#war nerd radio

[fffartonceaweek]

Seymour Hersh discusses his latest scoop on Biden bombing the Nord Stream pipelines, on Radio @TheWarNerd

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How America Took Out The Nord Stream Pipeline

https://seymourhersh.substack.com/p/how-america-took-out-the-nord-stream

[spurgie-cousin]

was browsing through christian homeschooling fundie accounts and there was a couple that named their daughter Tapestry. Tapestry.... their other kids names are Rhythm, Treasure, Bravely, Manning, Cherish, Liberty, Mercy, and River. Poor girl got the worst name. I like Mercy and River, and Liberty isn't too bad i guess

Yea the weird name thing is definitely not limited to fundies, it's just kind of a conservative/small town white America thing in general lol. Honestly progressives aren't immune either, I know so many Whole Foods almond moms who name their kids like Cedar Cove or Amethyst Gaia etc.

[englebright]

listening to the rwn interview with sy hersch and it's really funny when the lads who pride themselves on being the No Respect Boys are so clearly overawed by their interview subject; john—a nearly 70-year-old man—called him "Mr Hersch" lmao. (chapo were a bit like this for dolan himself when he was on there first, as I recall)

hersch is hilariously cantankerous for what was ultimately a friendly "how do you keep being so right?" interview, all but saying 'why are you asking such stupid questions'. the blunt dismissal of "don't you get annoyed about being questioned by bellingcat? they really wind me up" with "ahh c'mon, why would you care about those guys": hilarious.

[jayne-hecate-writer]

I have been building with Technic again and present this rather pretty little truck.

The thing is, I rather like trucks, for all of their utilitarian beauty and huge throbbing engines. This one took some work to get it to where I wanted and started off as a strange Soviet era model, which was stripped until all that was left was the custom from axle driving the fake engine. I also used non-Lego tyres and these are a tight fit on Lego Wheels, but are a lot more grippy than Lego tyres, meaning that they make steering more glitchy unfortunately. They do make a satisfying squeak on the ground though, just like the real things. I knew that when the rebuild started, I wanted it to be useful, to have a crane, but then with a crane it needed rear support to make it stable while lifting heavy loads. The more functions it had, the more gear boxes and motors I needed to use, until in the end, it was so heavy, the differentials kept slipping and the drive shafts kept breaking. So although it was pretty, had a Star Wars reference in plain sight and lots of the functions worked, including the head lights and tail lights, it was effectively useless... But it did look pretty.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

2600’s amazing Hackers on Planet Earth con may go down under enshittification

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

It's been 40 years since Emmanuel Goldstein launched the seminal, essential, world-changing 2600: The Hacker Quarterly. 2600 wasn't the first phreak/hacker zine, but it was the most important, spawning a global subculture dedicated to the noble pursuit of technological self-determination:

https://www.2600.com/

2600 has published hundreds of issues in which digital spelunkers report eagerly on the things they've discovered by peering intently at the things no one was supposed to even glance at (I'm proud to be one of those writers!). They've fought legal battles, including one that almost went to the Supreme Court:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DeCSS

They created a global network of meetups where some of technology's most durable friendships and important collaborations were born. These continue to this day:

https://www.2600.com/meetings

And they've hosted a weekly radio show on NYC's WBAI, Off the Hook:

https://wbai.org/program.php?program=76

When WBAI management lost their minds and locked the station's most beloved hosts out of the studio, Off the Hook (naturally) led the rebellion, taking back the station for its audience, rescuing it from a managerial coup:

https://twitter.com/2600/status/1181423565389942786

But best of all, 2600 gave us HOPE – both in the metaphorical sense of "hope for a better technological tomorrow" and in the literal sense, with its biannual Hackers On Planet Earth con:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hackers_on_Planet_Earth

For decades HOPE had an incredible venue, the Hotel Pennsylvania (memorialized in the phreak anthem "PEnnsylvania 6-5000"), a crumbling pile in midtown Manhattan that was biannually transformed into a rollicking, multi-day festival of forbidden technology, improbable feats, and incredible presentations. I was privileged to keynote HOPE in 2016:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1D7APjmVbk

But after the 2018 HOPE, the Hotel Pennsylvania was demolished to make way for the Penn15 (no, really) skyscraper, a vaporware mega-tower planned as a holding pen for luxury shopping and empty million-dollar condos sold to offshore war-criminals as safe-deposit boxes in the sky. The developer, Vornado (no, really) hasn't actually done all that – after demo'ing the Hotel Pennsylvania, they noped out, leave a large, unusable scar across midtown.

But HOPE wasn't lost. In 2022, the ever-resilient 2600 crew relocated to Queens, hosted by St John's University – a venue that was less glamorous that the Hotel Pennsylvania, but the event was still fantastic. Attendance fell from 2,000 to 1,000, but that was something they could work with, and reviews from attendees were stellar.

Good thing, too. 2600 is, first and foremost, a magazine publisher, and these have been hard years for magazines. First there was the mass die-off of indie bookstores and newsracks (I used to sell 2600 when I was a bookseller, and in the years after, I always took the presence of 2600 on a store's newsrack as an unimpeachable mark of quality).

Thankfully for 2600, their audience is (unsurprisingly) a tech-savvy one, so they were able to substitute digital subscriptions for physical ones:

https://www.2600.com/Magazine/DigitalEditions

Of course, many of those subscriptions came through Amazon's Kindle, because nerds were early Amazon adopters, and because the Kindle magazine publishing platform offered DRM-free distribution to subscribers along with a fair payout to publishers.

But then Amazon enshittified its magazine system. Having locked publishers to its platform, it rugged them and killed the monthly subscription fees that allowed publishers to plan for a steady output. Publishers were given a choice: leave Amazon (and all the readers locked inside its walled garden) or put your magazine into the Kindle Unlimited system:

https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/arp/B0BWPTCP4K?deviceType=A1FG5NAKX0MRJL

Kindle Unlimited is an all-you-can-eat program for Kindle, which pays publishers and writers based on a system that is both opaque and easily gamed, with the lion's share of the money going to "publishers" who focus on figuring out how to cheat the algorithm. Revenues for 2600 – and all the other magazines that Amazon had sucked in and sucked dry – fell off a cliff.

