#this may or may not have been brought on by me parsing my thoughts on kobra sigh

[nexysworld]

Love your writing so much! If your taking requests may I interest you in a Chris and Leon x reader but maybe the reader talks the boys into pleasuring eachother in front of her while she gets off on watching them? Totally understand if it's not your thing! 😊

Hi anon, thanks so much for this request. It most definitely is my thing! I have never written mxm before and this was fun to try. Hope you like it!! <3

Tagging @ghostkennedy because one of their recents stories helped inspire me to make this one come to fruition. So please go check them out too. <3

Play Nice with Everyone

Read on AO3 🖤 Make a Request 🖤 Masterlist

Pairing: Leon x Chris x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, Threesome, MFM, male on male sexual touching, blowjobs, handjobs, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, tiddy fucking, dirty talk, age difference, masturebation taboo relationships??(chris and leon are reader's older brother's friends.) Not proof read.

“Are you two seriously arguing again already!? It hasn’t even been five minutes since the last time I broke it up.” You said exasperated. You couldn’t believe they were older than you sometimes, much less grown men who worked for the government, but damn if they weren’t good in bed — a well kept secret from your family, brother included. You’d been seeing a lot more of them lately since you moved in with your older brother, not having to sneak around since he traveled frequently. But it seemed the more you saw of the two, the less they got along, and the more annoying they became. 

“Sorry.” You heard collectively and rolled your eyes. 

“No you’re not, if you were you’d stop.”

“Well we do stop.” Chris said.

“Yeah we just don’t stay stopped.” Leon added. 

“Well you need to stay stopped. I’m over it.”

“Don’t be that way, Princess.” Leon wrapped his arms around you from behind. “You know how we are.”

“Yeah I do, annoying. And why are you here anyway? Ethan isn’t around.”

“You know we came to see you.” Leon didn’t move from his hold on you, out of your peripheral you could see Chris’ face flash to an emotion you couldn’t quite parse. 

“If that’s what the two of you are after, then too bad. You’ve annoyed the horniness right out of me.”

“I think we both know that’s not tr—“ Leon was cut off by Chris pulling him off of you. 

“Give the girl some space Leon.” He said firmly. 

“More like you just want to be in her space instead.” Leon quipped back. 

And the two of them were back to arguing again.You brought your fingers to your temples and rubbed them softly feeling a headache beginning to form. This was getting downright ridiculous. A thought bubbled up in your mind and you turned to face the two men, stepping between them. You put a hand on each of their chests. 

“This stops right now. You both are going to learn to play nice together if you want my attention.” 

“But —“

“But nothing! You two are going to behave and you’re going to learn to do it my way.”

“Well, what did you have in mind?” Chris asked, looking more invested in your outburst of frustration than Leon did. 

“You’ll see.” You said coyly, walking both men to the living room, before sitting on the couch. “Strip. Both of you strip.”

“I like where this is going.” Leon said with a cocky smile, you didn’t acknowledge the comment, instead opting to run your eyes over them as they undressed. Chris tossed his clothes off casually — Leon unsurprisingly took the opportunity to put on a show, teasing his abs as he worked his t-shirt up slowly inch by inch before pulling it up over his head. Then he did the same with his belt and pants. Once unzipped, he palmed himself through his underwear, already hard and letting out a small sigh of relief before tugging everything down all the way. 

You had eyed Chris and noticed he’d been paying attention as well, cock in hand, not stroking enough for pleasure but enough to keep himself erect. If he liked the show then your plan would work more smoothly than you thought. 

Leon worked his own cock in his palm giving you an eager look. “Alright Princess—“ You cut him off as he took a step forward wagging your finger.

“Nuh uh. I told you, the two of you are going to play nice if you want my attention. Back it up Leon.” 

Intrigued he took a step back before the two men looked at each other and then back to you. “Here’s how this is going to work.” You leaned back on the couch, running two fingers up your thigh until you met the hem of your shorts, pausing before walking the fingers up to the button and undoing it. “You two aren’t going to get any attention from me, until you take care of each other. The more you behave and participate, the more clothes I take off. If you get me naked, then you both can have your way with me. Understood?” “You can’t be serious?” Chris asked disappointed. 

“Dead. Serious. You two have kissed and touched each other before when we’ve been together.” “That’s different!” Leon insisted. “That’s a heat of the moment kind of thing when we’re both balls deep in you not…..you know….” “I mean I won’t force you if you’re uncomfortable, and you’re always allowed the safe word no matter what.” You assured. “But to be honest, I think I’d find it kind of hot too.” The last sentence caught their attention again. To emphasize your point, you unzipped your shorts, wiggling your hand into them to rub softly against your clit through your panties. “Fuck that would definitely be hot, watching the two of you go at it.” A little moan escaped your mouth – the look on their face as both their jaws dropping was priceless. 

Leon’s eyes were locked onto your hand and the way you wiggled in pleasure against the couch, he swallowed a thick lump in his throat. “Fine.” He said with agreement, turning to Chris. “You heard the lady, gonna have to be a team here. You up for it?” “‘Course I am.” Chris said.

They froze a brief moment of nervousness before Leon took the initiative, stepping forward and yanking Chris down into a passionate kiss. The other man looked frazzled for just a moment before returning it with equal fervor – and it was in fact, hot. 

You had already got yourself going with your hand, but the sight in front of you made an uncomfortably strong heat pang downwards between your legs, a wet spot forming in your panties. ‘God fuck, they haven’t even done anything besides kiss yet.’ You thought to yourself with a whine you tried to muffle. If they heard it, they certainly didn’t show it, focusing on each other. You watched as Chris brought his hand down to Leon’s already leaking cock, rubbing the precum into his palm before stroking him with a steady even pace. In return, the slightly shorter man let out an exaggerated moan, turning his head to look at you. “Enjoying the show, Princess?”

Nodding, you nearly forgot the deal you made. Now beyond horny and acutely aware of the uncomfortable stickiness in your panties, you remove the first piece of clothing –  your shorts. While your undies were still left on, and soaked, it was far more comfortable now without the second layer. 

Pleased that they earned their first prize, they returned to each other sharing one more kiss before making their way backwards. Chris gently shoved Leon until he fell backwards onto the other end of the couch before diving down to pepper his toned chest with more kisses, trailing his tongue up to Leon’s collarbone before sucking a bruise into the skin. 

You squirmed in place, bringing a hand up to your own chest at the same spot, internally jealous that you weren’t the one getting marked up like that. Watching was turning out to be a lot harder than expected. 

Chris’ next move was to run his tongue down slowly, like he was savoring each divet of skin between Leon’s sculpted form as he made his way down. Further and further, stopping to suck another bruise into his hip, causing Leon to jolt with a slight whine. Chris gave the other man another few good pumps of his hand before he leaned forward to take his flushed pink cock into his mouth. 

He hollowed his cheeks as he gave shallow bobs of his head, stopping every now and then to give an additional suck and swirl his tongue across the tip, lapping and catching any droplets of budding precum. 

Leon keened into the touch, gripping the couch, not having enough length to get a purchase on Chris’ hair. It was obvious even he was shocked by the boldness, but wasn’t complaining. “Fuck Redfield, you’re too fucking good at that.” He praised, letting his head roll back. “So fucking good, just like that.” You’d heard that whiny lilt to Leon’s voice before when you were the one between his legs, but hearing it while watching someone else do it – it was a site you’ll have committed to memory forever. 

That act earned them the next article of clothing – you yanked your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side. Only two items left, your sports bra and your underwear. You moved one hand back down between your legs, this time dipping your fingers under the band of your panties so you could make direct contact with your aching clit. A heady moan left your mouth at the relief from the contact, rubbing circles into it as you watched them continue. Your remaining hand made its way to the outside of the thin bra, teasing at your hardening nipples. You felt close already, not wanting to finish so soon, you slowed the movements of your hands to a lazier pace, relaxing into the gentle waves of heat throughout your body – eyes never leaving Chris or Leon. 

“Sh-shit…I’m close, hold on.” Leon managed to get out, gently pushing at Chris. “F-fuck don’t make me bust one yet, I still gotta –” 

Chris pulled away with a pop, just in time to prevent Leon from cumming, his cock flopping back and almost hitting the taught skin of his stomach. “Think it’s my turn now.” Chris said with a smirk, wiping his mouth with the side of his arm. “Yeah yeah… just let me catch my breath for a second. Think you almost sucked my soul out.” “I’ll take the compliment, hopefully you can be a good boy and return the favor.” Chris patted the top of Leon’s head before leaning back to give him breathing room. You swear you could see an embarrassed flush on Leon’s cheeks from the praise and pet name. 

Once their positions had swapped, he started nibbling and trailing bites all across Chris’ chest at a much faster pace, ever the more impatient of the two. Without warning, he darted his tongue out to lick at one of Chris’ hardening nipples, making the larger man buck up unintentionally. Catching the movement, Leon pulled away only for a second to spit into his palm, before resuming the work he was doing ensuring no part of Chris’ torso was safe from his mouth. 

With his spit-lubed hand, he grabbed both of their cocks, pumping them together. That finally earned them your bra. Fumbling with the front clasp you desperately tore if off, allowing your breasts to spill out, nipples hardening almost painfully with a mix of cool air and pleasure. Sitting up, you grabbed one of the couch pillows and stuffed it between your legs to grind against, so you could bring your hands up to your chest to massage and play with your own nipples. Desperately rutting against the pillow, again you were jealous that their much larger hands weren’t the ones cupping your breasts or playing between your legs. “Fuck Kennedy….when you twist your hand like that….shit….” Chris’s voice came out through pleasured pants, over the teasing of his chest, he wound his fingers through Leon’s blonde locks to coax him upwards to connect their mouths together in another passionate kiss while Leon continued to work both of them. The sight of the sloppy kiss along with your wildly bucking hips, you came, hard legs shaking against the pillow a loud noise a mix between a cry and moan left your mouth. They paused what they were doing to look over at you. “She really did get off on watching us.” Leon said, pulling back. “Well, I think we did put on a pretty good show. More than earned our reward, didn’t we?” You nodded, not being able to properly speak just yet.”Here, let us help.” Chris cooed, standing up once Leon was out of the way. He gently pushed you back so he could hook his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding the soaked fabric off of your legs before chucking them somewhere with all the other forgotten articles of clothing. “We get your full attention now, yeah?” Leon purred leaning forward to capture your lips with his mouth. You hungrily kissed him back, clinging to his hair, not wanting him to pull away. Between your legs you felt the head of Chris’ swollen cock running along your slit, and jolt of pleasure causing your legs to twitch each time it made it’s way over your clit. “Can’t wait to fuck you open baby.” He said, slowly pushing inside of you. The feeling of being full was just what you needed, back arching off the couch in pleasure. “Fuck your pussy is always so goddamn tight.” You were soaked already from your first orgasm, so he didn’t bother to start slow, fucking you at a rapid pace, holding your hips steady as he bullied himself deeper and deeper into your cunt with each thrust. The feeling was overwhelming as you clawed at Leon’s back for support. He chuckled and moved his mouth down your body with soft kisses, offsetting the rough pace of his friend. It was too sweet for your liking. “Lee please….bite me… mark me…god fuck…” A particularly hard thrust made your vision go fuzzy for a second. Luckily for you, he obliged your request, alternating between sweet kisses and harsh bites down your neck and as far down as he could go while Chris was fucking you. “Good girl.” Chris praised slowly down a little, rolling his hips into you. “Such a good girl. Sat so pretty watching us, teaching us a lesson while her own little pussy was whining and empty.”

