave of cartoon imports out of insecurity). Anime popularity in the West can be defined as not a continuing unbroken chain like scifi book fandom is, but as an unrelated series of waves, like multiple ancient ruins buried on top of each other (Robotech was the vanguard of the third wave, as Anime historians reckon); Robotech’s wave was subsumed by the next, which had different priorities and different “core texts.” Pikachu did what the Zentraedi and Invid couldn’t do: they destroyed the SDF-1.

Legion of Super-Heroes

Legion of Superheroes was comic set in the distant future that combined superheroes with space opera, with a visual aesthetic that can best be described as “Star Trek: the Motion Picture, if it was set in a disco.” 

I’ve heard wrestling described as “a soap opera for men.” If that’s the case, then Legion of Super-Heroes was a soap opera for nerds. The book is about attractive 20-somethings who seem to hook up all the time. As a result, it had a large female fanbase, which, I cannot stress enough, is incredibly unusual for this era in comics history. And if you have female fans, you get a lot of shipping and slashfic, and lots of speculation over which of the boy characters in the series is gay. The fanon answer is Element Lad, because he wore magenta-pink and never had a girlfriend. (Can’t argue with bulletproof logic like that.) In other words, it was a 1970s-80s fandom that felt much more “modern” than the more right-brained, bloodless, often anal scifi fandoms that existed around the same time, where letters pages were just nitpicking science errors by model train and elevator enthusiasts.

Legion Headquarters seemed to be a rabbit fuck den built around a supercomputer and Danger Room. Cosmic Boy dressed like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. There’s one member, Duo Damsel, who can turn into two people, a power that, in the words of Legion writer Jim Shooter, was “useful for weird sex...and not much else.”

LSH was popular because the fans were insanely horny. This is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the thirstiest fandom of all time.  You might think I’m overselling this, but I really think that’s an under-analyzed part of how some kinds of fiction build a devoted fanbase.  

For example, a big reason for the success of Mass Effect is that everyone has a favorite girl or boy, and you have the option to romance them. Likewise, everyone who was a fan of Legion remembers having a crush. Sardonic Ultra Boy for some reason was a favorite among gay male nerds (aka the Robert Conrad Effect). Tall, blonde, amazonian telepath Saturn Girl, maybe the first female team leader in comics history, is for the guys with backbone who prefer Veronica over Betty. Shrinking Violet was a cute Audrey Hepburn type. And don’t forget Shadow Lass, who was a blue skinned alien babe with pointed ears and is heavily implied to have an accent (she was Aayla Secura before Aayla Secura was Aayla Secura). Light Lass was commonly believed to be “coded lesbian” because of a short haircut and her relationships with men didn’t work out. The point is, it’s one thing to read about the adventures of a superteam, and it implies a totally different level of mental and emotional involvement to read the adventures of your imaginary girlfriend/boyfriend.  

Now, I should point out that of all the fandoms I’ve examined here, LSH was maybe the smallest. Legion was never a top seller, but it was a favorite of the most devoted of fans who kept it alive all through the seventies and eighties with an energy and intensity disproportionate to their actual numbers. My gosh, were LSH fans devoted! Interlac and Legion Outpost were two Legion fanzines that are some of the most famous fanzines in comics history.

If nerd culture fandoms were drugs, Star Wars would be alcohol, Doctor Who would be weed, but Legion of Super-Heroes would be injecting heroin directly into your eyeballs. Maybe it is because the Legionnaires were nerdy, too: they played Dungeons and Dragons in their off time (an escape, no doubt, from their humdrum, mundane lives as galaxy-rescuing superheroes). There were sometimes call outs to Monty Python. Basically, the whole thing had a feel like the dorkily earnest skits or filk-singing at a con. Legion felt like it’s own fan series, guest starring Patton Oswalt and Felicia Day.

It helped that the boundary between fandom and professional was incredibly porous. For instance, pro-artist Dave Cockrum did covers for Legion fanzines. Former Legion APA members Todd and Mary Biernbaum got a chance to actually write Legion, where, with the gusto of former slashfic writers given the keys to canon, their major contribution was a subplot that explicitly made Element Lad gay. Mike Grell, a professional artist who got paid to work on the series, did vaguely porno-ish fan art. Again, it’s hard to tell where the pros started and the fandom ended; the inmates were running the asylum.

Mostly, Legion earned this devotion because it could reward it in a way no other comic could. Because Legion was not a wide market comic but was bought by a core audience, after a point, there were no self-contained one-and-done Legion stories. In fact, there weren’t even really arcs as we know it, which is why Legion always has problems getting reprinted in trade form. Legion was plotted like a daytime soap opera: there were always five different stories going on in every issue, and a comic involved cutting between them. Sure, like daytime soap operas, there’s never a beginning, just endless middles, so it was totally impossible for a newbie to jump on board...but soap operas know what they are doing: long term storytelling rewards a long term reader.

This brings me to today, where Legion is no longer being published by DC. There is no discussion about a movie or TV revival. This is amazing. Comics are a world where the tiniest nerd groups get pandered to: Micronauts, Weirdworld, Seeker 3000, and Rom have had revival series, for pete’s sake. It’s incredible there’s no discussion of a film or TV treatment, either; friggin Cyborg from New Teen Titans is getting a solo movie. 

Why did Legion stop being such a big deal? Where did the fandom that supported it dissolve to? One word: X-Men. Legion was incredibly ahead of its time. In the 60s and 70s, there were barely any “fan” comics, since superhero comics were like animation is today: mostly aimed at kids, with a minority of discerning adult/teen fans, and it was success among kids, not fans, that led to something being a top seller (hence, “fan favorites” in the 1970s, as surprising as it is to us today, often did not get a lot of work, like Don MacGregor or Barry Smith). But as newsstands started to push comics out, the fan audience started to get bigger and more important…everyone else started to catch up to the things that made Legion unique: most comics started to have attractive people who paired up into couples and/or love triangles, and featured extremely byzantine long term storytelling. If Legion of Super-Heroes is going to be remembered for anything, it’s for being the smaller scale “John the Baptist” to the phenomenon of X-Men, the ultimate “fan” comic.