Which brings me to the present moment. After 40 years, 2600 is still at it, having survived the bookstorepocalypse, the lunacy of public radio management, the literal demolition of their physical home by an evil real-estate developer, and Amazon's crooked accounting.

This is 2600, circa 2024, and 2024 a HOPE year:

https://www.hope.net/

Once again, HOPE has been scheduled for its new digs in Queens, July 12-14. Last week, HOPE sent out an email blast to their subscribers telling them the news. They expected to sell 500 tickets in the first 24 hours. They didn't even come close:

https://www.2600.com/content/hope-ticket-sales-update

It turns out that Google and the other major mail providers don't like emails with the word "hacker" in them. The cartel that decides which email gets delivered, and which messages go to spam, or get blocked altogether, mass-blocked the HOPE 2024 announcement. Email may be the last federated, open platform we have, but mass concentration has created a system where it's nearly impossible to get your email delivered unless you're willing to play by Gmail's rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

For Emmanuel Goldstein, founder of 2600 and tireless toiler for this community, the deafening silence following from that initial email volley was terrifying: "like some kind of a "Twilight Zone" episode where everyone has disappeared."

The enshittification that keeps 2600's emails from being delivered to the people who asked to receive them is even worse on social media. Social media companies routinely defraud their users by letting them subscribe to feeds, then turning around to the people and organizations that run those feeds and saying, "You've got x thousand subscribers on this platform, but we won't put your posts in their feeds unless you pay us to 'boost' your content":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/platforms-decay-lets-put-users-first

Enshittification has been coming at 2600 for decades. Like other forms of oddball media dedicated to challenging corporate power and government oppression, 2600 has always been a ten-years-ahead preview of the way the noose was gonna tighten on all of us. And now, they're on the ropes. HOPE can't sell tickets unless people know about HOPE, and neither email providers nor social media platforms have any interest in making that happen.

A handful of giant corporations now get to decide what we read, who we hear from, and whether and how we can get together in person to make friends, forge community, rabble-rouse and change the world. The idea that "it's not censorship unless the government does it" has always been wrong (not all censorship violates the First Amendment, and censorship can be real without being unconstitutional):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/04/yes-its-censorship/

What can you do about it? Well, for one thing, you can sign up for HOPE. It's gonna be great. They've got sub-$100 hotel rooms! In New York City!

https://store.2600.com/products/tickets-to-hope-xv

If you can't make it to HOPE, you can sign up for a virtual membership:

https://store.2600.com/products/tickets-to-hope-xv-virtual-attendee

You can submit a talk to HOPE:

https://www.hope.net/cfp.html

You can subscribe to 2600, in print or electronically (I signed up for the lifetime print subscription and it was a bargain – I devour every issue the day it arrives):

https://store.2600.com/collections/subscriptions-renewals

2600 is living a decade in the future of every other community you care about, weird hobby you enjoy, con you live for, and publication you read from cover to cover. If we can all pull together to save it, it'll be a beacon of hope (and HOPE).

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/19/hope-less/#hack-the-planet

[phanchester]

since there are so many data nerd phannies i decided to make a compilation of all the spreadsheets i could find - lmk if i missed any or if you want me to add any additional details <3

last updated: 29/04/23

actively updating spreadsheets

dan and phil uploads from 2021-2024

dan and phil’s upload schedule from all their channels with days and dates

amount of days in between videos in each channel

pie charts of days of the week they upload

made by @ahappydnp 

everything dan and phil related

all of dan and phil’s video links from all their channels from all their accounts (including super amazing project, snapchat, vine, tiktok and more)

all of dan and phil’s radio shows, including reuploads and playlists, as well as the dan vs phil, fan war and internet news if available for each show with misc clips and written recaps

all of dan and phil’s liveshows, including some written recaps and the app where it was originally posted

all of dan and phil’s vyous including the question they were answering

all of dan and phil’s collaborations and video features (even if they were in the background), including the channel they were originally uploaded on 

all of dan and phil’s interviews

all of dan and phil’s merch, including originally shop links and links to the phandom wiki which has further information

all of dan and phil’s professional photos as well as some fan photos, including the event, photographer and platform

the dates and statuses of each of these videos (lost, archived, unlisted or public)

made by @stillarchivingdnp

dan and phil 2024 upload stats

each of their 2024 videos with channel, upload date, upload time in uk, length, sponsor and editor/s (if applicable) with an accompanying colour-coded calendar

(for amazingphil videos) whether dan featured and (for dapg videos) whether it was gaming/talking and who tweeted it

interactive part where you can see the time period between two videos

averages, maximums and minimums for times between uploads, upload times and runtimes with accompanying graphs

percentage of videos with other editors, with pie charts for all channels and each channel

made by @dnpbeats

all or nothing: dan vs phil season 2

all of the games for season 2, with the year they played them and the results with and without all or nothing coming into play

how often all or nothing came into play and who suggested it

the general impact of all or nothing

made by @organized-chaotic-disaster

dan and phil saying “i love you”

when dan and/or phil said ily

the video and timestamp from when they said ily and whether it was prompted

pie chart of dan or phil saying ily

made by @ahappydnp

games where one of them decides the winner

date and link for each video

overall winner with the winner for each round

breakdown of the amount of times each of them have won each round and the percentage phil has won

made by @dnpbeats

dan and phil 2024 upload schedule

upload date for each video, with the day of the week and approximate time it was uploaded in cst, including the most common and second most common upload day for dapg

days between each upload, including the longest gap, shortest gap, average gap and first and second most common gap for dapg

a colour-coded calendar displaying the upload schedule for dapg and amazingphil

made by @kat-aa

completed spreadsheets

all or nothing: dan vs phil season 1 with a great accompanying document with further details and analysis of the data

all of the games they played, with the year they played them and the results with and without all or nothing coming into play

how often all or nothing came into play and who suggested it

the general impact of all or nothing

made by @organized-chaotic-disaster 

youtuber tours

(not necessarily dnp but it includes them!)