“Fuck yeah she did, we’re gonna have to fill her up to thank her.” Leon moved his hand to your stomach, applying gentle pressure to the spot where the outline of Chris’ cock could be felt, intensifying the already stuffed feeling you had. His free hand moved down to rub at your nearly too-sensitive clit.

An incoherent stream of babbles left your mouth as your second orgasm rippled waves of heat throughout your body, legs shaking. Your silky walls tightened as Chris fucked you through it. “Fuck baby, gonna cum, gonna fill you up real good.” True to his words, not more than a few deep thrusts later and his cock twitched as he came, the familiar feeling of hot cum filling your insides. You looked up and Leon, glassy eyed and exhausted. His cock was still painfully hard and swollen. “It ok if I fuck your tits baby?”

You nodded eagerly, Chris helping to prop you up with a pillow at just the right angle so Leon could straddle you, cock lined up perfectly between your pillowy breasts. You reached forward to press them together to give him more friction while he rocked his hips. “Shit baby, even your tits feel so fucking good. Perfect little Princess with a perfect pussy and perfect tits.” You could feel Chris’ cum leaking out of you but it didn’t matter, watching the pleasure on Leon’s face as he finally got the release he deserved was enough to distract you from anything else. 

Chris wrapped an arm around the other man from behind so Leon could lean back into him, they shared a kiss before Chris reached forward to grab Leon’s cock in his hand. “Keep your tits like that sweetheart.” He commanded as he pumped Leon with his hand. “Such a good boy Kennedy, waiting your turn and everything.” He praised as he picked up the pace with his hand. Between the earlier blowjob and having to sideline while Chris fucked you,  it didn’t take long for Leon to finish either. You felt the warm liquid as it splattered all over your breasts and face, Chris continuing to pump him until his legs twitched from overstimulation and nothing else came out. Leon collapsed on the couch to recuperate, he turned and gave you a smile. “You always look the most beautiful like that baby, fucked out and covered in my cum.” You were too exhausted to say anything back and opted to close your eyes. “Hey I know you're tired but how about a bath first?” Chris asked softly. You shook your head defiantly with what little movement you were willing to give. “Well at least let me clean you up and move you to the bed ok?” “Do I have a choice?” “No.” They said in unison.  You sighed feeling the plush texture of a towel against your skin wiping away any bodily fluids. You would need a real shower later, but it would do for now so you could get on with the nap your body desperately wanted. Once cleaned, one of the two lifted you up and carried you to your room – you didn’t bother to open your eyes to figure out who.  “Are you two going to stop arguing from now on at least?” You probed between yawns.

“Yeah we will…” Chris said softly.

“We’ll try.” Leon corrected.

“Promise?”

“We promise.”

The second your head hit the pillow and your body was encased between them, you were out like a light – in the very back of your mind hoping they meant their promise this time.

I have a Discord for anyone who'd like to talk writing, share chatbot shenanigans, discuss RE, simp, and or just chat with new friends. We also game together sometimes too <3 (18+ only). Check it out here.

[ghosts-of-love]

My thoughts about the Captain (and especially the scenes in episode 5) under the cut. Not spoiler-free, obviously. it's also...over 1000 words

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about the way his story was handled. I’ve never been a Havers girlie and to an extent I’m still not, for reasons I would probably have to explain in a different post. I’ve always known the Captain loved Havers, but I will admit that I did always think it was quite one-sided and, given what we were shown in Redding Weddy, I had previously thought that the Captain didn’t know he loved Havers until after his death.

I didn’t mind being proven wrong about that. There was always the chance that we would be given more information about the Captain’s life that would make me rethink things. I suppose I would now see Redding Weddy less as the Captain realising his feelings for Havers too late, and more him coming to terms with it on another level. Or even just realising that you don’t have to bury everything, some emotions and memories can be brought to the forefront and considered in a healthy way.

I still didn’t get the impression that they were ever together. I think there’s a whole depth to the relationship that we were never privy to. A lot unsaid between them and the audience but also between each other. More could always be revealed in the Ghosts Book that’s coming out soon though.

There could have been mutual feelings and love and even an actual romantic relationship there but I personally believe that the raw desperation in the Captain fighting his way into the event shows that they were not in contact (eg. writing letters to each other) in the way that two people in a secret relationship might have been.

I think that they were something that ‘could have been’. They were each other’s ‘what ifs’. If it weren’t war time, if Havers (sorry, Anthony) hadn’t gone to the front, if it weren’t quite literally illegal.

Or maybe it wasn’t even mutual. I find it hard to parse Havers’ expression. His ‘I know’ isn’t even an agreement or a confession, so much as it is an acknowledgment that he understands the Captain’s feelings, even if they’re not reciprocated.

And the Captain says ‘I had to find you’. It was a desire to know he’s alive. To know he survived. He may as well have said “I had to see you in the flesh”.

I don’t think they were together back then. I think they could have both wanted to be. I think they could have ended up together in the future if the Captain hadn’t died. If he had just waited and found a way to reach out to him a different way.

I didn’t have any problems with any of that bit actually. I thought it was beautifully acted by Ben – I could feel everything so deeply. The panic of it all. The desperation. The deep yearning to get closer to Havers, however possible.

My one gripe (which is perhaps becoming less of a gripe as time passes, but might resurface when I rewatch) was actually with what happened afterwards – the apparent lack of reaction to the story by the ghosts. Or at least, the lack of time dedicated to their reactions. He didn’t say the words aloud, and neither did they.

I flip-flop between being annoyed and thinking it works, somehow. I suppose we get to fill in the gaps ourselves – there’s no, ‘he wouldn’t have said it like that’ arguments because we don’t know what he said, we just know the bare bones of what he revealed.

And they all knew anyway.

I enjoyed (you get what I mean) the mirroring of of his stuttering in season 4 ‘I – I -’. Maybe there wasn’t anything to merit sharing with the group then because he lost his nerve but also because he knew they all knew, even if he couldn’t say it aloud. And with Havers – he can’t get the words out. That doesn’t matter. Havers knew too.

It would have been disappointing to me if they’d joked or said ‘we knew’. It would have detracted from the importance, I think. I would have felt the same if they’d fumbled around to say something he didn’t actually need to hear. For example. I don’t think he actually needed anyone to tell him that ‘it’s okay to be gay’. He’s known this for years by this point, since Sam and Claire’s wedding.

But what did he need to hear?

The man who survived the war but saw no action, who sneaked into a ‘decorated officer’s only’ celebration, who crawled through a window, who stole someone’s medals – just to find, not even necessarily talk to the man he loves – the man who died of a heart attack after the war was won.

He needed to hear that he’s brave. And that’s what he’s told, and by Fanny no less (I don’t have the power to unpack all of the meanings behind that; their friendship, her previous attitudes, her husband). I don’t think anything else they could have said would have sat right with me. Considering it was a group setting, I think it was done under the right conditions – i.e. he wasn’t put on the spot like in season 4, he made the decision to say something himself, he didn’t want to move on still regretting, still believing he wasn’t brave, still thinking he’d done something terrible. I think them telling him he was brave – and all being in agreement, all letting him get his story out with no interruptions too, unlike with Thomas, Kitty, Humphrey talking about their deaths/Kitty’s ball – demonstrated a level of attention and respect they don’t normally give to each other too.

I just wish there had been a bit more. Just something. But I can’t even figure out what it is that I wanted them to say in addition, that’s the funny thing!

I suppose I had also hoped that Alison might be there when he finally admitted something about his life/sexuality. She was the one who introduced him to the idea that homosexuality is legal now and specifically welcome in Button House, after all. I think he deserved to feel that she was proud of him. But maybe she was the one who gave him the strength in season 4 to know he wanted to wait until he was ready.

But also, the knowledge that Ben has had this planned in his head from the beginning comforts me, as does the fact that he has always tried to handle the Captain’s story/arc with respect and dignity (as much as these ghosts are ever given, you know?).

Those are my thoughts, slightly untangled but still not exactly coherent. I’d love to hear what you all think too!

[frauleinfunf]

Dadrius Day 2: Apologies

@sergeantsporks

Darius really didn't want to have this conversation.

There were plenty of reasons he didn't like remembering his time as a Coven Head. All the typical backstabbing and sometimes front stabbing was enough to churn most witches' stomaches.

But beyond that, he didn't like the person he was back then. So paranoid, so vicious, so cruel. True, it's not like most of the other Coven Heads were much better.

Most, anyway.

Ignoring it, though, wasn't going to make things easier for him. Even beyond the Deamonne family and his own late mentor holding him and themselves to higher standards than that, trying to push down his guilt only made it more forceful. Darius had wronged Hunter, and every single sign of trauma from that child was a reminder of it. He knew a conversation would only be the beginning of his road to his forgiveness. Hunter spent too much of his childhood trying to predict and navigate the volatile emotions of adults to not immediately offer up a forgiveness he didn't really mean. It would come up again and again as Hunter progressed in his therapy and slowly learned how to parse out his own feelings. But after what happened at the store yesterday, it needed to happen.

So, he steeled himself, and quietly knocked on Hunter's door. He heard a distracted "Open" and slowly crept in.

Aside from a small number of trinkets and a stack of books, the former guest room looked much the same it did before Hunter moved in. After a lifetime of military style quarters, he was still overwhelmed by the idea of choosing bedsheets and posters and wallpaper. So instead, Darius slowly introduced things they were able to salvage from the castle, while also occasionally sneaking in a small gift or two in with them.

The boy in question was sitting up and reluctantly placing a bookmark in the tome he'd been reading. Darius took a seat by the desk nearby.

"What's up?" he asked.

Darius took a deep breath. "I want to talk to you about yesterday."

Hunter's eyes started darting everywhere but Darius. "What's there to talk about?" he asked. "You wanted to get me a coat, I freaked out, you said sorry, we went home."

"I know I apologized yesterday, but it didn't feel like enough. I think we need to at least to talk about our time at the castle."

"Whaaaat?" Hunter laughed nervously, putting his hand behind his head. "We don't have to. We can talk about anything else. You know what Flapjack brought in this morning?"

"Hunter." Darius said, firmly. "I know this is hard for you. But I want you to know that you have done nothing wrong. May I please tell you what I wanted to say?"

Hunter went quiet and fidgeted with his hands. Whenever he did that, he still looked like the same scared little kid Belos had first brought to the castle all those years ago. A year ago, Darius had thought there was no longer anything in common between that kid and the Golden Guard.

Hunter continued to look down at his hands, but nodded.

"I...did wrong by you back then." Darius said. "When you first came to the castle, I couldn't shake how you were the spitting image of the last Golden Guard. I had no way of knowing what Belos had been doing, but I had suspicions."

Hunter's shoulders hunched, but he gave Darius no indication of stopping.

"Belos noticed my reaction, and wanted me to know I was powerless to stop him from doing whatever he pleased with you. And that made me so angry. And I couldn't understand how you could keep defending him. I told myself that is was better for you if I kept my distance, but...."

And here it was, what he'd been afraid to acknowledge for eight years.

"That wasn't any reason to behave the way I did. I knew what Belos was doing, I could've chosen not to contribute to it. But I just couldn't understand why someone who looked like my mentor wouldn't act like him. It was an unfair and unkind way to look at it, but it's still the way I saw it. Like I said yesterday, I took my anger at the situation out on you, and for that I am so, so sorry."

Hunter finally looked up, and his eyes were wet with tears.

Normally, Darius was careful when it came to touching Hunter. Between his sensory issues and most of his previous experience with physical contact being violence, it was still a lot for Hunter to take in.