The other thing that killed Legion, apart from Marvel’s Merry Mutants, that is, was the r-word: reboots. A reboot only works for some properties, but not others. You reboot something when you want to find something for a mass audience to respond to, like with Zorro, Batman, or Godzilla.

Legion, though, was not a comic for everybody, it was a fanboy/girl comic beloved by a niche who read it for continuing stories and minutiae (and to jack off, and in some cases, jill off). Rebooting a comic like that is a bad idea. You do not reboot something where the main way you engage with the property, the greatest strength, is the accumulated lore and history. Rebooting a property like that means losing the reason people like it, and unless it’s something with a wide audience, you only lose fans and won’t get anything in return for it. So for something like Legion (small fandom obsessed with long form plots and details, but unlike Trek, no name recognition) a reboot is the ultimate Achilles heel that shatters everything, a self-destruct button they kept hitting over and over and over until there was nothing at all left.

E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels

The Lensman series is like Gil Evans’s jazz: it’s your grandparents’ favorite thing that you’ve never heard of. 

I mean, have you ever wondered exactly what scifi fandom talked about before the rise of the major core texts and cultural objects (Star Trek, Asimov, etc)? Well, it was this. Lensmen was the subject of fanfiction mailed in manilla envelopes during the 30s, 40s, and 50s (some of which are still around). If you’re from Boston, you might recognize that the two biggest and oldest scifi cons there going back to the 1940s, Boskone (Boscon, get it?) and Arisia, are references to the Lensman series. This series not only created space opera as we know it, but contributed two of the biggest visuals in scifi, the interstellar police drawn from different alien species, and space marines in power armor.

My favorite sign of how big this series was and how fans responded to it, was a great wedding held at Worldcon that duplicated Kimball Kinnison and Clarissa’s wedding on Klovia. This is adorable:

The basic story is pure good vs. evil: galactic civilization faces a crime and piracy wave of unprecedented proportions from technologically advanced pirates (the memory of Prohibition, where criminals had superior firearms and faster cars than the cops, was strong by the mid-1930s). A young officer, Kimball Kinnison (who speaks in a Stan Lee esque style of dialogue known as “mid-century American wiseass”), graduates the academy and is granted a Lens, an object from an ancient mystery civilization, who’s true purpose is unknown.

Lensman Kinnison discovers that the “crime wave” is actually a hostile invasion and assault by a totally alien culture that is based on hierarchy, intolerant of failure, and at the highest level, is ruled by horrifying nightmare things that breathe freezing poison gases. Along the way, he picks up allies, like van Buskirk, a variant human space marine from a heavy gravity planet who can do a standing jump of 20 feet in full space armor, Worsel, a telepathic dragon warrior scientist with the technical improvisation skills of MacGyver (who reads like the most sadistically minmaxed munchkinized RPG character of all time), and Nandreck, a psychologist from a Pluto-like planet of selfish cowards.

The scale of the conflict starts small, just skirmishes with pirates, but explodes to near apocalyptic dimensions. This series has space battles with millions of starships emerging from hyperspacial tubes to attack the ultragood Arisians, homeworld of the first intelligent race in the cosmos. By the end of the fourth book, there are mind battles where the reflected and parried mental beams leave hundreds of innocent bystanders dead. In the meantime we get evil Black Lensmen, the Hell Hole in Space, and superweapons like the Negasphere and the Sunbeam, where an entire solar system was turned into a vacuum tube.

It’s not hard to understand why Lensmen faded in importance. While the alien Lensmen had lively psychologies, Lensman Kimball Kinnison was not an interesting person, and that’s a problem when scifi starts to become more about characterization. The Lensman books, with their love of police and their sexism (it is an explicit plot point that the Lens is incompatible with female minds – in canon there are no female Lensmen) led to it being judged harshly by the New Wave writers of the 1960s, who viewed it all as borderline fascist military-scifi establishment hokum, and the reputation of the series never recovered from the spirit of that decade.

Prisoner of Zenda

Prisoner of Zenda is a novel about a roguish con-man who visits a postage-stamp, charmingly picturesque Central European kingdom with storybook castles, where he finds he looks just like the local king and is forced to pose as him in palace intrigues. It’s a swashbuckling story about mistaken identity, swordfighting, and intrigue, one part swashbuckler and one part dark political thriller.

The popularity of this book predates organized fandom as we know it, so I wonder if “fandom” is even the right word to use. All the same, it inspired fanatical dedication from readers. There was such a popular hunger for it that an entire library could be filled with nothing but rip-offs of Prisoner of Zenda. If you have a favorite writer who was active between 1900-1950, I guarantee he probably wrote at least one Prisoner of Zenda rip-off (which is nearly always the least-read book in his oeuvre). The only novel in the 20th Century that inspired more imitators was Sherlock Holmes. Robert Heinlein and Edmond “Planet Smasher” Hamilton wrote scifi updates of Prisoner of Zenda. Doctor Who lifted the plot wholesale for the Tom Baker era episode, “Androids of Tara,” Futurama did this exact plot too, and even Marvel Comics has its own copy of Ruritania, Doctor Doom’s Kingdom of Latveria. Even as late as the 1980s, every kids’ cartoon did a “Prisoner of Zenda” episode, one of the stock plots alongside “everyone gets hit by a shrink ray” and the Christmas Carol episode.

Prisoner of Zenda imitators were so numerous, that they even have their own Library of Congress sub-heading, of “Ruritanian Romance.” 

One major reason that Prisoner of Zenda fandom died off is that, between World War I and World War II, there was a brutal lack of sympathy for anything that seemed slightly German, and it seems the incredibly Central European Prisoner of Zenda was a casualty of this. Far and away, the largest immigrant group in the United States through the entire 19th Century were Germans, who were more numerous than Irish or Italians. There were entire cities in the Midwest that were two-thirds German-born or German-descent, who met in Biergartens and German community centers that now no longer exist.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote a lot about how the German-American world he grew up in vanished because of the prejudice of the World Wars, and that disappearance was so extensive that it was retroactive, like someone did a DC comic-style continuity reboot where it all never happened: Germans, despite being the largest immigrant group in US history, are left out of the immigrant story. The “Little Bohemias” and “Little Berlins” that were once everywhere no longer exist. There is no holiday dedicated to people of German ancestry in the US, the way the Irish have St. Patrick’s Day or Italians have Columbus Day (there is Von Steuben’s Day, dedicated to a general who fought with George Washington, but it’s a strictly Midwest thing most people outside the region have never heard of, like Sweetest Day). If you’re reading this and you’re an academic, and you’re not sure what to do your dissertation on, try writing about the German-American immigrant world of the 19th and 20th Centuries, because it’s a criminally under-researched topic.