120 different tours, including the creators, names, dates, countries, links (if available) and producers (if applicable)

each tours’ venue capacity range, average and total attendance

individual tour show breakdown with city, state, country and additional notes

data on each venue’s capacity, number of tours, and which youtuber went to each venue

data on each country’s amount of shows, broken down into states and cities

made by @stillarchivingdnp 

gamingmas 2023 schedule

all gamingmas video titles from 2023

the time each video was uploaded in gmt

made by @cactuslester

spreadsheet screenshots in posts

listening trends in all or nothing

scatter graph for the correlation between track number and number of listens

analysis of the data

made by @serendipnpipity

analysis of dnp’s letterboxd ratings and movies with part 1 and part 2

(pt 1) rating distributions for all the movies they’ve rated, including details about which movies one rated higher than the other, and which movies they rated the same

(pt 1) a list of their five-star movies

(pt 1) a list of movies one logged but not the other

(pt 1) cute little misc notes about the specific movies and dates

(pt 2) ratings broken down into genre, studio and franchise with accompanying bar charts

made by @philsrosesweatshirt

views on post-hiatus dapg videos after specific time frames

i believe this is a work of progress!

video titles with the dates and months, along with details of whether they were sponsored or had external editors

view count after 24 hours, 48 hours, 1 week, 2 weeks, 3 months and 6 months

made by @goldenpinof

favourite dnp tour song statistics

years phannies started watching vs the year they joined the phandom represented in a bar graph

favourite dnp tour song in a donut pie graph and a bar graph

favourite song vs year joined represented in a bar graph

made by @serendipnpipity

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.

[harmonictechnicality]

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now. 

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way. 

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him. 

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness. 

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body. 

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers. 

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head. 

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy. 

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests. 

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time. 

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking? 

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier. 

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too. 

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere. 

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible. 

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in. 

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies. 

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.” 

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words. 

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does). 

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve. 

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night. 

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself. 

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

[moralesmilesanhour]

Ooo hi, can you write something with gamer/streamer Miles G? Maybe he and the reader just chill and play games talking about life or whatever.

streamer miles!

Ok this went in a sliiightly different direction but the general premise is the same i hope that's ok lmao (also lowkey trying a new writing style/approach)

A/N: comment which animal crossing villager you think miles would like if u want 🫶🏾

You only really see a fraction of a person online. 

The messy, disagreeable thoughts that don’t fit into a neat little post, every time you’ve ever tripped over something and ate shit, all of your worst outfits - none of it exists if you don’t make it known. If you decide you’ve never stumbled over your own feet a day in your life, then it’s so. No one’s gonna claw their way through your screen and check.

For example, you had never seen Miles Morales smile with his teeth before until you clicked on his livestream, and none of his viewers would ever be able to guess.

He was laughing at some joke being made in the chat. 

“Y’all are terrible,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Miles’ stream had been recommended to you by the ever-mysterious, totally-not-creepy algorithm ‘based on your location’, and the thumbnail with his dimples on full display piqued your curiosity.

He’d been passing by once when you accidentally dropped your books and folders while rushing to class. He knelt down and picked them up without a word, dropping them into your hands in a much neater stack than they had originally been in, from largest to smallest. 

Your eyes met for less than two seconds, but you could’ve sworn that there was a softness to them that couldn’t be caught from a distance. 

“Thanks!” you called out as the late bell rang. He only nodded before turning away, not bothering to walk any faster.

You never spoke to him again, having no idea what you’d even say. He rarely spoke outside of class, but you had assumed that based on the way he skulked down the hallway and the permanent ‘I’m bored’ look on his face, that he’d be playing something a little more…serious? ‘God of War’ maybe, or ‘Last of Us’. Or some sports-related game that you couldn’t understand.

Certainly not ‘Animal Crossing’.

Tentatively, your fingers hovered over the keyboard as the stream of comments began to slow, and you wondered if he’d be more likely to see it if you commented this instant.

–Who’s ur favorite villager?

There, nice and simple. Inoffensive.

Miles squinted his eyes at what was presumably a second monitor.

“Who’s my favorite villager?” His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he put two and two together. “Oh! You mean the li’l animals and shit. Um, the blue penguin? Ace? I like him.”

You sat back and watched him play for another fifteen minutes, most of which were spent figuring out what direction a couch sitting inside his virtual home should face. His voice was low and almost raspy, but…muted. As if someone had turned the volume down on it like you would the radio. He was fortunate to own a decent microphone.

–You got your own PC? 

It seems you got lucky a second time, and Miles paused to read your comment aloud once again.

“Yyup,” he answered proudly. “Put it together myself. I’ll do a tour one day. My setup is wavy, you’ll see!”

He continued going back and forth with the comments in chat, occasionally thanking some for making small donations. The fact of him making anything at all just from playing a video game was impressive. 

Miles remarked on the ‘classical style’ of one of the buildings on his island, and you snorted. Nerd.

–bro thinks he’s an architect

This made him giggle. A light, breathy sound that you would hardly expect to come out of him.

“You’re a hater, man. Watch me get hired as soon as I’m outta college and build yo’ next apartment building.”

You looked down at your phone and realized it was nearly one in the morning. With a yawn, you said your goodbyes in the comments and left the stream.

-

The cafeteria was full by the time you got downstairs, leaving not a single space on the white benches save for two completely empty ones near the back. 

Well, not completely empty.

As you weaved in between students carrying trays of slop with milk cartons, a familiar pair of cornrows came into view.

It’s now or never.

Timidly, you slid onto the bench right beside Miles. Focused on his meal and the tattered sketchbook he carried around, he looked up at you with just his eyes.

“Hey,” you tried to greet him casually with an awkward smile. “I saw you ye–I mean, I…I saw you. In general.”

His blinked slowly. “We all go to the same school.”

You cleared your throat.

“...Right. We-uh, met in the hallway.”

“You dropped all your books on the floor.”

“Yeah!” you replied a little too loudly. “I just, um, wanted to say hi.”

“...hi.”

There was a stretch of silence as you sifted through a list of topics to rescue the conversation, and a lightbulb went off.

“Do you have any hobbies? Other than drawing, I mean.”

Miles gave up on sketching and answered, “Video games.”

“Which ones you been playing recently?”