Now, however, he gave into instincts and protectively wrapped his arms around Hunter. Hunter, in return, hugged back as he cried into Darius' shirt.

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy allowed himself to decompress as Bert’s gentle pats and soft words brought him back from the verge of tears. Nothing had changed. Yet he allowed himself to enjoy the illusion of safety for a moment. “This helps,” It still bothered him how Bert’s comfort came at the cost of distressing him but… What could he do? He knew for a fact that he hated being kept in the dark more. Answering his questions— including those which remained unasked— was the least he could do. He shook his head as he answered the easiest of all with, “Probably not.” It took a bit for Teddy to compile his thoughts. Eventually he hesitantly said, “…There’s this one Glornist named Thomas I’ve been worried about. He’s just too…” Teddy paused to sigh. “…Nice. Nice enough that there was only one reason to keep him alive…” Then he kept his eye shut as he rested his head against his good arm. “Somehow I was still arrogant enough to think that I could save him… Except I put it off because its hard to approach a guy you usually avoid to go,” He scowled and swapped to a sarcastic tone as he grew more agitated. “Hello! If you don’t either dirty up your act or fake your death you’ll be ritually murdered! Here’s how I, known natural shady creep, can help!” Teddy glowered at a stray beaker left on the desk. “So I tried to earn his trust first, but that..,” He sighed as he closed his eye. “…only made it worse…” The air became dead as he recalled how even Thomas, one of the most naïve people he knew, couldn’t believe that he had good intentions. “Eventually I just cut to the chase and it, well…” His voice quickened and he started to idly rub his finger against the counter. “I heard him pray to Grop after I made him cry so I tried to give him contact info for them and urged him to leave but then he showed up Slornday anyways and I didn’t know that Sam and Cyrus were already investigating him for being a Gropist and for a bit I thought they heard everything and Sam was gonna accuse me of being one too and-” Teddy was forced to stop working himself into a panic just long enough to take a breath and pressed his fist against his forehead to ward off an oncoming headache. “It was just Thomas but I still had to use my backup plan before our meeting came out under torture and they sacrificed me too so I told everyone that I was working with them and claimed that I was trying to set him up so he’d find other Gropists on the ship but I told him about Eve because I found out she became a Gropist after what happened to Dawn when I was in the medbay and I may have sealed her fate too and-” Another sharp inhale. “But I didn’t know that Sam was trying to frame Thomas as an infiltrator taking down the Glornch becausethat'slikewanderbeingaslysndcraftygenius so they got mad that they couldn’t use the dramatic presentation they prepared but… I think Thomas bolted before they could start because… he thought I was the evil… mastermind anyways and-” That was as far as he got before he lost the wind for a long-winded rant. While he was recovering he searched the room as well as he could without lifting his heavy head. Where was Sherri Jr? Because he could really use the big lug right about now…

Bert patiently listened to what Teddy had to say without a moment of interruption. He followed along at first, nodding his head. Alright, so there’s a Glornist named Thomas who Teddy deemed worth saving. But trying to talk to him didn’t go so well. Okay.

Bert frowned when Teddy mocked himself, but kept quiet in favor of letting him express his thoughts however he saw fit. But when Teddy’s pace quickened as he started to get more and more panicked, that’s when Bert started to lose track a bit. Sam? Cyrus? Eve? Dawn? Gropism? ...Wander? There were a lot of things being said in rapid succession that Bert was struggling to parse in his head.

At the end of it, Bert gathered that ultimately Teddy was probably in cahoots with the Sam character over the Thomas character. 

“I see,” Bert softly said despite his struggle to fully understand. He gave Teddy’s head a few more pats. He jumped down from his seat and made his way over to a refrigerator while Teddy caught his breath. 

While Bert was gone, something hit Teddy’s helmet with a light thunk and bounced off, clattering to a stop on the table in front of him. It was a cashew… 

Bert returned with a water bottle. He cracked the cap open and slid it over to Teddy.

[walkawaytall]

For the fanfic emoji ask game? And also, yes, I did correct the typos in both prompts because I just couldn't leave it. (retired but not recovered assistant to a big wig).

📃 Ever written something inspired by someone else's fic?

📬 The best comment you ever received?

Thank you for asking!

📃 Ever written something inspired by someone else's fic?

So...not directly, but I know there are headcanons I've picked up reading fics that I sort of adopted as my own and it's been difficult to parse through whether I got something from one particular person or just absorbed a commonly embraced idea while binging on fics back in December (I was in my "I'm just going to read, but I won't ever write fanfiction" stage of denial then). That's been one of the wild things about jumping into fandom after avoiding it for so long -- especially since there was the EU reboot -- working through what's old canon (which I wasn't really acquainted with outside of the movies), new canon, widely accepted fanon, and personal headcanon has been borderline impossible at times. If I do knowingly pull an idea from somewhere other than canon, I do mention it in author's notes, but it's usually smallish details -- I don't think I've written an entire fic inspired by someone else's.

📬 The best comment you ever received?

So, I have received many lovely and encouraging comments and I am particularly partial to the ones that say I've captured characters' voices and characterizations well because, at the end of the day, the characters are far more important to me than how correct my estimation of the time it takes to fly between two planets is. Really, the majority of my comments have been encouraging, and some have been endlessly thoughtful, and I'm appreciative of each one. I would find it difficult to rank one above the rest since I have several that I would consider top-tier comments that have been inspiring and lovely and really made my week.

But this question doesn't ask for the loveliest, it asks for the best, so I'm going to interpret that in the way I think is funniest. And the comment that has brought me the most...entertainment was an anonymous comment left on FFN when the name "Amilyn Holdo" was mentioned in Chapter 8 of Purpose of Heritage:

Amilyn Holdo So I guess in your fanfic universe Han and Leia split up and have a kid who murders his father. Thanks for the warning. I'll find something else to read.

I know this just seems like a very bland and weirdly bitter hate comment, but every time I think about it, it gets a little funnier because:

1. I am like 90% sure I know exactly who wrote this (it's a regular commenter of mine who has been on my I'm Keeping an Eye on You List for like five months) based on some other odd behavior on the part of this person, the intense vitriol they have for the sequel trilogy that makes glancing through one of their profiles feel like reading a manifesto, and their contacting me directly about the guest comment with some really strange timing. And if I'm right and this is that reader, they're still reading and commenting on that story every time I post a new chapter.

2. This fic explicitly takes place between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, a fact that is clearly stated in the fic description. We're stopping literally the morning of the day ESB begins (I may not have the next five thousand chapters written, but I do have the final scene, so I know that much). So, even if I was super on board with the sequel trilogy's take on Han and Leia (which I'm very much not), it literally does not affect this story at all.

3. If they hate the new canon so vehemently that a single mention of a character turns them off of a fic, they should be aware that I was pulling details from From A Certain Point of View since like Chapter One and Leia, Princess of Alderaan (which is where Holdo actually first shows up both chronologically and if we're going by release date) since Chapter Three. That's right: they were reading new canon mixed in with old the whole time!

4. Amilyn Holdo isn't mentioned until about sixty-eight thousand words into the story. They read sixty-eight thousand words of my story and the mere mention of canonical Alliance member Amilyn Holdo, a character who I still can't decide if I want to actually show up, was the final straw. Which means they presumably liked most of those words, because if they were hate-reading, the mention of Holdo would have only given them more resolve to continue. So, you know, my writing isn't good enough to soothe the residual anger someone has for JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson, but it is good enough to hold a really fickle person's attention for sixty-eight thousand words. That's something.

Fanfic writer ask game

[psychictwat]

And like! I'm aware that I am neither Jewish nor Palestinian and can't begin to comprehend all of the history and politics that led to the founding of the state of Israel in the 40s, the trauma brought on from centuries of persecution and the need to feel safe in a world surrounded by like folk, and part of me really hopes that the great majority of Jews don't hate Palestine and just want to live in peace. But to take that trauma and weaponize it against folk that have been on that land for generations is some kind of cognitive dissonance that my brain cannot parse. So many little bits of this give me parallels to the US/Puerto Rico relationship, and all I feel is sorrow

All we can do with the privilege we have, living in the country we do, is hold space for the sorrow. Send the voices that need to be heard up to the front, support how and where we can. Discuss just like this! I'm so glad you sent me these messages, you know that I love you and I hope it's alright that I'm posting them publicly. I truly value your input and thoughts.

It's so weird, I've always felt defensive within Jewish spaces. Uncomfortable. We may not proselytize like Christians, but it seems there's a tendency to always sink deeper into the rabbit hole of Judaism and what the Jewish identity "should" look like.

As a spiritual Jew, I've sometimes attended synagogue when called to hold space for past loved ones...and I've always gotten the third degree from elders. "Whose child are you?" "Do you belong to the congregation?" "Have you joined a youth group?" "Have you gone on Birthright?" "Have you been to Israel?"

The pressure is subtle and difficult to see unless you are an American Jew, at least from my experiences and perspective. It's like the foundation of a house slowly settling and cracking with weight over time before the thing just bursts and all hell breaks loose.

I have so much more I want to say lmao but I'll cap it at that.

[getallemeralds]

i heard (from a three-month old post of yours) you have klonoa thoughts and i'm interested in hearing them (if you still have them)

even if not i still want to say i am on that klonoa hyperfixation juice and am a sucker for all of the symbolism i've found in the phantasy reverie games i swear it's so good

YES yes yes yes. i may not have been klonoaposting recently but i am ALWAYS full of thoughts and emotions about the series. most of them are incoherent. and will also be even more incoherent rn bc i am not very awake.

(this also comes with the disclaimer that i havent yet gotten to play the phantasy reverie version of lunatea's veil because i got to 5-2 in door to phantomile, went "not this shit again", and took a break and then haven't gotten around to setting my switch back up after travel. whoops)

i.. am putting this under a readmore.. because this is likely to get very long (and also discussing unreality in the context of klonoa worldbuilding)

SO THE DEAL WITH KLONOA. is mostly the continuity. it is a big ol' mess. the timeline between games doesn't make sense, characters appear and disappear at random, entire major character-shifting revelations (eg everything about huepow) get dropped, nahatomb goes from the incarnation of nightmares to Just Some Skeevy CEO in beach volleyball (and it's hilarious), it's just.. really hard to parse if you're somebody trying to link stuff together. i've seen some complaints about it, and as one of those people who likes to tie things together and will take a wrench to canon if i have to, i agreed for a while

and then when talking about klonoa to my friends, i came to a very important realization that made me sit down for a while and go "oh. yeah. of course."

everything is a dream.

like.. that's the whole premise of the series. these are all dream worlds that klonoa is being brought to and becomes part of for the duration of his stay. they're not supposed to be coherently connected, even if certain characters keep showing up. huepow is in empire of dreams despite it being probably after door to phantomile because huepow is someone important to klonoa, even if it doesn't really make sense for the overall narrative for him to be there without any explanation. same with lolo. klonoa meets someone, gets attached to them, and wants to see them again, so he does.