A. Merritt

Pop quiz: who was the most popular and influential fantasy author during the 1930s and 40s? 

If you answered Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, you’re wrong - it was actually Abraham Merritt. He was the most popular writer of his age of the kind of fiction he did, and he’s since been mostly forgotten. Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has said that A. Merritt was his favorite fantasy and horror novelist.

Why did A. Merritt and his fandom go away, when at one point, he was THE fantasy author? Well, obviously one big answer was the 1960s counterculture, which brought different writers like Tolkien and Lovecraft to the forefront (by modern standards Lovecraft isn’t a fantasy author, but he was produced by the same early century genre-fluid effluvium that produced Merritt and the rest). The other answer is that A. Merritt was so totally a product of the weird occult speculation of his age that it’s hard to even imagine him clicking with audiences in other eras. His work is based on fringe weirdness that appealed to early 20th Century spiritualism and made sense at the time: reincarnation, racial memory, an obsession with lost race stories and the stone age, and weirdness like the 1920s belief that the Polar Arctic is the ancestral home of the Caucasian race. In other words, it’s impossible to explain Merritt without a ton of sentences that start with “well, people in the 1920s thought that...” That’s not a good sign when it comes to his universality. 

That’s it for now. Do you have any suggestions on a dead fandom, or do you keep one of these “dead” fandoms alive in your heart?

[mianmimi]

I fucking love headcanons, just reading and hearing people come up with so many awesome ideas about the characters they love, and sharing my own thoughts and interact with someone who shares them (and with those that don’t, too!) gives me warm, fuzzy feelings. It really is one of the most amazing aspects of fandom. I might even love it more than fanfic and fanart, tbh. I know, shocking lol And I love, love, love all the headcanons I’ve found in this blog. I think I binged the entire ask and submit tags, just to read the headcanons lol (though the music recs were a pleasant surprise!) and your anons and your not-anons and your not-so-anons are incredible. All that being said, I think I have THE most specific nsfw headcanon. I think Karl Amadeus Mordo is a huge hypocrite… when it comes to rimming.

Mordo as a top: That is unsanitary and disgusting. I refuse.

Mordo as a bottom: *arches back* *pouts* D-daddy, please?

Mordo is a bad top that won’t eat ass ever. But he’s the thirstiest pillow princess bottom when it comes to having his (admittedly irresistible) ass eaten.

tbh, I see Mordo as a man of absolutes, and that doesn’t change much in the bedroom. When he’s a top, he’s a power top that will it give it to his man good. And when he’s a bottom, he’s the neediest “call me a good boy, Daddy” bottom the world has ever known.

I see both Stephen and Mordo as vers-but-mostly-bottom. That’s why they need a True Total Top/Dom like Wong *melts in a puddle of thirst ‘cause Wong is assdff*

_____________________________

Wowowowowow Nonny! That’s a pretty intense headcanon with all sorts of delicious imagery attached XD Whether top or bottom, Karl’s gonna definitely give it his all. I imagine him to be quite generous when it comes to being intimate with his partner, and boy that aftercare is partly at another level ^^ My own personal preference when it comes to Karl is...he’s a bottom, Stephen’s vers, and Wong’s definitely the top. Our trio’s very well rounded hehehe. I guess my own reason for preferring Karl as a bottom comes with me wanting someone to just take care of him? Making sure he’s okay and enjoying everything for once? And the aftercare he’ll have afterward? Someone holding and kissing him softly as he recovered from sub drop? Idk, I just really love thinking about him being adored and cared for. It’s what he deserves ;__; so I have a tendency in my headcanon to place him in situations/positions *eyebrow wiggle* where he can just finally receive some sweet TLC.

Also, I’m so happy you enjoyed going through the blog! I’m very proud to say the Nonnies have been incredibly generous and supportive. Their enthusiasm and love for this OTP reminds me all the time of why I fell in love with the pairing in the first place.  We may be a very small sect in the fandom but I feel like the quality is so worth it. Thank you so much for submitting this Nonny! I really enjoy hearing headcanons ^^

[gadgetsrevv]

Rebekah Vardy-Coleen Rooney Instagram feud: Why the football wives are fighting

As Britain descends into an increasingly bleak political horror show, today the country is delivering on its most famous export: Shakespearean drama. On the morning of October 9, two famous wives of major football (i.e. soccer) players were embroiled in an epic feud that just so happens to be deliciously suited to the era of Instagram Stories and private accounts. It’s the kind of splashy kerfuffle that forces people who previously had zero knowledge of or interest in a group of people or perhaps an entire sport to eschew all their responsibilities and learn everything they possibly can about it all in the span of a few hours.

This particular English Renaissance play stars two women, Coleen Rooney and Rebekah Vardy (who goes by Becky), both wives of footballers who played for the England national team. Like many WAGs (an acronym for the wives and girlfriends of athletes), the two were friends, and Rooney had trusted Vardy enough to be included on her private Instagram account, where Rooney would post personal updates about her friends and family.

But according to an operatic tweet posted by Rooney on Wednesday morning, which is at once a brutal damnation of Vardy’s actions and a master class in scene-setting and plot building, Vardy was selling those private stories to the press. “For a few years now someone who I trusted to follow me on my personal Instagram account has been consistently informing the Sun newspaper of my private posts and stories,” it begins.

“After a long time of trying to figure out who it could be, for various reasons, I had a suspicion,” Rooney writes. Here’s where it gets good: “To try and prove this, I came up with an idea. I blocked everyone from viewing my Instagram stories except ONE account.”

Coleen Rooney in 2018.

Max Mumby/Indigo/Getty Images

Rooney then writes that, over the last five months, she posted a series of fake pieces of information about her life to see if they ended up in the Sun. They did: On August 15, the Sun published a story about Rooney and her husband traveling to Mexico to seek controversial gender selection treatment. On September 28, the paper published a story about Rooney possibly joining the BBC reality show Strictly Come Dancing; a third piece about a supposed flood at the Rooney’s Cheshire mansion was also published by the Sun. (All these stories published in the Sun have since been taken down.)