“Uh, Mortal Kombat, 2K,” he counted on his fingers, “and Animal Crossing, just to see what it was about–”

“Oh, you’re really good at that one!”

You both froze. Uh-oh.

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“I-I mean, you just…look…like the type?” 

You started frantically chipping away at the remaining nail polish on your fingers. Not even you could believe that one.

A tiny grin played on his lips. 

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Soon the bell rang, saving you from making any further incriminating comments.

“See you in class?”

“Yeah, see you in class,” Miles replied, before tilting his head. “Or wherever I see you.”

[handweavers]

Can you recommend any podcasts about anything history related, maybe even specifically about imperialism and war? I’m always wary to start podcasts about those topics when I’m not sure of where the hosts stand

i use pocket casts as my podcast 'hub' so ill link to them all thru there but you can also find them through whichever app you prefer

ancient history & prehistory - tides of history is consistently excellent, interviews archaeologists and historians currently working in the field and makes an effort to highlight issues in the field, address misconceptions about various ancient peoples and jumps around the globe a lot so it's not eurocentric, the host emphasizes social history/the lives of every day people, and i know that he is a fellow traveller

current events regarding war and imperialism - rania khalek dispatches, she's a lebanese-american journalist based in beirut and interviews a lot of left wing anti-imperialist journalists and scholars and activists, her reporting is consistently excellent and explicitly marxist & materialist, i love her. she works for breakthrough news which is also a good news site for similar reasons

war and imperial history and current events - radio war nerd is a classic. lots of interviews with left wing anti imperialist scholars and activists, series where they cover histories of various conflicts and empires, ongoing coverage of wars and genocides. they did a series on the us civil war that was great. they do talk about the weapons of war, tactics and strategy, etc more than the others on this list do which could be a pro or a con depending on who you are, but it's always interesting.

history of american imperialism - blowback, genuinely the best 'primer' to american empire in the podcast space. each season is a different war - they've covered the iraq war, the cuban revolution, the korean war, and most recently the history of american empire in afghanistan. if you can't/don't want to pay for premium there are bootleg feeds out there (i can send you one if you dm me lol)

irish revolutionary history - revolutionary ireland, not as much to say about this one but it's excellent and his accent is lovely lol

[octuscle]

Studying has been so stressful lately ? Have you got something to help me relax ?

Thursday morning, 8:00 a.m. You park the old Toyota Prius that you took over from your mother in the student parking lot. Thank God it's the weekend soon, you think. But you don't feel like going to the microeconomics lecture right away. Integration of AI in the pricing of inhomogeneous markets. Unfortunately, you're not one of those nerds who can jerk off to the lecture notes. But you have to go through it now. Before you go in there, you surf through Instagram a bit. An ad for Chronivac TimeTravel pops up. It looks silly… Kind of like a role-playing game. You have to choose a character. You think about how your dad always raves about his college days. Maybe it would be cool if it was 1983. And if you were a bodybuilder. A stupid meathead. You choose that as your character. You'll worry about the rest later. Your lecture is about to start. And you still have to fight your way through the group of activists protesting against the climate policy.

The lecture is really too complicated for you. AI is a complex subject. But in combination with microeconomics? Whoever came up with that… You breathe a sigh of relief when the lecture is over. As well as you can with your face mask on. This pandemic is really exhausting. But it's good that at least there are lectures in presence again. This videoconference crap is really not mature yet. Next lecture is Spanish for Business. That's more your thing. The professor is really hot. Good motivation to go back to the workout later. You've been spending every free minute in the gym for two months, and you're starting to see results.

During the lunch break you sit with the lads from the wrestling team. Wrestling is not your thing. But the lads look like bulls. And you like that. You talk about the legalization of cannabis in Canada. That would be a cool thing here too. You've pretty much given up smoking and alcohol since you got into bodybuilding. But you don't think there's anything wrong with a little weed now and then.

At 4:00 p.m., university is over for you for the day. You sit down in the five-year-old VW Jetta that you took over from your mother. It's really embarrassing. You feel ashamed every time you drive it to the gym. Let's see, maybe you can at least put a cool matte black finish on it…

The workout was awesome again. You totally forgot the time. You're back in your car at 9:00 p.m. and drive to your dorm. You turn on the news while you prepare your dinner. China's Vice President Xi Jinping is appointed vice chairman of the Communist Party's military commission. The 57-year-old is seen as a potential successor to state and party leader Hu Jintao. Boring stuff… You certainly don't have to remember that name.

The alarm clock rings at 5:00 am. Breakfast. And off to the gym. The car radio is talking about a possible invasion of Iraq. Many of your buddies from the gym were in the army or navy… Their nerves are on edge. You can understand if you still have friends or family who might have to go to war. But 09/11 must be avenged!

Before university, leg training is the order of the day. You are proud of your colossal thighs. Many of your buddies only work out the upper body. You have the best proportions here. You've only been lifting iron for two years. But for you it's not a leisure activity, for you it's a religion.

You're just in time for your lecture. Game theory. You take your pad and pen and start taking notes. A laptop would be really cool right now. But you know four or five people on campus who have one. It's just incredibly expensive… But you won't need much longer for your bachelor's degree in sport management. Then you will hopefully be able to afford something like that. And hopefully also a new car. Your Jeep Wrangler is a cool car. But it's also eleven years old. Built in 1980… At least it gets you to the gym at 4:00 p.m. reliably.

Some dumbass turned on CNN instead of MTV on the workout floor. Some shit with the Soviet Union. Apparently everything is falling apart there and the former Soviet republics are forming a new union. Boring shit. Fortunately, someone quickly switches back to MTV. Good Vibrations with Marky Mark. Cool guy. But quite a weakling. You do a double bicepz pose in front of the mirror. You've been here every free minute for almost three years. Maybe you should be in one of those music videos.