(you could also extrapolate this into "huepow is always in ring spirit form and the big reveal isn't addressed because klonoa doesn't want to acknowledge it", but that's a bit of a rougher subject.)

there's also potential for the idea that locations and people in door to phantomile are based off klonoa's waking life-- breezegale shows up a couple times (door to phantomile and klonoa heroes, i feel like there's another time i'm forgetting), klonoa's grandpa in dtp might be a phantomilian version of his actual grandpa, stuff like that. it would at least explain how huepow was easily able to graft klonoa into phantomile: there's already something to connect him to.

add onto that the fact that huepow says that, to phantomile, klonoa's world is a "strange dream".. huepow basically flipped klonoa's perspective, to where phantomile is the "real" breezegale and the real waking world is just a weird dream he had and forgot all the details of. which is still pretty fucked up. i do not have the energy to get fully into Huepow Thoughts but my emotions about this orb are "you did not need to do any of this and i am going to cry". this is a "huepow you really need to think more about your life choices" blog

idk there is a LOT to be done with how everything is framed and i really really want to explore that sometime. i fucking love klonoa

[moontheoretist]

"Now, Tony Stark has lead quite the colorful life." "I'm aware." "So we are all curious about your thoughts on a certain tape? You have seen it, right?" Tony sputtered. Shit. But Stephen didn't sound mad? Stephen shrugged. "Eventually. Out of curiosity." Oh. That was good. He looked bored—actually should Tony be offended about that? "It was…hm." Yes; yes, he should. "J, I'm strangely upset about his nonchalance over my sex tape," Tony said. "I am sorry to hear that," Jarvis replied. Hardy laughed, "Oh no, what does that mean?" "Nothing too bad. I may be biased but Tony was fine." "Fine? I'm exceptional!" Tony protested. "Indeed, Sir." "Don't patronize me, Jarvis." "It was other factors," continued Stephen. "Even taking into account the available technology, the video quality was poor, the lighting boring, and the young lady who no doubt engineered the entire thing kept glancing at the camera." "What makes you think it was her idea?" "Do you honestly believe Tony Stark couldn't afford a decent set up and wouldn't put himself in the best possible lighting to show off?" Tony was so in love. "You see that? Baby girl gets me. Remind me to buy him something expensive." "Noted, Sir," came the obedient response. "That's a good point," Hardy admitted. Stephen shrugged. "To be frank, she was trying far too hard to be sexy. Understandable mistake. I hope whatever career she was going for worked out despite all evidence to the contrary." "Um. Wow," Hardy laughed. "Merely stating facts. I give it a 5 out of 10." Stephen's eyes flickered to the camera and he smirked. "I'll do better." The video ended. Tony blinked once. Twice. Then his brain parsed the meaning behind the statement. With wide eyes and a choked gasp, Tony dove for his phone and scrambled to press Stephen's number. Stephen picked up after the second ring. "Did you watch? I look good on camera, don't you think?" "Don't you toy with my emotions like this." "I would never. But I was thinking that it has been a while and you've been remarkable. I'm most appreciative." "Stephen-" "Christine took Sofia for a girl's day out and sleepover; I do wonder how I'll spend my time." "Need a little help? I've got a few ideas." "There's nothing little about the help I want, Daddy." The phone in his hand actually creaked from his sudden, harsh grip. He idly brought up his schedule and proceeded to move everything further down the week. Satisfied it was where he wanted it, he brought the cell phone back to his ear. "If I don't see a portal to my lab within the next three seconds I am going to-" The golden ring of light and particles formed a mere three feet from where he sat. Stephen was lounging on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear (red he was truly blessed) and a smirk. Tony slowly, carefully, hung up the phone. "J, tell Pepper I died and that I'll call her later." "Sir, that seems drastic-" Tony was already through the portal and ripping off his shirt.

Have Time — Will Travel by flower-of-el (NibelungVelocity)

As soon as Stephen and sex are involved, Tony is dead to the world.

[afamer-112a-blogposts]

Blog Post #2 January 28 2023

This past week was such an interesting and enjoyable experience, especially notable to me were our discussions of Us. This movie totally captivated me and will probably be something I talk about for a very long time. And for that, this week's blog post will center mainly on all the ins and outs of Us that I enjoyed the most.

My roommates and I (one of whom is taking this class with me) cooked a huge dinner together last weekend, sat down together, and watched Jordan Peele’s Us. Right off the bat, one aspect of this film that I appreciated was its ability to be scary without disgusting. I won’t spend too much time on this, but recent horror movies I’ve seen, including A24’s Talk to Me, have felt like they have relied too much on being disgusting and horrific. Compare this to Us– which used thematic and emotional elements to create suspense and doom upon the environment of the characters that seems to seep through the television and into our living rooms. This is exactly how my roommates and I felt during the opening sequence of Us, as we watched young Addy wander her way down the Santa Cruz beach, about to change her life forever.

As far as Peele’s messaging goes, it was unclear to me until I attended lecture. The most interesting point brought up was that of the wealth issue. Professor Due mentioned that Peele is significantly above the average Black man’s socioeconomic status and pointed out how this may have been portrayed in his film. I could see how depicting the tethered as the individuals like us that had to do with out, yet made up of the same flesh and deserving of the same privileges, resembled the people around us that are struggling to get out of the same social statuses that others have either been born out of or have already transcended. As someone who severely struggles financially, I can see myself in both positions. I recognize the privileges I’ve been given at birth, but it is very difficult to see people who may not work as hard as me or struggle as much as I have be able to live life seemingly without consequence.

Overall, I found this week to be the most exciting and thought provoking material yet. I really liked how many minute, discrete undertones there were in the movie and I really enjoyed parsing them all out with theories and thoughts during the lecture. Additionally, I have a lot to thank this class for, as it’s also brought my roommates and I together over some fun food and film.

[itsnotresilience]

Is this forever or just for now?

I’m changing up my longtime blog that I haven’t touched in awhile. I had a lot to say but no time to say it. Now I have time and reason. My body has been a mystery to almost every doctor that has encountered it and at the same time labeled essentially surviving so not important enough to expend time on.

Todays blog though will be about extreme body changes brought on by medication. I have a friend, who, poor soul, has bravely agreed to be my voice of reason while I have no chemical clarity in my brain. Before you say co-dependency, this was actually suggested by my trauma counselor. The point is that I’m the type of person that crowdsources advice and perspectives before I make decisions sometimes to make sure I am considering all sides of a situation but there are many many things that I trust my gut instinct on and I’m known to be an incredibly decisive person.

All of that seems to be gone right now.

1) instead of the intellectual, quick, imaginative and productive pathways I take pride in, the chemicals steer me into the easier well rehearsed anxiety and trauma response zones almost immediately. Example. My boss engaged me in a brainstorming exercise on a work problem yesterday. I instantly felt like me again, thinking through a process and the issues I understood, the implications, ideas we could think about. Minutes later I wondered if he did it to placate me because he knows I’ve been feeling useless work wise

2) I am not in a space to even get a read on the event I’m asking about, let alone process the advice I’m getting and whether it makes sense for the event - which may not have been the event I perceived it to be because prednisone rage or sadness has tapped into what I thought to be a long dead trauma response. Example: I get an email suggesting I pause my run coaching so I don’t pay for something I’m not doing but the wording sends me into a complete tailspin of “everyone is abandoning me” and “my whole life is falling apart”.

3)I get overwhelmed by the advice I used to be able to parse through and kinda see what blend of perspectives made sense. I’m also needing it too much and burning out my amazing friends who have their own shit to manage.

So this was the idea from my trauma therapist- that for the meantime I’d have this one person to help filter things through because of the brain changes, plus- also increasing talk therapy of course.

Back to extreme body changes. The following is an excerpt of an exchange with my voice of reason through text. This has been edited for public consumption. Note that I am not body shaming anyone. This is about me, not anyone else. I’m not censoring thoughts based on what people think I might be saying or whatever else. We can have conversations in some other posts about body positivity and body dysmorphia. This is not that post.

“I was taking a bath and I thought I saw Ursula from the Little Mermaid in the mirror except she was white and had sticky stuff on her skin from EKG bruises from the 6 day IV and blood draw battle.

I was literally looking at Meghan pre-2019. The one I worked so hard to get rid of, except this one has an even more deformed shape in my minds eye- Prednisone face (one side is literally different than the other) and there seems no hope of losing it again.

I was crying, telling my husband I fucking hate everything right now and he really did try to console me. Except, he said, our 20 year old bodies are gone babe gotta let it go.

Something about his statement made me viscerally angry. I’m not pining for my 20 year old body. I’m pining for a body I literally was able to have 3 fucking months ago. I cannot wear my normal clothes and I probably have to go buy a bigger size. I’m not dreaming of my ultimate weight loss goal. I’m dreaming of “last week I was 163 pounds and feeling like I could feasibly get back on track” and I know from my last scale check I had gained 10 pounds in a week. You can tell yourself these are all steroid pounds but it doesn’t make a difference.

All I see is that horrid body I hated and worked so fucking hard to get back into shape. Back to this shape. I’m defeated and I had to tell Eric three times to let me be sad about it. It will be even harder to lose it again as I was already struggling in peri-menopause to find the right diet combination to deal with the hormone fluctuations.

I had a nutritionist appointment scheduled Monday, which I cancelled because I there is no sense in focusing on this when I can’t even breathe all the time. “

Anyone reading this is probably wondering why the fuck I am caring about this when my oxygen levels aren’t normal and I’m on bed rest and could have to go back to the hospital at any time.

I don’t know that I can explain that well enough for all of you to not judge at all. I am a perfectionist. I take care of myself. I want to describe I’m an avid runner but cannot even run or exercise right now. I’m having major memories and trauma from my last experience with this and it’s ok that you don’t understand. It’s not your body.

It’s a lot of change and loss to process at once and sometimes I just break and sound like a child who says, “it’s not fair”.

And yeah, our super favorite toxic response is, “life isn’t fair”. How exactly is that helpful? That obvious statement that everyone knows? It seems to be used just to put upset people in their upset place which is far away from spaces we have to listen to them and they could ruin our “positivity”.

I’ll say it this way, some times there are people that get lots of shit at once and others get less. There are entire swaths of people who I believe live with a lot less shit because their basic needs ++++++++++ are met. Then there are those that every day is a struggle so that “isn’t fair”compared to those who maybe their Tesla couldn’t find a charge station. That kind of comment then becomes demeaning and we should maybe think of something else to say like, “life can suck”.

Anyway, so life can suck and you just have to be sometimes.

Be kind to each other

[mochegato]

Well, Well, Well, If It Isn’t the Consequences of My Actions

Continuation of Truth Be Told

Marinette was still trying to parse through the events of the previous night.  Time, advice from Tikki, sleep, hysterical laughter, and the alcohol she’d drunk as soon as she’d gotten home hadn’t really helped.  To make it worse, Adrien had noticed something was up with her and had followed her to her studio so he could make sure she was okay, so she hadn’t been able to continue her breakdown in peace, because that would mean explaining the previous night to him.  And although Red H… Jason may have issues with secret identities, she did not.

She looked at her notice-free phone again with a sigh.  Maybe she should restart it.  Maybe he had tried calling or texting, but her phone wasn’t working correctly.  That had happened before, right?  That would explain why he hadn’t tried to contact her yet. Or, maybe with a more sober mind, he had decided he really wasn’t that interested.  Or!  Or he didn’t remember her.  Maybe he didn’t remember anything about her and was staring at his own phone right now in utter confusion about why her number was in it.

She was brought out of her spiral by the sound of the bell over the door.  “Sorry we’re…” she started until she saw who it was, “…closed.”  Her breath caught for a second when Jason smiled charmingly at her. “Oh no, no, no, no,” she muttered to herself, glancing over at Adrien nervously.  This could not be happening right now.  He was supposed to call or text.  Not… how did he even know where she would be?  Damned bats.

Adrien perked up from his spot grading students’ papers, an incredulous grin on his lips.  “Oh my God, please tell me that’s Rose’s boy that you told to fuck off. Can I get rid of him, please?  I haven’t gotten to be destructive in a while.”