Rooney writes that it was difficult to remain silent and refrain from commenting when the false stories spread about her but that it ultimately helped her find the culprit.

“I have saved and screenshotted all the original [Instagram] stories which clearly show just one person has viewed them,” she writes.

“It’s……. Rebekah Vardy’s account.”

By the time Americans were starting to wake up, the news had lit up British media. That’s not just because the British press is among the thirstiest in the world. It’s because the story had everything: a Notes app-esque manifesto, the genius weaponization of social media, the demonization of a woman named Becky, the exposure of shady tabloid inner workings, and yes, two very rich women fighting with each other, one of whom is widely beloved among football fans for “standing by her man” (Rooney) and one of whom is seen as a fame-hungry money-grubber (that’d be Becky). The Rooney-Vardy feud lets us all feel the kind of vindication of knowing a maybe-bad person is an actually-bad person; it allows us to share in Rooney’s catharsis as she closes her explosive note with the absolute perfect kicker. It’s ……. really great gossip.

Who are Coleen Rooney and Becky Vardy?

It has not been nearly as fun of a day for Becky Vardy, of course. Shortly after Rooney’s post was made public, she posted her own statement to Instagram denying the allegations, claiming that other people had access to her Instagram account and if only Rooney had called her when she first suspected that Vardy was leaking stories, she could have changed her passwords. “I don’t need the money, what would I gain from selling stories on you?” she wrote. “I liked you a lot Coleen & I’m so upset that you have chosen to do this, especially when I’m heavily pregnant. I’m disgusted that I even have to deny this.” Vardy has also reportedly tasked lawyers to conduct a “forensic investigation” on her Instagram account to find out who has access to it.

But for many who have followed both Vardy and Rooney for years, the two statements were vindication that their opinions about each woman were correct all along. “Becky Vardy has always been shady,” says SB Nation soccer writer Kim McCauley. “It’s very obvious she wants to take down Coleen because Coleen has always been the media’s favorite WAG, who got all the best TV spots, and Becky wants to take her place.”

Jamie and Becky Vardy in 2018.

Jan Kruger/Getty Images

“The Vardys are not nice people,” agrees Nicolle Zamora, who writes for the soccer site Unusual Efforts. She points to a series of racist statements both Becky and her husband Jamie Vardy have made in the past. Jamie has been caught on camera multiple times calling a person of Asian descent a racist slur; in 2014, Becky tweeted “Getting followed at 3am from work to your car by a weird black man has to be up there with one of the scariest moments ever!”

Becky in particular is also widely considered inappropriately fame-hungry — she was a cast member on the reality series I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here and regularly appears on talk shows like Loose Women, Good Morning Britain, and This Morning. Many have long suspected her of being the writer behind the Sun’s “Secret WAG” column, which covers football gossip from an anonymous WAG, which would solidify the link between Vardy and the Sun’s coverage of Rooney.

What adds insult to injury, Zamora adds, is that the Sun has a long and bitter history with the city of Liverpool, where both Coleen and her husband Wayne Rooney were born and raised (the Rooneys now live in the US, where Wayne plays for DC United). Since 1989, the people of Liverpool have boycotted the Sun for its false reporting on the horrific Hillsborough disaster, where 96 people were killed at an FA cup football game due to overcrowding inside the stadium.

Meanwhile, Coleen Rooney has long been royalty among football WAGs, once a part of the original queen WAG Victoria Beckham’s crew in the mid-aughts and now most known for being a mother and loyal wife during her husband’s various reported infidelities. People like her because, as London-based football fan Scott Perdue tells me over DM, she has a “humble background, stuck by her man, tries to stay out of the headlines.

“Coleen Rooney has absolutely bossed Rebekah Vardy,” he adds.

Why the Coleen Rooney-Becky Vardy feud is irresistible

But there is also something more universal going on with the Rooney-Vardy feud that’s pulling in even people totally unfamiliar with British WAG culture. Humans love stories about celebrities acting as investigative reporters of their own lives, and Rooney isn’t the first person to weaponize her social media accounts: Kim Kardashian has reportedly sent her friends fake photos of her newborn children to find out who is leaking information to the press. Fans, meanwhile, have started referring to Rooney as “Wagatha Christie” in admiration.

It might also simply be more banal than that. It’s refreshing, for once, to have a clear winner and a clear loser, to be able to root for one team without feeling sorry for the other. Ironically, this is also what can be so appealing about being a sports fan.

Charlotte Wilder of Sports Illustrated draws this parallel: “I’ve always said that sports are the greatest reality show. Even on reality TV, we assume that everything’s edited or manipulated. But you can’t have spoilers for a game, and there’s something really pure about that. And when the athletes’ lives mirror that unexpectedness, it’s thrilling to me.”

Wayne, Coleen, and son Kai Rooney in 2013.

Matthew Peters/Manchester United via Getty Images

Often, when we see athletes’ or celebrities’ lives play out in the press or on social media, there’s a tendency to assume what we’re seeing is in some way fabricated. The Rooney-Vardy feud, meanwhile, feels pure in its messiness. “A lot of times these athletes are very calculated because they know people are paying attention,” Wilder says. “And when done well, it becomes a master class in public relations. With something like this, [Rooney] knows she’s bulletproof, so she can take a risk. You don’t do this unless you’re pretty sure it’s not gonna backfire.”

Ultimately, what we’re talking about is leaked personal interest stories about the lives of famous people. “It’s still fairly petty,” Wilder laughs. “It’s not that there’s some horrible crime at the center of this, so it makes it a little more harmless to enjoy something like this. If it were really ugly and messy I would feel sad, but at this point, we can enjoy it.”

All of which makes Coleen Rooney and Becky Vardy the perfect distraction from literally everything else happening in the UK right now: a feud so neat and perfect it can be tied up with a bow, a Twelfth Night-style comedy of errors that writes itself where the good guy gets all the faves and the bad guy gets canceled. If nothing else, it beats talking about Brexit.