After your workout, you wanted to go straight to bed. But it's Friday night. 10:00 p.m. The lads ask if you'd like to go to the late show of the new film with Michael J. Fox. Back to the Future. Why not. The movie's pretty funny, too. Time travel. Strange conception… But you like the idea…

Saturday morning, October 22, 1983. At 10:00 you're back at the Gym. On the way here, you've been listening to the radio about peace demonstrations in Europe. The Russki is once again threatening nuclear war. And we are stationing Pershings in Germany. Bonnie Tyler's "total eclipse of the heart" is playing from the speakers in the gym. Fuck the Russki and fuck the Germans. You're all about getting your muscles burning. At 2:00 p.m., your shift at the counter begins. Tonight you and your pals are going to wrestling. That would be a cool alternative. You as the new Hulk Hogan! But until that happens, you help out at the gym on weekends. And during the week, you'll drive a backhoe on a construction site. Hey, it's a cool life. You don't want any other!

[onesidedradiostatic]

What if there’s like. nerd messageboards where sinners and denizens argue about overlord stats like its fantasy sports or overlord theory deepdives. and vox has a bunch of sockpuppet V-stan accounts, and a secret account where he stalks the alastor threads, getting into heated debatebro arguments, posts alastor fancams, “where is the radio demon?” conspiracy theory essays, bidding wars on alastor memorabilia and collectables, bragging about his giant collection, $50k commissions etc

HEEELP, in-canon stan account hcs are always so funny. I hope he talked about his alastor body pillow there too. velvette's seen the account and she definitely suspects it's him.

also

$50k commissions

anon you knew EXACTLY what you were implying.

[skylarmoon71]

Bumblebee (Transformers) - Chapter 1

Meeting Bumblebee and Sam was possibly the best thing to happen in your life. At heart you’d always been a nerd. In high school that really wasn’t a flex. You always sort of knew Sam. He was constantly running a little hussle on the side. 

It was adorable. 

But after the fight in the national city, things changed. Sam changed and then you met his cousin Bumblebee. You just assumed it was some kind of nickname. Your little crew had expanded. It was just you, Sam, Mickeala and Bee. You couldn’t have been happier. Especially since they were the only ones that seem to believe your theory of alien existence. 

Most people thought it was just a phase, but you were a scientist and you’d been studying the markings and messages since the battle that the government tried to cover up. 

They said it was an international attack and everyone just believed it. 

None of it made sense. 

You were determined to prove that with the help of your friends. 

“Bee! You won’t believe what I found!!” 

His blue eyes sparkled at your call, brown hair a bit tousled from whatever activity he’d been doing in the living room of the Witwicky household. You had pretty much become a member of the family. 

“Well Hello (Y/N) it’s always nice to see you. Can I get you anything?” Judy asked. You shook your head. 

“No thanks Mrs. Witwicky, I just had a scientific breakthrough. Come on Bee!!” 

You grabbed his hand, leading him to the backyard as you dropped your bag. With notebook in hand, you flipped the pages taking a seat as Bumblebee joined you. 

“What did you find?” He looked intrigued. The second his eyes landed on the symbols you drew, he swallowed. 

“I’ve been trying to decipher these for months and I think I finally cracked the code. “ 

There were a few scribbles, and next to the foreign writing was a few notes. “ 

“Bee these symbols have to be alien and I think I figured out what this one means. It says prime.” 

He was impressed that you were even able to translate the writing. 

“Of course there’s a lot more, it has to be, but I don’t have the entire message. So prime must mean something. In a lot of other languages it means savior or leader.” Your brows were furrowed as you reached for your computer from your bag, pulling up some sites to correlate. 

“Whatever it means, I'm getting close, I can feel it. I’m almost done with my radio system too. Plus John said that if I helped him with the last three cars that I could use the junkyard to hook up my portal. “ You did a little cheer. 

“It’s all starting to look up!!” 

You were overly excited, and Bee wanted to share your joy. But he couldn’t. Because all the answers you were looking for were right in front of you. It killed him not to tell you the truth, but Optimus was very clear about involving anyone else in this war. While they had an alliance with the navy, it was agreed that staying hidden, at least for the time being, was the best call. There were still Decepticons out there hunting them. Wanting to cause harm to the human race. They couldn’t allow that. 

“I’m protecting her.” 

That’s what he kept telling himself. 

Everyone around you knew the truth and Bee was worried that when you did find out, it wouldn’t be as exciting as you hoped. 

“Hey Bee, you okay?” 

You took notice of the sadden expression. He looked up, letting out a breath and he forced himself once again to lie to you for your safety. 

“I’m fine, I just did really bad on a test recently.”

“Why didn’t you say anything! It’s algebra isn’t it? I can help you. This alien stuff can wait. I have plenty of time to become a scientific genius. First I gotta make sure my best friend makes it through high school.” 

You placed all your items down with a grin, and the pit in his stomach just became worse. You literally just dropped everything to help him because you thought he was struggling. His spark felt a bit cold in his chest. 

“Come on, let’s go study.” You started shoving your items into your bag as you nudged his shoulder with a giggle. When you moved to the door, Sam came running out. 

“Bee Opti-Uh I mean your dad needs to talk to you pronto!!” 

Bumblebee’s eyes lifted, and you looked a bit worried. 

“Is your dad doing okay?” 

He almost forgot that even Optimus’s existence was another cover story. 

Bumblebee nods. 

“He’s doing better.” He assured you.

As far as you knew his father had an illness, hence his reason for living with Sam. You’d never even question why you were never able to meet him. One night you’d just sat down and told him that you understood what it was like losing a parent to an illness. You’d been raised by your grandparents. You barely remembered your parents because you’d lost them so early in life. Then shortly after you’d lost your grandfather. Now it was just you and your grandmother. 

His gut twisted, and he bid you goodbye, following Sam out the door. He hoped that this distraction would help his conscience. 

[thecameronchronicles]

The Curator's Daughter

TW: smut. Language. mentions of murder and blood. Angst. Soft!Dom!Trevor. Mentions and hints at assault.

SUMMARY: A moment of tragedy leads you to Trevor's arms. 

WORD COUNT: 3300

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

The Curator's Daughter

You were the reason he remained within this dead-end job. Mopping floors and acting as maintenance, despite the fact he needed a manual for even the most basic of upkeeps, you were why he endured it. All because he found his heart to take on a new rhythm with the way you controlled a room with your smile or held such passion behind every word spoken. Even as he scrubbed the stains from a recent storm, he became enamored with you as you described your father's latest collection to the very school of rugrats you were left cleaning up after. And it was the way your eyes illuminated as you detailed the specific safeguarded artifact that he found to be admirable. Inspiring even. He was able to stare at you from afar, admiring every feature you may have even found as flaws, without needing an excuse to do so. 