Marinette wrinkled her face in disgust at the idea of seeing that guy again.  “No! He happened after,” she said getting up to meet Jason.

“You ran into him after your date?  How dare you not tell me about him!” Adrien hissed at her as she walked away.

She turned around to face him as she walked away. “Oh, I dare,” she hissed back.

“Is he why you’ve been so off today?” he whisper yelled.

“Weren’t you going to go get some coffee?  Now?” She called back.

Adrien looked between the two of them and raised an eyebrow at Marinette making sure she really wanted to be left alone with this guy who was easily as big as her dad.  “Yeah.  I need… caffeine apparently.  Something for you too?”  She nodded at him, but kept her eyes on Jason.  “Hey guy I’m suspiciously not allowed to talk to, you want anything from the coffee shop?”

Jason’s eyes flicked over to him for a few seconds to shake his head.  “No, thank you.  I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you are,” Marinette whispered to herself, not anticipating Adrien passing by just then on his way out the door.  

“Heard that,” he grinned before leaving.  

Marinette glared at him but quickly returned her gaze to Jason.  Once she was sure Adrien had gone and couldn’t hear them, Marinette finally broke the silence.  “I was expecting a call or a text,” she said carefully.  “Not that I mind the in-person appearance,” she added quickly.  “It was just… unexpected,” she finished awkwardly.

“I could have sworn you said to meet you at your work,” Jason said a little more innocently than was natural.  Marinette smiled, but quickly schooled her expression and shook her head.  Jason smiled back and shrugged.  “Huh, must be the memory lapses.  Kind of hazy.  Things come in and out.”  He knocked his knuckles against his head lightly.

Marinette raised an eyebrow.  “Is that so?”

“Yep,” he nodded popping the P.  His smile morphed into a smirk.

“Poor you,” she pouted in mock sympathy.  “Then I don't suppose you remember the proposal.”

Jason's smirk dropped. This time his wide eyes looked completely natural and believable. “Proposal?” he asked apprehensively.

“Yeah, the proposal,” she prompted him.  “Don't tell me you forgot about it,” she continued, her own eyes going wide to match his and her voice turning timid.  “You said you didn't have a ring on you, but you couldn't imagine living another day without me. ��You wanted to get married as soon as possible.  Oh no.”  She gasped quietly for effect.  “You have forgotten.”

Jason blinked a few times.  He was doing a masterful job of containing any outward signs of his panic.  Marinette could just barely see a few flickers in his eyes that he quickly tamped out.  “What? No!  No, no, no.  That’s just… No, no, not at all,” he stammered.  “It's just, that's so…” he chuckled nervously, “so not like me.  I'm just... impressed how, uh… how bold I was,” he offered.

Marinette watched him closely for a few seconds before she burst out laughing.  Jason's jaw dropped to the floor.  “You were joking,” he observed in awe.  Marinette couldn't answer.  She was gasping too hard for breath, doubled over and grasping her sides.  “Oh thank God.  I want to be mad but I'm just too grateful. Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Marinette grinned at him when her laughs finally edged down to chuckles.  “Well, that seems fair.  You almost gave me quite a few last night.  And your brother, I think.”

Jason grimaced.  “Was I that bad?”

Marinette quirked her head to the side in thought. “No, not bad.  Just… like when you just kind of stared at me for a few minutes, without saying anything, which apparently was because you were impressed but I thought it was because you were a serial killer.”  Jason chuckled lightly and bobbed his head in apology.  “Or when you revealed your face, no mask.  Or, when you told me your full name and your brother’s first name, and that he was your brother.”  

Jason winced at that revelation.  That would explain the dagger he was almost too sluggish to dodge this morning.  And the glares and lecture on the importance of security and identities.  “Maybe not my finest moment,” he conceded as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Marinette giggled at that.  “Maybe not, but you were extremely drugged and extremely endearing.”  She looked down, a light blush settling on her cheeks.  “And very complimentary.”  

“Well, that’s good at least.  I don’t really remember anything I said.”  He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet, looking around the store instead of at her.  “So, did you want to talk about last night?” he offered a bit more casually than was natural.

Marinette could see the discomfort in his eyes even if they weren’t pointed at her.  She smiled kindly at him, hoping it would put him at ease.  “Why?  You worried that you said something embarrassing?” she teased lightly.  “You didn’t.”

“Not really,” he shrugged and looked back at her and relaxed into a charming smile.  “I don't embarrass that easily.  And if I said anything I should be embarrassed about, you wouldn't have given me your number.”

Marinette scoffed at him and leaned against the table they were next to.  “I gave you my number, so you’d stop giving me clues to your identity… and your brother’s.  Didn’t work. You were quite determined.”

“I must have thought you were worth it,” Jason smiled. “High me is a very astute me.”  Marinette blushed at the sincerity in his eyes. How was he still this charming even when he wasn’t blitzed out of his mind?  “But,” he continued with renewed vigor, “if I’d done anything too bad, you would have told me already, or kicked me out.”

Marinette laughed lightly.  “Well, you’re not wrong.”  She looked back up after a beat with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.  “So, the background check on me is complete then? You’re allowed to interact with me now.”

Jason rolled his eyes and leaned closer to her over the table.  “I mean, the blood sample results were good.  Your cholesterol is a little high, by the way,” he started thoughtfully.  “It was kind of you to donate though.  Very conscientious.  And you really should call your parents.  It’s been a few days.”  Marinette paled significantly as he continued to speak.  Jason grinned.  “And we have an appointment to talk to your first boyfriend.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and let out a relieved laugh. “You reached for the sun with that one and your wings melted.”  He looked at her questioningly.  “He would have told me if he had an interview with anyone.  We talk a lot.  Not to mention why do that when you could just interview him in person.  He’ll be in town for his tour next week anyway.”

“Wait… really?”

“You didn’t even know who it was?” Marinette laughed.

“I’m sure my family have been doing extensive research on you and they probably know, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. If there was anything bad, they would tell me, otherwise I want to find out from you,” he answered sincerely and taking her hand.  “The only thing I know about you is your name and that’s only because you put it in my phone. I had a vague recollection of what you looked like and being incredibly impressed with you, but that’s pretty much it. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come down in person, to see if…” he searched for the best way to finish the thought.

Marinette nodded.  “To see if the chemistry was as good as you remember?  To see if it was still good when you weren’t drugged?” she offered nervously.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed.  “You too?”

Marinette took a breath and looked back up at him through her lashes, giving his hand a squeeze.  “Yeah.  I was nervous it was all because of the drugs.”

Jason gave her a relieved smile.  At least he wasn’t the only one nervous about it.  He wasn’t alone in this.  She was navigating it with him.  He squeezed her hand back.  “So,” he started, leaning back to give her a roguish grin, but keeping a grip on her hand, “who is the ex-boyfriend on tour?”

“Luka Couffaine.”

“Guitarist for Jagged Stone!” he exclaimed loudly, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Yeah.  I mean he wasn’t at the time.  But now, yes.”  Her eyes shone with mirth at his awed expression.  “Did you want to meet him?”

“What?  No! That’s… that would be weird, wanting to meet your girlfriend’s ex and his dad.  That’s just…”

“I didn’t mention his dad,” she cut him off knowingly.  “And… girlfriend?”  He gave her a sheepish look and looked down.  He opened his mouth to say something in response but she cut him off with laughter.  “So, that’s a yes then?”

“I mean… if you’re offering,” he tried to say casually.

“I see.  This whole thing was just an elaborate scam so you could meet Jagged Stone,” she pouted in mock offense.  She looked past him and smiled.

Jason rolled his eyes and he leaned onto the counter so he was just a few inches from her.  “You caught me.  I exposed my secret identity just so I could meet a rock star.”  Marinette’s eyes instantly widened and her body went rigid.

“Secret identity?” Adrien asked as he set down her coffee cup next to Marinette.

Jason froze.  “I… didn’t realize he was back.”

“You are shit at secret identities,” Marinette hissed to him.  “Even when you aren’t high you can’t keep one.”

“I…’m still under the effects?” he offered with a wince.  

“And you couldn’t have waited to come see me until it has dissipated?” she groaned.

“No, I couldn’t wait to see you,” he said instantly, looking deeply in her eyes.

“Oh… um… okay,” she stuttered.  Her cheeks flushed deeply.  “I… would have thought it would be gone by now,” she finished quietly.

“Nope.  Still lingering.”  He made a vague motion toward his body.

“Yeah, go with that when your brothers find out.” Marinette sighed.  “Why do they let you go undercover if you’re so bad at hiding your identity?” she asked a bit louder.

Jason’s eyes scrunched in confusion.

“Isn’t that like first day at the academy?” She continued.  She made a subtle rolling motion with her hands so only he could see it.

His eyes widened in realization.  “I think I missed that day.  Police training is pretty boring… and corrupt.”

Adrien scoffed and threw his arm over her shoulder. “Bullshit.  You just don’t want to lose the bet.  Also, backdoor, no bell.”

“Fucking backdoor,” Jason grumbled looking down and shaking his head.  He looked back up at Marinette with a raised eyebrow that she didn’t see because she was glaring at Adrien.  “Bet?”

“There is no bet,” Marinette rushed to assure him.

“That she’d date another hero,” Adrien explained, pointedly ignoring her glare.  “I’m Adrien by the way.  I’m her…” he stopped to think about his next words.  “We really need to come up with a term for it.  I’m her in no way sexual or romantic life partner?”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “I thought we agreed on pseudo brother.”

“Right, right,” Adrien nodded.  “That puts me above Alya, so I like it.  But I still like mine better.”

“If I can interrupt,” Jason cut in, “Jason, nice to meet you.  And, another?”

“Also, he’s not a hero!” Marinette objected at the same time.

“How many heroes have you dated?  And she’s not wrong, I’m not a hero,” Jason added.

“Ooh, vigilante then.” Adrien nodded.  He started mentally running through all the vigilantes in Gotham.  “I think that counts, but you can always try that.”

“Let’s get back to the dating heroes thing,” Jason tried.

“But it won’t matter anyway, because nobody is going to find out about this,” her voice lowered and became very pointed.  “Right, Adrien?  Because we’re talking about someone else’s identity.  And it doesn’t matter because he isn’t a hero and the terms of the bet, which I didn’t agree to, I might add, were very specific: hero.”

“So how many heroes do you have to date for it to become a bet?” Jason asked.

“It’s more about how many heroes have had a crush on her,” Adrien answered with a smirk.  

Jason raised an eyebrow.  “How many have developed a crush on her?”

“Every hero that’s met her,” Adrien answered with a resolute nod.

“That’s not true!” Marinette exclaimed.

Jason nodded his head as he thought about that. “How many heroes is that? Approximately?” he asked Adrien, ignoring Marinette’s interruption.

“She’s met at least twenty-five.”  Marinette groaned at the glee in Adrien’s voice.

Jason’s eyes widened and turned to her. “Twenty-five?”  He turned back to Adrien.  “And they all liked her?”  

Adrien nodded with a smug smile.  “All of them.”

“No, they don’t,” Marinette insisted.

He blinked a few times.  “My brother met her.”

Marinette stared at him slack jawed until she collapsed her head onto the table.  “You SUCK at secret identities,” she mumbled into the table.  “Okay,” she announced loud enough to stop Jason and Adrien from continuing to talk.  “First,” she turned to Adrien, “that is categorically untrue.”

“You haven’t met twenty-five heroes?” Jason asked.

“Oh no, that’s a low estimate on how many I’ve met. But only like,” she narrowed her eyes and quirked her lips in thought, “three have liked me.”  