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[melchixr]

1 AM Texts

Anon Said:  "I'm gonna nut and cry at the same fuckin time" ok it's 3am and I'm laughing but also imagine Hänschen saying this 2 literally Anyone about Ernst

Although this isn’t a prompt. I wrote it like it was one. Ur welcome, gods. When will I ever sleep.

Words: 1290

1 text from: hand-sins rilhoe

Ilse rolled over to look at her phone, seeing now that it was 1:33 AM and there was on her lockscreen, ‘I need advice.’

Ilse slowly unlocked the phone, which had been laying beside her, to shoot back, ‘what the f u ck do u need??????’

There was only a second pause before there was a vibration and a message popped up.

‘He’s liking pictures of cats on instagram. What does that mean?’

Ilse let out an audible groan, careful not to wake up Wendla, who was peacefully passed out on her chest. 

‘he likes cats, hans. can i fuckign sleep now. pls and thank. ‘

Ilse put her phone down on the mattress again, hoping to float back into a peaceful sleep with Wendla’s hair tickling her nose. But barely thirty seconds passed before the phone vibrated again. And although she felt like screaming at the top of her lungs, she picked i up to read:

‘But like, he liked 17 all in a 3 minute span all from different accounts.’

‘maybe he went onto the cat tag i don’t fuckin know guudnight.’

That was the final straw. Ilse chucked her phone over Wendla’s sleeping form, now sure that she was going to sleep and sleep hard.

That was until a minute later when she heard the ear drum shattering vibration. She wanted to ignore it at first, then she heard another. And another. Her mind drove her to reach over her girlfriend blindly and grab at the phone. When she looked at the screen to what she had woken up for, she couldn’t help but sigh.

‘Okay but what does it mean?

How much does he like cats?

Oh no, what if he’s a furry, Ilse?’

Ilse tossed her phone, this time all the way off the bed. After hearing it hit the carpeted floor with a thud, she finally closed her eyes and curled up to Wendla.

---

Melchior was possibly the worst Mario Kart player Ilse had ever met. He was fumbling and falling off of the track and rocking back and forth with stress vibrating through his body. She’d never seen him so worked up. And she’d been his friend with him through every single final they’d ever taken.

“Melchi!” Ernst cried out from where he sat on the couch, holding the other controller and playing calmly. “Why are you so bad? It can’t possibly be that hard.”

“It is for me. Shut that cock holster you call a mouth,” Melchior spat out after falling off a bridge and coming in dead last while Ernst crossed the finish line.

Suddenly, from where she stood in the kitchen, watching the whole game unfold, Ilse’s phone vibrated.

1 text from: hand-sins rilhoe

“I swear to fucking god,” She muttered to herself and stared at the notification. “If it’s saying he wants Ernst to holster his goddamn-”

“What was that Ilse?” Moritz asked as he entered the open kitchen in the tiny apartment they somehow crammed 3 people into.

The redhead looked up, shaking her head rapidly. “Oh, nothing, Mo. I was just waiting for the popcorn.”

As soon as Moritz finished walking his dirty sup to the sink, she unlocked her phone to see the message on her screen.

‘I'm gonna nut and cry at the same fucking time. Do you see Ernst in that yellow sweater and skinny jean combo because I’m LIVING.’

Ilse looked up and saw Hanschen sitting calmly on the arm of the loveseat, his eyes glued to Ernst. Martha was talking to the blond, but he only watched as Ernst stood and walked over to where Melchior sat in His Beanbag™.  

‘if  u ever text me that sentence again i’ll break my phone. i swear to the lord’

All she did was watch as Hanschen looked down to his phone and then look back to Ernst. The tall boy was now bent over and trying to hug and console Melchior, who was making a show of pushing him away. The whole room was laughing at the pair, besides Hanschen, who seemed to be just enraptured by Ernst’s ass.

‘u  are the thirstiest person i’ve ever met, rilow’

Ernst looked at his phone one more time, then looking over his shoulder at Ilse to see her disapproving glare. The man just smiled a big, dumb smile, big grey eyes sparkling as he did.

“Hansi!” Ernst cried out, his lisp, taking Hanschen’s attention right back to him. “Come here and play a round. Melchior’s a sore loser.”

Ilse had never seen anyone move faster than she saw Hanschen move from the couch and right up to Ernst.

---

Ilse promised herself that if she got a single text from Hanschen tonight she’d bash her skull in with a rock. All she wanted was to be go out as a group and, for the first time in the past three months, not get live updates of what Hanschen thought of Ernst’s smile.

Or Ernst’s hair or eyes or ass or legs or laugh or ANYTHING.

So when she saw her phone vibrate, she almost ripped her arms off. It was absolutely blowing up, just sitting on the table between her and Moritz.  Right across from her, was Hanschen, staring down at his lap instead of eating the burger in front of him.

When she looked at the texts, she already knew what they said.

‘Oh my lord, he’s sitting right next to me.

His knee just brushed mine, I’m ready to marry him.

Okay but have you ever seen a boy so pretty?

He’s a literal angel from heaven drinking a shake.

I literally want to kiss him to badly. What do I do?’

“Hey, Ernst?”

Both Hanschen and Ernst, who was stuffing his mouth with one of the french fried he stole from Hanschen’s plate, looked up at Ilse. Hanschen had a look of fear in his eyes that Ilse had never seen before. And Ernst just looked with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, Ilsie?”

“Read this for me, okay?”

As Ilse handed her phone across their plates and sticky table surface, Hanschen’s eyes blew up twice their normal size. He lunged over, almost knocking over his coke in the process. “Ilse, I don’t think that’s at all necessary!  Why don’t we finish our dinner and go-”

It was already far too late. The phone was already in Ernst’s hands and so was Hanschen’s life.

He read it once, twice, three times, before looking up at Hanschen with a shocked expression.  “Wait. Is this….Hanschen’s contact.”

“NO!”

“Yes,” Ilse muttered, leaning forward in her seat to watch this all unfold, the two boys sitting side by side. “It absolutely is.”

Ernst’s mouth fell open, not looking over to a very red faced Hanschen. “Oh….Well….That’s a….Wow….”

The blond had given up in seeming like he was innocent. The young man sat there, his face buried in his hands and his elbows propped up on the table. “I’m. So. Sorry,” He hissed under his breath and ran his hands through his hair, destroying his well groomed and perfectly placed ideal. “Ilse,” He muttered over to his best friend across the table. “I want you dead.”