A countless shift as a means of a paycheck and harmless surveillance of your nearly ethereal existence was set to pass once again. As the Curator's Daughter, you were a constant presence to what would have been an otherwise barren establishment, closed nearly an hour before his arrival. It made for lengthy and even eerie nights that were sweetened by the echo of your presence. 

The scent of your vanilla coffee from a recently fueled pod from the Keurig in your father's office. The light coming from beneath the door, and on his more fortunate of nights, the crack left ajar as he could then sneak a peek of you. Even a slight hum from a song you'd heard on the radio before arriving earlier that day had left him silencing his headphones just to hear you. But none of them were present tonight. Only silence. The kind of silence that was deafening. 

"Stop it!" You ordered, the distress in your voice motivating him to charge to the direction of your dismay. But at the moment your eyes came to the scene, he found something only a wicked dream should ever hold as reality. 

"They're priceless!" You pleaded to the man you and Trevor knew all too well. But where he was your boyfriend, a title as loosely worn as possible, Trevor saw him as a rival. A guy who was never deserving of your time but always charming enough to convince your father otherwise. A detail that challenged him had been that of his father offering quite a large donation for the museum. It was well known by the employees, but an unspoken nepotism of financial favor. 

"I don't give a shit-" His hand came to the nearby display. An authentic bowl from an ancient and recently uncovered civilization ruined by his tantrum. The pieces now at the floor as you fell as if you'd been destroyed along with it. 

"Look at me-" He charged, a hand to your hair, disheveling your classic bun.

"I've had enough of this shit! I have had models offer me blow jobs and all I did was let them touch me...for YOU! And are you worth it? Some nerd? Some fucking-" He slightly stumbled as you rose to try and correct his stance. Even with his cruel words, your heart shone through. But he saw this as a wage of war, using his back hand to strike you. You collapsed into another display, some oddly shaped device now left on the floor. 

"I've put up with more than enough! Bout time you made it up to me-" His motions were swift as yours were desperate. As you fought against him, he managed to pull you down in such a way that left you helpless. Pleas futile against the raging storm outside as you had only prayed it would be swift. But in the attempts to try, you heard him grunt. 

A teary gaze witnessed him turning over this one shoulder as a warm drip of blood fell to your chest. Your blouse torn by his convictions and evidence of your savior having lowered to your attacker's motivations, now a way to analyze the situation. 

"What the fuck-" He stood, stumbling for what you assumed to be the alcohol. And yet, whatever had been used to assault him had made him immediately sober. You knew his anger well. You knew his drunkenness well. But never fear. And this was what became of him. 

"Come here..." Trevor explained as you struggled to move as your boyfriend's eyes widened in that final plea. His body suddenly set to reject gravity and become nearly one with the wall. 

"What is happening?!" You called to Trevor, who was trembling as you were. But as both witnessed the echo of chains acting as a funeral profession of this misogynistic narcissist the world was better without, your body stiffened where his tried to pull you away. 

Your body was set within a state of shock. Blood. Skin. Screams. Please. Everything came to you in flashes as Trevor's voice returned you to reality. His hands were delicate at your shoulders as you deduced you were in his apartment. 

"You might want to...uhm...change..." He explained as you stood in the threshold of the bathroom. For a moment, your eyes hadn't adjusted to the gore written in your blouse as evidence. More than what had been done to you. 

Yet you nodded. To agree. To be alone. But as you stood before the mirror, the sight of the blood stained over you, the bruising and busted lip reminding you of the moments just prior to this, you began to hyperventilate. Your chest too heavy and your throat too tight as you shuffled around the bathroom. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, pushing the door open just enough to witness you rummaging through his medicine cabinet over his sink. Melatonin and some aged prescriptions falling loose to the basin as you searched for anything to defend yourself. 

"You killed him!" You accused. This was the only thing that made sense to what you saw. Creatures too hellish to describe with voices more demonic than the devil himself. And yet, you knew somehow, someway, it had been reality. Yet, this custodian you'd witnessed in your peripheral vision from time to time acted as a placeholder for what you couldn't explain. And he became the object of your confusion. 

"Get away fuck me! Get the hell-" But on your most violent of attempts, he corralled you quite easily. He pinned you against the cold rim of the sink as you were kept in place by the grip he made to your wrist. For a moment, a brief reprieve of desperation, you saw the truth in his sweet eyes. Blue irises pleading the words he couldn't utter to convince you, as your fight or flight response returned. 

A rush of spit to his cheek surprised him enough to loosen his grip as you managed to bypass his reach by a hairline. Wrapping your fingers around the knob of his front door, however, you felt him quickly keep it closed behind you. 

"I'm scared just as shitless as you are. But I'm not letting you leave in this!" He explained as you narrowed your eyes before realizing you were in only your underwear. You moved quickly to the couch, wrapping a blanket over your body as he couldn't help but adore the portions of your frame he was allowed. The same bed dreamed of when he'd return here after finishing that dressed shift only you made endurable. 

"I saw the same things-"

"What did we see?! We must have been drugged or overtired or-"

"I don't know. But I know he was..."

"You stabbed him with that...that diamond box sphere thing! Then he...you heard him...and those chains...and his skin...and-" Tears filled your eyes as you spoke the words aloud. The memories reminding you in detail that it wasn't a horrid dream or the effects of negligence to drink responsibly. This was somehow a memory. A horrible memory. 

"I don't know what happened. But he was going to hurt you-" He attempted to take a step further as you shot backwards on your heels, his hands springing up on either side to remind you of his surrender. 

"If I wanted to hurt you, I could have left you there." Your eyes sharpened. 

"That isn't exactly convincing me to trust you..." But you knew he was right. Even if he was a stranger, he was the only one you could rely on at this moment. 

"We have to call the cops or-"

"And tell them what? Some...demon came out of the wall and ripped your boyfriend to shreds?" You clenched your jaw.