Adrien snickered.  “That’s not even close.  There was…”

“Second,” she said cutting him off, “your brother isn’t a hero,” she said pointedly.  “Third, he was a dick.”

“Literally,” Jason snickered.

Marinette smacked his shoulder and looked over at Adrien. “He was overly friendly, but not in a Rose way; in a smarmy, I’m going to manipulate you with my charm way.”

“That’s your opinion of him,” Jason pointed out. “Adrien said heroes get a crush on you so it sounds like I need to watch him around you.”

“Fourth,” she leaned closer to Jason with a hiss, “maybe you just shouldn’t talk.”

“I think we need to up the count too,” Adrien eyed Jason critically.  “Seems like we need to add a few new heroes to the total.”

Marinette stepped in between the two.  “And you won’t try to figure out any more about his identity, because that would be a violation, right Adrien?” she continued even sharper.

Adrien rolled his eyes but nodded.  “Yeah, yeah.  Whatever.  I’ll try but there’s only so many people in the hero adjacent community that fit his dimensions.”  

Marinette slapped him upside the head and he scowled back at her.  “Stop thinking,” she hissed.  “You’re a model it shouldn’t be that hard for you to do.”  Her smirk widened at his exaggerated offended gasp.

Adrien leaned back stared at her eyes slightly narrowed.  “Ex-model, thank you very much.  Which means I've been given a permit to think again.  And just for that, I'm going to.  Day and night.  I'm going to get out charts and diagrams, create association maps, cyberstalk people, all just because I can.”

Marinette groaned and dropped her head in her hands.  “I hate you. You can’t punish him as payback toward me.”

“You’re right,” Adrien nodded thoughtfully.  “I should make it up to Jason.  Say Jason, how many stories has she told you about our teenage years?  Has she told you about the first time we saw a movie together?  How about the first time we were at a sleepover together?”

Marinette’s eyes widened.   “Alright!” Marinette exclaimed loudly.  “I believe it’s time to get you out of here… before… uh… you say anything else embarrassing, Jason,” she insisted.  “Let’s go. Now.”  She pulled Jason out of the room by the elbow.  “You get to lock up Adrien.”

“Your coffee!” he called after her.  But she and Jason were already gone.  Adrien chuckled.  “Like I need to think to know who that is,” he scoffed taking a sip of his coffee and return to grading homework.

Jason waited a block before he spoke up.  “So… you want to tell me about the sleepover or do you want to let blondie tell me later?”

Marinette mock glared at him.  “Look, if we’re going to go over all of my embarrassing moments, we’ll never talk about anything else… ever… There’s a lot,” she stressed.

Jason chuckled and pulled her to a stop.  He picked up her hand and laced their fingers together.  He gently tucked some loose hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger along her jaw. “Is this okay?”

Marinette looked up at him wide eyed, but nodded, a deep blush gracing her cheeks again.  “Ye... um, yeah.  That’s… um, yeah, that’s okay.”

“So… history of dating heroes, huh?  Guess you weren’t that impressed with my skills last night then.”

Marinette groaned playfully.  “Okay, seriously, it was only the one and yes, you were very impressive.  The way you… were able to stand for a prolonged period of time after the amount of drugs that got pumped into your system… very impressive.”

Jason barked out a laugh.  “Why thank you.  I have lots of other impressive qualities I can astound you with.  How would you feel about a date so I can show them to you?”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that,” she grinned up at him swinging their arms between them.

“You know, I might not remember anything else about last night, but there was one thing I thought I remembered and I was definitely right about,” he took a step closer to her until their chests were almost touching and leaned down to gaze adoringly into her eyes, “you’re fucking hot.”

She let out a surprised snort, her face turning bright red and Jason smirked at her.  She buried her face in his chest to hide her blush.  Jason chuckled as he wound his arms around her waist and hugged her close. “Come on,” he whispered into her ear.  “I know a good place to get food right around the corner.”  She looked up at him and nodded, letting him pull her toward the restaurant.

Continued in Night of the Consequences

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @ashbrea381writings

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Together Again’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 3)

Airdate: May 20, 2021

Story by: Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, Christina Catucci, Jesse Moynihan, Adam Muto

Storyboarded by: Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, Iggy Craig, Maya Petersen, Serena Wu

Directed by: Miki Brewster (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

Across Adventure Time’s ten season run, the show explored a bevy of “mature” themes and story ideas—topics, like love, sexuality, depression, and grieving. The show also touched upon death, but the emphasis was usually placed on the emotional toll of a loved one dying, not really what happens when you die. We knew there were Dead Worlds and Death. We knew that there was reincarnation. But how does it all fit together? What does it mean? How does it work?

With “Together Again,” we finally have many of the answers.

This special opens with a marvelous fake-out episode simply called “Finn & Jake,” that sees the two steal a magical cartoon of 50-flavor ice cream before rescuing Turtle Princess and LSP from the clutches of the villainous Ice King. This is all deliberately anachronistic and over the top. Ice King is back to his season one ways, Finn has both arms, and he is still wielding his golden sword that he lost in season two’s “The Real You.” There’s lolrandom dialogue and silly monsters; it’s like a parody of seasons 1-2. But then, this adventure starts to get all wonky, and in time Finn realizes that he is in a some sort of trance or illusion: one that ends with Jake being buried in the ground. Suddenly, Finn awakens from his reverie. He’s an old man. And he’s dead. We’re then presented with a new title card that lets us know the episode is actually called “Finn & Jake Are Dead.”

Holy Glob! They actually went there.

Turns out Jake died years before Finn, so naturally Finn is super excited to see his best bud. But something’s wrong—he cannot find Jake!! They planned to spend eternity together. But all that Finn can find is his very own psychopomp, Mr. Fox (voiced by Tom Herpich, whose purposefully stilted line readings are the epitome of delightful). Finn rightfully assumes that Jake is in a different Dead World, and so, being the ball of spunk and energy that he is, he demands to meet with Death, only to discover that there’s a New Death in town (voiced by Chris Fleming). The episode eventually explains that New Death was the son of Death and Life, and after New Death killed his father, he became the sovereign of the afterlife. New Death hates his job and decides to just blow up all the Dead Worlds so he doesn’t have to deal with it all. (I won’t get too much into the details here, because there would be a lot of story to parse out.)

Finn soon learns that Jake has reached nirvana in the 50th Dead World, where there is nothing but peace and serenity. Finn nevertheless tracks down Jake, pulls him from paradise, but in doing so, accidentally lets New Death in, who promptly obliterates Elysium, sending all the enlightened souls—including those from different levels of the afterlife—to the 1st Dead World. This gronks up the afterlife, temporarily halting the reincarnation process.

Well, Finn and Jake are rightfully ticked, and so they haunt the material plane looking for Princess Bubblegum. She’s not home (more on that later), but Peppermint Butler is! After Ghost Finn and Ghost Jake explain the situation, Peppermint Butler tells them what to do: They need to find Life and explain the situation. The duo manage just that, and Life is rightfully angry that her kid has stopped the transmigration of souls. After Life gives Finn a McGuffin sword that can hurt Death, Finn and Jake return to his abode. A brawl ensues wherein we learn that New Death has been possessed… by none other than that spirit of the Lich.

That’s right, it’s the Lich! He’s back, and boy is he evil.

The Lich explains that by possessing Death, he can destroy the afterlife, thereby destroying a key aspect of reality. Naturally, Finn and Jake are not cool with this, and they engage in combat. After Mr. Fox grabs the McGuffin sword and uses it to annihilate the Lich and New Death, he is proclaimed the New New Death and sets everything right. Finn is slated to be reincarnated, and Jake is slated to return to the 50th Dead World where he and Finn will one day be reunited. As Finn is pulled into the wheel of souls, Jake suddenly decides to go back with Finn, too, “Just for fun.” The episode ends with a card letting us know that the episode is neither called “Finn & Jake” nor “Finn & Jake Are Dead.” Instead, it is “Finn and Jake Are Together Again.”

As they say, “And there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

If you were to tell me several years ago that the last episode to star Finn and Jake would revolve around them dying, I think I would’ve been upset. Not simply sad, but rather frustrated because “they all died” can feel like a cheap ending. But with “Together Again,” it all works. And a large reason that it works is because the show goes all in with their ideas. Finn and Jake don’t magically leap back into their old life (no, no, they very much do bite the dust). Instead, the special emphasizes the cyclical nature of life through the transmigration of souls. The episode ends with a beautiful scene of Finn and Jake, bound together as soul-brothers, being reborn into a new, mysterious (possibly Ooo 1000+?) world. It’s both aesthetically and emotionally pleasing; it doesn’t feel off the way over finales might. This is right. This is the way life works. “Round and round as nature goes,” and all that jazz.

I loved the series explanation of how death works. It seems that souls land in a specific Dead World, where they ‘marinate’ for a bit, presumably being rewarded or punished based on their life in our meat reality. After a time, they are then reborn. This process repeats, with each soul reaching higher and higher levels of enlightenment until they hit nirvana, which is the 50th Dead World. So in a sense, Adventure Time has a roughly Buddhist cosmology with a dash of Greco-Roman mythos thrown in for flavor. (As to what happens after a soul stays in the 50th Dead World for a long period is anyone’s guess, but I’d speculate that when all the souls in the multiverse have been purified and land in the 50th Dead World, they will all collapse into one another and form one perfect Monad. Perhaps this is the sphere of perfection that the beings who merged into Matthew thought they were connecting to? Who knows! It’s anyone’s guess!) I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see who Death, Prismo, Life, etc.’s boss was, but perhaps that’s a mystery better left up to the imagination!

One minor thing that I loved about this special was the number of characters who made cameos as well as all the callbacks that were made to previous episodes. Regarding the former: Finn and Jake’s canine family show up (including the oft-forgotten Jermaine!), as do Tree Trunks and her myriad husbands. Tiffany plays a major role in all these shenanigans as a “death cop” of all things. There is a delightful rogues gallery stuck in the 1st Dead World (including, among others, Maja, Sharon from “The Gut Grinder,” and Wyatt). In the 50th we find Ghost Princess and Clarence happily at peace next to Booshy, the weird spirit mentioned in the Pen Ward classic “High Strangeness.” As far as callbacks go, perhaps my favorite is the clap (from “James Baxter the Horse”) that Jake taught to Finn in case they ever do get separated in the afterlife. And of course, there are myriad references made to “Death in Bloom,” the episode that planted the seed for what this would grow into.

Going into the special suspecting that it would involve Death, I was curious how they were going to handle Miguel Ferrer’s character. (In case a reader is not aware, Ferrer played Death in episodes like “Death in Bloom” and “Betty,” but he sadly passed away a few years ago). The producers’ choice to feature him in a non-speaking cameo—despite playing a relatively significant role in the story—was wise; I’m not sure if I can articulate the exact reasons, but something about his role felt appropriate and not gross, as some post-mortem memorials can be. Speaking of which, the wonderful, lovely Polly Lou Livingston was featured for the last time in this episode as Tree Trunks, happily in heaven with her literal harem of husbands. It was funny, it really was, and I’m sure that Polly Lou would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing it on screen. (Also, this is a pro-Tree Trunks safe space. Any Tree Trunks haters will be chucked into the 1st Dead World with Wyatt.)

The biggest mystery in this whole thing, for me at least, is the question of Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Several years ago, I wrote an essay about what could’ve happened to them in the Ooo 1000+ universe. I speculated that they peaced out and left Ooo behind. In this special, neither Bubblegum nor Marceline are to be found in the Candy Kingdom—Peppermint Butler seems to be the one in charge, given that he is now wearing Bubblegum’s crown. Likewise, the duo aren’t anywhere in the Dead Worlds either. Maybe the two of them skipped town and got a duplex in the Nightosphere? Who knows… I just want my favorite gals to be OK!