“You really wanna kiss me that badly?”

Hanschen’s head shot up like a bullet. “Absolutely.” He spat out quickly before looking over to Ernst, who smiled back like a giddy middle schooler.

Moritz was the first to move from his shocked state, taking a long sip from Ernst’s strawberry milkshake before stating. “What the fuck just happened and are we still going over to Ilse’s after this or….?”

[ylla]

Green Isn’t Your Color

Series: JJBA Characters: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, polnareff is kinda there Pairing: Josuyasu Tags: modern AU, jotakak mentioned one whole time, josuke is protective and okuyasu is a culinary student who’s working his ass off Rating:

AO3 tag

I farted this out in record time today. I’ve been trying to bang out fics before school starts back up and all my free time is eaten up by it. If I manage to get into the flow of writing, I’ll keep writing, but if I fall out of it, then I just stop and never write again for like, a million years.

Please enjoy Polnareff’s advice and Josuke shitting all over someone’s life because they picked the wrong person to fuck with.

Josuke didn’t believe in getting jealous. Why would he? He knew he’s a good looking guy; has the best taste in fashion, music, and men (better than the rest of these chucklefucks on campus at least). Heads turned wherever he went, girls fell over themselves to just be near him; hell, people even offered him modeling jobs. He was always showered with compliments, but he really didn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions of him (unless it was about his hair, then he would go to war over that).

He only cared what Okuyasu thought. Josuke knew he wasn’t just a handsome dude, but also an incredibly lucky one at that. No one could find a better boyfriend than Okuyasu Nijimura. It was impossible. Oku was the piece he never realized he was missing. And as long as Oku thought he was sexy, then that was all he needed.

So yeah, why would Josuke Higashikata be jealous of anyone?

That was question he asked himself, as he once again found himself grinding his teeth down to nothing at the sight of a pack of girls flirting with his boyfriend.

His classes for the day had been cancelled; he had the same professor all day and she had informed them that she was very ill and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. So, he decided to surprise Okuyasu, but lo and behold, his boyfriend was slammed with legit customers and a horde of females, and didn’t even notice when Josuke walked in.

Okuyasu was one of three freshmen that was accepted into the very prestigious, only accepts 5 students every other year, culinary program at their university. He busted so much ass and worked so goddamn hard to get in, and Josuke was so fucking proud of him.

A bonus to getting into the program (or a curse, depending on who you asked) was working in the culinary program’s café. It was completely ran by students, with only some oversight from the department, so students got carte blanche on the menu. Typically about 3 to 4 students were assigned together in a group, and the schedule rotated who took orders and who cooked. And every single time Okuyasu was manning the cash register, the same pack of girls would hog up all the seats at the counter to talk to him.

Josuke knew that Okuyasu loved him more than anything. And he could plainly see how uncomfortable his boyfriend was, surrounded by a fawning crowd of women who kept trying to touch him.

If he was honest, he couldn’t blame them and he wondered if Okuyasu felt the same way he did when Josuke was accosted by girls.

Okuyasu didn’t really do his hair up like normal due to food reasons, so he wore a snapback turned backwards to keep his shorthairs from falling out of his ponytail. If it was anyone else, it would look bad, but Oku was so cute in it. Tomoko had nagged him into going to the eye doctor after learning that he had never been to one in all of his 19 years of living. So it turned out he needed glasses, and now wore thick, black square-shaped frames whenever he had to do a lot of reading or writing. Work didn’t require a uniform, but he had to wear plain, solid color t-shirts, which was paired with nice skinny jeans and he usually wore Converse low-tops with it. To top it off, Josuke had went with him a few weeks ago to get his ears pierced.

He was every hipster’s wet dream. Which was the exact type of girls he was attracting: girls with piercings, multicolored hair, and tattoos who talked to him like he was this unemotional hardass, when in reality, he was the softest person Josuke had ever met. Gruff on the outside, gooey on the inside (a good example of this is like how Okuyasu always bawled his eyes out when Josuke brought him home sunflowers, then called him a sappy little shithead before giving him a kiss).

They had talked about this flirting problem before. Oku had made it very clear from the beginning that he had a boyfriend, whom he was madly in love with. This did help some, but the biggest, thirstiest offenders only became more aggressive in their flirting. He was too nervous to ask them to leave, in fear that they would kick up a big fuss and he would lose his job and thus, his place in the program. Most of the upperclassmen just teased him about it, rather than actually help. The only ones who cared was the other two freshmen, and they ran interference when they could.

Josuke didn’t want to jeopardize anything, so he had to suck it up and watch from afar as the ring leader, who was super-duper thirsty, stroked Oku’s arm. He immediately felt his blood pressure rise and decided he needed to have a smoke before he lost his damn mind.

The only good thing about a cold ass February morning was that the frozen wind did wonders in calming someone down. Mostly because your thought process devolves from “I’m so goddamned mad” to “JESUS CHRIST, IT’S COLD”. Unfortunately, it was only slightly working with Josuke. He paced in front of the entrance of the building, muttering cusswords to himself, feeling like a real McAsshole for being so pissy.

He needed to talk to someone, he needed some honest to god advice.

Josuke pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts: not Koichi, definitely not Jotaro or his husband Noriaki, not his mother because she would personally come to campus to wreak havoc, not Johnny or Gyro, not…

Well it’s not like he had many options after this.

He placed his call, feeling like a bastard because it was probably about 1 am in France.

The phone picked up on the second ring, “Bonjour, Josuke. This is a surprise.” Polnareff sounded wide awake.

“Hey man, uh, I didn’t wake you up, right?”

“No, you actually caught me at a good time,” there was an inhale, then exhale of breath, “I was just having my post-sex cigarette.”

Josuke groaned, “Gross, I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, you are the one who called me at 1 in the morning, so forgive me.” Polnareff spoke in rapid French to someone in the background, “Anyways, what is on your mind, my pompadoured friend?”

This was a mistake, but it was too late. He had to soldier on, “I need…advice.”

There was a sharp, pleased squeal on the other end, “Really?? I’m so touched. I should have this moment bronzed so I can always remember this—“

“I’m hanging up.”