"Do you have one humane bone in your body?! I just saw him get torn apart-"

"I won't feel bad. I just feel bad you had to see it..." He was nearly emotionless as he spoke as he moved to the kitchen. A rag taken beneath the faucet as he turned on the water. But as he attempted to resort to this to wipe the stubborn specks of blood from your cheek, you  had seen it as an instigation of war. 

"Asshole! He'd still be alive if it wasn't for you! Whatever happened, it was YOUR fault! YOU! " You beat into his back as he allowed it for only a moment before turning to face you. The complacent and quiet custodial man had become passionate and aggressive, directing both emotions to you. 

"You want me to apologize for stopping him from ruining you?! I'm not dumb enough to think he doesn't know what it's like to touch you but I wasn't going to let him do it right in front of me! Not when he doesn’t deserve to fucking touch you in the first place!"

"I-"

"Now I'm not going to apologize but I am also not letting you go back there until I can try to understand what the...fuck that was...so hate me and try to even...stab me in my sleep or whatever, but you aren't leaving until I know you're okay. So let me wipe that blood off your cheek and then you can be pissed at me from over there-' You were silenced by his words. In any interaction of a raised timbre, never before had it been done to this degree. With passionate care. With others, it was greedy. Hurtful. Selfish. But never protective. 

Your eyes followed him as your feelings about him changed completely. He was no longer a stranger at this moment. He was the closest confidant you had. He was a twin flame to the trauma you'd experience. And he was riding the same wave of adrenaline that had your eyes weaken to that dark desire he hadn't noticed as he focused on the stain on your cheek. 

It would take only that gentle brush of his finger beneath the cloth for your fingers to wrap around the back of his neck. Immediately, his hands came to your hips. That need he believed he'd hidden well now quelled by your intention. His body was swift to accept this as he backed you into the counter. Lifting you before you could take a breath, he stationed himself between your legs and pulled you to him as you gasped. 

"I've wanted this for a long time...but if you want this, I'll make you forget about him...I promise..." Your morals twisted into your desire until it faded into need alone. You needed another touch. A deeper kiss. And with that, you nodded your consent. But as you attempted this, he allowed a handful of kisses before withdrawing. A thumb breaking the connection as he traced the mark left behind by your ex, forgotten by Trevor's touch. 

"I want to hear you say it so I know. I won't force you to do anything. But I won't be gentle." Your thighs attempted to join to relieve the pressure left by his words. It was a motion that made his eyes lower between the small space between you. 

"Say it..."

"I want you to tell me you want this. And I want to know it's with me." You could see a pain behind his eyes of this need for validation. And with your own ambitions needing accommodation, you obeyed. 

"I want you, Trevor. I want you to make me forget..." 

"I can't do that..." Your eyes narrowed. "I want you to compare him to me." He explained with the hand from your hip having now wrapped your damp hair within his hand. 

"I want you to think of his touch here..." He explained, his fingers at your panties and within the cotton while your lips parted. 

``Is this okay?" You nodded as he returned to his dominant existence over you.

"I want you to know that when I make you moan-" He narrated the whimper from your lips as he smirked, "It's because MY fingers are doing it. Anybody before me is just...a weak comparison...." You bobbed your head as a second finger made you wince. 

"Trevor-" You took your hand around his wrist in desperation. For more. For less. For nothing. For everything. 

"I'm going to take care of you. Make you come like he never could." He kisses you with a tongue tangling in yours, which made it impossible to respond. Not that you tried. 

Once he felt you reciprocate into him, he lifted you towards the bedroom. But instead, had you straddle him on the couch. His fingers remained inside of you during this interaction, twisting to the perfect degree to interrupt your already breathless exchange for oxygen. 

"You look so fucking good riding my fingers...But I think it's time you ride me-" He motioned for you to undress before he had done the same, your eyes widening to his anatomy. Larger and angrier than you'd ever witnessed. And all you wanted was to feel it. 

"Wait...' He orchestrated you back over him. He positioned his cock between your folds so you could grind and bring pleasant friction to you both. 

"I'm sure he rushed everything with you...I'm going to take my time." He spoke as your eyes came into a gentle and slow roll as he kissed down your neck. A momentary fumble with the clasp of your bra and it was disposed of promptly. 

"Fuck..." He breathed to himself to the warm weight set in each hand, your grinding actions as a response to this. 

"Do you like this?" You could only nod as the way his teeth pulled your nipple had made you whimper in accompaniment to the heat forming between you. 

"Did he ever make you this wet?" You shook your head. "Are you lying to me?".

"No. Always had to use something..." You managed to confess as he smirked. 

"And you're this wet for me?" He scoffed. 

"Then I won't make you wait for it .." You gasped to the sudden fulfillment of his cock. 

"Trevor! Fuck!" 

"I’ve never heard you swear...Thought you were too much of a good girl..." His smirk and one reflect from your loosely parted lips. 

"I'll make you bad just for me...in all the right ways..." He lifted you over him and to the nearby wall just outside of his bedroom. With a grip to the frame, be uses it as stability as he thrusted into you. The smooth rest of the wall at your back made this effortless as you were left leaving evidence of your attraction and approval at his back. Only after you'd removed that tee from his toned physique. 

"Trevor...please!"

"You wanna come?" You nodded, feeling the pressure at your sex, the familiar release pulling your eyes to screw shut. 

"Not until I know I'm all you think about." Before you could validate this, he had you within his bedroom. You were set on your stomach with his knee setting your legs apart before you could stop him. Suddenly the pressure from his weight left the bed as you turned to watch him lower to his knees. Only mischievous eyes remained behind you as he pulled you to the edge of the bed and his tongue came at a rest between your folds. 

"Trevor!" He only savored you deeper as you called to him. 

"You want it faster?"

"I want you!" You whined. 

"Not yet..." He guided as you fisted the sheets until your knuckles whitened, your teeth matching the clench as you rode into his smirk. 

"Trevor, it's so good...oh my fucking-"

"I love when you swear for me-" He offered a teasing slap to your ass to test your reaction as you moaned in approval. Setting one more, his smirk lessened as his tongue returned. 

"I'm close!" He was swift, bringing you to the cusp of your release as he could feel every ounce of your body beneath him. 