All things considered, “Together Again” was a marvel: An episode that managed to feel like a series finale even more than “Come Along with Me” already did without taking away from the series itself. An episode that managed to make the idea of dying funny. An episode that brought back the Lich in a way that wasn’t forced. An episode that made Mr. Fox the New New Death. An episode that gave us a beautiful ending to Finn and Jake’s story… as well as the beautiful beginning to a new one. I said it on Twitter, and I’ll say it again here: “Together Again” was the end of a sentence in a book with infinite pages. Truly, the fun will never end.

Mushroom War evidence: Everything takes place in the Dead Worlds, so not really. Perhaps a more eagle-eyed viewer can inform us...

Final Grade: That’s right, I’m gonna do it...

Post-script, I actually messaged Jesse Moynihan to ask about his writing credit. He told me that it was for an unused story idea that he had developed. I’m not certain, but I’ll bet it was a part of the cancelled TV movie they were trying to make during season 5, since that would’ve seen Finn and Orgalorg journey to the various Dead Worlds.

[crowfootwrites]

Sugar [Miguel Galindo x Fem!Reader]

I - I'm not sure what happened, because I didn't plan this lol. But it's probably because I had this song on repeat as I was writing. Miguel has been pissing me off this season, but I guess that's working for me? Idk, that seems like there's a lot to unpack there. Anyway, here's a one-shot!

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut (like, a bunch of it), unprotected sex, daddydom!miguel; language; references to sugaring (not the waxing kind) | Words: 3,295

Taglist: @chibsytelford

He had been coming in every Thursday morning for the last several weeks. He ordered the same thing every time. For Miguel, medium flat white with oat milk. An odd choice, in your opinion. Based on his appearance, you would have pegged him as an Americano guy. Or at worst, the type to order a cappuccino and casually drop the “I discovered cappuccinos at this exquisite little café on a Venice canal” line. Especially the first time he came in wearing that white suit. Might as well have been wearing a fucking straw fedora.

He sat in the café every time he came in, reading the paper and looking at you. Men did that, sometimes, but they all had the decency to look away when you caught them staring. But this guy would meet your eyes with not a hint of embarrassment and take his sweet time breaking your gaze to return to his paper. If he had been anyone else, it might’ve made your skin crawl. But the fact that he didn’t look away, as though he didn’t care that you knew he was looking, had you intrigued.

Your barista job was the way you were paying your way through school and you worked a lot. Having something like a handsome regular to look forward to made the time a little more bearable. So, your little dance with the stranger Miguel went on like this for several weeks. After the first few, you started making sure to have his order ready when he arrived, knowing he would show up at 8:15 on the dot. The first time you did that, you slid his drink across the counter as he reached for it, his fingers brushing yours lightly. You met his scrutiny with your own darkening gaze, daring him to say something. But also begging him to say something.

He didn’t. He simply smirked that infuriating smirk and took his usual place at a table near the door, opening his paper with a flick. You turned on your heel, sucking your teeth as your coworker arched her eyebrow at you.

The next Thursday, you had his order ready when he arrived, but in an effort to restore the power balance, you had your coworker bring it to the handoff. You could feel Miguel’s eyes on you as you zipped busily behind the counter, making drinks. He watched you intently for the entirety of his visit. You allowed yourself exactly three glances his way. Each time, you could tell that you were getting him riled up. You had the feeling that no one ever said no to him, and you weren’t giving him the attention he so clearly desired.

Perhaps the timing was right, or perhaps your brush-off worked, but the following week was different. You could tell something had changed when he walked in. He was all business, his shoulders squared beneath his navy suit jacket, his bearded jaw set. He looked… like he was done playing games. The thought sent an involuntary shiver crawling down your spine.

“Good morning, Miguel,” you said coyly as he approached the handoff where you had his drink waiting for him.

“(Y/N),” he offered in response, a devilish glint in his eye.

“I’d like to get this to go,” he continued, motioning to his coffee, and your heart plummeted, immediately assuming you had somehow messed this up for yourself.

“Uh, sure,” you retorted. “Not a problem.” You turned away to remake his drink in a to-go cup, mentally kicking yourself already. When you returned to hand him his drink, he was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying you.

“There’s something else I’d like.” He pushed himself off the wall and leaned over the counter conspiratorially, his mouth very close to your ear. His tone was smooth, with just enough authority to make your thighs clench. “You. On your back. In my bed.”

His words squeezed the breath out of your lungs. You pulled back for a moment to meet his gaze, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. Your pulse thrummed under your skin. “Also, not a problem,” you murmured, proud of how smooth you managed to sound, despite the rolodex of emotions spinning in your head.

***

“Fuck – Miguel!” you moaned, your back arching off of his 1,000 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets as he slid his fingers between your folds, his mouth and beard glistening with your juices. You watched him smirk from his position between your legs, his fingers stretching you exquisitely. He had one of your knees pinned roughly to the bed, keeping you spread for him. You clutched at the sheets on either side of you, but your hands started to wander as he found his rhythm inside you. His thumb circled your clit roughly as your fingers dragged themselves down your body. One hand found a home pinching and twisting your nipple, the sharp twinge punctuating the slow heat building in your core. Your other hand gripped at Miguel’s hair as his tongue lapped at your clit again, and you couldn’t help yourself as you ground your hips harder against his face, whining in pleasure.

Your first orgasm rolled through you like a wave, your whole body convulsing repeatedly as you rode it, wailing Miguel’s name in its wake. He climbed over you as you came down, his thick cock hanging against the inside of your thigh and you shivered, eager to be stretched around him as he fucked you into his fancy mattress. He eyed you hungrily as he moved to press his mouth to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. When you had been lulled into the gentleness of his ministrations, he bit down hard on your shoulder, sinking roughly into you at the same time, and you cried out as the sensation took your breath away. You clung to Miguel, your fingers clawing frantically at his back, as he bottomed out, thrusting hard and deep.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he rolled his hips against yours. You relished in the sounds of your fucking echoing in the spacious room, his hips snapping furiously against your ass. He tossed your legs over his shoulders and pounded harder into you, the new angle sinking him even deeper. The fire in his eyes excited you and had your pussy throbbing around him.

“Ahh, Jesus, Miguel, just like that,” you gasped, feeling the pressure building in your core. The higher he took you, the emptier your mind became, until all you knew was the ache to be filled. Miguel pulled your hands off of him, grabbing your wrists roughly and pinning them to the bed above your head, never breaking stride.

“Please don’t stop,” you cried, your eyes screwed shut, quickly approaching another orgasm. Miguel dropped himself onto his elbows to hover over you, the added stimulation over your clit wrecking you. Your second orgasm snapped, spots bursting behind your eyelids and you clenched around Miguel completely. He fucked you through it and moments later he was pulling out to kneel in front of you on the bed, stroking himself desperately before releasing ropes of hot cum on your chest.

He was breathing hard as he ran a finger through the sticky mess on your chest and brought it up to your lips. He watched with dark eyes as you opened your mouth obediently and sucked the taste of him off of his fingers.

After a moment, his face relaxed and he pulled himself off the bed, returning from the bathroom with a damp rag. He gently cleaned off your chest, grazing your clavicle with his lips. You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you, at the image of Miguel Galindo cleaning you up.

“What?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

“Hope you’re not expecting me to give you my employee discount from now on,” you snickered.

Miguel grinned. “I think I can afford a cup of coffee, querida.”

***

You were more than a little surprised when Miguel showed up at your door late one Saturday morning. You had been sleeping together for a few months by then; sometimes at fancy hotels, but usually at his home, in his bed. Well, and on a lot of his other furniture. But considering that he lived in a very expensive house with lavish trappings and armed security, him coming to your shitty apartment in Santo Padre was unprecedented. But there he was, standing at your door, while you stared back at him wide-eyed. You drank in his suited appearance while you stood before him in bare feet and an oversized Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt.

“Good morning, princesa,” he said smoothly, that notorious smirk fastened to his lips. “May I come in?”

You shifted from foot to foot. “Uh, sure, I guess.” You stepped back to allow him through.

You watched skeptically as he gazed around him. He kept his expression smoothed into neutrality, making it impossible to read him. Most apartments in Santo Padre were old and somewhat run down. You had worked hard to make yours feel homey. It was small, but your couch was new, and you had a nice TV you had saved up for. There was framed art on the walls and pictures on the shelves. If he had said anything negative about your home, the only space you had to yourself, you might have thrown him out. Perhaps he sensed this; either way, he kept his mouth shut.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you asked courteously, the nicety feeling strange on your tongue considering that not two days ago that same tongue had been wrapped around his cock.

“Coffee?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes, but still let the grin settle on your lips.

You padded to the kitchen and pulled out two ceramic pour-over sets, your grinder, and the most expensive beans you had on hand. You got started on the familiar, comforting process of making coffee, letting yourself focus on the grinding and the pouring and the steeping, while your mind tried to parse out what Miguel was doing here.

When the coffee was done, you returned to the living room to find Miguel sitting on your couch, gazing down at the papers you had been going through strewn chaotically across the coffee table. He glanced up at you as you entered, a rare smile gracing his features, but you caught the furrow of his brows before he looked up.

You handed him the cup of coffee with an arched brow.

“You need a better system of organization,” he chided, motioning towards the mess.

You shrugged as you dropped onto the couch beside him. “Probably, but I would need to find the motivation to organize it first. Looking at all of this makes me depressed,” you responded, only half-joking.

Miguel studied you seriously for a moment. Then his features relaxed and your chest unclenched accordingly. He set his cup on the coffee table and settled back into your couch as you pulled your legs up under you, getting comfortable.

“So,” you started, drawing the word out. “What brings you to the wrong side of the tracks this fine morning, Miguel?”

You caught the irritation that flashed in his eyes as he turned to look at you. But he eased up when he spotted your wry grin.

“Needed a break from work,” he said simply, his hands gently pulling your feet onto his lap.

“So, you came to hide out in the last place they’d look for you, huh?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

He drew a low groan out of you as he pressed a thumb to the insole of your foot. You had worked a double yesterday and your feet were killing you. You closed your eyes, your head dropping against the couch cushions as you relaxed into his touch.

When you opened them a few minutes later, Miguel’s hungry stare was focused on you.

“Fuck, querida, the sounds you make,” he growled, reaching for your hips and pulling you roughly onto his lap, your back pressed against his firm chest. You let your head drop back onto his shoulder, his breath in your ear sending tremors down your back. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch teasing against the fabric of your panties. Your pussy clenched in anticipation, and you moaned, a low, wanton sound that had Miguel restraining you firmly with his free arm.

“So needy for me, (Y/N).” With a quick flick of his wrist, he had pulled your panties off and let them drop to the floor. He draped your legs over his, opening you wide for him. His middle finger caressed your slick folds, frustratingly slowly. Patience wasn’t your strong suit, and Miguel very much enjoyed lording that over you.

A low rumble reverberated in his chest as he swatted at the side of your bare ass on his lap. “Beg for it,” he commanded, nipping hard at your neck. You yelped at the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

“Please, Miguel. Please, I need you.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, rocking on Miguel’s lap, as much as his hold would allow, desperate for more friction.

“That’s better,” he remarked as he plunged two fingers into you. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, devastated by the feeling of him stretching you. The pace he set was savage, and you were quickly approaching the edge.