“Non non non, don’t be like that,” Polnareff said, trying to be placating, “Tell me, what’s wrong? Surely, you’re not after love advice?”

“Well…”

Josuke relayed the problem with Oku’s aggressive fan club. Polnareff listened without interrupting, only speaking when he was done, “So let me get this straight. You are upset that Okuyasu has all these fangirls after him, and he can’t get them to go away, in fear that he will lose his job?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to do say anything that could get him in trouble?”

“Pretty much.”

He heard Polnareff light up another cigarette, “And you also feel bad for feeling, as you put it, jealous over all the attention he’s getting?”

“It’s not because he’s getting attention,” Josuke was working on his second cigarette, “It’s that these harpies won’t leave him alone and keep flirting when he’s clearly uninterested.”

“Worried about competition?” Polnareff chuckled.

“No! I mean—I guess? I’ve never had to deal with this before,” Josuke said, frustrated that he felt unable to articulate how he felt without sounding like a complete toolbag, “Oku’s never had a lot of attention paid to him, which is a travesty—“

“Clearly not that big of a travesty, considering how you’re feeling right now—“

“He’s just such a sweet, good person! And so good to me! Not to mention, he’s hot as fuck, and stacked like a brick shithouse. It’s fucked that I’ve been the only person to see that…“

Polnareff made some assenting noises, before speaking in rapid French to whomever was there with him again. He turned his attention back to the phone, “Your colorful description aside. Are you worried that he’s going to find someone better and move on, now that he has all this new found attention?”

Josuke took to pacing again, “…I guess. But I mean, who could be better than me, am I right?” His laugh was hollow sounding.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not jealous, you’re just being territorial.”

“Isn’t that like, bad?”

The Frenchman tutted, “A little possessiveness is fine, as long as it isn’t abusive or damaging. You’re also naturally protective over people you care about, so it feels worse when you notice that Oku’s uncomfortable.”

“Damn, that’s true,” Josuke sighed, finishing his cigarette.

“Also, he’s head over heels in love with you, kid. You don’t have anything to worry about as far as him ‘finding someone better’. He lives and breathes for you.”

Josuke glanced down at the bracelet on his right wrist. On their 1 year anniversary, Okuyasu had bought him a delicate little gold bracelet that had 3 small golden stars linked together. You’re the stars in my sky, and I love you is what Oku whispered to him when he clipped it on; Josuke may or may not have cried a disgusting amount of tears.

“I know. Just…feeling insecure I guess…” Josuke paused, “If you tell anyone what I just said, I will fly to France and shave you bald.”

“Yeesh, no need for threats. I have no plans on repeating this to anyone.” Polnareff sounded like he was wincing, nothing hurt him like threats to the hair, “Everyone feels insecure at some point in their life, even us beautiful people.”

“Just making sure.” Josuke sat back down, and fought the urge to smoke a third cigarette, “So, how do I deal with all this…” he made a gesture, but remembered Polnareff couldn’t see him, “all this horse shit?”

“My advice? Stake your claim. You don’t have to be a total dick. You don’t have to get loud or aggressive. All you need to do is get one of those seats at that counter, and mark your territory in front of all those girls.”

“What if they get pushy?”

He could hear the grin in Polnareff’s voice, “Just be your sweet self. Do everything I would do.”

“Don’t think I’m gonna get that adventurous, but I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks Pol, I owe you one.”

“You sure do, but that’s a conversation for another time. Goodnight, kiddo.”

“Night, man.” With that Josuke hung up, already scheming.

When he reentered the café, it was still earlier than he normally did, but the rush had died down considerably. All of the girls were gone save for the ring leader, who was sitting in the second nearest seat to the cash register. Josuke made a beeline for the one right beside it. Oku had looked to the door with a faint scowl, clearly not had having a good day until he saw it was Josuke that had walked in. His scowl melted away into that bright, sunny grin that had earned him his pet name, “Look who it is. Did class end early?”

Josuke took a seat and just made himself right at home, “Hey sunshine,” he smirked at the color that flooded his boyfriend’s face and pointedly ignored the death glare he was getting from the girl beside him, “No, my classes with Professor Kuhn got cancelled for the week, so I decided to stop in early. How’s your day been?”

“Bad, but now that you’re here, it’s a million times better.” Oku put his elbows on the counter, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them, “What do you want?” His glasses were slightly sliding down his nose; he was so cute.

“Hmmm, I dunno…” Josuke looked up at the ceiling, tapped his chin, pretending to think really hard before looking directly into Oku’s eyes, “Are you on the menu?”

If Oku went any redder, Josuke would be slightly concerned, “M-Maybe later…” Josuke heard a huff beside him but ignored it, “Uhm, how about for now though?”

“Well, I guess I can settle for my usual.” He slid Oku’s glasses back up into place for him.

“Gotcha. You want any fruit with it?”

“Hmmm, gimme strawberries, with a chocolate drizzle.”

“Aye aye. Hey guys,” He hollered into the open window, “I need a plate of crepes, with strawberries and chocolate drizzle, please and thank you.”

“Is it for your maaaaan?” called out what appeared to be a sentient high ponytail, since that was all Josuke could see in the back.

“Yeeeahhh…” Oku answered, blushing hard.

A buff, surly looking dude walked into view, “I suppose you’ll want to cut the strawberries to arrange them in a heart? Or sprinkle the confectioners’ sugar on with love?” he teased, light French accent coloring his voice.

Okuyasu sputtered, “S-s-shut your mouth!! Maybe I do, what’s it to you??” The buff guy winked at Josuke before walking out of view again. Looked like Josuke wasn’t the only one who had put up with an obnoxious Frenchman today. “Bastard,” huffed Okuyasu, still smiling and flushed despite the insult, “I’m gonna go cut the strawberries and shit. Holler for me if anyone walks up front, okay?”

“Go do work, sunshine, I’ll be waiting.” Josuke blew an obnoxious kiss at him. Okuyasu’s ears and neck were blood red as he skittered to the back.

Now that Oku was out of earshot, Josuke finally peeked at the girl beside him. She had gorgeous lime green colored hair; nose and lip rings, with a tattoo of some kind of dragon snaking up her arm. Very pretty, but her face was twisted into a sour glare, determinedly not looking at Josuke.