"TREVOR!" But in the final moments before you were granted that release, he withdrew. You groaned, but were accommodated by his cock. Thrust after thrust, he sent you into the bed. One hand came to the wall as only a mattress lay on the minimalist room, as the other remained in the sheets. 

"The next time you say my name will be when you've forgotten everyone else. When you come. For me." He pulled you up against his chest. A few swift motions brought you to the wall over the bed. 

"Only say it when you come for me." He ordered as you nodded, your thighs trembling as his dominant hand came to your clit and the other rested at your thigh. But as he spoke of such a near release, he managed to make it lengthen for an endless endurance. Your body was slick with perspiration and your throat hoarse from whimpers and attempts to plead. His hands were wrapped within you as he held you to him, dirty promises in your ear. 

"So beautiful..." He spoke sweetly as he broke from such brutal thrusts before returning to his torments. But the kind that was synonymous to a workout. The release of endorphins necessary for release. And he gave an exercise you'd never had before. Your body ached in ways you believed were impossible. Unreachable. Caverns he found and sensations he unlocked. It left you manic yet silent and shaking yet comforted by his touch. You were allowed to know peace in the chaos within his arms. And it made that edge that much sweeter. 

"Trevor..."

"Come for me...." He was direct by tenderness, his own voice showing strain of his convictions, before he pulled you both to that twisting orgasm. As you contracted around him, he relinquished himself within you. 

Your body was spent beneath him, his arms directing you to rest on your back as you basked in the afterglow of what you'd found to be the best sexual encounter of your life. Your shaking body and numb sex reminded you of this. 

"You hungry?" 

"Starved..." You teased, the moment hinting to something more sensual as he began to nibble on your jaw and neck. 

"For food?" You questioned for validation as he continued his crusade without an answer. But the mark left by your ex on your chest reminded you that this distraction was solely that. 

"We have to tell someone..."

"You aren't leaving..."

"Trevor-" he pinned your arms flat. 

"I'm not sorry it happened. I'm sorry it happened this way. But if I have to tie you down to my bed, bet your pretty little ass I will...." He took hold of your jaw as he redirected both of your wrists beneath one grip. 

"I won't let anyone or anything hurt you." He explained with a final kiss to your lips.

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

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[clementine-thedestroyer]

None of you would know, but I’m actually a bit of a nerd when it comes to ships and tanks. Recently, I’ve been watching Brick Immortar on YouTube, and specifically it was the one on the USS Thresher that got me thinking… I would love to write some sort of WW2 or Cold War era submarine fic with Soap.

Reminiscent of the Greyhound movie, with that kind of abject horror of being hunted. Except with both parties on submarines.

Omg, I’ve been in a museum sub before and let me just say- those things are TINY! I could barely fit through the doors on the ship, I can’t imagine what it was like for service men to move through a submarine while it was actually underwater. Nightmare fuel, really. And if you’ve ever watched Greyhound, you know how scary it was when the submarine captain came over the intercom and started antagonizing them.

Maybe just Soap, maybe him and Ghost- maybe all of the 141- but imagine them just trying to stay alive and get to back to a friendly port, mean while having to contend with the fact that any moment, the enemy’s torpedos may strike home. Imagine them just trying to eat or do some maintenance, and then the enemy captain comes over the radio and starts fucking howling at them in the deranged tone of the sub captain in greyhound.

[strawbebehmod]

Ok I've had enough of this "Alastor doesn't know about gay stuff" I keep seeing around. As a history nerd I honestly can't take it anymore.

Kiddos it's time to learn you a few things. First of all, compared to subsequent decades,

The 1920s were incredibly gay

Was it still illegal to perform homosexual acts, yes. Were gay people still abused and lost jobs for being gay, and were even socially excluded from cishet white society? Oh absolutely. Did most individuals have to stay closeted? Duh. But you know what wasn't a wide spread thing yet? The medicalization of homosexuality. Conversion therapy wasn't fully approved of by psychiatrists until the 40's. Crossdressing wasn't considered mental illness, scandalous, yes, but not mental illness. The haze codes were not implemented yet, and the combination of prohibition, the two decades prior of progressivism, and the horrors of world war one left the youngest generation with a rebellious spirit and a desire for breaking the law. And if you lived in a big city, being LGBT in the twenties was often better than being LGBT in the 30s, 40s, or even 50s.

Young rich kids would seek out queer cruising spots in cities as a form of tourism. Harlem was famous for it's yearly drag balls, and many of the most famous black artists at the time were infact lgbt. Broadway and Hollywood were full of individuals who people knew were not entirely straight. Hell, jazz was born in red light districts home to black queer people. In places like New York there were people famous for being openly gay and despite sodomy laws police would not care in the slightest about them.

And though the South was as fucked as it ever was with Jim Crow Laws and the race riots, New Orleans has always been one of the more progressive cities in the South and has always had a very large gay community. Between the inherit campiness and debauchery of Mardi gras to being the birth place of jazz, to new Orleans being the easiest place to get away with breaking prohibition laws in the south, Alastor as a mixed race black radio host playing jazz in New Orleans in the 20s ABSOLUTELY is familiar with the LGBT community of the time.

The thing is, the language used by the community at the time was so fundamentally different that alastor would not know what you are talking about if you spoke to him about modern LGBT issues. The pride flag did not even exist yet. Gay still meant happy to him in his age. "Bisexual" at the time was more akin to the term "trans" than being attracted to multiple genders, and transgender didn't exist yet as a word. But if you called yourself "a confirmed bachelor" he would understand you were a man who liked men. If you called yourself a "fairy" he would know you weren't cis. If you were a woman and told him you liked sapho or Peter pan, he'd know you liked women. And if you were wearing lavender, or a green carnation, a red bowtie, a violet (if you were a woman), or were a man with a peacock feather in your ensemble he would give you a knowing nod. He's not ignorant of the lgbtq. He's a man out of his time. He speaks a different language entirely to modern gay slang, so it seem he doesn't know anything about it. But he does. Gay and trans people have always been a thing and as a radio host, literally being on the forefront of mass media at it's beginnings, in arguably the best decade to be gay in the 20th century before the 60s, in a city so comfortable with what was considered debauchery that it gave birth to "devil music" and embraced it before anyone else, yes he knows what they are. He just doesn't have the modern language to express it.