“Fuck, I – I’m so close,” you wailed, the rolling in your hips no longer under your control.

So he pulled his fingers out. A petulant whine escaped your throat before you could stop it and you heard Miguel tut chidingly in your ear.

“Up,” he ordered, and you rose off his lap. He pulled at your waist and bent you over the arm of the couch, positioning himself behind you. You heard his pants dropping to the floor before a firm smack landed first on one cheek, then the other, making you rock forward against the couch, wetness sliding between your thighs.

“Please,” you whispered, and Miguel cracked, pushing his thick cock between your folds. He sheathed himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips. After giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he pulled out and slammed back into you, returning to his brutal pace from earlier. He looped a strong arm around your torso and hauled you up, his fingers finding their place in a firm grasp around your throat. He fucked furiously up into you, your living room permeated with primal grunts and moans.

Your fingers wandered needily to your clit, twirling around it until the tight coil in your belly snapped and you were coming, writhing so forcefully that you broke from Miguel’s grasp and caught yourself with trembling hands on the arm of the couch. Miguel reached down and gripped your hair, tugging just enough to turn your head to the side, watching you come down from your high. His cock was punishing inside you and you were trembling from overstimulation, but you knew he was close. His jaw clenched and he leaned over you, pressing his forehead against your spine, fucking you deep.

A few more thrusts like that and Miguel was coming undone inside you, his cock twitching with his release. From the corner of your eye, you could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he pulled out, immediately going to fetch a towel from the bathroom. He cleaned you up, placing gentle kisses on the red marks on your ass and combing his fingers through your hair. You grabbed his hand and led him to your bedroom, pulling under the covers with you, your eyes already heavy with sleep.

A short nap later, you shuffled back out to the living room, leaving Miguel asleep in your bed. Despite your little interlude, you had to be somewhat productive today. You sighed, steeling yourself for the stack of bills still awaiting you. Your rent and tuition bill would be the priority. There had been more fee hikes at the school, so you were probably looking at another couple of months of pulling as many doubles as you could manage to cover expenses. Plus, you had to consider the cost of your textbooks. As you perched on the edge of the couch with your elbows on your knees, you scanned the sea of papers looking for the tuition statement. Your eyes widened as you located it, a soft “what the fuck?” escaping your lips.

There was a check on top of it. For the total amount of your tuition for the semester. Signed by Miguel Galindo.

You picked up the check with trembling fingers, as though terrified it might disintegrate if you thought about it too hard. You stared at it, your thumb tracing over the check amount, as you stood robotically and made your way back to the bedroom.

Miguel was still asleep, facing the edge of the bed, the almost permanent stress lines around his eyes and mouth gone. You sat heavily on the floor beside him, your head almost touching his, still staring down at the check in your hands.

“Miguel, what is this?” you asked softly, and with a groan, he opened his eyes.

It took him a moment to register what was happening, but when he did, he shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t want you to have to work doubles all month. Then I’ll never get to see you.”

A quiet hum thrummed in your throat. “This is a lot of money,” you muttered.

His lips turned up into a grin, a hint of condescension behind his sleepy eyes. “No, it’s really not, princesa.”

Your brain worked hard to process what was happening. What he was doing. “Does this mean you’re like, paying me for sex, essentially?”

Miguel heaved a heavy sigh and sat up in bed, pulling you into his lap. He buried his nose in your shoulder, his lips gliding softly across your skin. “Consider it mutually beneficial. I need something from you,” he growled, trailing a hand teasingly under your shirt, “and you need something that I can give you in return. And like I said, I would be a very unhappy man if I never get to do this,” he continued, pinching your nipple roughly, eliciting a fragile whine as your mind snapped to attention, “because you’re always at work, especially when I can do something about it.”

You nodded, a little dazed, and Miguel pulled you against him as he laid back down, spooning you. You began to relax as you talked yourself into the arrangement. You were already having sex, right? So, this was just… sweetening the pot? You imagined for a moment how much less stressful your life could be if you didn’t have to spend all your time either in classes or at work to pay for classes. You could have more time to study, more time to cook so you wouldn’t be living on fast food. And you certainly weren’t going to turn down more time with Miguel.

You chuckled quietly and Miguel squeezed your hand questioningly.

“Does this make you my sugar daddy?” you asked with a laugh.

Miguel scoffed. “Not a fan of that term, but I suppose that is an accurate description.”

You rolled over to face him, meeting his heated gaze. You wrapped a leg over his hips and threaded your fingers into his hair, desire blossoming in your belly. “What about just daddy, then?”

You watched that signature smirk appear, the clenching of his jaw hinting at his swelling arousal. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you roughly to the bed. “Now that, querida, I can work with.”

[helpistolethesecharacters]

A Match Made by the Gods

Part 2

Thor x Male Son of Zeus Reader

Word Count: 1576

Hi Anon! I hope this is what you were after for part 2!

-----------

Thor leaned back in his seat, admiring Y/n as he sipped his drink. They had been meeting a couple of times a week for a drink or two ever since their encounter in the forest over a month ago now.

After the initial misunderstanding between them, Thor had felt a little unsure how to go about acting on the not-at-all platonic feelings that were developing inside him. Normally he would just go for it, after all, you wouldn't know if the other person was interested if you didn't ask, but he was wary. Things hadn't ended well with Jane, and he was hesitant to have things sour between himself and Y/n.

"Tell me more of this 'Camp Half-Blood' that you work at."

The amused expression on Y/n's face was worth more than Thor could say. He did so enjoy seeing the other man's face light up in any way.

"Well," Y/n began with a private smile, "We're all descendants of Greek Gods. We've got the big three; Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, and then the lesser known Gods and Goddesses of the Pantheon. Each one has a cabin for their children when they come through the camp. Some of them are bigger, like the one for Aphrodite's children, and they're usually located near the various things that are the most relevant to that God, like Poseidon's cabin is located right on the water."

Thor watched Y/n gesture with his hands as he got more caught up in explaining. There was so much life in this man. Thor enjoyed being someone who was allowed to see it.

"The kids are great, but things can get pretty crazy when you add in super abilities and prejudices and whatnot."

"Prejudices? What do you mean?"

Y/n took another sip of his drink and mulled the question over. He was sure that Thor wasn't asking about the word itself, more the context. He refused to buy into the popular theory that the God was totally naive.

"Well, its a pretty mixed bag at the camp. There are the kids that stick to their parents particular grudges and beefs with the other Gods and Goddesses in the hopes that if they hold the same beliefs, then maybe their parent will pay them attention or find them worthy, or something. And then there are the ones that can see their parent for what they are. Those are the ones that either make up their own minds or hold the complete opposite opinion simply for the chance to pull the finger, metaphorically, at their absent parent."

Thor bowed his head in thought.

"Those that can see their parent for what they are. What are they?"

His normally boisterous voice was lowered to account for the serious conversation he had stumbled onto.

Y/n leaned in unconsciously as he answered.

"Well, essentially they're the deadbeat parent that left the other parent with a baby and no real way to protect it from the dangers that come for them just for being what they are."

They were silent for a little while, both lost in thought.

"I think that, for the God or Goddess in question, there's an element of shame in there. More than what you would expect for having abandoned their child."

Y/n licked his dry lips and kept his eyes on his glass, now empty on the table in front of him.

"For them, we, the children they leave behind," he clarified with a quick glance at Thor, "are a symbol. We are absolute proof that they are not the perfect beings they pretend they are. We are the undeniable fact that they, the seemingly divine Gods, fell in love and laid with humans. For all their powers, they are not so different from us. The only difference is that we don't deny our faults."

Thor sat in silence, just watching the man on the other side of the booth. For all that both Asgardians and Olympians were regarded as Gods by the humans, they were apparently quite different. He, for one, was sure there was no force on Midgard that could force him to leave Y/n behind. He would even defy his own father if it came down to it. He might not have the other man in the way that he wanted yet, but he was sure that at some point in the future it would happen. Their meeting had been nothing less than an act of fate.

-----------

Something odd was happening to Thor. A few times in the last week his powers had acted up without his prompting. Specifically, the last two times he had walked Y/n back to his car, he had gathered his courage and gone to lean in to try to kiss him goodnight, but instead of either being rebuffed or accepted, thunder would rumble out of nowhere or lightning would strike down far too close for comfort.

It wouldn't affect Thor much, it was his element, but if he was this out of control at the thought of kissing the other man, he was worried that he could accidentally hurt him, or worse.

So tonight when they were standing by Y/n's car and lingering by each other with no other reason to prolong goodbye, Thor was understandably nervous. He wanted so badly to kiss Y/n, but he really didn't want to be the cause of pain for the other man.

He didn't even get close this time, as just as he made to step closer, thunder rolled across the sky warningly. Thor looked into Y/n's eyes, an exasperated look on his face.

"I am very sorry about that, I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. I haven't been this out of control since I was much younger!"

He took in the guilty look on Y/n's face and felt his own face shift to match the confusion he was feeling.

Y/n cringed.

"I don't think it's your fault."

Thor shifted slightly.

"Father." He said softly, suddenly connecting the dots from their first meeting. The look on Y/n's face was confirmation enough for him.

"Your father is Zeus, the lightning God."

Thor spoke slowly as he parsed out his thoughts. Y/n nodded with a defeated look on his own face.

"Yeah, sorry about this. I don't know what his problem is, he hasn't interfered in my life in years. To be honest with you I thought he had forgotten he had me as a son."

Thor thought to relations between the realms of the 'Gods'.

"I might have an idea about that."

--------------

'Sometimes it pays to know so many sorcerers.' Thor thought absently to himself as he stood on the top of the Empire State building. He wasn't about to walking into their realm, but he also knew that if they didn't do this now, he might never get up the nerve to do it.

It had taken pathetically little time to find out where the entrance was. Thor knew he could have asked Y/n, but he wanted to sort this out without him, and he just knew that Y/n would want to be involved if he told him why he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, he knew how the 'Gods' tended to think of humans, Y/n might only be half human but that still made him lesser than them in the eyes of those with powers and life-spans like theirs, and Thor wasn't about to put Y/n in that position if he didn't have to.

An earsplitting strike of lightning right beside him brought Thor out of his thoughts. He looked out over the skyline instead of facing the man he now knew was Y/n's father.

"Why have you come here Asgardian? You are not welcome in our territory."

"You know why I am here."

He left it at that. Zeus knew why he was there, and Thor wasn't prepared to pretend otherwise.

The other man turned to stare at Thor. He turned to meet Zeus's eyes. He wasn't about to be cowed by this man. They shared an element after all.

"You are trying to corrupt my son."

Thor rolled his eyes and turned back to the skyline. It was less infuriating.

"I have no such wishes. Your son is a good man. I wonder what stake you could have in the matter. The worried father? I think perhaps you lost that right when you gave him to his mother and turned away. Perhaps you are worried for your power base? I have no plans to sway Y/n from his position, nor any future plans you may have for him."

Zeus was staring stonily at Thor.

"Whether I was there during his childhood in person or not is not the issue here. I was always there in spirit."

He sighed, and seemed to lose his fight.

"I suppose, in the end, you are right. I have no control over who my son dates. But let me tell you. If you hurt my son, not even your All-Father will be able to save you from my wrath. There will be nowhere in any realm that you could hide where I would not find you."

With a last strike of lightning, Zeus was gone, leaving Thor standing on the top of the Empire State building alone.

The one thing that broke through the silence left behind by Zeus was the thought that if he hurt Y/n, he would deserve everything that the other God would heap on him.

[kindness-ricochets]

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.