“I’m a lucky guy…” He sighed dreamily. Greenie didn’t even spare him a glance. “Hey,” he said, as if he was realizing for the first time he had seen her before, “You come in here a lot, right?”

“Yep.” She didn’t even look at him, pretending to be very interested in her phone.

Josuke turned his head towards her, resting it in his right hand, “Don’t you think Okuyasu’s the greatest?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” She grunted, clearly not wanting to have this conversation.

“You know, my mom always told me to find someone who knew how to cook, was cute, and could kick ass. Never imagined I’d find all of that in one person.”

Greenie finally turned towards him, a thin, insincere smile on her face, “Must be nice.”

Josuke gave her a shit-eating grin, “Hell yeah it is… Hey, between you, me, and this counter,” he leaned in closer, speaking softer, “No one ever flirted with Okuyasu or pursued him except for me. Most people don’t realize how wonderful he is until they get to know him.” Josuke faced forward, watching Oku work in the kitchen, laughing at something the girl with the ponytail was saying. “He never had fangirls until…” Josuke’s eyes slid back over to her, “He started working here.”

She had the decency to look guilty, but it snapped into a sneer, “What, you wising up and realizin’ you got some competition?”

Unable to help himself, Josuke threw his head back and guffawed, “Oh honey, like you even stood a chance.” He looked back down at her, “There isn’t a chance in hell you could ever get with him. You’re not even his type.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared I’m gonna steal him away—“

Josuke started cackling again, “That’s too funny, you think you are remotely close to my level.” He leaned over again, going for the kill, “Green really isn’t your color, especially with your complexion. It washes you out and brings out those bags under your eyes.”

Honestly, Josuke expected her to either: A) start throwing punches or B) start crying. He got option C, which was her looking ready to murder him, but instead of acting on it, she threw all of her shit into her bag, and stormed off without paying.

“Don’t let the door hit your sad, flat ass on the way out,” Josuke called after her.

Okuyasu came back out carrying his food, “Did she leave without paying?”

“Looks like it. Can I get some water, babe?”

“Thank god,” Okuyasu sighed in relief, “She’ll be banned from coming here again. No more havin’ to deal with that shit anymore.” He slid Josuke the cup of water, “Tell me what you think.”

Josuke took a bite out of his lunch: fabulous, as usual. “You made these, didn’t you?”

“Maaaaybe. Do you like it?” Oku looked into his eyes, searching for a lie he assumed was coming.

“It’s amazing,” Josuke smiled up at him, “You’re amazing, and I love you.” He picked up one of Oku’s hands and kissed it, “Mine.”

His boyfriend went bright red, “Yours.” Oku pulled out his phone, “Alright I gotta clock out and get to class, I’ll be done around noon. You wanna go back to your place after I’m done?”

“Yeah babe, sounds like a plan. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Okuyasu walked into the back to get his stuff. When he returned he kissed Josuke’s forehead, “Enjoy lunch, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

There was a chorus of OOOOO’s from the kitchen; Oku flipped them the bird and kept walking. Josuke chuckled to himself as he finished his food.

“Oku’s got it baaad~” sang ponytail girl.

“Good job on getting rid of that girl,” The French guy was hanging out of the window, “Never thought we’d be able to get her out of here.”

Josuke held up three fingers, “There’s three things in in my life you don’t fuck with,” he started ticking down digits as he spoke, “My hair, my mother, and Okuyasu. If you fuck with them, I will ruin your whole day.”

“Sounded like you shat all over that girl’s life.”

He sniffed, “Wasn’t the worst thing I could’ve said to her.”

Like a good boyfriend, Josuke did homework and waited patiently for Okuyasu. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Oku plopped down beside him, “I hate math. I don’t get that algebra shit.”

Josuke patted his shoulder before putting his books into his bag, “You’ll do great in business math next semester.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I’m right all the time.” Josuke hopped up, “Let’s go home.”

Okuyasu sighed and heaved himself up, “Only if we stop and get ice cream on the way, I’ll pay.”

“You spoil me…” Josuke gave him a smooch on the cheek before intertwining their fingers. He pulled his boyfriend close so he could whisper in his ear, “And I’ll spoil you when we get to my place.”

Josuke could feel the heat radiating off of Oku’s ear, “O-oh? You…you got anything in mind?”

“A lot of things, actually. But that’s all dependent on whether or not you’ve been a good boy—EEEE!” Josuke didn’t expect Okuyasu to pick him up like a bride to haul ass home.

They ended up saving ice cream for later.

[willrenwrites]

10 Things About Me

I was tagged by the super lovely @j-js-notebook to share 10 things about myself.....well, here we go!

1) I love to write. My dream is to become a published author and to be actually successful. Kinda wish I could write as much as Stephen King does, I’m crazy jealous about how much that man is able to produce.

2) I really want to live in South Korea! It’s basically my goal. I fully intend to move there; hopefully within the next two years.

3) I also really want to start on Youtube. I think it’d be really awesome to have a channel with like writing tips and stuff. Maybe after I get myself published and I’m able to get a decent camera and computer lol

4) I have a doggo named Chip, a cat named Firsha, and two gerbils named Sam and Cas (Used to be three, but, alas, Dean died and now it’s two)

5) I really really want to get into creating art one day (like...painting and drawing art) because I feel like I have an immense creative side there that I haven’t even begun to explore. Perhaps one day.

6) I am the thirstiest bitch ( @j-js-notebook can confirm). I don’t even know what else to say, that basically like,,,,, I just am a thirsty bitch.

7) I’m pansexual as hell. People are really awesome and idk gender just doesn’t play into my attraction at all. Yay!

8) I have an addiction to maple cotton candy. Honestly, that shit is so good. I could eat it forever. I’ll accept my fate with the cavities I don’t even care bro

9) The song that impacts me the most out of any song I’ve ever heard is Young Forever by BTS. Every time I hear it I feel my heart do a thing and it just means so so so so much to me.

10) I’m currently learning Korean! It’s going really slowly though because I’m easily distracted and well........writing....and......I’m honestly just making up excuses someone tell me to get off my ass and work harder lmao

Honestly, I’m not going to tag anyone because I haven’t been very active here so I’m not sure who to tag, but if you want to do this and no one has tagged you, you can consider reading this as me tagging you <3